Why Removing A Toxic Person From Your Life Is The Dopest Shit You’ll Ever Do

If you’re scrolling through the internet everyday thinking to yourself, “hey it’s been awhile since Kalee publicly dragged some douche bag who hurt her on her blog!”- you’re right! And you’re kind of in luck, actually.

While the sole purpose of this very advanced piece of writing is not to slander the gentlemen (and some ladies) who have pissed me off over the years, rest assured that there will be passive aggressive nods in their directions throughout the text.

After being in a year long relationship that completely damaged my mind, body, soul, and bank account, I have some taken some time to reflect on the importance of NOT being in a relationship. And I don’t even mean a romantic relationship, I mean avoiding any relationship where anyone makes you feel like shit.

When you’re younger, you always have to include everyone. Like, every person gets a stupid Valentine dropped in their stupid Valentine’s Day paper bag, and every single little asshole has to get an invite to your birthday, even if you hate them!

One of- if not the most- rewarding parts of being an adult is the fact that you don’t have to be friends with anyone you don’t want to. Sure, you’ll probably work with a couple of dick heads or show up to a happy hour where that one friend of a friend that you just don’t like for some reason is there, but OVERALL you have no obligation to include, be nice to, or otherwise acknowledge the existence of people you think suck. Which is great.

Why people will continue to “work on things” with people who treat you badly, or “give them a chance” after they’ve completely damaged your well being is beyond me. The earth is so heavily populated…fuck these people! Do not give them any more of your time. BLOCK THEIR NUMBERS AND ACT LIKE THEY PASSED ON. Or at least moved.

Maintaining some sense of like, decorum with your ex, or your ex best friend, or even some family member that was just a total douche is not good for you. I get the whole “holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die” but like, is hanging out with a person you can’t stand going to make you somehow less angry?

Life is too short to be the bigger person, believe you me.

If you want to cut people out of your life for YOUR EMOTIONAL STABILITY, do it. Seriously, do it. No one says things have to be permanent.

If someone ever asks you, “oh what happened to so and so?” just shrug and like, do something else. Who cares?

Since cutting the toxic people from my life out of my circle, I have lost 10 pounds, achieved my dream job, repaired and focused on my important friendships, and, most importantly, made time for my fucking self.

Guess who I’m in a relationship with? Fucking me. And it’s great. Did you know that if you don’t have a toxic person living in your house you can dance around to a Justin Bieber song in your underwear as many times as you want? You can watch Kardashians alllll daayyyy if you fucking feel like it. Personally, I feel like for the first time in a long time, I’m not rushing through my day so I can get home to a person who doesn’t value my company. I can actually sit and focus on the things that are important to me. I can buy myself my own goddamn flowers and cards and drink a bottle of wine with ME instead of having to share it. I remember to send my friends meaningful texts on their birthday. I invite my best chick out for a drink instead of a lame dude.

So bottom line is, if I haven’t talk to you in a long time, there’s a good reason for it. You probably suck, and I don’t.

Have a blessed life!

Unforgivable Adult Facebook Behavior

Congratulations baby boomers, you did it- you successfully managed to absolutely ruin what used to be one of the trendiest, coolest, and Academy Award Winning storylines of all social media platforms. Yes, that’s correct, you fucking annihilated Facebook.

And yes, here I am, a millennial, complaining to the internet about how our creativity and individuality is -yet again- being stifled by the previous generations. Guess what? I don’t give a single shit, because I’m actually super mad at you for this one. Say what you want about gay people, and healthcare, and sure, ASK ME TO CALL A CAB FOR YOU WHILE YOU’RE AT IT, because I will never forgive you for what you’ve done to Mark Zuckerberg’s baby.

Do you think that while Zuckerberg was nerding out in his dorm trying to make “The Facebook” happen that he was imagining people’s parents sharing stupid pictures of pie recipes and pictures of Jesus that say “one like= one prayer”? Guess what, one like doesn’t equal one prayer. They are not mutually exclusive things!!!!

