Dear Digital Diary

the thoughts and thinkings of a woman navigating her twenties

diary entries posted every monday. some extra words occassionally posted in between.

recent posts

additional reads

  • Stay-at-Home Daughter

    Dear Digital Diary,

    we’re being priced out.

    Sometime last summer, over eggs and coffee at a breakfast diner, my now ex-boyfriend and I were talking about our parents and how their lives differed from ours now. We were talking about a string of things, from their siblings to our grandparents, to military brats and divorces. And eventually, between the second and third pour of coffee, we landed on his parent’s marriage in the early 90’s. And how, at 22, they bought a house.

    I think I choked on my coffee.

    At 23, now single, I find myself living with my parents after graduating with a degree. I can’t afford rent in the town I grew up in, even though I’ve been working consistently since graduation. Groceries are expensive, rent is expensive, and healthcare is nearly unnatainable unless you’re scheduled over forty hours, a rare commodity in an hourly job.

    But there were my ex-boyfriend’s parents, back in the 90’s, at my age, buying a house.

    I sat there thinking to myself that there must be something that I’m missing. Maybe I don’t save my money like I should, or maybe I should work more hours or a different job entirely. I tried working two jobs and even then, it didn’t cut it.

    The reality, though, is that it’s out of my control.

    Inflation isn’t a new concept, and it’s normal that things become pricier as the worth of a dollar changes. But the problem is that things are more expensive but the wages haven’t increased at that same speed.

    In 2000, my parents rented an apartment in Portland, Maine. They split the rent, each paying around $400 for a total of $800 per month. That same apartment is now rented out for over two grand.

    Even my dental hygensist was telling me that her first apartment (also in Portland), in 2001, was $600, or $300 per person.

    And while some understand that Gen Z as a whole is being priced out of becoming an integrated part of society, there are others that fight the obvious. Here are some of the things I’ve been told:

    “Kids these days don’t work.”

    First of all, we do, believe me. Second of all, nowhere is hiring full time on a salary. Hourly is cheaper for the company, and jobs are that much more competitive due to AI.

    “You just need to work more than one job.”

    I tried that! And guess what: I’m still poor. But people also shouldn’t kill themselves over a job just to afford rent and nothing else. Comfortability is a “luxury”, but it shouldn’t be.

    “You need to stop looking at luxury apartments.”

    Sometimes I hop between Zillow, Apartments.com, and Facebook marketplace. The other day I saw a 600sqft “cozy” studio apartment for $2300/month. It didn’t have laundry, it didn’t have off street parking, and it was about sixteen minutes out from downtown Portland. The apartments aren’t luxurious apartments. They’re just shitty walls with a money-hungry landlord.

    “Just get a roommate.”

    I don’t think these people understand how math works. If a one bedroom is $1000/month, a three bedroom is likely $3000/month. Either way, it’s still a grand.

    I understand that I am more fortunate than most. My parents are allowing me to continue living in their home because they understand that while I am hustling, it’s nearly impossible to make rent. While living here, I can save.

    But this shouldn’t be the reality.

  • The Shape of Immortality

    Dear Digital Diary,

    I’ve recently been thinking about death.

    While I think about death, I am not thinking of my own. I’m thinking about consciousness. About what happens after. About all the questions that don’t seem to have answers.

    Sometimes I look at my hands and wonder what other people see when they look at theirs. Do they see the same colors I do?

    Thinking about death inevitably becomes thinking about life. About how quickly time passes. Or whether time matters at all. Maybe being alive has less to do with time than it does with being present.

    I had a coworker pass a little over a week ago. I didn’t know her well, and I only worked a solid four hours with her, but she was always sweet to me. There was a day when I asked about her schedule and she said, “Well you know, I’m retired now. So if it’s a nice day, I will call out and go to the beach.”

    To my knowledge, she wasn’t very sick, or sick enough to cause her death. But yesterday, they held her services, and then life goes on. Life is finite but death seems infinite. I hope she can go to the beach wherever she may be, now that she is truly retired from the scheduling of an earthside life. 

