Hey Kaleigh!

Tag: relationships

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • How Reality TV Has Shaped Me

    There’s a definitive kind of peace in turning your brain off and watching someone else’s life absolutely spiral into chaos. 

    That is what I used to think reality TV was: background noise. Distraction. Scripted entertainment for the sake of it. A satire of actual reality where eyelashes were long, tempers were short, and everyone broke down in confessionals under suspiciously good lighting.

    But lately, I’ve started to realize just how deeply it’s shaped me. Not just in the way I quote Snooki and JWoww when I’m trying to be funny, but in the way I have begun to understand performance, character, and the messy act of self-discovery. That is how I realized reality TV didn’t just captivate me. It formed me.

    Not in the “I need to get Juviderm and fake cry on cue” kind of way (although Botched has certainly taught me what not to do to my face). But in the silent, hushed way that TV tends to slip into your brain. Reality TV trained me in reinventing yourself mid-season. It taught me that a storyline can change with the proper editing… or the proper outfit. That you can be both deeply flawed and deeply adored.

    It made me curious about the line between who we are and who we perform as. Whether we’re curating our Instagram feeds or narrating our own lives in a voiceover, like we’re on Love Island, we have all developed into producers of our own reality. 

    And maybe that approach isn’t a bad thing. I used to watch for the drama. But now, I watch for the humanity.

    Reality TV, in its basic, primitive glory, taught me that identity is fluid. That people will negate themselves, get canceled, repair themselves, come back stronger, and still make the same mistakes all over again. And I see myself in that part. 

    We all have our own deleted scenes and best moments. Our “I’m not proud of this but it made me who I am” moments.

    Reality TV didn’t make me shallow – it made me observant. Reflective. Intrigued by how people choose to be seen – and how editing (literal and metaphorical) shapes the story.

    Because at the end of the day, I don’t just love the show. I love the humanity in the mess. If there is anything I have learned from watching strangers fall in love on the third episode or cry over a poorly executed charcuterie board, it is this: We are all just trying to be seen.

    To be appreciated. 

    To find the confessionals where we can say, “This is who I am, and here is why that matters.”