Hey Kaleigh!

Author: Kaleigh Dugan

  • Learning to Find Hope

    Image from Pinterest

    There are days where having hope feels like this fantasy dream that I half remember after waking up.

    I attack my thoughts of exhaustion with caffeine and pretend I’m no longer tired. Physically or emotionally.

    But somewhere in all the chaos, I am learning to find hope.

    Here is what I’m learning (gently, but surely):

    It is not enough to simply exist.

    You need to find a way to be okay with that existence.

    Not by repeating the mantras your yoga teacher preaches, though they can be lovely too, but in the way you carve time out of your busy week to meditate. In a simple, almost bland kind of self-love. The way you care for your friends without question. The way you would talk to someone, kindly.

    Ask yourself what your hopes are, and really wait for the answer.

    Ask, but don’t interrogate.

    You don’t have to be optimistic all the time. But you can be kind to yourself. And your greatest hopes start to feel within reach.

    So now, I am trying. Hoping that this practice of optimism will someday replace those moments of hopelessness altogether.

  • I’m On My Way, Just Stuck in Traffic

    Personal Photo Sept. 2025

    I always assumed I’d be there by now. Always assumed.

    I haven’t achieved everything I thought I would. But I am happy. I know what I want, I’ve joyfully researched the steps to get there, but things haven’t fallen into place yet. I cheerfully walk into rooms I don’t belong in, hoping one day I’ll find my place.

    But lately, I’m starting to doubt I ever will.

    Maybe the problem isn’t that I haven’t “arrived.” Maybe it is that I keep expecting it to feel like crossing a finish line. Like there will be some big neon sign that says Congrats, you made it! You’re enough. Instead, what I’m learning is that the hard work is the accomplishment. The trying, and showing up again even when it feels pointless, is what shapes me.

    And still, the world doesn’t always reward this kind of work. Being a teacher brings me immense joy that can’t be measured in paychecks or fancy titles. But on the harder days, when I’m exhausted and underpaid, it begins to feel like I’ve failed some invisible standard of success. Loving what I do doesn’t make the way that society undervalues it or treats teachers okay, sometimes the ache is heavier than I want to admit.

    The accomplishments are like rest stops along the way. Crucial, but overlooked if all I see is the final destination.

    A glow up isn’t always shiny. Sometimes it looks like keeping quiet promises to myself that no one else sees. Sometimes it is paying the pilates cancellation fee because I needed the rest. Sometimes it’s writing this, even after weeks of silence, and hitting publish anyway.

    So maybe I’m not lost; instead, I’m stuck in some traffic.

  • Finding My Voice

    Image from Pexels

    On self-censorship, restriction, and finally claiming the words that belong to me.

    Sometimes I amaze myself with my effortless wit, while other times I have to prove my power. The untouched canvas of my brain is actually a vacuum full of all the words I want to say, but am frightened to.

    It sounds soft, maybe even weak. But that’s the truth of it, my silence is often mistaken for poise when it’s really reluctance disguised as control. I wonder how many moments I’ve let pass because I put away my voice instead of spilling it.

    I don’t want to keep treating my thoughts like contraband, buried until someone else uncovers them. My voice shouldn’t feel like a performance or a test I can fail. It should be an extension of me, as natural as my laugh or the way I move when I am excited.

    So maybe this is me unlearning perfection, one sentence at a time. My voice doesn’t need to be shiny to be powerful.

    It just needs to be mine.

  • On The Clean Girl Aesthetic

    Image by Edward Berthelot

    I used to think I was too plain to fit into the “clean girl aesthetic.” That my acne prone skin needed to clear up. That I needed to trade something inside of me. That I would never be “clean” enough.

    But I shouldn’t have kept my guard up. Not over a Tiktok trend. You don’t need approval to feel stylish. You are perfect. You are not some fad. You are already enough. And somehow, being squeaky clean feels suspicious. Because trends change. Not just what looks good, but even the peace in what feels good.

    And if I’m honest, I sometimes find myself growing captivated with this idea that I need to look the proper part. And once I look better, things will fall into place like some sort of denouement. Something colossal and revolutionary. Taylor Swift’s hugest glitter gel pen hits play as my soundtrack.

    A beautiful vibe. But real life is messier than this. The clean girl aesthetic is a cool foundation only if you’ve already found peace in what feels good to you.

    Being a “clean girl” shouldn’t feel unattainable. Following trends is fun. Trying new things feels freeing. Sometimes playing along is the best way to get to know yourself.