Do you think any of us hip college kids could have foreseen that just a few short years later we would see comments on our photos NOT from our friends, but in fact from our aunts who would write: “Love, Auntie!” despite the fact that their NAME AND PHOTO accompany the text, so we know exactly who it is?!?!?!

This social media platform was NOT designed for you to post pictures of the Minions with weird quotes that aren’t even from the movie! Like, “I need coffee to function!” The Minions don’t even speak English! THAT QUOTE NEVER HAPPENED!!!!

Despite the fact that the majority of you just decided to throw basic grammatical skills out the window, still somehow think “poking” is relevant, and have NO CLUE how to appropriately tag someone or even share a link, your presence on the internet is just downright intrusive. Why on earth why I ever want to argue with someone’s great-aunt about vaccinating children? If you don’t know that my status is a quote from Mean Girls, than for the love of God, don’t comment on it! And please, please, if I take a slamming selfie, don’t write: “Wow! All grown up! How cute! xo- Mom” because then I just have to delete it.

I’m glad you all saved the trouble of paying for that pricey flight to the Midwest for your high school reunion, but now it’s all over my news feed.

And no, Susan, I didn’t like the video you shared on my wall, I didn’t even watch it. I understand that you love to adopt dogs. It doesn’t mean our relationship is tarnished, I just wish you get the fuck away from the internet.

If I didn’t have to use Facebook for my job I would literally be happy to fall of the face of the earth and never see some stupid status about what happened on The Voice last night ever again.


Purple Rain: A Millennial’s Analysis


Purple Rain was released in 1984 and became a classic 80’s cult film. But the question remains…do the Purple One’s acting chops realistically translate in 2017? Is this movie cheesy? Would any of us really fuck a 5’2” guy on a purple motorcycle with conservatively heeled boots?!!?!

Enjoy the recap and decide for yourself:

Ok, so Prince, aka  “The Kid” lives in Minnesota and plays at this very typical 80’s club with his band The Revolution. Apollonia is a thirsty wannabe singer that doesn’t pay for cabs and sneaks into hip Minnesota clubs. These are a thing?

Apollonia knocking over a waitress with all of her drinks and asking for a job 10 seconds later is SO relatable.

I think we can all agree that even by 2017 standards, Apollonia is an extremely weird name.

The Revolution has some serious competition from another band, The Time. I can kind of see why because they wear big jackets and have fun dance moves.

The lead singer of The Time, Morris Day, has the hots for Apollonia and he wants to put together a hot girl group for the club. The club owner is down but he’s like, okay but nothing dirty because I have enough problems, whatever that means….he agrees that if Morris can get a semi-talented, non-slutty girl group up in the club, he’ll get rid of Prince’s band.

Back at the clurrrrb, The Kid awkwardly lingers around Apollonia with his Prince glasses on and she’s like, feeling it. He later semi-steals her boot charm (?) and gives her a ride on his purple motorcycle.


Apollonia is like, can you help me with my music career and Prince is like nah but you can go baptize yourself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.

Apollonia takes her clothes off and jumps into a body of water that we quickly learn is NOT Lake Minnetonka. Then he drives off. Classic Prince move!


**Important scarf moment**

He comes back in like five minutes and to further encourage the theory that women love assholes, Apollonia quickly forgives him. I don’t know about you, but if a 5’2” guy in purple pants got me to strip and jump in a cold river and then DROVE OFF, I’d probably be over it. Then again, I’m not trying to make a singing career happen at an 80’s dance club so what the fuck do I know.

Anyhoo, The Kid is having major problems with his band. He never plays any of the songs they write and is just an overall douche in general. We also find out that he is having MAJOR problems at home (i.e. his dad is abusive) and I think his mom is possessed by a demon. This has yet to be confirmed.

Morris wants to bang Apollonia big time and buys her a bottle of champs at the club. Apparently underage drinking is legal in Minnesota?

Since I’ve already seen Apollonia’s boobs 20 minutes into this film, I am a bit worried she is not the best choice for the non-slutty girl group idea. No judgement.