    During this time, I was also impressed to look up the name of my old art teacher. In fifth grade, she taught me about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I learned that they were created by a couple of young artists, and that you’re never too young for a grand idea. I created a character in her class, to which I drew for several years on birthday cards, corners of papers, and I even started a comic account (nutballcomics on instagram if anyone feels the urge to do a deep dive). While nothing came of it in the way that TMNT blew up, it was fun and it lasted. 

    I saw her again in January, after thirteen years. She had gotten cancer in 2016. She looked different. I likely did too, but I could see the sickness in her. The recognition, though, was still there. I got to tell her that I went to art school, that I got to draw in Florence. She held my hand then and said, “That is so great.”

    She passed on April 1, 2026, only three months after I’d seen her last. I’m glad I got to tell her how much her influence and teachings meant to me.

    I think what I’ve really been thinking about is the impact every soul has the potential to make on another. Whether it’s small — a reminder that doing the things you love matters more than whatever society happens to value — or something much larger, like helping someone tap into their soul, there is always an impact in simply being.

    How grateful I am to be.

  • The Great Migration

    Dear Digital Diary,

    while I think some people are meant to stay rooted, others are meant to migrate.

    At my job, I’ve found myself around people who are over seventy with several lives already lived. When it’s senior day, some say they wish they were still as young as me; they tell me that I should enjoy my life, and that I’ve got so many years ahead.

    In some ways, I find that amount of time daunting. I’ve always been someone who’s so deeply nostalgic that I don’t notice the present slipping away as I think about everything I’ve experienced.

    Looking toward the future used to feel like planning for failure. It meant accepting that certain things wouldn’t happen the way I’d imagined, and facing the anxiety that comes with the unknown.

    Recently, whether it’s post-grad life or the endings of things I didn’t think would end, the future has become less scary. In fact, I look forward to it, so much so that I often feel as though I’m jumping the gun a bit, living from one sunny beach day to a concert I’ve been waiting for to the next trip.

    But that’s because it no longer feels daunting. It’s exciting.

    Maybe that’s why I’ve become so drawn to travel. The future no longer feels like something to fear, but instead like somewhere to go.

    I’ve wanted to travel since I was younger. I grew up going to Long Island and Delaware to visit family in the summertime. I took a few trips during my childhood to Utah, Washington, D.C., and Florida. I loved the rush that traveling gave me.

    I ended up going to school in Savannah, Georgia, and while I was there, I made my rounds through Orlando, Kiawah, Charleston, Hilton Head, Atlanta, New York City, Philadelphia, Provo, and eventually across the Atlantic to Florence, Rome, and Siena.

    After returning to Maine, I’ve spent the past year (when I’m not working or writing) traveling from my hometown to Acadia and Bar Harbor, down to Boston via train, and across the country to Las Vegas, Venice Beach, and Sedona.

    While I’m always exhausted afterward, I look back on those trips with fondness. Because in all of these places, I haven’t just experienced and enjoyed: I’ve also learned.

    The South was a cultural shock to me — a girl who grew up in a New England town of mostly Democrats and L.L.Bean clothes. I learned about fake niceness versus real niceness, the history of Savannah and the Deep South. I learned about the newer locals and the old locals, those with old money and how they gained it through the use of others’ labor.

    In Europe, I learned that most places refuse to serve coffee after noon. That dinner is served around seven, and that meals are not rushed like they are in the United States. People linger around the table, enjoying each other’s company rather than eating because it’s a necessity. I also became more aware of how Americans are perceived abroad.

    In bigger cities, I learned that I need nature to wind down and feel like myself. 

    As a young girl, it was my dream to live in a skyscraper in New York City. But now I find cities with tall buildings claustrophobic. Where I thrived in the laid-back pace of Italy, I drowned in American cities. I had to walk fast, talk fast, think fast. But there was also this energy that dreams could be as big as the skyscrapers. I enjoyed that aspect.

    In my future, I see myself migrating often.

    Like the geese in Maine who land in the marshes at the start of spring and fly south for the winter, I’ll migrate somewhere else once I feel it’s becoming too chilly for me to stay.

    Next winter, I’d like to fly to Greece. Back to Italy, perhaps. I’ll make it to California someday. I’ve been thinking about North Carolina and the Outer Banks. Hawaii. Turkey. Luxembourg. Australia.

    And on and on and on.

