the ward method

Tag: writing

  • It’s okay if not everyone gets you.

    It’s okay if not everyone gets you.

    I used to be a huge people pleaser. The kind that would overthink a text, a caption, a random conversation from three days ago. I wanted to be liked, understood, seen as “chill” or “easygoing,” even when I was internally spiraling. And honestly? Sometimes, I still catch myself doing it. Old habits have a way of hanging around. But lately, I’ve been choosing something different, choosing me.

    Because here’s the thing: judgment is inevitable. No matter how “perfectly” you try to show up, someone will still have an opinion. And spending your life trying to edit yourself into the version that everyone else is comfortable with? Exhausting. Unfulfilling. Kind of soul-sucking, if we’re being real.

    I’ve realized that the more I try to shrink myself to fit in, the more I start to feel like a stranger in my own life.

    The truth is, the moment you start doing things for you, saying what you actually feel, wearing what makes you happy, chasing the dreams that light you up, there will be people who don’t get it. Who roll their eyes. Who lowkey judge from the sidelines.

    But there will also be people who do get it. Who see your magic and meet you where you are, because you had the courage to be real. And honestly? That kind of connection is so much better than surface-level approval from everyone.

    I still have days where I question myself. Where I feel a little too “out there” or too emotional or too whatever. But I remind myself that I’m not here to be liked by everyone, I’m here to live a life that feels true. That feels mine.

    So if you’re in a season where you feel a little lost, or you’re stepping into a more authentic version of yourself and it’s kinda terrifying… I see you. It’s okay to disappear until you feel like you again. It’s okay to not have it all figured out. And it’s more than okay to take up space in your own life.

    You don’t have to prove anything. You just have to be real.

    The moment you want to quit? That’s exactly when you should keep going.

    And if you ever needed a sign to be a little louder, a little braver, a little more you… this is it.

  • Crying in the car counts as self-care, right?

    Crying in the car counts as self-care, right?

    I’ve been known (by myself) to cope with a bad week by blasting Justin Bieber’s Journals and crying in my car like I’m the main character of a very dramatic indie film that got bad reviews but still has a cult following.

    And honestly? 10/10 recommend.

    Some people vent to their friends. Some people go for a run. Me? I put on a hoodie, throw on sunglasses (even if it’s cloudy), and sip my iced coffee like it’s a prescription. That’s my emotional support beverage, your honour. The Vida barista doesn’t know she’s part of my healing journey, but she is.

    Humour has always been my favourite coping tool. If I can laugh about it, even a little, it doesn’t feel quite as heavy. I’ll lay on the couch and watch an Adam Sandler movie (highly recommend), or turn a full-on meltdown into a funny story I tell my podcast listeners. It’s not about ignoring how I feel, it’s about softening the edges. Giving myself a way to breathe through the mess. Sometimes you’ve got to make the mental breakdown artsy.

    Here are a few very real, very unhinged ways I romanticize a bad week:

    • Wearing an oversized hoodie, cycle shorts and pairing it with my reading glasses like I’m in hiding from the paparazzi (even though I’m just avoiding small talk at the grocery store).
    • Driving down to the beach with my digital camera and Kelsea Ballerini on repeat like I’m filming a breakup montage, except the only person I’m breaking up with is burnout.
    • Sitting in my car, seat fully reclined, watching the waves and pretending the ocean is giving me a TED Talk about how everything is going to be okay.
    • Ordering pizza for one, pouring a glass of red wine and telling myself I’m on a solo date.
    • Crying dramatically in the shower with Charli XCX playing. Peak cinema.

    The truth is: life gets weird. Days get hard. But finding little ways to comfort myself, to laugh, to feel cozy, to make it all feel a little softer? That’s become one of the kindest things I do for me.

    So if your week’s been trash and you just feel over it, here’s your reminder: your healing can be messy, funny, dramatic, and full of iced coffee. That doesn’t make it any less valid. You’re still growing. Still trying. Still doing your best.

    And if you need me, I’ll be parked by the beach, blasting sad songs and pretending the sunset is clapping for me.

  • Let’s normalize being best friends with your partner.

    Let’s normalize being best friends with your partner.

    Let’s just normalize this already: your partner should be your best friend. Period.

    Not in a cheesy, “we wear matching pajamas” kind of way (though, honestly, love that for you). I’m talking about real friendship, the kind where you laugh at dumb sh*t together, feel safe being your weirdest self, and don’t need to perform to be loved. Where comfort is chemistry. Where being seen and accepted as you are is the whole point.

