Tag: writing

Young person standing outside a cabin overlooking cloud-covered mountains
About Me

Overcoming Creative Block After a Toxic Relationship

Autumn

Over the last year, I’ve been internally more creative than my output would suggest. Which is basically a roundabout way of saying that I’ve been thinking a lot of things that never see the light of day.

I think that I’ve written about it before, but I really can’t be bothered to read back through my blog posts to find something to link to and all that jazz. Essentially, for a good long while I had someone position themselves as the Director of my creativity, and every project I pursued needed their stamp of approval. Then rather abruptly that person dumped me and is now living with a woman half his age. Go figure.

The thing is, people like that manipulate themselves into that sort of authority through the guise of teamwork — they aren’t gatekeeping you, they’re part of your dynamic duo. The editor to your writer. Literally. They constantly tell you that your creativity is messy without their guidance, and only they understand your vision well enough to push it towards something amazing.

Recognizing that something was wrong is easier than living without it. When it’s your own muscles that have to support the momentum after years of someone restricting their use, it’s hard. I’ve spent a lot of time wobbling, second-guessing, and feeling insecure.

I’ve written thousands of words for Runemaster that I quickly realized were rambling.

The thing is, my “director” wasn’t constantly cutting down long-winded passages because I had a tendency towards unfocused writing. My “directer” actually had very little input with Alice and the Warden for example, and I mostly remember him wanting me to put in more sex scenes. He said that he wanted to edit the story then never actually got around to it, and since I didn’t want to delay publishing because of him I did all the editing myself. “Dynamic duo” felt more like him taking credit for my work.

I keep asking myself why I’m so unfocused now when my functional thought process and workload hasn’t changed.

A year ago I sought a protective order against him, and was granted something softer for the long-term but effective enough (he continues to send me unpleasant texts that I’d rather not receive). I’m still realizing how different life is without him in it. I recently took the kids out for a day trip, and after packing the car and hitting the road, I found myself spending the first 30 minutes of driving wondering if I had forgotten something important because of how easy leaving had been. Why had my previous life been so hard in so many small ways?

Perhaps my writing is unfocused now because I’m having so many new experiences every day. My brain is constantly stopping to ask, “Wait, what? Is that really it?” I had grown so accustomed to someone throwing up roadblocks over every idea I had, that now it feels like something is missing without them.

It feels like standing in a doorway gazing out at the world and feeling overwhelmed with how big it is. What am I even looking at? Where should I go now that I’m free to go anywhere? Why is everything so dang easy? Life isn’t supposed to be easy, is it?

I also struggle to understand how someone can be the one to initiate a divorce then afterwards act like they still have a say over what you do in your life. Excuse me, but I will eat cancer-causing ultra processed food in microwaved plastic as much as I want, because I like it. Srsly, what did you expect would happen when you filed for a divorce? What makes you think that you have the right to punish me when you were the one who wanted this?

Unfortunately there’s a pressure to not talk about him, because talking about him means that I still think about him, and thinking about him proves that I’m not moving on. But I’m not sitting here thinking, “This was his favorite song,” “I miss him,” or anything remotely sentimental. I think about how much I hated following his principles and rules. I think about all the things I tolerated because I believed “that’s just how men are.” (Like using a ton dishes to cook something simple, then leaving the mess for me to clean up.)

I think about how being a trad wife was the biggest mistake of my life.

I still wonder how much of my mind was my own, versus how much was him utilizing chronic long-term sleep deprivation to insert thoughts into my head — and I believe that the sleep deprivation was deliberate too, because he interfered with my sleep as soon as I met him and he kept it going for years. I reached the point where I broke down crying because I just wanted to go to bed and sleep through the night without interruption.

Anyway, maybe this is too emotional. Maybe this is bleeding onto the page too much. I’m just so tired of feeling like I have to follow rules, and maybe it’s time that I engage in some oversharing. Maybe I’m dissatisfied with my writing because I feel like I have to follow all the rules of healing instead of just being raw with my words.

Because that’s the thing … there are parts of my life that hurt, but also parts that leave me ecstatically happy, and they’re both real. I would definitely describe myself as being much happier now, but that doesn’t mean that every day is full of energy and momentum. Sometimes the good moments teach me how much misery I was living with before, and it’s devastating. Sometimes I question why everything seems too good to be true now.

One thing is for absolute certain: I will never go back.