Is Apollonia’s “King Kong” reference about Prince’s chest hair or is she being racially insensitive?

The Kid and Apollonia’s 80’s style foreplay in his groovy basement will not at all make you uncomfortable!

Blah blah blah The Kid is always late to band practice and won’t play they girls’ music. WE GET IT. Are Lisa and Wendy a couple? Or do they just draw on matching face moles for fun?

Apollonia sells her tacky boot bracelet to buy The Kid a guitar he was eyeing earlier. Probably too soon in the “relationship” for large gifts, but maybe the sex was worth it. I’m going to assume it was.

She brings her way-too-soon gift over to Prince’s bang palace and receives a cheap hoop male earring in return. Then she casually goes, “oh I’m going to join Morris’ not at all slutty girl group!”. The Kid does the reasonable thing and SLAPS THE SHIT OUT OF HER. Needless to say, she dips.

The club owner tells The Kid that The Revolution is on the verge of getting cut from the club because allegedly there is a new hot group called APOLLONIA 6!!!!!???? I WONDER WHO COULD BE IN THAT GROUP?!

Cue “When Doves Cry” and experience a Minnesota -themed montage of Prince being the tiny, purple-clad bad-ass that he is. Moments include: throwing rocks into a stream, shed sex, and aggressive motorcycle riding.

Prince comes home and his mom is crying because she probably just got her ass kicked and you know, she’s possessed. He bursts in the house and twirls around screaming ANSWER ME MOTHER FUCKER in a totally not-femme manner. Please observe:

He finds his a-hole dad playing music on the piano. I guess this is done to tell us that The Kid and his father have a lot in common, such as: hitting women and playing music. Groundbreaking.

The Kid playing guitar shirtless with a lace blindfold and matching glove is probably the most important part of this film. God I love the 80’s.


Making Lisa simulate a BJ on stage isn’t even the most degrading thing The Kid has done to her so far. The club scene is displeased.

While no one can deny The Kid’s talent, his over-the-top erotic performances make the club owner uncomfortable and he’s over it. Probably would do well for the VMAs though.

Number of times Apollonia has cried at Prince’s performances so far: 2. Strange considering his music is literally about fucking.

Club owner: “Nobody digs your music but you!”

Prince: “Fuck off!”

Club owner: “Like father, like son.”

If the club owner was a woman, he would have been slapped at this point.

Cut to Minnesota’s second hottest club: “The Taste” and experience Apollonia and two other girls performing in straight-up lingerie and singing “I’m a sex-shooter”. Not trying to slut-shame, but what happened to the tasteful girl group idea?


Apollonia kind of resembles Tim Curry’s character in Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I like how Prince doesn’t even try to be low-key while he stalks her new girl group.

Do I really have to explain that Apollonia gets drunk and Prince hits her again? It happens.

Number of times Prince has come home to drama: too many to count

Slaps across Apollonia’s face: 2

Apologies for said slaps: 0

Shirtless performances: 2

The movie takes a dark turn when The Kid’s dad shoots himself. He doesn’t die though.

Are things ever going to look up for Prince? Only a rocking night at the club will tell.

Pretty sure singing an emotionally-driven ballad dedicated to your suicidal father is the definition of bringing your personal shit on stage. Hypocrisy, thy name is…club owner guy.

The big finale: The Kid manages to win literally everyone over by singing “Purple Rain”. There are no wounds so deep that an 80’s ballad can’t cure them. Plus The Kid has finally changed his douchey ways by playing Lisa and Wendy’s music!

10/10 would bang Prince and watch again.

Drunk Kalee: This movie great, Prince is great, you couldn’t ask for a better soundtrack.

College Kalee: While The Kid makes questionable and sometimes alarming choices within his relationships, one can see the detrimental toll his father’s abusive nature has taken on the young performer. Once The Kid truly begins to accept their similarities, he grows both emotionally as well as creatively, forgoing his aggressive nature towards Apollonia, and finally opening up to the other bandmates’ creative insights.

