thank god for granting me this moment of clarity
life lessons from a developed prefrontal cortex (allegedly)
For a really long time, I always kind of nodded my head and filed my parents’ advice into the “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there” box. Most of it is reassurance—reminders to move at my own pace. What’s meant for me will find me. Vienna waits for you. Oh, mirror in the sky—what is love?
My parents are secretly very big softies, true to their Sagittarius natures. If you’ve been a reader of mine for the last six months, I’m sure it’s finally clicked into place.
A Gemini sun, Sagittarius moon, and Aquarius rising with two Sagittarius parents?!
I know. It explains the dazzling wit.
Anyway, these big softies have laid down some powerful knowledge over the years that finally started making sense in my brain this year. No more claiming “I’m just a girl.”
Nah. I’m a woman.
“Not everyone can come with you, not even me.”
I learned this lesson in the second half of this year. I don’t give up easily. I’ve always considered myself a bit of a clinger. Conversations could always be had. Things could always possibly improve.
But sometimes we just have to accept that we aren’t compatible with everyone.
Some people really are in your life for a season. And most things do happen for a reason. Not to be cryptic, but it’s fascinating how you blink and people can just be gone. My parents have had to remind me that my path is different—that I’m growing and changing. I’m not meant to live a small life. And in the pursuit of that life, sometimes people have to be left behind. Not out of malice, but out of necessity.
When you try to drag the perpetually unwilling along your journey, they become extra weight. You have to exert twice the effort—once to pull them forward, and once to make sure you don’t trip and fall trying to carry you both.
In my desire to grow, I have a habit of sharing my knowledge with others. It came as a shock to me when I was harshly shown that not everyone carries the same attitudes that I do. Not everyone was raised the same way. I’m not saying these are necessarily bad things—variety is the spice of life. I suppose cruelty will always shock me, though.
Our comfort zones are dangerous.
My comfort zone kept me around people who had no business having access to me. And not to be all “rah rah, I have opps” about my life, but I don’t think the people we keep closest even realize the power of their tongue.
I’ve spent decades surrounded by women who mirrored my earliest core wound—because it was familiar. Comfortable. It felt normal to be around women who secretly disliked me without even realizing it—women who questioned my character and eroded my self-esteem.
My ambition, my desire for self-improvement, and the assumption that I deserve to be happy trigger something in the insecure. It was genuinely shocking to me to discover that people are, in fact, jealous of me.
To escape this, I had to make the radical decision to choose myself—and to be “alone.” Not keeping friends around just to say I had them. As a result, I feel like I’ve been floating. I surprisingly care a lot less than I thought I would.
It’s disarming, but it’s also exciting. I’ve grown so much over the last five years—even this year alone. I’ve traveled across the world, lived away from my family, walked a red carpet, and saw Jennifer Lawrence in the flesh. I felt the chill of a Utah winter and genuinely thought I might lose my toes. I’ve had conversations with baristas, men on sidewalks, and the owners of production companies.
I took up my writing at a time when I felt my absolute lowest. Most importantly, I didn’t let negativity make me bitter. I used solitude as a period of reflection and self-knowledge. I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I don’t even know what it looks like anymore.
Harsh, but true: loser women do exist, and they walk among us.
Loser women aren’t insecure women. They aren’t women who are struggling or figuring themselves out. They’re women who refuse to build a self and instead try to live inside someone else.
There are women on this earth who would skin me alive and wear my flesh if they could. I have watched women quite literally steal my hobbies, dating preferences, lingo, personal style, hair color—anything—because they have no sense of self.
And instead of dealing with that, they take their anger out on me—because they could never be the original. Just a copy.
And you may ask: how do you know this for a fact?
Because.
I know me when I see me.
And I’m using a lot of word salad to skip over the point — if you have an inkling that your best friend is competing with you, don’t wait to cut them off like I did.
Trust. Self-trust. Compassion. Vulnerability.
I’m not ashamed. No one can make me feel shame. I’m a human being with wants and desires just like everyone else—and I’ve spent a very long time trying to accept that.
What I will not do anymore is apologize for existing. You will just have to be inconvenienced by my presence. You will hear me. You will see me. You may find me ugly, fat, annoying, or stupid—and I will not care.
I’ve finally realized that I have spent my life surrounded by unmotivated women that admire and resent me because they know they could never be me. As a result, they did their absolute best to make me as small as possible so they would look big in comparison.
These women will spend their entire lives seething at the thought that I never needed them, but chose them to be in my life. And for people who operate under a scarcity mindset? That’s terrifying.
I will trust myself to choose me. I will trust myself to extend compassion and grace toward myself, because I deserve it. I encourage you all to do the same.
Like Beyoncé said: “Goodbye to what has been.”
Goodbye, fair-weather friends.
Goodbye, self-doubt.
Goodbye, fear.
Goodbye, low self-esteem.
I would say it has been a pleasure to know you, but that would be a lie.
It’s been a long year. A beautiful, long year. I’m so grateful. I would never trade my life for anyone else’s.
Cheers to a new year. I’m not slowing down.