Bad Bunny’s music is catchy and dance-able. We love that. It’s why the show was so highly anticipated. But it’s a different thing entirely that he didn’t disappoint. His performance didn’t fall flat. Quite the opposite, beyond its success as a performance, it was a layered and meaningful activation worth dissecting. There are reasons we all liked it so much — and those reasons are things you can replicate in your marketing strategy.

Here we go:

Show vs Tell

Bad Bunny didn’t use his platform to tell us about a sociopolitical issue. He showed us what resistance looks like. He didn’t call us into action on a microphone; he led us in action. He walked the walk, which made us want to walk too.

The marketing takeaway: your consumers are smart. Sometimes they don’t know what they don’t know. But a lot of times, they do. In some cases, it can be beneficial to name and validate a consumer’s pain point. But really successful marketing assumes the customer is self- and situationally-aware, and gives them the thing they’ve been waiting for. This builds respect between the brand and the consumer, and it also prevents the consumer from “turning off” their listening. If a customer gets the impression you’re about to say something they already know, they stop paying attention. If you show them you already understand their experience, and give them the thing they really want, they’re all ears.

Experiential Storytelling

Bad Bunny took us with him — at least the majority of us watching from home (it was also v smart for him to design his show for the most amount of people who would benefit from it, vs the priveleged few). We got to experience the story he was telling. Which not only activated our emotional response (necessary to be moved by any piece of art or content), but also allowed us to agency to form our own interpretations, understanding, and response. Again, this is a way to respect your consumer. If your message is the right one, and your execution matches the consumer’s intiutive way of consuming/interacting — they should and will have the takeaway you want them to. You don’t need to preach, convince, or “sell” what you’re saying. And your customer won’t get that icky feeling of being told what to do, how to feel, or like they’re being taken advantage of as part of a bigger/hidden agenda.

The marketing takeaway: when someone puts themselves on a literal or figurative stage and broadcasts a message to an audience, it creates a disconnect. I’m here, you’re there. I’m talking to you, not with you. Sure, we can admire or idolize or be inspired by a figurehead or a leader evangelizing from a place of truth and power. But it doesn’t evoke the same emotional response and semi-conscious enrollment/buy in that experiencing that message does. So, be in it with people. Step down. Level the playing field. Make your user experience relatable.

Shameless Expression

Bad Bunny bends gender norms, unapologetically centers his identity and culture, and isn’t afraid to try/play/experiment/evolve. He included real people from his lived experience in his show. People who were a part of his “brand” before he made it. He wasn’t thinking, how do I make a halftime show that’s on brand for me. He was thinking, how do I use the container of the halftime show to let my brand fill that space.

The marketing takeaway: This sounds terribly outdated as I type it, but being different is a GOOD THING. I think it’s still true. Honestly, I think most of us don’t really “consume” anymore. We absorb. Our conscious choice to read/listen to/look at/click on something continues to grow weaker as technology, world events, and content cycles show no sign of letting up in both intensity or volume. We’re losing our ability to filter. Something different — especially when it feels pure, good, empathetic — flags something in us that pauses the passive absorbption and makes us aware of what we’re seeing. Which is the first step in feeling something about it, remembering it, taking action on it, talking about it, etc.

Pleasure, Not Problems

Expanding on something earlier in this article, Bad Bunny’s response to a time of exhaustion, division, violence is to create something that feels good. He’s inviting. He’s not showing up to take or win; he’s connecting. And this collaborative take makes us feel like we know him. And we like him. On the surface, it’s an exhale. A moment of joy, which we’re all so desperately craving these days. But more than that, we feel understood. We feel responded to.

The marketing takeaway: A client recently articulated something similar. She absolutely does not want to talk about her audience’s problems in her messaging. She’s not interested in selling something that will make their problem go away. She’s interested in inviting them into something where their problem doesn’t exist anymore. How can you make your audience feel good? When people feel good in response to you, your content, your brand, they’re going to move towards you (we want this).

Playful Confidence

A lot of the times confidence can feel like coercion. The same client I mentioned above told me how much she hates “prostituting her life” as a way of showing the outcome she helps her own clients access. Confidence that doesn’t rely on someone else’s submission is… sexy (doesn’t help that Bad Bunny is too). It creates a sense of openness, presence, intimacy — that “authenticity” every brand is going for.

The marketing takeaway: if you’re trying to demonstrate that you’re authentic, it’s going to backfire. The brands that are creating that “humanness” that makes us pay attention aren’t presenting… anything. They just are. They don’t need us (customers) in order to define them. Instead, they’ve defined themselves, and they welcome us to define ourselves too.