Think about it.


A Blog Post That I Actually Really Want You To Read


I’ve had a lot of crappy nights in my past. Most fueled by alcohol, but some were just shitty to their core. Last night was in my top 10, maybe even top 5 worst nights to date. A terrible, horrible man became president, and I was pretty shocked about it.

I got up at 6:30 AM and went to the polls to vote for the first lady president and couldn’t have been more excited.  I was fucking amped to put a female in the White House. I thought about the glass ceiling we were shattering; I thought about all the women in my life that I love and respect so much, and how major this was for us.

Later, all that got taken away from me. And I did something kind of strange, for me.

I sat on my couch in front of the results and I cried. I cried for my beautiful, intelligent, wonderful Latina friend who believes her family will be deported now. I cried for the incredible friends I have in the LGBTQ community. I cried for my uncle in a wheelchair. I cried for every person of color. I cried for myself. Not just me, the female, but the girl who was bullied for years on end, and ate lunch alone. The girl who was told she was ugly and stupid. When you see a bully win, all of those terrible, gut-wrenching feelings of hurt come rushing back, and it’s fucking terrifying.

I cowered. I went to bed and hid. I talked about (and posted about) leaving this country. To me, this was the big “fuck you” to those bullies, those racists, the men who made disgusting comments about my body, the homophobic jerks, the people who talked shit about me for having an abortion. I would just leave them all behind.

Then a few hours with the knowledge of President Trump turned into 4, then 5, then 10, and so on. And it still fucking sucks. And I’m still so fucking angry. But I am better than the girl on the couch crying.

I have made people laugh, feel good, and feel safe with this stupid little blog. I have done something. I am not a person who does nothing. If I ever have daughters, they will be strong, amazing, articulate women, and they will not do nothing. They will not be okay with doing nothing.

Of course I still want to leave the country. I want to run away from this shit. Of course I’m still afraid. I’m fucking pissed. But I am not the woman I have built myself to be for 26 years if I just sit behind a computer and talk shit. So please, everyone, with all that is left in your big, beautiful, worthy, kind hearts: let’s figure out a way to take our bravery back.

Let’s host charity events, lets donate anything and sign everything we can. Let’s walk out, let’s protest. Let’s shine brighter. Let’s be the baddest fucking bitches in the game. If I do have a daughter- or a son, fuck it- I can show them this, my words, the kind things I’ve done, and I can feel okay with that. I can’t be ok with tears.

How can I sit here and say we can be ANYTHING and then hide away? We can be fucking anything.  We can do ANYTHING. Please, please, share charities, causes, events, petitions, and anything you can think of that will bring us together. We can make our own. I am more than happy to donate my time, my money, my belongings to prove that this scum bag is not my voice, and this country that we call home is not based on hate.

I’m not a cry baby. I’m a nasty woman and I’m ready to start shit. Let’s do this.

The 5 Stages Of Grief When Trying To Go Sober For 30 Days


I don’t like to throw around the term “alcoholic”, but let’s just say I tell my doctor that I have “one drink” everyday. This was all fine and good when I had a fake ID, but now that I’m a 26-year-old woman, all of those empty calories have taken residency on my thighs, resulting in a hearty 16 pound weight gain in 2 months (hahahhaha help me hahahah). So, in the name of vanity, I decided to give up alcohol for the entire month of October.

Here are the five stages of grief when dealing with Sober October, Ocsober, or, if you’re not a douche, just October without drinking:

  1. Denial and isolation: You will tell yourself that being sober is easy. It’s only 30 days! Big whoop! You’ve got this. There are so many more exciting things to do when you’re not getting drunk! Cut to two days in, you’re alone in bed trying to make ginger ale taste better while your friends go to happy hour (isolation).
  2. Anger: Not only are you angry because you JUST WANT ONE GLASS OF PINOT WHILE YOU WRITE THIS DAMN THING, but you’re angry because you can’t thing of a single fucking thing to do that doesn’t involve alcohol. Who the fuck watches Game of Thrones sober?!
  3. Bargaining: Ok so….what if you only drink on weekdays? That’s basically the same thing as being sober, right? What if you just smoke a ton of pot instead? That’s better than drinking!
  4. Depression: Going to bed early, skipping the wine aisle on grocery trips, drinking ‘mocktails’ at dinner, making yourself go to the gym, soberly talking to your husband about your hopes and dreams…you may as well be at church camp.
  5. Acceptance: Haven’t hit this one yet. I’ll let you know if it ever happens.

