Lifestyle: In Practice

There’s something sacred about pushing a red cart down the aisles of Target when your brain feels like a battlefield. For me, these trips aren’t about consumerism — they’re about survival. A new lip gloss, some eucalyptus-scented body wash, a candle I’ll never light — these aren’t luxuries, they’re lifelines. When everything feels too heavy, Target gives me the illusion of control, a ritual of joy, and just enough peace to make it to next week.

I wasn’t asking for a fantasy—I just wanted honesty. But when men act like boyfriends and refuse to give you the title, it’s not romance, it’s manipulation. Swift gave me the world, but not his word. This is what I learned: confusion is not chemistry, it’s a red flag waving in your face. I don’t do placeholders anymore. If it’s not clear, it’s cut.

I don’t believe in perfection, I believe in intention. In crying on the bathroom floor with my tits out and God still pulling me into His arms. I believe in girls who hex their exes and still pray for their nieces’ safety. I believe in rage, in contradiction, in horny heartbreak and petty healing. I believe in heaven for the girls who curse and cry and come and still try to do better the next day. God doesn’t want a perfect woman—He wants an honest one. And I’m her.