    And while I’m there, I’ll learn.

    Someday, once I’ve put down roots and have long gray hair braided down my back, and I’m at the age where I tell young people that they’ve got so much life ahead, I’ll sit on my porch with a cup of coffee and think about all the lives I’ve lived.

    All the people I’ve met. The cultures I’ve learned about. The languages I’ve spoken. The art I’ve made.

    And I’ll smile.

  • Where Does It Go?

    Dear Digital Diary,

    I never took physics, but I probably should’ve.

    I have found, in the past two months, that the worst part of my breakup has been wondering what to do with the love I had for him. During our year together, I spent more than half of it being deeply in love with him. I thought about him in quiet moments. I hoped that if I held his face in my hands, it’d be mine forever. I was in love with him when he was kind to me, and somehow I loved him when he told me I didn’t have to stay, and I walked out of the front door one last time. 

    But when I walked out the door, that love didn’t disappear. Instead, I found it strangling me for those first few weeks, with no place to go. I thought that maybe shards of it would be swallowed by my sadness and eventually run out when I didn’t have any more tears to cry, but it didn’t. 

    I was ten when I first learned about energy. My teacher was out on maternity leave, and the substitute showed us a crappy animated 90’s video about how energy is neither created nor destroyed. It’s a never-ending cycle that hops from one thing to the next. 

    Since then and now, I’ve learned that being in love is different from loving. The in love part can end. It can fade, die, or come in waves, like the tide. But loving someone — that’s energy. 

    And I loved him very much. So much that I abandoned myself. 

    When you draw an Ace of Cups in tarot, that usually represents yourself, and your cup. Your cup is your energy source. Your happiness. Your love. The things that fill you up so you can flourish. 

    For a while, I would pour out of my cup, and he’d pour into mine, balancing the scales. But when that stopped, and it was just me trying to keep the relationship alive, I was quickly draining my cup until I had nothing left; nothing left for him, but also nothing left for me. 

    When it was over, and the love I had for him started to strangle me, I realized I could take it from around my neck and crochet with it. Stay with me now. The love I had for him was trying desperately to be of good use. So I used it on things that I loved: I made art. I started painting something new. I wrote and edited my novel a bit more. I went to the beach in the morning. I went out with new friends of friends. I bought concert tickets for late summer. And I noticed that when I began doing the things that I loved, my cup began to fill. 

    Love doesn’t disappear when the person you gave it to is gone. It changes form. And it returned back to me.

    My new rule is to love someone from the overflow.

    I’ll fill my own cup first, and if there’s love left to spare, I’ll share it.

  • My Body is Not a Labubu

    Dear Digital Diary,

    you’ll never guess what’s trending for Summer 2026!

    TW: eating disorders, body image

    Remember how trendy cow print was in 2019/2020? And how quickly that turned into cheetah print. Now it’s camo. Sardines were once disgusting, and now they’re printed on every graphic tee, tote bag, and towel. Film photography. Matte lipstick. The color sage. Fidget spinners. Labubus. These things rise to the top and then disappear just as fast.

    Usually trends are stitched into accessories, clothes, gadgets, and collectibles. But sometimes, they’re projected onto the human body.1

    In the 90’s, they called it ‘heroin chic’. Low waisted pants, whale tails, thin eyebrows, straightened hair, belly button piercings on a flat stomach, and smaller breasts were trendy until the 2010’s. When the Kardashians rose to fame, that trend morphed into a more seductive hourglass figure, with larger breasts, lip filler, arched eyebrows, and BBLs. But just as quickly as it evolved, the body trend transformed again, mirroring the past. This time it’s not heroin chic, but a different injectable: GLP-1.

    If you don’t know what GLP-1 is, then you may not have HBO. I kid you not, I cannot get through an episode of Girls without seeing a “I lost 25 pounds with Ro” commercial, and seeing famous athletes promote this new-and-improved weight loss drug. It seems to be everywhere.

    At first it was described by celebrities as “clean eating and a really great workout plan with a trainer that kicks [their] ass.” As it turns out, clean eating, a great workout plan, and a personal trainer are also called names like Ozempic, Ro, and Wegovy. Not only were they lying, but were standing in front of a crowd with half of their body weight gone, collarbones jutting out of their XS dresses, and claiming it was a vegan diet and that they’re healthy.