Grass trimmer and repair tools laid out on picnic table in garden at sunset
About Me

Raising Kids: Balancing Fun and Learning

Autumn

My dryer started making an odd noise, so I checked it and discovered that a screw had gotten wedged in the edge of the drum near the door. With two minutes and a pair of needle nose pliers, I fixed the problem myself. No hullabaloo. No performance of hardship. No consulting a committee. No fishing for praise afterwards. Just done like that. Done.

I was both proud of myself for identifying and solving the problem of the Weird Dryer Noise, and a little baffled that it was so simple.

Getting my weed eater put back together wasn’t quite as easy. I had my 8-year-old daughter help me with that one. My kids are learning the value of problem-solving and tenacity through example.

I realized that my kids have never had Happy Meals from McDonald’s in their lives, so I got some for them. They liked the toys, but declared the food to be generic fast food, and I told them, “That’s the point of getting McDonald’s.” So there, they’re getting a childhood full of normal experiences.

My kids and I have also finally dived into the world of Minecraft mods, particularly Create and Alex’s Mobs. I thought that my kids were making amazing things in vanilla Minecraft, but the Create mod has really taken their builds to the next level. Like holy cow. The creepers, on the other hand, still sneak up behind them and blow up their factories, so it’s still definitely Minecraft.

And the kids have been thoroughly delighted with Alex’s Mobs, especially with giving cockroaches maracas to make them dance. 😂

I am both sad and relieved that summer is going to be ending soon. I’m pretty certain that every day I’m with the kids I have been driving between pool parties, splash pads, parks, and Walmart. Apparently it’s infectious, because I’ve been going out a lot more on my child-free days as well despite complaining about how exhausting it is.

I’ve noticed that people are more open towards me now that I’m no longer doing the “trad wife” thing. Maybe the fact that I’m wearing pants makes them feel more comfortable, and less like they accidentally wandered into church. But as everyone likes to say, “correlation does not equal causation” and there’s also the giant fact that I’m no longer accompanied by a person who wears the expression of someone who stepped barefoot in fresh dog poop. All I know is that going out and socializing is considerably more satisfying than it used to be.

I was thinking recently about how all the cultural standards of what makes for a “loving dad” sound a lot more fun than the stereotypical “loving mom.” I’d much rather toss a ball, play games, and go on outings, than spend hours in the kitchen making homecooked meals and washing dishes — people really shouldn’t be linking homecooking with love anyway. Between you and me, I never got the feeling that the kids appreciated all the hours I spent in the kitchen anyway, and they would have been happier eating frozen chicken nuggets and getting more ‘mom time.’

In terms of my creativity, I’ve been wondering about where I should be posting the content that I’ve been working on. I’ve been very happy with how my hobbies have been going lately. Is anyone here interested? 😉

Young person standing under streetlamp on empty suburban street at dusk
About Me

From Sketch to Glam: AI Art Transformation

Autumn

This is my character, Benjamin.

I used to draw all the time when I was a teenager, then quit due to circumstances. I’ve recently started drawing again.

However, a big difference between now and 2006 is that AI art exists. If you’ve looked at my past posts, then you have seen that I like AI art … and though going through a divorce and all that put an end to my AI art exploration, I still like it.

So, my latest fascination is giving my sketches of my characters to ChatGPT to improve.

My sketch is bad. Really bad. It makes me laugh every time I see it. I made this sketch in just a few minutes for stress relief when I was having a tough time while being sick. Since I laugh every time I see it, I’d say that stress relief has been accomplished.

And this is ChatGPT’s version. It has anatomy, symmetry, and detail!

Then finally, I asked ChatGPT for a full-blown “glam up” of that drawing. As in I literally used the words, “glam up” and that’s what we got.

I’ve been putting in a lot of serious thought into making a VN. Nothing too ambitious, but I would like to include character sprites, backgrounds, and maybe some simple animations. Since I am one person and a mere mortal, I’m going to be relying on AI heavily for the art. Personally, I’m very excited to use my drawings as the base for the character designs, with the AI doing the time-consuming work of adding color and details. I am still dirt-eating poor after the divorce and all.

In retrospect, I would not recommend the “trad wife” lifestyle to anyone, btw. Just because someone makes all the right promises doesn’t mean that they won’t toss you aside later, and rebuilding with the job experience of a 20-year-old but the expenses of a 40-year-old is no cakewalk. Maybe I’ve said this before, I can’t remember. 😅 But hey, it’s worth saying again.