I think there’s a lot more here that I didn’t touch on. But these are the things that stood out to me right away. Think I missed something big? Share it!

SEX

First off, it’s jogger season, and we’re stoked about it. I had a nice run in with a thin pair of joggers yesterday (and the guy wearing them), and after a hug that told me everything I needed to know, I newly appreciated the cooler weather.

Now that that’s out of the way, I have a question for you: do you talk to your therapist about sex? It’s come up for me with my current therapist, but not with past therapists. A friend told me that sex just came up for the first time in therapy for her. A date told me this week that when he’s mentioned sex to his therapist, she didn’t have much to say about it. He implied that the convo was about his curiosity and exploration of kink, and she didn’t think it had deeper roots. My therapist thought the opposite: it’s clear my sexual preferences are tied to some core wounds, and balance out how I exist day to day in my life outside of sex. She’s encouraged me to use my sex life as a tool to support my healing (in addition to all the other things I’m practicing, too).

It makes me sad that some people don’t talk to their partner, friends, or therapist about sex. In my experience, talking about sex not only normalizes the things we think we’re the only ones experiencing (we’re not), but removes stigma or taboo, helps us better understand ourselves and our needs and desires, boosts confidence, and gives you some great ideas to try. The more I talk about it, the more comfortable I am expressing my sexuality in an authentic way. The more authentic I am, the more pleasure I experience.

Not sure where to start? Pick a friend you feel safe with (or a stranger you’re on a date with!), and swap stories:

• Describe the weirdest dick you’ve ever seen

• Talk about the best sex you’ve had and why it was so great

• Talk about the worst sex you’ve had and what about it still makes you cringe

• Tell someone that not-super-sexual thing that really turns you on. Maybe it’s someone putting their hand on your neck when you kiss, or the fact that you’re attracted to men with really nice hands.

• Ask for advice. If you’ve experienced something you’re not sure about, ask a friend if they’ve ever had an experience like (blank), and what they recommend

STYLE, SMOKEWEAR, AND STUFF

Lately, I’ve been drawn to visuals that feature a handwritten font or hand drawn illustration over a moody, high flash photo background. Digital content is pulling inspiration from analogue designs these days, so we’ll see things like photographs of polaroid pictures, photographed edited to look like film (or actually shot on film!), and physical things mimicked or embedded in digital content (think: receipts, letters, magazine clippings). Here’s an example from a brand I discovered recently:

I’m also noticing a shift from fast fashion to a focus on thirfting and sourcing eclectic vintage pieces. The best-dressed people you see are pulling their look together with a new piece, a few old favorites, something handed down, or a chance find they scavenged at a garage sale or pop up. I am seeing a lot of performative vintage shops, carrying the “staples” of a thrifted look (Levi, Carhartt, cowboy boots), and it’s easy to spot the people who don’t look deeper. But I’m noticing that when I compliment someone’s look, the most common answer is, “I thrifted it!”

I’m currently obsessed with the revival of Los Angeles Apparel (formerly American Apparel). They have some of the classics we all coveted in 2009 still, and they’ve also leaned into modern times. Particularly, I’m living in these lounge pants, and carrying everything I own in this (very) oversized tote.

I went down a Pinterest rabbit hole and finally got my hands on these shoes too.

SOME OTHER THOUGHTS

I’m deep into Animal Kingdom on Netflix. It’s the perfect blend of idealized California culture (the kind I dreamed about as a kid, very Rocket Power), psychological fucked up-ness, and hot-guy-bank-heist. If you need an easy watch for the winter season, I highly recommend.

I spent the end of the summer going to silent disco almost every week. Of course I felt reserved at first (same with talking about sex, since we’re on the topic!), but after a while got used to letting my body move the way it wanted to. I came to love the feeling of “riding” the beat — feeling the sound move through my body, and my body respond in a natural way without thinking about it. Last night, I went to a show and immediately started dancing, which is something I would have been so hesitant to do pre- disco. Cool! Don’t forget to get in your body.

Have you started thinking about your new year intentions yet? 2025 was the first year in a while that I set a bunch of “goals” and it was fun to track with them. They weren’t achievement based, but rather things I wanted to feel or experience based on my values and what I wanted my life to look like. On New Years Eve, I pulled two tarot cards for the whole year (what is the theme of this year, what lesson will I learn this year), and then a card for each month. I wrote them all down, and have been keeping a log of things that come up each month throughout the year. I’m super excited to look back at this past year, and do the same ritual again for 2026. I’m also setting a few big picture intentions for 2026, too.