    I envision being “clean” feels exciting. But exciting is full of drama. It’s a bit bizarre in a way, that you are freaky if you dry your hair with a Revlon rather than a Dyson. Things feel oddly ordinary. We are caught between wanting authenticity and getting held hostage by it.

    Yet I love the clean girl aesthetic. My skincare routine is the highlight of my day. I just don’t know if performing polish is as satisfying as it looks.

    But what I do know is this: silly little trends make me happy.

    And I hope there’s enough happiness for everyone. Enough room for confidence and uncertainty. Enough space for us all to be beautiful in our own ways.

    Because maybe I’m not “clean girl” enough. But I am whole. And I have been whole all along.

  • I Think I Love Myself

    There’s an identity I tend to slip into.

    She always knows exactly what to say. She explains her innermost thoughts eloquently. I yearn to be like her. She lives in her delusions, dreams in lattes, and keeps an airy hope brewing in her mind at all times.

    I ache to be her.

    I ache to be fully myself.

    Sometimes I believe in signs from the universe, the small coincidences that feel like cheeky little winks. I believe in the spirals, the doubt, the midnight snacks, the “am I pretty” messages to strangers online. The assumptions. The acceptance. The constant questioning of who I am.

    My life is a jumble of contradictions.

    Stretching my wings feels like a workout. Painful. Awkward. Transformative.

    There’s a hidden message in that, and hidden secrets that I carry with me.

    So I love this wholesome persona.

    She’s the part of me that longs to grow up, to outgrow the naivete, but is still exactly where she is meant to be.

  • I’m Afraid I’ll Never Be Enough for Myself

    Image from Pexels

    There’s this fantasy that I carry with me. It’s warm, magnetic, and inviting. In it, I step out of my comfort zone the way I tread the sidewalk: confident and not second-guessing a thing.

    But if this day ever comes, I’m doubtful that it will still feel like enough. Not in the way it does in my daydreams. I want something that truly nourishes me. Something that erases my flaws and keeps me from flinching at my own reflection.

    The trouble is, this version of me only exists in my head.

    I’d like to think I’m laid-back, but in reality I manage my emotions like a drill sergeant, especially when it comes to my anxiety. I am careful to the point of obsession. I’m particular — and like to know everything in advance. I’ve wasted years trying on which personality fits me best. I am leery of loving myself, because what if she doesn’t love me back?

    Reality is not kind. It critiques me. It rationalizes with me like the devil on my left shoulder. It evaluates me by how quickly my metabolism works after I give in and have a snack. It betrays me. And I am afraid it will shatter my fantasy.

    And I don’t know if I can handle the truth right now.

    I don’t mean to sound dramatic. I am just a bit apprehensive. Like a jittery emoji. I am constantly on edge and can’t find it in me to trust what others say.

    I am scared of what I truly am. That no one will ever be fond of my soft spots. That I’ll always be an unfinished draft.

    But maybe being unfinished is its own kind of wholeness. Maybe not having it all figured out is simply another model of completeness.

    Maybe someday someone will love me not in spite of my rough edges, but because of them.

    Maybe who I am will change with the seasons. Maybe each day will be the start of a new chapter.

  • Friendship Shouldn’t Feel Like an Audition

    Image from Pinterest

    You are not meant to fit into every room. The right friends will always make space for you as you are.

    I didn’t always know that. I used to think that friendship and acquaintanceship were the same thing. And while there may be some accuracy to this, I’ve learned that friendships are usually something that happens freely and unexpectedly. Sometimes, friendship is candidly grabbing a drink after work. It’s belly-laughing. Paying attention to the things they want to share with you. It’s the way that friendship feels easy, even when life feels difficult.

    Friendship is not always graceful. It’s awkward. It’s realizing that their life doesn’t mirror yours. It is embracing the things you have in common and the things that set you apart.

    Still, I sometimes lose my personality to match someone else’s, worrying about if I will “fit in,” because we are too different. I hastily hide all of my nuances. But I am wonderfully complicated — we all are. I am someone who cries over the genocide in Gaza and over the Building the Band finale. You can be someone who does both.

    You are allowed to be a little bit of everything.

    The things we often try so hard to hide — our weird habits, our past mistakes, our fantasies that may not be an arm’s reach away — are the specific traits that tie us to true connections. This is what makes us absolutely ourselves. And being yourself will always beat forcing chemistry with just anyone.

    So here is the truth: you do not need to shrink to find close friends. You are worthy of love, and your group is out there. You are full.

    And to someone out there, you are #1.

    Because friendship is about showing up, messy and honest, and trusting that the right people will lean in. Because in the end, friendship isn’t meant to be hard. It’s meant to be real.

