Hey Kaleigh!

Tag: love

  • 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.

  • When You Find the Right One

    Image by StockCake

    I like to believe that there is a kind of quiet that comes with finding the right person. That something inside of you eases. Not because you have changed, but because you finally feel safe enough not to.

    There is no guard up. No calculated charm, no pretending to be chill, more desirable, more put together than you actually are. Like your nervous system finally soothes. Like you are no longer auditioning for love like it’s some kind of role. Things are stable, and you’re just living in it. There is no need to rehearse your reactions, no compulsion to overanalyze texts like they are part of some sacred manuscript. You just are. And somehow, that is enough. Because the right one will just listen. Not just to your words, but to the silences that fall between them.

    I used to be preoccupied with this idea that I needed to find the “right one” and have it feel like some firework display. Something colossal and cinematic. I thought of a soundtrack playing in the background, a perfect line delivered under perfect lighting (probably delivered by Hugh Grant, if we’re being honest). But real love is generally quieter than that. It is largely found in the way someone remembers how you take your coffee. In the hand that finds yours without hesitation. In the way they see the version of you that even you are still learning to love.

    The right one doesn’t anchor you. They don’t complete you. They don’t free you from yourself. But they see you. They compliment you. They hold space for the chaos and the calm. And they love you in that space. They get that growth isn’t always pretty, that you can be a super fun masterpiece and a work-in-progress at the same time.

    I imagine it feels like a little rest. Like the right one makes you feel new again. Not in an unusual way, but in the sense that you are finally safe enough to play. To be comfortable. To be easy-going. To be held, to be known without having to clarify every piece of yourself.

    And no, I haven’t found it yet. I don’t know if soulmates exist. And I don’t yet know what it feels like when someone makes your life feel less like a performance and more like a place to rest.

    But I am hoping that this is real, and that maybe it is out there for me.

    I want to believe that the kind of love that makes you feel radiant is not just for other people. That one day, someone will love me in a way that doesn’t feel like a risk. Like something that was everlastingly meant to happen in time.

    And until then, I will keep choosing myself hopefully. 

    Because if I do meet the right one, he won’t complete me. He will just know that I was whole all along.

  • I’m Afraid I’ll Fall in Love One Day

    Photo by Getty Images

    There’s a version of me. Quiet. Unguarded. Entirely unprepared. I imagine her quite literally stumbling into the love of her life the way you trip over a crack in the sidewalk: clumsily but not hard enough to actually get hurt. 

    Not the The Bachelor kind of love. Not the kind I have rehearsed in my head, with Instagram-filtered kisses and totally blush-worthy glances. I mean the kind that absolutely rearranges you. The one that truly peels you back layer by layer and doesn’t flinch at what it finds.

    And that is what genuinely scares me.

    For as easy going as I claim to be, I also like to be in control. Especially when it comes to things I am afraid of. I like certainty and knowing how I will come across. I like knowing what I will say and what version of me I am promoting. I have spent so much time developing myself as that girl: the pop-culturally aware one, the creative one, the vulnerable one. So I am afraid that falling in love will wreck her.

    Because real love doesn’t always flatter you. Sometimes it exposes you. It reminds you of your oldest fears. It shows you how quickly your walls can crumble when someone finds the crack in your foundation. Sometimes it betrays you. I am afraid that falling in love will hurt.

    And I don’t know if I am ready for that.

    Not in the dramatic, movie-ending kind of way. In a silent way. A slow unraveling. The moments when you’re unsure he means what he says. Unsure if there is an ulterior motive. The waiting for words or acts that never come. The wishing he would give you flowers just one time, and giving him your body anyway.

    I worry that I will lose myself. That I will love someone so much that I will start dimming my sparkle to make sure he glows too. I worry that I will get too soft in ways that will make me forget how I fought to become this version of myself.

    But here is the thing: maybe love does not have to crush you. Maybe it just asks you to ease up your grip. 

    To let someone see the version of you that isn’t all figured out yet. To let them join you on your journey.

    Maybe falling in love won’t be the end of me. Maybe it will be the beginning of something that I can’t control, but desperately need.

    Support the Blog 🙂 https://buy.stripe.com/14A3cw3eF99Zfi5fu1eQM00

  • Love What Makes You You

    There was a time when I believed self-love meant writing affirmations on a mirror or reciting mantras until they rang true. And while there may be some benefit to this, I’ve learned that loving yourself isn’t always some glowing montage with soft lighting and background music. Sometimes, it’s learning to sit with the weird, the heavy, the cringe, the complicated parts of yourself, and not awkwardly flinch.

    Loving what makes you you is not always graceful. Sometimes it’s a very inelegant laugh. It’s realizing you overthink texts for too long but send them anyway. It is wearing that outfit that makes you feel powerful, even if no one else “gets” it. It is embracing your obsession with reality TV, your niche hyperfixations, your delicate middle and sharp edges.

    It’s easy to want to flatten yourself into someone less complicated, more polished. Social media easily influences us to manage ourselves as a perfectly curated brand. To pick a single aesthetic and stay with it. But you contain multitudes. You can be someone who cries over that one strand of Zayn’s hair at the 2014 AMAs and still love classic poetry. You can be the kind of person who appreciates a color coded planner by day and a rerun of Gypsy Sisters by night.

    You are allowed to recognize yourself in all of it.

    The truth is, the things we regularly try to downplay or hide — our quirks, our past lapses in judgement, our passions that don’t always make sense to others — are the exact things that make us remarkable. They are what make us rare. And being rare, unique, is so much better than being perfect.

    So here is your gentle reminder: You do not need to diminish your quirks to be loved. You do not need to reduce your edges to be accepted. You are not too much or not enough. You are exactly the right amount of you.

    And you are someone worth loving.