I recently got fired for the first time, and whoa what a mindfuck. Of course I learned a lot from the experience, and there were many factors at play, some of which were things I brought to the table — I’m not without responsibility, as is true of any situation. Aside from a bruised ego, general disappointment in myself, and the bad taste in my mouth from how the situation was handled, I’m able to recognize growth here. For my entire life, I worked to be a good daughter, friend, wife, employee… often at the expense of my own feelings, self expression, needs, etc. So part of me is proud that I showed up authentically enough to have someone disagree with me. The recovering people-pleaser in me sees this as a big win. If you need a reminder that impactful people don’t always (or rarely do) win everyone over, maybe this is it. Or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself so I can feel better.

Heart stew. I asked myself, what goes into heart? To know that, I needed to know, what is heart?

The first thing that came to me was “doing things with heart.” Heart is rigor, passion, sincerity.

Here’s what I wrote.

A recipe for doing things with heart

Combine

• 1 carton of organic passion

• 2 cups of consideration

• 1/4 cup strategy

• a pinch of feedback

With the kind of tenderness you’d use to give a friend a hug, when they just got dumped or fired or hurt or scared and are crying uncontrollably on your couch.

With a lot of intentional care and a little less uninformed winging it, mix in

• 2T gusto

• 3oz liquid passion

• a handfull of hopelessly hard work

• courage to taste

• and 4ish cloves of questions

Plate boldly, because any action is better than no action at all

Salt, always

Garnish with fierce belief in something — anything

Serve with humility

Spill some on your sleeve, and wear it around for the rest of the day

And be sure to share it with anyone brave enough to try

The article dives into the collapsed dynamic of men who once put in effort to connect with women, because women — having one, as unhealthy as that might be — signified value or status. “They [men] perform elsewhere. Alone. They’ve filtered us out,” the article says about the absence of that dynamic, these days.

“There was something mutual from the start — wordplay, emotional precision, a tone that felt attuned…. There was just enough spark to wonder what might unfold. Enough curiosity to imagine a doorway. But he didn’t step through it. Not with a plan. Not with presence.”

I can attest: it’s bleak. Over the last year, I’ve had a handful of meaningful connections, like the ones described in the quote above. Each time, they’ve lingered on the edge of actually becoming something, or come to an abrupt and confusing end after a seemingly steady build of mutual interest.

I’ve laid in bed at night, my thoughts swirling. Was I too much? Did I get attached too quickly? Come on too strong? It felt like I was offering a genuine and enthusiastic invitation without pressure. It seemed like we had good chemistry. There was laughter, and good sex, and easeful conversation. Even shared values and interests. But right after we had a moment of shared closeness, he retreated. He noticeably pulled away without acknowledgement. Did he think I wouldn’t notice? Why does showing an appropriate amount of interest and excitement make them run? Why aren’t they able to communicate (clearly and kindly and with actual words) their choice? Is it even a choice? Or is it a reaction? A shutdown? A fight or flight response?

Rachel Drucker shared a similar sentiment, “I texted him clearly, with care, not simply to declare attraction but to extend a real invitation to explore what was possible. I didn’t chase. I invited, leaving the door open… I was willing. He never replied.”

I relate to this emotional whiplash. Feeling hopeful about what could be, noticing unprompted signals of possibility from another person, only to be met with sudden, unexplained disconnect. Sometimes it feels like being misled. Other times, it feels like taking. It almost always feels like confusion, and disappointment.

I’ve experienced the “directionless orbiting” Drucker names in the article many times over the last year of dating, most recently just a few days ago. Someone I had previously matched with on a dating app (and messaged with for a bit before he unmatched with me), reconnected. This was the fourth (fourth!!!) time he’d liked my profile since then, and I’d seen him around town a few times, so I decided to give him another shot. This guy was clearly interested and pursuing me in the way he knew how (the bar is low, my friends). Once we connected and I gently called him out (“back again?”), he asked tons of questions about me, indicated that he’d read my profiles on different apps, and stated his opinion that we were compatible and he was interested. We texted for a day or so, exchanged some sexy messages, and agreed to meet up in person a few days later. The next day, he made a quick in-person stop to say hi to me, which I took as a good sign that his interest was genuine and his intention was backed by action. We chatted easily, and parted ways on a good note. I even followed up to say I was glad he stopped by. When that day came around for our date and I texted him to check in and finalize details, he said his day was busy and he needed to raincheck (with no specific day/time alternative). ?????????????. How did we get here? Less than 48 hours ago he was asserting his attraction to me and desire to get to know me. After pinging me multiple times to try and get my attention! After I succumbed and opened the door again, giving him a chance to step through it — for real this time. What’s with the bait and switch? Why the fumble?! Is it indifference? Lack of social awareness? Emotional avoidance? True ineptitude when it comes to time management? Three days later, he texted me to let me know he just wanted to be friends.

