Destined to be the other woman

I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer.
At night I fell asleep with visions of myself, dancing and laughing and crying with them.
Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour, and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times.
I was a singer. Not a very popular one,
I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I’d been living, they asked me “Why?”, but there’s no use in talking to people who have home.
They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lay your head.
I was always an unusual girl.
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean…
And if I said I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying…
Because I was born to be the other woman.
Who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.
Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

Lana Del Rey.


What if I’m destined to be the other woman? It breaks me to even have to question this but for the longest time I’ve asked myself why. Why is it that I’m not with him? Picking up groceries holding hands, planning long lead vacations on a crisp Sunday morning, and even sitting down each night with the same person breaking bread? I don’t mean that I’m the other woman to a man who’s married or even in another relationship. I just mean that I’m not the woman he spends his life with. I’m the phase. I’m the adventure until he wants steady.

It’s like I’m fucking diseased with a big fat scarlet letter slapped across my forehead that I’m not perceived as someone good enough. Someone that’s priority. Someone that he sees valuable enough to dedicated a meaningful friendship. Aside from my name, does he even know how I like my coffee? Or which way I always turn to sleep?

I don’t belong to anyone which made me belong to everyone.

Drink after drink, mistake after mistake. I reflect on the patterns and see nothing’s ever right. Bad decisions follow me like the plague, and I ride each of those waves only for a momentary gratification. The high from an addiction, telling myself I’ll be good after this one last hit.

Morning comes and he’s still in my bed; sleeping away without a care in the universe. He wakes up, holds me for a minute and walks out the door with his things.

The text doesn’t come for a few weeks, but then one night when I think I’m back on my routine, my phone beeps and I’m back here again asking myself why.


Can you separate Success from Happiness?

How do you measure success?
By telling yourself whether or not you’re happy?

So then, how do you measure happiness?
By determining whether or not you are successful?

There is an infinite loop between happiness and success that keeps us in a constant state of doubtful mind second-guessing who we are, where we are, and what we are.

I vowed that 2018 was to going to be the year I give back to myself. The past 2.5 years was dedicated to a relationship that churned me into someone I didn’t recognize anymore. I can fully turn that around and discover the better version of who I am before I meet my next awesome human being.

So then I decided to always remember to stay focused on being happy. I question it every so often but now I can’t help but wonder, do I associate happiness too closely with success? Meaning happiness is contingent on whether or not I’m doing better than my cohorts or excelling in my career?

But it’s really not about that. Happiness shouldn’t be a competition or graded based on performance at work. Work eats up enough of our lives, why do we have to sacrifice our mental state to it as well?

Now, I’m striving to compartmentalize the two to evaluate just how happy I am with myself without attributing it to my work success. There’s so much more to it than that!

I got sick last November and gained over ten pounds, which to me has been more than I’ve gained my whole life in a matter of two weeks. So I got off my ass, kicked my workout routine in high gear and promised myself I was going to keep moving. This past week when I had to see my doctor, I finally felt good about myself when I was asked to strip down for an inspection. There was definition, there was a slimmer me, and a leaner me. Why? Because I didn’t give up on myself and that perpetuated my joy all day.

So happiness isn’t contingent on success. We can find little pockets of it everywhere. How we make our decisions, who we choose to interact with, and where we anticipate we’ll be going for the weekend.

As I draw my bath tonight, spending Valentines completely but sparingly single, I find true bliss in realizing I too, can be happy and it’s not from measuring success. It’s from being grateful for everything I have from my resilience to my peace to my unwavering ambitions.



26 Things I Still Remind Myself after I turned 26

  1. dont apologize when you don’t have anything to be sorry for
  2. read the email before you send it. then read it again.
  3. things usually don’t work out for a reason. trust the universe
  4. be kind anyway
  5. goals matter. Make a 25 by 25 or a 50 by 50. then live it out or ponder back and see how much adventure you still have left
  6. hold the door open. Figuratively & Literally
  7. few friends last a lifetime. Forgive them when they’re not the best version of themselves
  8. you’re never going to have this body again
  9. if you have to think about whether you should text/post for more than 30 secs. dont do it – it’s never worth it
  10. if you can’t laugh at yourself, it’s going to be a long life
  11. always have a 5 year plan
  12. don’t burn bridges. it’s a small world
  13. close your mouth and open your eyes
  14. there is absolutely no substitute for class. if you have to say you’re a lady, you’re probably not
  15. make your own rules
  16. details matter. they really really matter
  17. never let them see you cry
  18. preparation > luck
  19. no one else can make you happy if you’re not happy with yourself
  20. if you don’t want anyone to find out. don’t do it.
  21. paste a smile on your face and fake it till you make it
  22. don’t waste your time trying to make other people look bad. make yourself indispensable.
  23. figure out your go-to restaurant, bar, city attraction, cocktail and bag.
  24. Trust that voice in your head. Trust your gut. Trust the Butterflies
  25. Appearances matter. It may be unfair, superficial, but they do. Get a manicure. Invest in a nice bag. Figure out the best makeup and clothing style for you.
  26. Hug your parents. Tell Them Thank you.