I miss you, wine!

10 Sure-Fire Ways To Make A Hostess Hate You


After a pretty sweet promotion, I found myself saying (yet again) “this is the last time I’ll be working in the service industry!”. If you’ve ever worked at a restaurant you know how much of a bullshit statement this is. If you’ve never worked in a restaurant then you probably think 15% is an acceptable tip amount and I can’t stand you as a person.

Since I’m a millennial that’s in debt and everyone I know is a millennial that’s in debt, we all know it’s nearly impossible to actually get out of the service industry. Once you realize you can make cash that fast without taking your clothes off, it’s tough to walk away forever.

While I enjoy my restaurant-free life for the next unforeseeable months, I thought I’d share some of my hard-earned employee wisdom with you so you can avoid the wrath of the evil hostess (me). Yeah I know, you’ve probably seen tons of hilarious server memes and likely follow the bitchywaiter on Instagram, but hostesses are the real ball-busters of the dining world, so I’m just going to go ahead and speak for all of them.

Try to avoid the following at all costs:

  1. Telling me you want “the nicest table in the house”. Just in case you’re curious, there is no part of any training (at least that I’m aware of) where the manager says, “oh just so you know, that table right there is the nicest table in the house”. As far as I’m concerned, all the tables are the same, except for the one that’s directly behind the host stand where you can hear us all talking about whether or not we like anal. Unless you’re into that, then that’s the best table in the house.
  2. Telling me you know the owner/asking if the owner is there. First of all, knowing the owner of a restaurant isn’t even a remotely cool connection, and I KNOW THEM TOO SO IT’S REALLY NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL. Furthermore, if you actually do know the owner so well then you’d know that they aren’t putzing around their establishment on a Friday night hoping you’d stop by without a reservation. Get real. Name dropping has never been and will never be cool.
  3. Showing up late to your reservation and getting butt hurt when I give your table away. We’re busy and we have tables to fill. If you can’t figure out how to call and say you’re on your way, you don’t deserve to dine out. I’m not allowed to show up 15 minutes late for my job, why are you allowed to show up late? Girl, bye.
  4. Asking me to call a cab for you. It’s 2016 are you fucking serious.
  5. Asking if we have a children’s menu. I understand that this one is subject to location but I’ve never worked at TGIFriday’s and don’t think children should be allowed in restaurants so just, don’t.
  6. Asking to move tables. CAN YOU NOT CAN YOU JUST PLEASE NOT.
  7. Touching me in any way, shape, or form. Don’t gently put your hand on my back and ask me where the restroom is. Don’t touch my arm and tell me which table you want. Don’t pull my wrist to drag me somewhere quiet and tell me you’re paying for the whole table. I’m not impressed.
  8. Asking me to turn the lights up/turn the music down. Do you think I have a fucking all-access panel in the host stand? It’s called ambiance, for one, and I would never change the entire lighting and musical theme of an entire restaurant so you can read the menu better.
  9. Telling me that you have to pee (or similar). You are a grown ass adult. Under what circumstance would it ever be acceptable to tell a complete stranger at work: “I really have to pee. Where are the bathrooms?” Ew. Put this phrase in your back pocket, and remember it forever: “Excuse me, where are the restrooms?”. NO OTHER INFO NECESSARY.
  10. Completely ignoring me when I great you. Hi there, welcome! *silence* Thanks, I’ll just go fuck myself.

Happy dining! I hope I never have to walk any of you to “the best table in the house” ever again.