Drucker talks about how even one night stands have changed: staying the night now signifies something it doesn’t need to. Once, you could hookup with someone and stay the night, enjoying each others’ company (and some juicy morning sex) without implying any strings. Now, male rational says that staying the night creates expectations or coincides with commitment. We’re not just talking about those seeking serious relationships here — we’re talking about every type of vulnerability, including one-time sex with a stranger.

The article explores how vulnerability has evolved from an invitation to a threat, creating a culture of hesitation with men circling intimacy, but never entering it. How men abandon ownership and avoid closeness — even around the most harmless of interactions. Why are men so afraid of closeness, even just for an evening — or 5 minutes?

I’ve experienced a lack of feedback, perhaps due to the male interpretation of vulnerability as a threat. There is no room for conversation. Rather than saying ‘this doesn’t work for me,’ men simply exit. The unwillingness to collaborate is one of the hardest parts of this dynamic for me. I’d say there’s no grace, but I don’t think we’re even getting to that point. It seems as though possibility of a quick adjustment doesn’t even pop up on their radar — and the only way forward is to opt out completely. Is it that men simply cannot see that with a casual, clear and open discussion, an outcome that feels good to everyone is available? Or that ‘the juice isn’t worth the squeeze’ and they’d rather simply not than even entertain the idea of working through very normal speedbumps in getting to know someone?

I call the phenomenon described in this article the intimacy gap. Smart, dynamic, beautiful, interesting, ambitious, sex-positive, compassionate women — objectively eligible and desirable — experiencing silence from disengaged men who seem (at least mildly) interested, but don’t act. These are women who know how to regulate their energy and emotions, and are fully capable of existing (thriving!) independently. They communicate well — meaning honestly, directly, and kindly. They seek compromise rather than control, they know what they want and what their flaws are (they’re working on them, actively), and they don’t play games. They don’t need a tactical partner… but they want (and arguably do need, as all humans do) an emotional partner. Yet, they’re struggling when it comes to dating. They’re discouraged and deflated. They assume responsibility, yet lament with their peers about the commonality of their experiences. At what point can we all agree that it’s not us? And if it’s not us, what can be done? How will the dynamic shift?

Maybe it’s due to an overwhelming number of options and the accompanying decision fatigue. For women, there are few men that meet the criteria we’re looking for (which, I’d argue, is not too many things to ask for), so when we feel a connection with someone, we want to see where it goes. But for men, the pool of impressive, attractive, eligible women is far greater — they can simply move onto the next. And they do.

Until reading this article, I assumed the intimacy gap was at least 80% a communication issue. Women are well practiced in carrying the burden of communication — we’ve been speaking in the dialect of emotional complexity our whole lives. We learn to monitor, name, analyze, declare. Men don’t. And they also don’t learn to feel emotion, process it, or put words to it. So when we invite, they panic. They can’t tolerate being seen, let alone fumble their way through emotional discomfort to connect with another. It’s easier for them to disengage. Go silent. Seek surface-level interactions elsewhere. Lie. I talk about this more here, in the context of lame breakups. Is it a lack of courage? Lack of maturity? Did no one teach them how to stay? Or did they once try and were betrayed?