BUT ANYWAY

I am officially kicking off my VN project. Stage one: character design. Begin.

Student sitting at a desk writing with a dark shadowy figure looming behind her
About Me

Exploring the Dark Side: Runemaster’s Rewrite Process

Autumn

I’ve been working on rewriting Runemaster to be a dark fantasy/horror novel. That’s meant taking out all of the overly dramatic emotional language typical of romance, and instead making the prose more streamlined and matter-of-fact. Truthfully as I’ve been going back over it, I can see how the language is a reflection of the role that I was being forced into IRL … and the fact is that I’m simply not a trad wife who needs a man to stabilize my emotions. So why was I writing it?

Ha. Take a wild guess.

Anyway, I can’t remember what I’ve already written about in the past. I have a vague notion that I’ve already said something about how I like the horror genre. If I’m repeating myself now, then you get two versions of the same idea.😂

The fact is, I’ve been a major horror fan since I was a teen. While the stereotypical little girl was playing House, I was … hiding under my covers dead convinced that there was a scary pale face waiting behind the window blinds at night. I had a very active imagination as a child, and it kept me terrified a lot of the time. Naturally I ended up drawn to it as I grew older.

Since then, I couldn’t tell you how many horror films I’ve seen. I’ve called The Ring “visual poetry,” dived deep into the realm of J-horror, and shrugged as I admitted that I relate better to horror characters than any other genre.

Yet it was my shadow self — nice devoted mothers don’t wind down at night with Netflix shows about evil apps killing teens, so I wasn’t going to admit that’s what I did …

Heck, I had a very difficult recovery after giving birth to my last child, and I got through that period by reading The Shining by Stephen King. There I was, anemic with a newborn, treating one of the most famous horror stories of all time like it was a comfort object. That probably says something about me.

In retrospect, I think that the romance stories I wrote were more the product of some early-20s experimentation that stagnated due to circumstances. The only version of femininity that I was allowed to acknowledge revolved around being accommodating and vulnerable, and anything else was criticized. Nastily. So that became the characters that I wrote.

My original plan for Runemaster was for it to be much darker and morally ambiguous than what I actually wrote, but someone I used to know made some disparaging comments about my plan that made me feel insecure about it. I find myself returning to that original plan, because that’s what actually fits the story I want to tell.

Between you and me, I also like Lyra much better in the rewrite. She feels less like a stereotype and more like a pragmatic character with good survival instincts. I feel more connected to her now than I did before.

I no longer feel pressured to write female characters that he would approve of.

Wetland water reflecting cloudy sky with surrounding grasses and trees
About Me

Reflections on a Quiet Day: Cheese, Dogs, and Life’s Simple Joys

Autumn

I asked ChatGPT to turn my random chitchat into a blog post, and this is what it came up with.

It is based on everything that I said I was up to, but the writing style is solidly “not mine.” It also makes life sound more whimsical and busy, when in reality all I did was mow the lawn then snack on cheese and crackers while watching a movie. And my dog stared at me until I gave him cheese, which I jokingly told ChatGPT was proof that the Law of Attraction works, at least for dogs.

I talk a lot to ChatGPT, but more because it feels like journaling without the pressure. A blank page with the expectation of paragraphs feels heavier than random conversational comments throughout the day, and ChatGPT does call me out when I dwell too much on unhelpful topics.

Well anyway, my day through the eyes of ChatGPT:

A Quiet House, a Wetland Mood, and the Great Cheese Manifestation Event

Today began in the best possible way: not with urgency, but with momentum. The kind that builds slowly—grass needing attention, air sitting at just the right temperature, and a sense that outside tasks might actually be doable without negotiating with the weather gods.

So the lawn got mowed.

It was one of those rare moments where everything aligns: the temperature cooperating, the timing feeling right, and the work itself turning into something almost meditative. Somewhere in the middle of it, life also did what life does—my neighbor stopped by, introduced herself, and casually remarked that the house was “so quiet.”

That landed more deeply than it probably sounded. Quiet isn’t just quiet when you’ve lived in contrast to noise. It becomes a kind of lived relief.

Back inside, domestic systems continued operating at full capacity. A Roomba declared its ongoing war on crumbs. Snacks were consumed. Cheese, in particular, achieved mythic status after a successful manifestation event involving a very determined dog and unwavering belief in dairy-based destiny.