An Open Letter To The Try Hard Who Has No Respect For My Marriage

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Hi there,

We haven’t met yet, and there’s a decent amount of reasons for that. Probably one of the biggest reasons, though, may be when you told my husband you “didn’t want to meet me”. That’s interesting.

Another reason is that you’re a wannabe actress, which means I probably won’t find you interesting, relatable, or smart. But I’ve been wrong before.

I’m not surprised that you’re attracted to my husband. Lots of women are. I’m not petty or small enough to get upset over every woman that thinks my husband is hot or embarrassingly slips their number to him at the bar. I’m too busy.

But you, you’re a special breed of shitty. You know that my husband is a taken man. You’ve seen the ring that I BOUGHT for him, you’ve heard him talk about me, you’ve been present while he spoke to me on the phone and told me he loved me. All the while you were trying to weasel your way into my life because you think you two share something together.

You’re not entirely incorrect. Acting is a huge part of my husband’s life, a passion of his that I don’t truly understand. While I support him 110%, that connection is something I can’t give to him. Make no mistake though, the part of his life that you two share does not make you important. It does not mean that I don’t exist. It does not give you the right to text, call, or otherwise communicate with a married man.

If you don’t understand your very, very small supporting role in my husband’s life, I’d be happy to break it down for you. You are a prop. You are not an actress- you’re just a girl who wants to be one. Your entire job in relation to my spouse is to make him look good. It’s to make agents and casting directors and audience members fall in love with him and pay him money. Your talents, your ambitions, and your feelings are not important and hold no value.

I am the person who will be there for him when he gets rejected, when he messes up, and when he falls short. I am also the person who will be there when he succeeds, when he shines, and when he celebrates. The part you play is irrelevant, and has no merit outside of the space you read lines in.

I love that my husband has female friends. I’ve met and spent time with many of them. But you are not a friend. You are not special. You are the kind of woman that disrespects good, happy, honest women. You are the kind of person that uses personal emotional stress to get close to and manipulate people- married people- instead of taking responsibility for your own behavior. It really is unfortunate that all of your exes were so unstable and mean to you, but they all had one thing in common, didn’t they?

It’s truly unfortunate that you don’t want to meet me, because you could see the tribe of amazing, intelligent, and honest women I surround myself with daily. My assumption is that you don’t have inspiring, strong women in your life, and that is a damn shame.

I feel sorry for you. I am irritated that precious time with my husband was wasted because we were too busy figuring out how to deal with your unprofessional behavior. I’m disappointed that the attention of an attractive man is more important to you than someone’s marriage. But truth be told, I’m okay with all you’ve tried to do, because this won’t be the last time some try hard actress thinks they mean something to my husband. You actually brought us closer together. You reminded me of how strong of a team we are. You helped us see again how much we support each other. You helped us communicate openly and honestly.

So congratulations. You are still a struggling “actress” and we’re still happily married. I hope you find a way to be happy, and I hope some stranger doesn’t try to take a shit all over that.

Best of luck, professional waitress.

-Kalee d’Avignon

Why My Blog Isn’t Funny Anymore


I started this blog over 2 years ago. I was in a really bad place and I knew I had to do something for myself; I knew I had to write because it’s not just what I do, it’s who I am. I  had to keep my hands and mind occupied because I knew that if I didn’t, things wouldn’t end well for me.

I was amazed how easy words came, how quick the rants and stories and allegories just fell out of me, like they’d be waiting so long for their moment. I didn’t go through life defining myself as an angry person. I didn’t think I needed help, and I let it roll of my shoulders when people told me I “looked mean” so often.

I had found my stride in this little corner of the writing world. People thought I was funny and honest. Every little thing that irritated me, that I was jealous of, that made me hurt- could be turned into 600 words and a funny meme that people liked. That was my purpose.

My life has changed so much that I feel like I’ve some how failed by writing wife-type blogs now. Like I caved in, drank the Kool-aid, and now I’m this lame Eat Pray Love person who has no original thoughts and just skips around through flower fields all day.