On a sillier note, I’ve been thinking a lot about the death of the meet-cute. The anchor to every early 2000s rom-com, the seemingly serendipitous striking-up of conversation with a cute stranger….doesn’t exist anymore. I try not to take offense that guys don’t approach me at my local coffee shop, while I’m walking my dog, as I’m perusing produce at the local grocery store, or while I’m rotting at the beach (looking decidedly hot in my bathing suit). I wish they did! Nothing would make me happier than a handsome man striking up conversation, being friendly, maybe even returning my smile (!!!!!!), and walking away with my number. It’s far more engaging than a swipe on an app. It fulfills our universal human need of interaction with another being. Fuck, I do it all the time! I smile at a stranger, strike up conversation with the person in line behind me, give my number out to someone I think is cute. Sometimes, I get nervous, intimidated, or embarrassed — just like every other person. I get rejected, too. A male friend of mine said, “The death of the meet-cute is at leas 70% on men.” And yet, he doesn’t change. He admits going into fight/flight when he sees a cute stranger he’d like to talk to. But he’s not doing anything about it. Why don’t they feel compelled to move beyond what’s holding them back? Is contemporary context around not being creepy getting in the way of guys making the first move? If yes, why haven’t they learned how to do this in a not-creepy way? Or is that the excuse they’re using to avoid vulnerability or rejection? Is it fear of unscripted interactions?

The surface level explanation of if they wanted to, they would doesn’t seem totally accurate. I think a part of them does want to — it’s why they orbit. But they can’t. Is it because they’ve disconnected from want and desire (as it relates to connection with women) completely? Is it that there is something bigger, a larger force, that keeps them from tuning into this need. They’d rather ignore it than act on it. Why?

I even experienced this trend within my marriage. Of course, there were many tiny fractures, ultimately accumulating to make the integrity of our relationship too fragile to sustain. But woven amongst those fractures was a cumulative disengagement. My ex husband filtered me out. I tell this story here, and what I’ll add is: I noticed our growing distance and his apathy, and invited him in. I asked him what he wanted our life to look like. How he wanted to feel in our relationship. What he wanted to do together and apart. I asked him to go to therapy — alone or with me. As I worked on my own personal development, I shared tools with him. I modeled curiosity and radical connection, and aliveness. I tried again and again to reengage him, not only in our relationship, but in his own existence. As my capacity for vulnerability and connection and life increased, the space between us did too — because he didn’t come with me. He didn’t accept my invitation. Soon, we lived in parallel, our lines never crossing, let alone weaving together to create something shared and beautiful. He stopped looking at me and started looking at his phone. He stopped listening to me and started listening to chatter in his video game headset. He stopped participating in our relationship… so I did too. I find it curious that the directionless orbiting afflicting men in their 30s and 40s doesn’t seem to discriminate on relationship status. What’s happening below the surface, such that even men in committed relationships are becoming unmoved, and dare I say, unresponsive?

As always when it comes to matters of gender role imbalance, there’s a double standard buried somewhere in here. So much of the content around dating these days is centered on being “high value” — an eye-roll-inducing way of saying: embody confidence, no matter what his behavior is. And if you do, the right man will find you. Your energy will attract the good ones. This doesn’t sit right with me for many reasons (maybe I’ll write about that in another post), but the double standard I see it creating within the context of this article is: this dynamic of men orbiting but never really connecting erodes confidence in women. The explanation-less outcomes of this dynamic exist in our perception of ourselves. And we can do all ‘the work’ we want (and we do!) but it is still experience that shapes our sense of self, our perspective on dating, and our own ability and inertia to connect in the future. The less confident we are, the less likely we are to carry more than our fair share of closing the intimacy gap, but the more the intimacy gap grows, the more our confidence erodes.

Another double standard I’ve noticed is this: women are trying. They’re willing. They’re “putting themselves out there".” They’re courageous and brave in the search for connection. They feel the same vulnerability around intimacy that men do — but they keep showing up anyways. The fear of wearing our hearts on our sleeves is present. This is a shared human experience, regardless of gender, race, sexual orientation and all other demographic data points. Yet, we do it. And when we do, we’re not met. He didn’t reply. But we try again. We set aside the hurt, the rejection, the fear. We summon whatever it is that exists in us — strength — and we do it again. And again. Until we become so weary that we have to take a break. Why is it that women are resilient enough to continue to show up, and men aren’t? If we (women) stop efforting so much, then what happens? Does the divide continue to exist indefinitely? Does it grow larger? Do the men step in? I think not, on that last one. If we stop trying to close the gap, what are we left with? Not only as it relates to love, but as it relates to humanity. What does our world look like when half the population has already stopped connecting, and the other half stops trying?

With the lack of male engagement, women are turning to each other — and to themselves. Ironically, my circle of female friends has grown stronger (in quantity and quality) as my dating endeavors have become more frustrating. I’ve never had more meaning and depth in my connection to other women, and I’ve never had less meaning and depth in my connection to potential romantic partners (men). Does this help close the gap? Or does it reinforce it? I’m not sure. But what I do know, is that as humans we require both seeing and being seen. And because women are not getting that from romantic partners, they’re not learning how to get it (platonically) from their peers.