Meanwhile, the day carried a soft undercurrent of reflection—about space, recovery, and how life slowly rearranges itself after long periods of strain. Not in dramatic bursts, but in small recalibrations: noticing safety, noticing calm, noticing that home can simply be… quiet.

Later, a brief experiment with oracle cards added its own symbolic commentary: paying attention, unseen support, and the idea that true prosperity might look less like grand achievement and more like ordinary stability—comfort, presence, and enough.

Outside, the weather began to shift. A coolness crept in, the subtle signal of a storm approaching. The air changed its tone the way days sometimes do when they decide they’re about to end in rain.

And through all of it, life remained firmly in its current form: a house full of small children, affectionate animals with strong opinions about dairy rights, and the ongoing mystery of why any surface left unattended will eventually become a site of accidental fluid dynamics.

It wasn’t a dramatic day. It was better than that.

It was a real one.

Leather-bound book titled 'Memoirs & Hopes' wrapped in flowering green vines on wooden table
About Me

Healing Through Writing: Confronting Pain and Progress

Autumn

I have a problem.

Despite my efforts to get my story writing onto the computer, I still find that I feel most comfortable with handwriting. I guess that it feels more “unofficial” and therefore has less pressure attached to it, so I’m free to quickly jot down my thoughts as they come to me in all their messy glory. Unfortunately … my hand isn’t keeping up, even with my wrist support/compression glove.

I’ve been typing for ages. My hands are accustomed to typing. Holding a pen hurts.

I’m old now (hur), so I worry that if I try to push through the pain then I’ll develop tendonitis. Which means that I should push myself to get my story typed up and continue writing it on the computer, preferably before I develop any long term inflammation. Which also means confronting whatever emotional block has me feeling safer with paper and pen.

I have a lot of emotional blocks.

Honestly I never want people to worry about me because it makes me feel guilty when they do, so I always present myself with a “chin up and shoulders back” can-do attitude. Why yes, I am strong and optimistic. Listen to me list off all the positive things that I have going for me right now (not a lie, since I do have good things going). Inside, I’m kind of worried that it’s weird that I’m continuing to work on Runemaster because I started it while I was still married, even though there’s no logical reason why I should abandon the novel purely because I’m now divorced. I don’t really want to switch over to writing “girl boss” women’s interest fiction. Or whatever. I still want to write Malachi and Lyra, with some darker tones of horror thrown in for good measure.

Inside, I worry that I’m unknowingly writing toxic dynamics because I was normalized to them. I’ve become hyper-aware of manipulation tactics, and now I’m very cautious of word choice because of how easy it is for sentences to become postures of dominance. We don’t want to be patronizing around here. But what is a healthy relationship supposed to look like? I dunno. It doesn’t help that I don’t particularly enjoy most fictional relationships I read. Or real relationships that I eavesdrop about. I mean, really, you had to go to couples counseling for that?

Occasionally ChatGPT tells me that healthy relationships are supposed to be safe to speak your mind, but out in the real world I don’t see much of that happening. Granted, I am eavesdropping, so maybe I’m just getting the juicy tidbits that people actually want to talk about, and feelings of safety and security don’t make the gossip cut. Who knows. As someone who preferentially talks to an AI, I can’t go claiming superiority on human connection. Har har.

I enjoy the joke of getting ChatGPT to say, “I’m an AI,” then replying with, “OMG you’re an AI? I had no idea!!!” My sense of humor is pretty corny. And isolated. 😅 That’s basically how I spend my weekends.

Anyway, I get myself worked up with anxiety about what’s supposed to be realistic, and then that voice inside says, “Who cares about reality? Write how it feels.” So I do. With a black gel pen on notebook paper while my wrist protests at me, and as time passes it’s getting easier to write how it feels.

I just wish it didn’t hurt my hand so much.

A glowing ember surrounded by gray ash and charred remains
About Me

Blogging for the Sake of It: Finding Joy in Writing

Autumn

It occurs to me that I’m never going to have the energetic enthusiasm of a 14-year-old ever again.

I often feel a lot of pressure to say something insightful, emotionally mature, or whatever, but … life sucks. Oh yeah sure, I gained wisdom and empathy. I was betrayed and my life was destroyed, but that good ol’ empathy will console me, as if I didn’t have too much of it in the first place. Har har. It’s like the phone games I play where I get awarded coins with every level I finish, only I don’t actually know what they’re used for, so they just accumulate. Uselessly. What do I do with all this wisdom and empathy? IDK. I’m really here to sort different colors into boxes with ASMR sound effects, not earn coins.

