Hey Kaleigh!

Tag: love

  • I Thought I’d Feel Different By Now

    I’ve lost years hiding behind myself.

    I anticipate how things will end before they even begin. I measure my worth by comparing my achievements to my friends. I’ve moved through unfamiliar spaces with confidence, while still doubting each step.

    And now…I’m here at 23, rambling on about how I made it this far.

    I don’t think I have enough friends, but making new ones feels risky. I’m still too insecure to put myself out there.

    I’m still intimidated by the older “mean girl” teachers at my adult job.

    I’m afraid I don’t really know myself.

    There are so many things I still don’t like about myself. I often feel like I need to explain myself, but deep down I wish I could just be unapologetic.

    I take things day-by-day because my brain is a vast spiral. I wish I was more intentional. I hope one day I stop believing every insecurity that crosses my mind.

    I’m frightened that I am wasting my life away. That I am living without purpose.

    And yet, I appreciate my life. Much of this joy comes from realizing that the ugliest moments have turned into the strongest lessons.

    Will I ever be kinder to myself?

    Is this as good as it gets? Am I missing out?

    Is my anxiety ever going to stop convincing me that mistakes deserve a full fight-or-flight response?

    Will this ever feel simple?

    Unfortunately, not one of these questions has an easy answer. The TikTok makeup tutorials aren’t going to make me prettier or skinnier. They are going to make me more insecure.This is a lesson I’m still learning.

    When I speak about my fears, I sometimes find myself hiding behind some kind of apology. I always find myself changing. Always convinced that something is wrong.

    But it’s still coming together.

    So I guess I leave you with this:

    Not everything is going to work out.

    You are still capable, even when you make mistakes.

    You will sometimes find yourself in some disarray. It’s fine. Life goes on.

    My life feels so chaotic, but something still leads me to think I’m headed in the right direction, so I’m trying to be a little kinder to myself. You should too.

    I am still figuring it out. But I am trying to reconcile who I am with who I am becoming. 

    She’s set on being kinder.

  • Your Body: Has She Ever Done You Wrong?

    Image from Pinterest

    My body isn’t chiseled. I’m having an awful day full of body dysmorphia and asking myself abominable questions that I know won’t give me mercy.

    I have these despicable moments where I am anticipating failure. I degrade myself. I minimize myself for the sake of being liked by others. I stock all my self-love in this dusty attic and I reluctantly unlatch the worn out lock sometimes. Only when I feel like I have earned it.

    Sometimes I speak to my body with irritation. Other times, with  awe of all that she’s done for me.

    I’ve looked at photos and felt detached from her.

    Still, I always cut back to the interrogation room: What’s wrong with you, Kaleigh?

    My relationship with my body is inconsistent. I shape her like an object, covering who I am with who I wish I could be.

    My body.

    The last thing I allow myself to love.

    I present myself as the “girl-next-door” with bangs and glasses and balance. But the truth is I hate being seen. I totally giggle awkwardly when complemented. I quietly berate myself while loudly adoring others. I make mistakes.

    These emotions always return when they are too hard to ignore. But I wouldn’t speak this way to a friend; why can’t I treat my body like someone worthy of love?

    I acknowledge this body, but forget to treat her like somebody.

    This constant criticism follows me: judgmental and defeating.

    It holds me back each time I try to grow. This scrutiny I’ve accustomed myself to scares me.

    But it’s impossible to flourish without feeling uncomfortable.

    Maybe I should take this as my sign to be kinder to my body. Calmer when there are parts of her I can’t control. She’s never done me wrong.

    She has carried me through years I wasn’t sure I’d survive.

    She has held her composure when I tried to make myself smaller.

    She learned my patterns before I did.

    She tenses when I am afraid.

    She softens when I finally let go.

    She has endured every cruel thought I’ve directed at her and still helps me get out of bed. She breathes, moves, and keeps me alive.

    So no, she has never failed me. I’ve just mistaken control for care.

    Maybe love doesn’t look like admiration yet. Maybe it starts as neutrality. As acceptance. My body is not a problem to solve. She is a testimony.

    And maybe the most affirming thing I can do is to quit asking what’s wrong with her and begin thanking her for surviving me.

  • Let “No” Stand Alone

    Image from Pexels

    This is my reflection on boundaries and discomfort.

    There is something daunting about saying “no.” I am not referring to the anxiety that is already building or the bruxism I have had since my teens. I mean the blooming feeling that’s almost impossible to sit with. The budding fear.

    Saying “no” brings me more than just anxiety. It brings curiosity. It brings the urge to over-explain, even if I am not being questioned. To hand out a neatly prepared excuse so no one will think I’m mean or selfish or difficult. It brings the generous reflex to make myself small so someone else can remain comfortable.

    Saying “no” feels like slamming a door.

    I’ve spent years accepting that my boundaries will always require justification. That saying “no” needed to be cushioned with apologies. Somewhere along the way, I learned that being agreeable felt safer than being honest. That my esteem came from how accessible I was.

    But saying “no” is not rude. It is not defiant. It is not a rebellion against kindness.

    Saying “no” is information.

    “No” is dignity.

    “No” is choosing not to defy myself for the sake of being liked by others.

    The unsettling feeling doesn’t mean I did something wrong; it means I am doing something right. It means I am resisting old patterns that taught me love was conditional and approval was something I needed to chase.

    I am learning that “no” does not need a reason. I am learning that setting boundaries is scary, but not scarier than the resentment of always saying “yes.” I am learning that every time I ache for a quiet “no,” I feel the relief of a more honest “yes.”

    And maybe the most alleviating thing I can do is let “no” stand alone.