I’ll talk to my girlfriends, in explicit detail, about everything. And I mean everything. The women I know experiencing this phenomenon are sexually empowered, and radically transparent about their emotional needs… and their physical ones.. Whether it’s a mention of the childhood trauma that found it’s way into our latest therapy session or dissecting our dirtiest desires in graphic detail, or trading technique when it comes to sex, women don’t hesitate to hash out the most intimate feelings floating around inside our heads. Men aren’t doing this — and I think they should be. It’s because of these conversations that I can accept invitations to step into closeness, handle unscripted encounters, show up optimistically open-hearted for the chance at a good date (or a good fuck), give my number out to guys, or lean into a gut feeling (closely followed by butterflies and sparkling eyes) to see what’s possible. We only ever learn through doing. Of course we don’t know what it’s like to experience something we’ve never experienced before… until we experience it. Then we know, then we do. But that requires an initial leap. A brave going-for-it, before we know for sure.

I dish out compliments to women, showing them the excited gaze I know they crave. And they do the same to me. There is always a split second, when we can see in each others eyes the difference it made. The way it helps us get through the next day, or the next boring/underwhelming/disappointing date. We’ve normalized vulnerability to the point that we can trust the act of trying. How do we create a language, a cultural norm for men to do this, without the invasion of hyper-masculinity, patriarchy, or toxic narratives about having / owning power?

Women everywhere are grieving. We’re grieving the void that exists between our efforts and their indifference. That this rupture isn’t easily mended with innate humanness. That the human inclination to chose togetherness over isolation is eroding. That we’re lonely, and can see their loneliness too, yet our attempts to soothe it are, at best, ignored, and at worst, taken advantage of, for the sake of temporary relief or selfish indulgence. That there doesn’t seem to be an alternative. Or a reckoning. That what we want is devotion, yet we struggle to even get basic dialogue. While there is a flavor of empowerment and freedom in women learning to choose themselves in the complete absence of male choice, in making each other feel seen… at what point does this create an echo chamber that only reinforces this dynamic? How do we invite men into the conversation? What is the first step to intermingling our worlds, again?

Drucker closes out her piece with a(nother) powerful invitation: “We remember you. You are not gone, but your presence is thinning. You are missed. We’re still here. And we haven’t stopped hoping.”

It’s true. We don’t need men to have the perfect pickup line (actually, ew), or unwavering confidence having hard conversations. We just want them to be willing.

Willing to try. Willing to meet us in the middle. Willing to vocalize their wants and needs. To be honest and messy and there.

Men, we miss you.

Read the full NYT article here, and leave your comments below — I’d love to hear your perspective or experience on this!

Want to read the article but can’t access it online? Comment below, and I’ll share a PDF of it with you.

I might be in the minority here, but I much prefer honesty. You don’t like me? Tell me why. I tru…

Read more

Read more

I’m pretty sure

This is the best compliment

I’ve ever been given

It w…

Read more

Pinning my hands on the wall above my head

For the I don’t know-th time

Made a fist in my hair

At the base of my neck

Tilted my ear back to his mouth

Said

You’re doing such a good job

Me?!

Boy, I think that’s you

My legs shook

And he said

Keep going, you’re doing so good

Only if you do too

I wanted to say

But I couldn’t get words out

…

Read more

I gave myself dinner in bed.

I gave myself flirting and feeling and FUN again.

I gave myself freedom. Space to be my full, unfiltered, expansive, vibrant, sexy self.

I gave myself credit.

I gave myself more, even though, from the outside, anyone would have said I already had it all.

When my friends encouraged me to grieve, I told them: I already have.

I spent 9 years in a relationship with a man I fell in love with before I knew who I was. I spent 7 of those years dragging him along through the life I was creating for us, begging him to act like he was alive. I spent 4 of those years feeling like I was too big for the box that fit a life he wanted, but too scared to leave it. I spent 2 of those years bridging the void that had grown between us, putting in the work to try and make our parallel lives lovingly, lazily tangled together again, like legs the next morning.

I stayed as long as I could. And then I said, I can’t be you…for you. I don’t even have enough energy left to be me for you. Or me for me.

When we separated, I sighed in relief. The ten-ish pounds I’d been carrying around for years slipped off without effort — I’ve been calling it my Divorce Diet.

