PeonyMagazine

  I used to believe that love—real love meant bending until my back gave out. To win at relationships, I had to be the Cool Girlfriend™… endlessly understanding, low-maintenance, ready to forgive almost anything so long as he says “he loves me.” (Spoiler alert: he usually just loved the version of me that didn’t have needs.) You too? Oh, sweetheart, pull up a chair. You’re in good company. I had this friend—let’s call her Anna because she’d kill me if I used her real name—who was basically that girl growing up. You know, the type who graduated with the highest honors walked into a career like she was strutting down a runway, promotions raining on her like confetti. If life were a board game, Anna looked like she had rolled sixes all the way to the finish line. And me? Not to brag (okay, maybe to brag a little LOL), but I wasn’t doing bad either. My life feels like there’s a little shortcut to success thing going. Life was good. We had jobs that paid the rent and left enough for win...

There’s a version of me I still carry in my back pocket. She’s about 17, maybe 18—full of big ideas, a little mascara, and a mouth full of braces, dreaming of becoming a dentist. Not for money, not for prestige, but because she liked the quiet thrill of helping people smile without being embarrassed. She wanted to wear those little scrubs and say things like “open wide” and mean it. But I never became her. I became someone else—someone safe. Someone who was good at writing, or organizing, or showing up on time. Someone who knew how to hold a job, manage expectations, keep her head down, and listen when adults say things like “that’s not realistic” or “are you sure you’re smart enough for that?” I nodded. I was a good girl. I didn’t want to be a burden. So, I chose comfort over calling. I chose applause over authenticity. And now, I’m here—doing something I’m good at, something that keeps the lights on, but not the thing I once believed would light me up. And I’ll be honest with you, th...