    And I’ll be honest… that’s not the kind of love I used to chase.

    For way too long, I found myself drawn to emotionally unavailable guys. The ones who were hot and mysterious and said things like “I’m just not ready for anything serious right now” right after trauma-dumping on our second date. You know the type. Charming enough to keep you hooked, distant enough to keep you confused. And for some reason? That felt exciting.

    When someone isn’t emotionally available, your brain can trick you into thinking that inconsistency = a challenge. And chasing that validation starts to feel like a reward. Like, if I can just get him to pick me, it means I’m enough.


    But real love?
    Real love doesn’t make you earn it.

    I’d stick around for the crumbs of affection, convinced that the little moments meant something deeper. That if I just held on, the dream version of him I created in my head would eventually show up in real life. But he never did, because I wasn’t in love with him. I was in love with the idea of him.

    And here’s where it got even messier: sometimes I think I chased emotionally unavailable people because I was scared of actual intimacy too. If they’re never fully in, I don’t have to be either. It’s a built-in escape plan. I can say I’m trying without risking too much. It’s safer, in a weird backwards way.

    But that safety? It’s also what keeps you stuck.

    Lately, I’ve been thinking about what love actually should feel like. And it looks a lot less like chasing and more like choosing. Choosing someone who chooses you back. Someone who texts first, who asks about your day, who knows your coffee order and what show you rewatch when you’re sad. The kind of person you want to do boring errands with and send unhinged TikTok’s to at 1AM.

    Someone who feels like home.
    Like your best friend.

    Because here’s the truth I’m finally learning: love isn’t supposed to feel like you’re auditioning. It’s supposed to feel safe, steady, fun, full of laughter, late-night convos, and forehead kisses. It’s supposed to feel like you. Messy, silly, fully human you. Where you can show up without needing to shrink or sparkle for someone else’s approval.

    So yes, I’m done romanticizing the slow-burn situationships and chasing guys who keep me guessing. I want the friend. The soft place to land. The person who stays when life gets hard and loves me in the most real way possible.

    Because when love is also friendship? That’s when it’s the good stuff.

  • Crying > Coping > Main Character Energy

    Crying > Coping > Main Character Energy

    So…I just turned 30 (2 months ago).
    Which is wild, because mentally I still feel 22, emotionally I’m 55, and physically? Somewhere between a Pilates girlie and a grandma with a heating pad.

    But here’s the thing: this year, I’m choosing me. Not in the cliché, hashtag self-love way. I mean really choosing myself. Saying no more often. Trusting my gut. Letting go of versions of me that played small just to be liked.

    Thirty feels like shedding, softening, and finally stepping into something real. And honestly? I’m kinda into it.

    Change doesn’t always come in softly. Sometimes it shows up unannounced, flips your world upside down, and leaves you staring at your ceiling asking, “What the hell am I even doing?”

    It’s awkward. It’s uncomfortable. It’s the emotional version of growing out your bangs and wondering if you made a mistake, but deep down, you know you didn’t.

    That’s where I am right now.
    Somewhere in between who I was and who I’m becoming.

    You know that moment when you’re tired of being unhappy and you start wanting more for yourself? Yes, that. I’m relearning who I am. Letting go of old habits, old narratives, old versions of me that once felt safe, but now feel like wearing jeans that don’t fit anymore.

    And while this growth thing sounds empowering, sometimes it just feels like confusion with a little hope sprinkled in.

    Even in the mess, there’s this quiet knowing, that this discomfort is leading somewhere good. That I’m not falling apart, I’m unfolding.

    Because change isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering who you’ve always been… underneath the fear, the overthinking, the self doubt, the people-pleasing, the “shoulds.”

    If you’re also in a weird little season of becoming, just know this:

    You’re not behind.
    You’re not lost.
    You’re just in progress.

    And progress doesn’t always look cute on the outside. Sometimes it looks like crying at 2PM, deleting Instagram, buying a journal to deal with your intrusive thoughts, or making playlists at midnight. Still counts.

    Change is weird. Growth is weird. But staying stuck just to feel comfortable? That’s even weirder.

    So here’s to letting go, starting over, getting uncomfortable, and trusting that the new chapter is going to be so damn worth it.

    We’re going to be okay. Actually, we’re going to be better.