The hives my whole body had broken out in, that I suffered through and scratched at for a month, suddenly disappeared. Like my body sat down, exhausted, and said, Fuckin’ finally. Sweet girl, it takes you so long to learn. If only you listened, I wouldn’t have to scream.

The day he moved out, a friend made me steak in my kitchen and we split a joint because we are not girls who have sage — we are girls who have weed (same same?).

I had my house professionally cleaned, wiping away every last trace of lifeless clutter, dirty footprints, and stale boy smell.

I posted on Craigslist and found a few housemates: women like me who had recently left long-term relationships and were looking for a place to land while they courageously, carefully dismantled the life they once wanted. They filled my space with the kind of reverence only women who — lacking any other options — have leapt into depths, can.

I didn’t feel the need to grieve my relationship when it officially ended, because I had been grieving its ending since shortly after its beginning. Every day, for years, I felt grief as it slowly, surely withered away. I felt grief as I did, too.

But what we don’t know — until we do — is that grief is so much more dense than the one thing it seems to be about, like divorce.

So, when prompted by those who wanted to see me resurrect myself from what they thought was a devastating decision, I didn’t grieve my divorce. Instead, I grieved everything that led to it.

I grieved the moment I knew our relationship was over — even though it would be years until it technically ended: As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror lathering oil on every inch of my showered skin, I caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, behind me in bed, aimlessly scrolling, oblivious to his naked wife who so deeply wanted it to be his hands, his eyes, sliding across her skin. I thought, he doesn’t even know I’m here.

I grieved the commitmentless, carefree chaos I didn’t get in my 20s.

I grieved that I never had the chance to learn how to choose myself, always and first, before I let someone else choose me.

I grieved that I bought my own wedding ring.

I grieved every time I anticipated the intimacy of being met in my emotions, but instead felt the defeat of distance or indifference.

I grieved when I felt lonely in my living room, sitting next to someone who wasn’t really there.

I grieved the orgasms I didn’t have in the final year of my marriage, and the ones that I did, alone.

I grieved every afternoon, when I walked through our home, picking up after a man who had once picked me and was now so without purpose that he probably couldn’t pick himself out of a crowd.

I grieved when I told my mom my marriage was over, and she started crying. So I stood firm and steady and strong and sure for her, as I have for as long as I can remember, mothering her through my life that I managed to live without ever being mothered myself.

I grieved the independence I’d let slip away…or maybe sacrificed…in the hopes of a shared life.

I grieved when the only thing he wanted to take from the house was the one expensive thing I bought for us, before he became the breadwinner.

I grieved when I realized that leaving him meant leaving him with all the cash — starting over with my savings, and learning (again) how to survive by myself.

I grieved for my dog, who, in his old age, should not have to shuttle between homes.

I grieved when I realized I was totally alone for the first time….ever.

I grieved for the friends I thought I had, who didn’t show up for me, despite all the showing up for them I’d done when they faced devastating decisions themselves.

I grieved when he showed up to the house that used to be his with another girl in his car, as if I wouldn’t notice or care.

Mostly, I grieved for every woman who has ever found herself tethered to someone she used to love, who lacked the awareness or ability to celebrate her enormity, to savor her holding it all together, to bask in the softness of her strength. Every woman who has lived her life without the wonderment of a man in absolute awe of her, driven by undeniable desire for her. Every woman who has forgotten that she is hot shit — because a man who depends on her forgets to treat her as such.

And also, I grieved for society, which still attaches so much shame and stigma to divorce. I grieved for those who said ‘so young’ or ‘married for such a short time’ instead of ‘your smile is so much bigger’ or ‘you seem so at peace’ or ‘wow, what a big, brave thing to do.’ Because if they couldn’t see that my soul was set free, how could they ever let loose their own?

For my 30th birthday, I gave myself a divorce.

I cried at the courthouse because I couldn’t find the Clerk’s office to file the paperwork.

I had a panic attack while making my online dating profile.

I spent my birthday sitting alone at the bar of my favorite restaurant, reading a book and watching the bartender, vaguely wondering if I could be attracted to women.

But my best friend told me I glow, now. She said You’re radiant.

I got to spend my first single summer at the pool with a four-year-old friend.

My favorite pants fit me again (and yes, my ass looks great, thank you)

I felt so proud of choosing me — and giving myself what I really wanted for the next 30 years of my life, instead of sucking it up or sticking it out or settling for It’s fine, continuing to sacrifice pieces of myself to keep the peace or please my parents.