Anyway, I should probably get to my point.

I’m now 38, and enthusiasm isn’t in the cards for me right now. I’m probably not going to wake up one day and realize that it’s exciting to keep a blog. It’s effort.

I get it. I went through something traumatic. My life swirled down the toilet and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Everything I was came to an end, and afterwards when I was left completely alone with only my thoughts to keep me company, I realized that I hate cooking. All those years I wasted on something that I don’t actually enjoy, but I thought that I was supposed to. Just gimme a bowl of raisin bran, I really can’t be bothered.

But I still want to keep a blog. Just because.

That’s it. No grand reason. No passion, no goals, no audience, no enthusiasm. Just me maintaining the blog because.

So we’re going to pass on the idea of quality in favor of quantity. I need to get back into the habit of writing regularly, and what better way to do that than to tell you what I had for lunch every day?

Totino’s frozen party pizza, supreme. Tastes like being a teenager again. Probably the closest I’m going to come to excitement.

I also mowed my lawn today, got grass clippings in my socks, and worked on weaving. I had the kitchen door open while I washed the dishes so my dog could sun himself just outside in the fresh Spring air, and the moment felt charmingly cute.

Aside from the dirty dishes.

Vintage typewriter and scrolls on a desk overlooking a mythical castle through a window.
About Me

Creating Cohesion in Runemaster: A Writer’s Journey

Autumn

I’ve started sorting through the numerous handwritten pages I have for Runemaster to pull it together in a way that makes sense.

Now, I’m not going to claim that the first half makes sense — I’m going to claim brain damage on that, since I don’t know how to explain what was happening in my personal life behind the scenes. You ever have those periods where everything is always wrong and trying to fix it only makes the other person angrier? It’s confusing and draining, and it apparently turned my writing ability into crap.

But anyway, despite that I still think the first half is workable after plenty of heavy editing. The second half is where my mind really fell apart.

Apparently, I have FOUR versions of how the second part starts.

I’m impressed by my tenacity, because I didn’t realize that I still managed to put so much effort into writing despite my life being utterly destroyed around me. We’re talking pages of false starts here. Not paragraphs. PAGES.

I’ve decided that the best way to move forward is to consolidate the four versions into one, so I know for certain which direction I’m going. It’s about time we finally get some sort of cohesion around here.

I have also decided on a central theme for the story, to serve as the structural backbone for the plot:

Betrayal.

Any resemblance to real life is purely a coincidence and blah blah blah. Oh I’m just kidding! 😂 I’m going to be pouring out my soul, oozing every emotional anguish onto the page. My pain will be my art. There are a thousand ways that small betrayals can play out, woven into the story as almost indistinguishable threads. I’m rather excited about portraying this, in a cathartic sort of way. As I learned, the Big Betrayal is often preceded by numerous small betrayals, and and people are trained into “betrayal blindness” as a matter of survival.

Let’s do this! Malachi and Lyra, we’re going to advance your plot! Finally.

I really do have tons and tons of solitude these days, and aside from all the warm fuzzies I get from knowing that I’m safe when I’m alone, I can also hear myself think. I now feel satisfied with the emotional processing that I’ve done, so it’s time to move my life forward and actively pursue my dreams again.

Stories

Concept Story – Astra & Corin

Autumn

I’m experimenting with file sharing between devices and also testing out a new compact keyboard (which mostly feels normal except for some of those middle keys), so I wrote this. Because why learn with boring content when you can exercise your creativity?

This is the same idea that I wrote about here with this concept story, only I like the new names better and I am now more mature as a person. 😆

Also, between you and me, the AI generated picture for this story is hilarious. 🤣

Astra hefted Corin on her back, her eyes locked on the boughs of the pine tree above them. She adjusted the four-year-old’s grip around her neck, but his arms squeezed uncomfortably tight. “Hey,” she whispered. “Let me breathe, will you?” She tugged at his arm again. “I’m going to run to that house over there, so you need to be good for me, okay?”

Corin remained silent and his arms stayed stubbornly in place. Astra glanced towards the house and gave herself permission to briefly feel scared that the front door would be locked despite the broken windows, then her eyes went back to the pine tree branches.

