🥤Grab a drink, take a 3-minute break, and hit play to Pussy Palace by Lily Allen. Today’s column was inspired by a conversation I had after our previous edition.
Dear Diary is where I delve into the complexities and magic of relationships — with others and with myself. I don’t have the answers, but I believe in connecting through words.
There’s a reason so many women are still playing “I always thought it was a do-jo, do-jo, do-jo” in their heads.
I was gossiping with my besties these days, and one of them brightly said something like this:
We were trained to please men. So we perfected ourselves—brains, beauty, behavior. And we did it. We became extraordinary women. The funny part? Men never got the same memo. They’re still boys, waiting for applause they didn’t earn.
Mercury went into a microwave, and apparently opened the manhole.
This conversation started because Mercury retrograde brought a pest from the past: a toxic, shitty ex-boyfriend message a friend, and she forwarded the message. You know, normal things friends do.
She gave us the horror love story we all know too well: an army of red flags and a young woman too naive to walk away. Confidence chipped away piece by piece by shitty men who feed on our shine until we’re left bland, confused, and questioning ourselves. Energy vampires sucking us dry while we’re out here hustling, trying to be the best damn version of ourselves.
This time, we bonded over something I’d never said out loud before: ex-boyfriends who cheat & take your money.
I’d honestly forgotten that I once helped pay my ex’s college tuition because his dad “wouldn’t help,” and poor him would’ve “lost the semester.” It was forever ago, but the audacity still stings.
My friend’s lame not-so-great boyfriend suddenly looked better in comparison — he married his affair (!), and the new wife handled part of his debts. Can you see how insane this loop is? What a plot twist.
I got cheated on, too, but no refund. What a combo. I still remember picking him up from the airport with sushi waiting in the car after his “work trip.” Men don’t just test us—they break us. And then we have to spend more money on therapy just to rebuild trust that they shattered for free.
(I only pay for female therapists to break the loop)
That’s why we are embarrassed about being in a relationship — how come I’m again risking that humiliation? Wasn’t that trauma enough?
Well, at least I’m sure if this diary page ever gets read by a man, it’ll be by a nice one. Not a cheater. A Charlie — the perfect man who knows the world is already a woman’s rival and does what he can to make his woman’s life better, simply because he loves her fiercely and wants her to feel wonderful. Charlie knows he has work to do — and OMG, he does!
Charlie, we love you!
Charlie’s in his forties, I guess, but he gets it: feminism isn’t against men. It’s just women asking for the bare minimum: to have agency over their bodies, control their money, cut their hair, dress how they want, pierce their noses, get paid for their work, and not be raped. Basic. Stuff.
Maybe, deep down, I want this diary page to land in the hands of a trashy man. Would he recognize himself and admit he’s awful? Or would he blame a woman? (Exes or moms, take your pick.)
If that’s you, sweetheart, feel free to comment below.
I still feel a prick of shame for being part of these stories. I don’t blame myself, of course — but there’s a kind of disgust that lingers for having them in my life. So I keep reminding myself: they’re not mine. They belong to the men who caused them. They own that mess. I was just there, collecting trauma as souvenirs.
🎵
“And that’s when I realised — something don’t feel right.”
Come inside — quieter, deeper, closer.
A new room has opened where the words continue to unfold, and ideas flow with intention.🦪
This post is so relatable. I’ve also stayed far too long with “energy vampires,” and spent years and money in therapy trying to rebuild myself after what someone else broke. That’s why it’s so important to speak openly about these experiences, especially for the younger generation. We need to shout from the rooftops: this is NOT okay.
And therapy is never wasted money. If we stayed with someone who drained us, there was a reason, lessons we still needed about trusting ourselves, setting boundaries, and protecting our own peace. Some people are born with that instinct; others, learn it by living through it.
This is also why community matters, especially a community of women. A circle where you can share, trust, be held, and when it’s time to leave, know without hesitation that your people have your back.
Recognizing sunk cost and choosing yourself is growth. Good riddance and onwards :)