I’m still me, though. I don’t feel like I’ve changed. I feel like this Kalee, this happier, lighter Kalee has always been there, I just had no idea how to get to her. I somehow found a way to love without fear, to trust without holding a grudge, and to live without armor.

It’s all still there, don’t get me wrong, my defenses still come up sometimes when my husband and I fight. You’d be amazed how easy it is for me to find hurtful things to say, to find the quickest insecurity and shine a light on it. That part of me can gain strength.

But as I go through life today, a little bit frustrated that my posts are no longer funny, that I don’t care about people’s dating problems anymore and am no longer being irritated by babies and strollers, I know that I am newer. I know that this Kalee is the Kalee my family always saw, the teachers who believed in me always fought for. This is the me I begged for when I was too depressed to get out of bed, too alone to ask for help.

I think that’s kind of all anyone can hope for really, that they still feel like themselves, just lighter and brighter. I feel less prickly, more vulnerable. Less brave, more loving. Less independent, more welcoming. I am still searching for the balance, but anger leaves me much quicker now. I am a bit sad that my blog had to pay the price for that, but if a few snarky words are the casualties of my happiness then I will take that and be grateful.

If you are still in need of sassier writing, betches.com is hilarious.

A Note On Emotional Stability And Mental Illness


About a week ago I wrote a piece about my husband. I’m definitely not here to take back anything that I wrote, but I will admit that I fibbed a bit.

Aleks DOES support me, and love me, and make my life wonderful. But this morning we got into a “fight” (I rarely call our loud discussions fights- we mostly just yell out our concerns until something gets solved.) and I realized something. I do not feel 100% safe in my relationship. I don’t know how anyone feels 100% about anything, I find that nearly impossible, but this isn’t a fault on my husband’s part, or my marriage by any means.

The more I explored it on my own, the more I felt like it was something I needed to share.

My husband – and arguably a lot of other people in my life- see me as a very brave, very strong, determined, independent person. I really don’t like excuses, or lack of accountability. I feel like there is answer for everything. So when, I wake up and lay in bed crying for upwards of an hour with no real explanation to give, that is really challenging scenario for my partner.

I grew up in a house where mental illness was no doubt talked about, but not well understood. It was also an environment where things like depression, or bi-polar disorder, or even loss were used as an excuse for causing hurt. I don’t accept that. Another thing I have a hard time accepting are words like no or can’t or won’t. Just because struggle with things that some people don’t understand doesn’t mean I can’t do something or I won’t do something, or that my behavior is excusable.

That being said, I push it away. I push away my depression, and my anxiety, and anytime I “feel sad for no reason”, I hope with everything in my heart that it will just go away. I don’t want to ever hurt or impact anybody in a bad way because of something that I feel. Unfortunately, there are going to be days where I wake up and I just can’t wish or pretend it away.

I have had vivid, painful, real thoughts about hurting myself. I have been so thoroughly engulfed in sadness that I feel like I can’t stand up on my own. While I don’t see this is as a weakness on my part, I do see these sentences as things I cannot just simply say outloud.

It’s very difficult to wake up next to someone who I love and admire and respect and say: “Hi I literally feel like I want to die. I feel like my insides are crumbling apart. I feel like I want to punch something and cry and scream and I can’t stop it.”

I have nothing but admiration for people who openly talk about mental illness, and I myself have nothing to hide, but I am ashamed sometimes. I’m disappointed in myself. I’m mad at myself. I just want to feel better. I want to feel NORMAL.

I know that there is medication that exists that could take this all away, and maybe make my life easier for my friends and loved ones, but I just won’t go there…at least not yet. I don’t want to make excuses. I know that my husband, and my friends, and my mom just don’t understand. And that’s totally okay. Creating a safe space for me to hurt is not their responsibility. My vulnerability and balance is on me.

I guess I just want everyone to know, whether they have a support system or not, or whether they struggle with mental illness or not, that it’s okay to feel lost and shitty and ashamed. And that there are going to be people who love you SO much that still won’t get it. They have no idea how you feel.