    The most damaging part is that young people look up to them.

    I say that as a victim. When I was younger, I’d look up to the prettiest, thinnest celebrities and wish and hope and pray that I’d look like them. When I began to grow into my adult body, I starved myself and chased the body trends worn by those on Pinterest, on TikTok, in movies, and on the red carpets.

    While doing so, I lost half of my hair. I lost my period. I was thinner on the scale but puffier in the face. I wasn’t scary thin so it wasn’t apparent, but my undereyes were dark and I was so tired all the time. 

    It took me three years to accept that I just wasn’t built to be 5’9 and model-skinny. I’m 5’6 and naturally stockier. I can build muscle quickly. I’m curvier, and my bone structure doesn’t change even if I tried. I learned that if I chase anything other than how I’m naturally supposed to be, I will become sick.

    Thankfully, I have gotten to a point where I eat to fuel my body and balance my hormones. I work out because I like it, and to become stronger, not smaller. I buy clothes that fit me now, not that I’ll fit into later. And I flip off anyone promoting weight loss drugs because my body is not a Labubu.

    1. *This is written from my perspective, which means I am writing from the perspective of a female body and female anatomy. While this post references the female body, it does not directly correlate with any particular gender. Weight, body trends, eating disorders, etc. can affect anyone of any sex or gender. If you or someone you know is affected by an eating disorder, visit https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/get-help/ for more info. ↩︎

  • The Father, The Sun, & The Holy Spirit

    Dear Digital Diary,

    this is a remix.

    I was, for better or worse, one of those kids who grew up going to church. I attended every Sunday up until I was sixteen, right about when COVID hit, and my relationship with God became complicated.

    I was raised Mormon. Now you might know the media’s version of “Mormon” — the multiple wives, the “soaking,” the Secret Lives of Mormon Wives reality show — but the fundamentals boil down to Christianity. There’s the Father, then there’s his son Jesus Christ, and when you’re baptized at eight years old, you receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, who is said to lead and guide you. In this church, I was taught to love my neighbors, read the Book of Mormon, pray often, and create an eternal family (amongst a laundry list of other teachings).

    In retrospect, those values are fine. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in them. But I grew up in an environment that was strictly right versus wrong. If you don’t like someone, you aren’t Christlike. If you don’t read the Book of Mormon, you can’t receive blessings. If you don’t pray, you lose contact with God, and if you don’t create an eternal family who is sealed in the temple, then you will be alone after death. Because of this mindset, there was serious judgement placed upon those who weren’t “perfect” Mormons.

    To put it simply, I left because I wasn’t perfect, and I no longer wanted to live my life striving for something so unattainable. Perhaps one day I’ll go into exactly why I’m no longer a Latter-day Saint, but for now I’ll say that it’s because I’d rather chase happiness than perfection.

    And also, I realized God wasn’t the only avenue to peace.

    It took me four years of college, a drug-induced psychosis, and a confusingly Catholic ex-boyfriend to come to terms with the fact that, even given my past and my thoughts about the Mormon church, I still believed in a higher power.

    But with this higher power, there was also nature.

    And with God and nature, there was also the universe.

    The Father, the Sun, and the Holy Spirit.

    God. Nature. Whatever unseen force connects everything together.

    There’s something I pray to, something I find peace in, and something I find clarity in. And with those three things, I tapped back into my spirituality.

    It wasn’t about religion for me. For some people it is, and that’s okay. It’s okay to be an atheist and believe in the stars, or to read the Bible every morning and frown upon tarot. I won’t preach what is right and wrong because it’s never about that, and who am I to force something to swallow my regurgitated beliefs.

    Life isn’t black and white. How you feel about God or tarot or holistic medicine isn’t right or wrong. You have a brain. You have morals. You have strings of experiences that make up the web of your thought processes and beliefs.

    I left the church. But I didn’t leave spirituality.

  • The Break Down & Breakdown of A Year Post-Grad

    Dear Digital Diary,

    I graduated (a year ago)!