  • Shaped By the Struggle

    Image from iStock

    There is a certain kind of trouble in knowing what is wrong but not how to settle the problem.

    This is how my problems feel sometimes: like some inexplicable trap. Complicated and agonizing just for the sake of it. A trap where the light at the end of the tunnel is just a veneer.

    But recently, I’ve begun to grasp that not every problem needs to be solved. Not just in the way I recall all of my “could’ve would’ve should’ve” moments when I’m stretched thin, but in the way that delicately feeling my emotions — all of them — heals me.

    This is how I am realizing that I often let my problems consume me. I should really let them form me.

    Now, I’m not saying, “I demand that all my problems disappear.” But instead, I am calling myself out on my own b.s. To stop crying over minor inconveniences. I’ve learned that your storyline can adjust when you no longer fit the narrative. That you can feel accomplished while also bothered that everything is falling apart.

    Sometimes I find that my troubles shrink when I concern myself with who I am versus who I worry about. Rather than polishing my Instagram feed and overexplaining my life decisions, like I’m in a Love Island confessional, I’m agreeing to let my life glisten without the fillers.

    I don’t think my approach is a lousy one. I used to be scared of this approach, but now I call it protecting my peace.

    Real life is not an aesthetic. The glow fades fast, things feel intense, wounds run deep, problems come back stronger, and you still make the same blunders.

    We all have errors we wish we could hide away. Our “this wasn’t my noblest decision” moments. But none of my breakdowns made me a failure — they made me gentler. Empathetic. More human.

    At the end of the day, I don’t love the struggle, but I can’t ignore how it’s shaped me.

    The bad taught me to see the good, and maybe that’s the point. To be able to look at everything and say: “This is my life and it is perfectly imperfect.”

  • Learning to Love the In-Progress Version of Me

    Image from Pexels

    I really thought that by 23 I would feel glamorous with a clear direction. I pictured myself as the kind of woman who wakes up at 6am for fun.

    But one day I woke up, glanced in the mirror, and thought: Wow, I’m an adult now. How did this happen? This image of me just came into existence one day. Not quite the successful woman I imagined.

    Turns out, entering true adulthood is not a glow-up montage with the best early 2000s romcom soundtrack. It is more like a winding road full of wrong turns, detours, and dead ends.

    And the hardest part is facing all of the routes you’ve been avoiding.

    When you strip away the identities you’ve been performing, you realize that you haven’t left yourself with much.

    Are you still you once everyone has stopped paying attention?

    This is what being in your 20s feels like: searching for yourself in a world that encourages you to be anyone but you.

    And let’s be honest, figuring out who you are can be an exhausting process, especially in a world obsessed with glow-ups and fast-fashion. Figuring out who you are feels like running a 5K in stilettos.

    Sometimes a breakthrough is simply saying no to what doesn’t feel right. Other times it’s unlearning the false ideas you believed. It is letting go, even if everyone else is telling you to hold on. It is choosing the in-progress version of yourself, even if she’s not trending on Tiktok.

    Here is what I am learning:

    Figuring out who you are is messy (and that’s okay).

    You know yourself better than anyone else.

    So no, I haven’t figured out who I am yet. But paying closer attention is the first step, and it feels like the most grown up thing I’ve done so far.

  • The Fear of Being Seen

    Image from iStock

    Let’s be completely honest here: we are all total narcissists. Whether it is the endless spirals of what-ifs and existential dread, all we do is suspiciously doubt ourselves like it’s our favorite hobby.

    Here are a few of the fears I am afraid to let see the light of day:

    I am haunted by my deep smile lines. I worry that they’ll expose how much I’ve lived, how often I’ve laughed, and worst, they will continue to deepen as I age. They are a confirmation that I am living, but I wish I could live without time leaving receipts on my face.

    I am terrified no one will ever really know me. Like, genuinely know me, the parts I bury under intentional captions, good lighting, a foolproof sense of wit. What if the world only ever loves my highlight reel?

    I am afraid that even if someone does fully see me, they won’t stay. That love is momentary, conditioned, and that one day the version of me they admired won’t be the version I am anymore.

    And the worst fear of all? What if I don’t even fully see myself? What if this constant chase towards self-awareness is just another one of my performances? What if I never find what I’m internally looking for because she doesn’t exist?

    But here is the paradox: these anxieties are the most raw and restless parts of me. They make me human. Maybe the aim isn’t to erase them, but to admit them out loud because every time I do, I feel a little more like the main character in my own story.