It doesn’t mean I love these people any less, or think of my relationship any less. It’s going to be a challenge for us for the rest of our lives.

I guess I’d just say to those of us who are putting on a good face 90% of the time, we really need a hug and love and comfort for that other 10%- but the chances of us asking for it are almost nonexistent. Because we are scared and maybe a little ashamed.

Not really sure how to wrap this one up? 😉

An Uncomfortably Emotional Letter To My Husband On His Birthday


Unfortunately, as good as I am at getting my feelings down in black and white, saying them out loud without sounding sarcastic (no,that shirt looks REALLY good on you) or condescending is nearly impossible. So, on the anniversary of my husband’s 28th trip around the sun, I decided to write him a little something. Feel free to use any of my lovely words for your own special someone- just don’t forget to give me credit.

Dear Aleks,

Happy birthday! Your birth is probably one of my favorite things that has ever happened. I am so insanely grateful that our paths crossed and you became my husband. It is bizarrely easy for me to picture us as parents, as semi-functional middle-aged adults, and even as old people. I think about taking care of you as a funny old man and it makes me smile. I never thought that I would experience such a peaceful, honest love the way I do with you.

I am so proud of all that you take on, from your music, to your acting, to your insane work ethic- you are a tornado of talent and I am so impressed with your energizer bunny-like momentum. The accomplishments and goals I have seen you reach in such a short period of time are nothing short of amazing.

They always say opposites attract, and while I think our humor, our values, and our hearts are extremely similar, you are my polar opposite in all the best ways. You are so wonderfully social, outgoing, brave, patient, and full of life. You make every person that you encounter feel valued. You always listen, you always include, and you are one of the most generous people I know. Thank you for helping me come out of my shell (I had suffered from crippling social anxiety for years and it had damaged many, many relationships and my own self esteem), I couldn’t have done it without you.

I am constantly impressed with your love for the female energy. I have never met a man so respectful, so understanding, and so patient with a woman as crazy as me. Thank you for allowing me to feel so brave and safe. I think in the past I tended to tone down my femininity, my intellect, and my pain for men. You encourage every part of me, or at least tolerate it with a smile, which is pretty damn impressive.

When I am with you, I feel like I’m with my brother. I know that sounds creepy and totally not romantic, but what I mean is, I’m so completely myself. I don’t feel judged, or like I’m trying to be impressive, or interesting, or whatever. I feel comfy and warm; I feel like I have a love that’s unconditional, which is something I’ve never felt that from someone outside of my family.

Thank you for encouraging my intelligence. My thirst for knowledge and love of books was a safe space I retreated to alone for most of my life. I never really had a lot of friends, and it was hard for me to feel good about myself for a long time. You fell in love with my mind, you listen to me, you never cease to remind me of how smart I am, and continue to build me up when I feel like I’ve failed.

You always remind me not to keep score. You’ve taught me patience, and graciousness, and a love that speaks volumes. You make me laugh, you make me cry, you make me insanely angry, but you’re slowing down for me, you’re sitting still with me, and I feel very lucky.

For a girl who has spend most of her life being harsh and weirdly angry, you have no idea how rewarding it is to hear people tell me that I look happy. Since I met you, I’ve stepped outside my comfort zone, I’ve tried new things, and I’ve found some of the most rewarding successes in my young life. My relationships with my friends and family have improved, and the shitty, heavy fortress that blocked my heart away for what felt like so long is starting to be broken away.

I know that I’m going to piss you off a lot. I know I fall asleep really early, I know I make too much noise in the morning, I know that I nag you. But I love you more than I ever thought I could love anybody. And even though I’m really bad at showing it, I hope you know how happy you make me and how grateful I am for your big heart. I’m so genuinely happy that you’re my husband. You’re my best friend, and I am so excited to share my life with you!

Thank you for being born. I’m so happy you exist(: I hope you have the best birthday ever- you deserve it!

I love you,