    AU, AB, JG, me, and JE during our grad pics last May. (Forsyth Park, Savannah, GA)

    It’s said that time flies when you’re having fun, but I’d like to argue that. Time really starts to fly when you are trying to survive your first year post-grad. All of a sudden, I’ve lived another year, but this time, without homework deadlines and late nights out, and my humid college town. While I’d like to say I got a job with my degree immediately, moved to Boston, traveled out of the country, and finally got my wisdom teeth out, that just wouldn’t be realistic.

    Here’s how it really went:

    May 2025

    • Graduated with a BFA in Writing
    • Moved out of Savannah
    • Moved back in with my parents

    June

    • Clocked back into my college summer job
    • Went on dates with now ex-boyfriend (we’ll call him Blondie)
    • Family visited
    • Got rejected from two major publishing houses

    July

    • Worked
    • Went to Boston with Blondie
    • Celebrated Blondie’s 25th birthday
    • Attended a baseball game while the stadium workers were on strike (oops)

    August

    • Worked
    • Painted a sail for SailMaine (year three baby!) and got a check for it
    • Went to Bar Harbor with my family

    September

    • Worked
    • Toured an apartment (ended up not being able to afford it)
    • Box dyed my hair dark
    • Flew to Vegas with Blondie
    • Went to the Grand Canyon
    • Nearly got stuck in Joshua Tree National Park
    • Stayed in a sketchy Motel 6 on the outskirts of Blythe, CA
    • Stepped into the Pacific Ocean
    • Gambled in Vegas
    • Stayed at the Bellagio and acted rich for a day
    • Started mentoring young writers every Wednesday afternoon

    October

    • Worked
    • Halloween (which is less fun out of college)
    • Blondie was hospitalized for views
    • I developed a stomach ulcer (allegedly)
    • Started a new seasonal job on top of the tourist job
    • Got rejected from an internship out in LA

    November

    • Worked two jobs
    • Winter started to hit 
    • My sister turned 21
    • Thanksgiving
    • I started to become more anxious

    December

    • Still working two jobs around the holidays (ouch)
    • Completed the writing mentor semester
    • Traveled to NYC with family
    • Saw Hamilton
    • Said hello to my OG college roommate
    • Went to Boston
    • Celebrated one year with Blondie
    • Saw Patti Smith on her book tour
    • Found Blondie on my friend’s dating app
    • Slid into a telephone pole on a snowy evening
    • Christmas

    January

    • New Year!
    • Seasonal job ended
    • I had three ribs slip out of place
    • Found a new therapist
    • Got a haircut
    • Started writing more consistently on my blog
    • Had to pay to get my damaged car fixed
    • Got a first interview for a museum temp position
    • Got rejected from another publishing house

    February

    • Lost car access for three weeks during repairs
    • Worked every Saturday for ten hours
    • Got a cold from hell
    • Finished my novel manuscript
    • Started up acupuncture again
    • Valentine’s Day with Blondie
    • Got another cold from hell
    • Ribs slipped out of place again

    March

    • Started looking for another job
    • Printed out my manuscript
    • Went to Savannah to visit my sister
    • Had an identity crisis
    • Got norovirus but thought I was hungover
    • Went to Boston to visit my cousin
    • Got a second interview at the museum temp position but decided against it

    April

    • Finished a painting
    • Started a new job
    • Worked two jobs
    • Finally decided to break up with Blondie
    • Bought tickets to a concert
    • Learned I’d dropped fifteen pounds in three months and my hair started falling out
    • Sat at the DMV a day before my birthday to get my license renewed
    • Turned 23
    • Got a psychic reading done

    May 2026

    • Sold two paintings
    • Worked two jobs
    • Had a conversation with David Walton from New Girl
    • Quit my tourist job!
    • My childhood best friend had a baby
    • Locked in on editing my manuscript draft
    • Realized it’s been a year since I graduated
    • Had a slight breakdown, but recognized that I’m actually doing alright

  • The Terms and Conditions (Of Love)

    Dear Digital Diary,

    we accept the love we think we deserve.

    At what point is this decided? To think you’re worthy of love isn’t something constructed overnight. Perhaps it’s a slew of things, like your relationship with your mother, the friendships lost and gained in middle school, the teenage love that broke your heart. All of it builds up into what you believe you deserve in terms of being loved.

