Lifestyle: In Practice

I recently suffered one of the worst breakups of my life—a friend breakup. After years of support, the rug was pulled out from under me. I had to make my life worth waking up to without part of my support system. I dispose of everything tied to them, donate it to mark the end. I create a playlist, cry, then delete it. I reclaim my space, invest in my future, and go on solo dates. And in writing a goodbye letter, I release the pain and learn from it.

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.