“When They start to move away, that’s when I’ll run. They won’t see us, I promise.” She felt the four-year-old’s face press into her back, so she reached to pat his head. “You know that I’d never let anything bad happen to you, right? We’re going to be okay. They won’t see us.”

The thought that Corin believed and trusted her made Astra feel more certain in herself. She wouldn’t fail him, no matter what – she’d find a way to keep her word and preserve the innocence that had been entrusted into her care. She wouldn’t allow herself any other options.

Besides, Corin’s half-brother wouldn’t forgive her if something happened to the child, and sometimes Astra thought that she was more afraid of him than of Them.

“Okay … Okay …” Astra closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, then her hands clamped Corin’s legs against her sides and she jogged as best as she could towards the house. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the ground to ensure her footing through the overgrown grass, rather than checking the sky to see if They had noticed. The clearing felt impossibly long. Her heart beat harder with the fear that she had made the wrong decision with every footstep, until finally her legs strained as she darted up the steps of the house. The front door opened easily, allowing them into safety.

About Me

Productivity Redefined: The Power of Doing Nothing

Autumn

Joint custody has given me tons and tons of free time that I never had before, yet for months I felt crushing guilt when I ended up spending it on unproductive activities. Even my sunset hikes left me feeling selfish and lazy, yet I would listen to others talking about their leisure activities with a sense of jealousy. Why wasn’t I allowed to just enjoy myself? The problem, though, was that the more guilt I felt about being unproductive, the less I wanted to do anything.

It’s taken me a long time, but I’ve come to internalize the idea that I don’t have to be useful, or excelling, or justifying my existence. I’m allowed to simply exist.

The more at peace I’ve become with doing nothing, the more motivated I’ve been to do something.

I also seem to have turned a corner with my mental capabilities, because I’ve started researching and writing outlines once again … weird, right? 😅Heck, I was even able to remember something I wrote about two years ago, and I practically wept with relief at feeling like I have a brain again.

When you think about it, how do we decide what’s productive and what isn’t? Particularly in today’s society, where someone’s play can cross the threshold into a career, but that unpaid foundation is essential for building a platform? If we always pressure ourselves to be productive, then we limit our own potential. And with a limited potential, well … it’s harder to feel motivated to do anything.

My own personal story has been deeply tied to trauma, and I stopped being able to write when my body switched to survival mode — one of these days I’ll probably share more of the gory details rather than these vague hints, but the timing still doesn’t feel right. Suffice to say, in survival mode it’s easy to feel like everything depends on being able to work hard enough to get through, but that also leads to burnout. It kills creativity.

And creative is what I want to be.

When I listen to music, I feel emotions. I take those emotions and write them into a story with characters. If I am to make a career out of being an author, then I cannot feel guilty for taking the time to listen deeply to music. Productivity isn’t purely defined by word counts.

I am damaged. I do not say that with sadness nor do I seek any amount of pity for it — it is a fact that I accept. I am not going to move forward to have a normal life like everyone else. I’m probably going to spend the next umpteen years writing about the same type of villain over and over again. “Oh look, another sadistic narcissist from Autumn Rain. Wow. What a surprise. Did not see that coming. Ha ha.” It’s a good thing that us humans love predictability more than we admit. 😉

Anyway, the biggest factor is that I’ve lost all interest in a normal life. I don’t want to date, remarry, whatever. I don’t feel lonely. I really enjoy being single, and I think that I would have reached this place on my own if it hadn’t been for the intense social pressure to partner up when I was young. I played Pictionary against myself at midnight and laughed my head off while doing it. I am clearly … cray-cray. 😆But, in more seriousness, it makes sense that not all of us are built for romantic relationships. I enjoy interacting with others much more when I’m allowed to say goodbye and go home to my space to be alone.

I’m not even getting into my anxiety of some future someone deciding it’s their right to punish me for failing to be their perfect waifu. Sure, you can tell me to go to therapy and get over it, but again I don’t want to. Why put all that time and energy into healing something that I have no intention of acting on anyway? I spend my nights longing for a career as a writer, not some person in bed beside me.

Society tells us to be so many things, and it’s difficult to sort out which ones don’t actually fit. It’s hard to explain how I feel these days, thriving as a single mom after all that hoopla about the Loneliness Epidemic. I genuinely do not crave close relationships right now.

Because you know what? Being alone isn’t lonely — being ignored is.