[5] reasons he’s your Mr. Wrong

What makes him the Mr. Wrong in all the right ways? Here’s the telltale list:

  1. Everything about him is yummylicious, he has no flaws. His hair, his chiseled bod, his cute cute smile when he looks at you, and most of all his playfulness in which you already know deep down there’s an expiration date on this relationship you have with this manchild. If he has no flaws, you’re clearly at a stage where you’re blinded by his twinkling Edward Cullen skin and thousand watt smile. It’s okay to notice flaws and accept them. But if you’re telling all your gal pals at brunch that this dude is 100% flawless… check yourself before you wreck yourself. At one point, he’ll fall off the pedestal and you’ll be hurt by how much you were blinded.
  2. You want the limited supply. You know you really shouldn’t like him because he rarely ever replies back and when he does, he just seems aloof- all the more reasons for you to want him more, right? We never want the surplus of resources now do we? We’re always coveting something when it’s “limited.” It’s crazy how much we analyze a mere text. Ask him, “hang out later?” and he replies, “Yeah hit me up.” Cue the mind going bonkers with: “No smiley face… is he not interested?!” Or “Okay, he replied back in less than 10 minutes, he must be into me” or “Does he really mean for me to call him? Should I wait until he calls?”
  3. Making plans and flaking. Errr, red alert! If a true man, (not a fuckboy) made plans to see you, he’d follow through. I get the personal emergencies that could arise but if he’s making plans with you and flaking more than a few times, you know you’re not a priority. I don’t care how adorable those dimples are! You deserve someone who would put you in the priority you deserve. If you’re blocking out your schedule to spend time with him, then he should be doing the same. Don’t be an option!
  4. The Chameleon Paradigm. Do not forget the person you are. I’m sure we’ve all done this at one point in our lives. I’ll be frank, there was once a crush I wanted to impress so bad, I even added Facebook likes to something he’d be into as well. (Lame, I know, but at least I’m woman enough to admit it) Just because he loves loves loves watching basketball, does not mean you should be studying up on J.R. Smith’s draft history. He should like you for the differences that make you unique. So if he admires Game of Thrones, it doesn’t mean you should watch the first 6 seasons in one week so you two have something to talk about. He’ll have his friends for that. If you find yourself changing your spots to make him like you better… you’ve already fallen prey to what I call the Chameleon Paradigm.
  5. The shoe just doesn’t seem to fit. No matter what, there’s always a question in your mind whether to trust him or whether he’s right for you. The allure in the mystery is what keeps you interested, but is that really what you want? Stop trying to piece something together if there’s always a missing piece. Fact of the matter is, the pieces you hold won’t fit because he’s not the right puzzle.

If you can relate- pump the brakes. Look at yourself in the rear view mirror and just stop. Stop freaking out. Stop overanalyzing. If it feels so frustrating now, are you sure this is what you want to continue on with? When it’s right, and trust me, this is going to take time and age, you’ll be less anxious and more happy.

“but some part of it will always not feel right”

I was trying to explain to her what she could not grasp.

I wasn’t unhappy in my relationship by any means, maybe just stuck in a conundrum.

“It’s like there’s a bottle and a cap, and no matter how I try to screw on the cap, it doesn’t seem to fit perfectly –

It still functions as a bottle in that the cap screws on and nothing will spill out nor would anything fall in. The bottle still works, but some part of it will always not feel right.”

That was the best way for me to explain my conundrum.


He leaves a thorn in my sides as each passing day goes by that we are together.

Toxic relationships grow and grow. The thorns prick my skin one by one; day by day until there’s no surface left to puncture me. He’s taken all of me.

So when the time finally comes, and I’ve mustered enough bravery to leave and let it all go, it takes one day at a time to pluck out each thorn he’s left in me.

The recovery is painful, they say. The recovery is hard.

And as each day I pull with might, I feel the twinge of throbbing memories being yanked out. The petals glisten and cheer.

The buds start to say, it’s one step closer to leaving it behind. Thorns no longer impaling my emptiness but piling up on the ground where I left the rest of that darkness.



6am is my favorite time of the day. The world actually comes to a halt. Flurries of emails haven’t stormed my phone. Streets haven’t been stacked with cars armed for swerving battles. The day is open and quiet. My mind has a small snippet of tranquility.

The timer on my coffee machine sets off and gorgeous brewing amber races for my mug. The scent fogs my living room while the sun barely peeks out yawning and stretching its sunshine through the clouds.

My keyboard readies itself to create symphonies. The flickering line in an open doc waiting for today’s rhythm to start. I lightly place my fingers above and start to type; spilling feelings, rage, characters with unimaginable valor, and pasts with wounded scars.

My mind is clear and hopeful that for the next 24 hours maybe just maybe… my life and the stories I create have a chance of something new, something great, and something memorable. 

6am is my favorite time of day.