    “Deserved” is a strong word, too. It usually comes with the expectation that you are automatically owed something or that you have to earn it. The unconditional versus the conditional. While love should be unconditional, I’ve found it often has conditions.

    And it’s frustrating because you could believe you have high self-esteem, that you know your worth, and that you’re picky. But as the story goes, you subconsciously accept what you think you deserve, whether that’s what you consciously believe or not.

    I wonder sometimes why I believe I deserve scraps.

    I was talking with my therapist, and we were discussing abandonment issues. I know several people who struggle with this, but I don’t feel I have it myself. I don’t worry people will leave. If it’s not meant for me, it’s not meant for me.

    And she goes, “Well, see. There’s an opposite side of the coin. You don’t fear people abandoning you, but you fear abandoning them.”

    Even after my breakup, I still think about him and how he’s doing. While I’m fine, I worry I hurt him somehow by realizing my standards and recognizing they were not being met. If he hurt me, that was okay. If I hurt him, I was at fault.

    I’m not a people pleaser. I say no quite frequently, and more often than not, I’m called selfish. But I will stay in something longer than I should just so I don’t inconvenience others, whether that be a job, a relationship, or even a conversation.

    In conclusion, maybe it’s not that I feel I don’t deserve a high threshold of love. Maybe I feel I have to be extraordinary in order to earn it. Maybe I’ve always seen love as conditional, and that’s what I need to work on. Or maybe it’s simply that my purpose is to help others realize the love they deserve. How lovely it is to show others that they are worthy of being wholly accepted and loved.

    But also how lonely.

  • A Brief Case Study on How She Always Finds Out

    Dear Digital Diary,

    I now present my information.

    Background

    Whether it was karma or just my luck, I somehow managed to piece together everything that was happening during my relationship without ever getting a straight answer from his mouth.

    Women always know. Some like to call it anxiety or self-sabotage, but I’ve always found that my nervous system reacts to something that’s not right, even if I can’t figure out why yet.

    Now, I wouldn’t call myself a professional stalker. But I am someone who hacked into my mom’s iPad at ten because I figured out the password. I’m not crazy — just observant enough to figure out how someone might be feeling based on reposts, recently played songs, and whatever movie suddenly becomes their favorite.

    The funny part is this: none of what I found was particularly difficult to find.

    And here’s why.

    Case Evidence #1:

    “I Don’t Need to Tell You Everything”

    This is an immediate red flag.

    Honestly, he pretty much just told on himself.

    “I don’t need to tell you everything” usually means, “I’m actually hiding very specific things.”

    In his case, this revolved around a social media platform that I wasn’t allowed to follow. I’d tried to find it, but as most people do, it wasn’t under his actual name.

    I later learned that I probably would’ve been able to find it, but couldn’t because I had been blocked.

    Where he went wrong: I have three accounts on that platform.

    And for some reason, he hadn’t blocked me on the others.

    So to block a woman from your social media platform, only for her to find everything on her second account, and then delete the evidence after she’s already seen it?

    Be so for real.

    And may I mention — there were obvious reasons he didn’t want me to see it. The persona he had online was nothing like the person I thought I knew in real life.

    Case Evidence #2:

    Following an Ex and Thinking No One Would Notice

    Yikes.

    It’s things like this that make me wonder if I presented myself in a way that appeared naive.

    Following an ex from years ago on Instagram is one thing.

    Spotify?

    That’s a whole different ballgame.

    Especially when there are only two other people in your following.

    I love Spotify. I wasn’t even trying to be sneaky. Something just told me to look.

    And there it was.

    Her name.

    Interesting.

    It didn’t take me long to figure out that the name matched the profile that kept getting suggested to me on Instagram.

    And he had never told me her name.

    Case Evidence #3:

    Logging Onto Dating Apps While in a Relationship

    This one killed me at the time — that stomach-dropping feeling I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

    But in hindsight, it’s almost funny.

    I wasn’t on dating apps because I was in a relationship.

    My best friend, however, was.

    And he knew that.

    So of course it took less than a day for his face to pop up on her profile.

    Unfortunately, I was there and saw it in real time.

    That being said, even if I hadn’t seen it, she would’ve told me anyway.

    At that time, I also had two other friends on the app.