  • I Still Have One Direction Infection

    Personal Photo – Love on Tour 2022

    The adults snickered, certain it was just a phase. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

    One of my first posts explains how One Direction defined my childhood. Losing Liam Payne last year unlocked something inside of me. Something that had muted itself.

    I still don’t know how such an intense, energetic child went so quiet inside. How time became so flimsy when the delicate child who adored those boys was shattered at 22 by a text from a childhood friend and a cruel TMZ headline that confirmed the worst.

    This is for those who are shakily struggling. Not facing some roaring problem, but something hidden inside. 

    You can still show up for yourself.

    Your smile isn’t gone forever.

    You still have so much work to do. The road is going to feel tumultuous. Something inside will still nod you in the right direction.

    Life hushes itself as you get older. Not obviously, but softly inside where your wild spark used to live.

    When you’re young, infatuation is unapologetically loud. Crooked posters taped on your bedroom walls, lyrics cringily typed as your Instagram caption, the strangely desperate wish that your mom would make a deal with 1D. It was a time of dramatics and earnestness and being so candid.

    Then 23 hit. With bills. A career. Responsibilities. There’s this idea of what I thought being a “grown-up” would look like. This isn’t that.

    But maybe I’m glad that loud devotion was never something I grew out of. Instead, it was practice. My “One Direction Infection” taught me to love others wholeheartedly, even if it hurts sometimes.

    When I remember the girl who never skipped a song, who watched videos of teen boys on stairs, who cared about five strangers like they were family, I realize she wasn’t silly at all. Her heart was open.

    And despite all that has come and gone, she is still in there. Still cheering.

    The world needs the love of a teenage girl. So here’s what I’m learning: 

    Bring back the posters.

    Rewatch the interviews. 

    Call your old friends. 

    Let yourself love loudly again. 

    Because if a band can hold a piece of your heart forever, so can someone real. And honestly, the world needs more genuine love.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • I’m Not Lost, Just Loitering in My Twenties

    Image from Alamy

    I’ve spent years trying to “find myself.”

    I started college already imagining who I would be on graduation day. I navigated student government and group projects and maneuvered how to responsibly delegate tasks to my peers while still being a great friend. I crossed uncharted territory with care even when I felt unorganized.

    And yet…here I am at 23, still wondering who I am.

    I’m still figuring out how to make friends at this age, because it’s hard, but it’s still significant to put yourself out there.

    I’m still powering through mean girls in the adult world.

    I’m still single (shocker!) and deciding what I want my love life to look like. I’m learning how to stop giving myself a thumbs down in the mirror and questioning if I even deserve that love life.

    I don’t know my favorite season.

    I still don’t like the sound of my voice or that my statements often sound like questions. I feel like I constantly need to confess that I am still figuring it out, but I so badly want to be unapologetic.

    I wish to take things day-by-day, but my brain insists on spiraling. I want to be intentional and spontaneous at the same time. I want to stop overcompensating for my insecurities.

    I want to live a life that is purposeful and desirable.

    The truth is: I appreciate my life. Much of my gratitude comes from acknowledging the unplanned and ugly moments that eventually became core memories.

    The story of my life is one of a kind, but is it a bestseller? Does it grant me as much pride as it should? Are my choices – good and bad – going to help me grow? Will it ever be enough?

    Will I ever choose to go easy on myself?

    Have I already lived out my prime? Did I miss it?

    What do I do when minor inconveniences feel like super catastrophes?

    How do I keep going when I’m facing so much difficulty? 

    Will I ever learn to be gentle with myself?

    The most complicated lessons I am learning are the ones that don’t have easy answers. I can’t Google whether I am pretty or slender enough. Instead, I have to figure it out alone – in the disaster zone that is my brain. These lessons can sometimes make me feel even more fragile.

    I’m not shattering myself as some kind of excuse. I am constantly transforming. Continually finding my voice. I am continually filled with knowledge but never quite sure what to do with it. I am still learning how to be alright when everything feels all wrong. Everything is still coming to me. So I will leave you with this:

    Not everything you do or say demands to be picture-perfect. 

    You are constantly changing and each version of you is still deserving.

    You are still smart enough when you have the wrong answers.

    You are going to mess up. That is okay. Tomorrow is a new day.

    Life happens, and none of us survive it, so go easy on yourself.

    I don’t know who I am yet. But I know who I am becoming, and she’s learning to be kinder.

  • Don’t Waste Time Becoming The Wrong Version of You

    There’s a version of me I spent years trying to grow into.

    She was always a little more polished. A  little more free. A little more “cool girl in the corner” than I ever was.

    She didn’t cry watching SPCA commercials.

    She didn’t double text.

    She knew how to carve her eyebrows and always said “thank you” instead of “sorry.”

    She was every Pinterest mood board I’ve ever saved, all vanilla girl aesthetic and emotional modesty.

    But she wasn’t me.

    I think we all do this. We frame ourselves out of what we think will be loved. We stitch ourselves together with bits of admiration from strangers, Vogue covers, characters in movies who never seem to need anyone. We go over our personalities like scripts. We examine our softness so we can be more palatable. More preferential.

    And then one day, you look up and realize: 

    You don’t even like the girl you became.

    … 

    I have learned that becoming isn’t always progress. Sometimes it’s performance. Sometimes it’s angst, disguised as glow serum and curated playlists.

    And while reinvention can be healing, becoming the false version of you – the one built from pressure, not authenticity – is utterly exhausting. You will spend all your energy trying to maintain a self that was never viable in the first place.

    So now, I’m doing this instead:

    Becoming the version of me that cries when something upsets her. Who is clingy sometimes and calm sometimes and genuine all the time. Who absolutely needs people. Who completely forgives herself. Who has roots, not just polish.

    The realest version of me may not be the most admired, but she is the one I can absolutely live with. 

    And that matters more.