For the last year, I dated, I danced in the streets, and I did whatever I damn well pleased until I felt like I was me again. I got my heart broken by a man — not the one I divorced — who looked at my like I was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. I started to humbly claw my way out of debt.

I let myself make statements, sans question mark. I let myself make choices without double checking that someone else will be okay with them. I let myself ebb and flow with the hour or day or mood or feeling. I let myself lose important papers and forget to pay bills on time. I let myself buy the skimpy dress and I let myself wear shorts with cowboy boots, because yes, I am divorced and yes, I am so young, and no, I will not let myself slip away again.

Things are good, though I am sure grief will visit me in waves, like when I was walking and suddenly struck — out of nowhere — with a sadness so heavy I swear I could feel my soul being tugged out from the bottom of my feet, set on dragging me down, down, down, down.

But in the meantime, I’m a 30-year-old who got divorced, and it’s the best gift I’ve ever given — grief be damned.

Part of me wishes I had actually seen my therapist at a sex party. Because WOW what a great story that would be. Who knows, maybe one day I will! I choose optimism.

For now though, it’s a cheeky title that honors the ethos of what this platform is for: A space to

1. Wax poetic about dating in your 30s

2. Share musings about love and heartbreak

3. Examine the failings of the modern man (it’s not their fault) and maybe offer them some totally unbiased tips that they’ll probably never read

4. Break down the barriers that still exist for women re: sexuality and sexual expression, having big feelings and super-sensitivity to… everything (I refuse to use empath as an identity), communicating effectively and/or being taken seriously

5. Close the togetherness gap by talking and laughing about the things we’re all thinking that need to be normalized

6. Learn how to love our parents as adults, now that we have full awareness of a) just how much they fucked us up (another shameless plug for my therapist), b) all the weird habits they developed when left unattended after you and your sibling(s) moved out and no one was around to keep them accountable, and c) that they’ve become expert boundary-busters (remind me to tell you about how my mom and I got into a very passive aggressive argument about how I didn’t want her to sleep in my bed with me — my therapist said I should have told her, Mom, do not make me tell you what I do in this bed.)

7. Generally yap about all things human in this wildly fucked up world we’re trying to exist in

JSYK, here are other titles I considered for this platform, in no particular order:

You deserve to be properly fucked: this is the best compliment I’ve ever received from a man (take notes!), and since I agree wholeheartedly, I thought about making it the title of my corner of the internet. Alas, it’ll stay tucked away in my back pocket for the book everyone says I should write.

There’s a lotta weird dicks out there: an actual thing I said to my therapist (the one I have not seen at a sex party), and another truth that I believe to be title-worthy. For the record, my therapist is freakin’ rad. I really like her so much. She has the coolest pixie haircut I’ve ever seen, and she calls me on my bullshit which is terrifying and awesome. I have no idea if she even goes to sex parties, or has ever been to one. I wouldn’t be surprised if she does. I also have not yet been to a sex party, but that will change at some point. More on this later. I will be sure to write about it, and of course, promise to let you know if I see my therapist there. Also, the dick that prompted this comment was, I promise, very weird. More on that later too.

To the men who made me (may your daughters be fierce as fuck): this will be the dedication page in aforementioned book. I will write my book about the men who made me — all the ones I loved, and all the ones I didn’t — but for the earth shatteringly talented, smart, caring, hardworking, stylish, resilient, inspiring women I’ve had the privilege of knowing. And whether these men read my book or not, my wish for them is fierce as fuck daughters who drive them at least half as crazy as they made all of us, and remind them daily that women are wildly capable, with endless capacity for generosity, and a goddamn force for humanity.

TLDR; the last year of my life has been messy. Which is pretty much my hell (excluding amusement parks, Costco, being cornered by my parents at the dinner table, and long lines that don’t move) because I have OCD, was in recovery for Type A personality like two decades before it was cool, am an eldest daughter (IYKYK and if you don’t there will be a post on that), and am the person everyone thinks Has Their Shit Together (I do not).

As I near the light at the end of the tunnel — having processed the fuck out of a lifetime of trauma (lowercase T, not capital T), a major life transition, and rediscovering myself — I find myself wanting to share all the moments and conversations I’ve been having BTS in a way that, hopefully, helps you feel less alone. And makes you LOL, because I believe that’s the only way we will survive.

I’ve got a few strong stories and shit-you-nots to start off with, but if I’m being honest, I’m not really sure what’s going to spill out here. I’m measuring success by the amount of fun I have writing about it, and what my friends tell me.

Godspeed to ya!