    Which I was pretty sure he knew.

    But clearly this wasn’t very thought out.

    Case Evidence #4:

    Trusting Two Women Not to Compare Notes

    This might’ve been the biggest strategic error of all.

    Women process things externally.

    We talk things through, compare notes, and piece things together.

    So if you leave one woman in a room with another woman who knows you well and assume she won’t break girl code to protect your bad decisions, that’s just poor judgment.

    During this time, I was told things my gut had been nagging me about — things I was trying very hard not to pay attention to.

    It was a confirmation conversation.

    Later, he asked what was wrong because I was acting off.

    Maybe it was because this woman told me I deserved better.

    And for the first time, I accepted that I did.

    Analysis

    The craziest part is that none of this required some elaborate investigation.

    It was all just there.

    A blocked account that wasn’t fully blocked. An ex followed in a place he assumed I wouldn’t check. Dating profiles shown to people he knew were connected to me. Information shared between women he somehow trusted not to compare notes.

    At a certain point, it stopped feeling like bad luck and started feeling like a massive overestimation of his own intelligence.

    If you’re going to lie, at least be good at it.

    Because every attempt to hide something only made it easier to find.

    Conclusion

    Maybe it was karma.

    Or maybe it was a massive misjudgment of my intellect and intuition.

    Either way, maybe the next girl he tries to punk will figure it out quicker than I did.

    *please note that, additionally, a writer will always write. to not write about what she is compelled to is to go against her own authenticity and what drives her sense of being. please know that I had to, for c’est la vie.

  • I Never Need It, But I Want It

    Dear Digital Diary,

    if you bury your feelings enough, it will surface in dreams.

    About a month ago, I had one of those nearly-lucid dreams where it feels so real that you wake up and wonder if it was a memory or just wistful thinking. It went like this:

    It was my birthday, and I was hosting a party in my house. The lower floor had been covered in a thin layer of ice, turning the wood planks into an ice skating rink. (Now it’s important to note that my birthday was two weeks after this dream, and I cannot, in fact, ice skate.)

    My boyfriend, at the time, was upstairs. I wanted him to skate with me, so I went up to ask him. But when I opened the door, a plume of smoke hit me in the face. He was there, on the bed, stupidly stoned with a joint in his hand. There were three others in that room: a guy who I knew as his college roommate, a lesbian blonde skater chick (that looked a bit like Rikki from H2O), and a tall skinny brunette whom I knew, in the dream, to be his ex-girlfriend. 

    I wanted him to skate with me after the trio had left. But he said he was too tired, and went to bed instead. Hurt, confused, but not willing to let it ruin my birthday party, I went downstairs to skate by myself. I had the DJ play ‘Stateside’ (heavily influenced by Alysa Liu’s Olympic performance, no doubt), and I tied on my skates. 

    Now remember how I said I couldn’t skate? In the dream, I was graceful. I skated around the stairs, I spun around, I could do the jumps. I was skating beautifully. And in the dream I remember thinking, “I knew I could do this, but I was hoping he’d watch or skate with me.”

    I woke up. 

    Conveniently, I had therapy the next day. When I relayed the dream to my therapist, she said, “You know that you’re talented, and beautiful, and will likely be successful on your own. But it seems that you still, like most people, wish to be wanted, too.”

    She could’ve at least held my hand before telling me that. 

    It was true, though. 

    Even the smartest, richest, prettiest, people in any room wish to be wanted. To feel seen, to be loved. It’s human nature. There’s an irony in self-sufficiency, I think. The people who have learned to carry themselves so well are often the ones who most want to be held.

    Maybe that was the point of the dream.

    It wasn’t trying to tell me that I needed him, or anyone at all, to prove I could skate. Somewhere deep down, I already knew I could find my footing on unfamiliar ground. That I could glide through things I’d never done before and still make it look effortless.

    The dream was reminding me of something else entirely: there is a difference between needing someone to validate your worth and simply wanting to be witnessed in it.

    I skated beautifully, even alone.

    But independence doesn’t cancel out longing. That being capable on your own doesn’t make you any less human for still glancing upstairs, hoping someone might come down and watch.

    Nobody did.

    And still, I skated.

    – Mia