The World Is My Playground. Are You Coming to Play or Adding to My Workload?

Men, Are You Looking for a Partner or Someone to Manage Your Life?

There comes a point in a woman's life when she has to ask herself a very uncomfortable question.

When the fuck did living my life become another job?

Not my actual job.

Not the responsibilities that naturally come with being an adult.

I'm talking about the invisible workload of being the person who anticipates everyone's needs, solves everyone's problems, manages everyone's emotions, remembers every fucking detail, and somehow remains responsible for making life enjoyable for everyone else.

The planner.

The provider.

The problem-solver.

The emotional support system.

The one who remembers.

The one who initiates.

The one who figures it out.

And somewhere in the middle of all that responsibility, she's also supposed to be spontaneous, playful, romantic, sexually enthusiastic, emotionally available, and endlessly understanding.

Jesus fucking Christ. When does she get to actually enjoy her own life?

I've spent a significant portion of my life being the person who figures things out.

As a mother.

As a woman.

As a professional.

As a friend.

As a partner.

And for a long time, I took pride in being capable of carrying so much.

But lately, I've been asking myself something different.

Just because I CAN carry something, why the fuck have I convinced myself that I SHOULD?

Because here's what I'm beginning to recognize.

Somewhere beneath my independence, resilience, generosity, and ability to help people navigate extraordinarily difficult circumstances is a much younger version of me.

A little girl who learned early that understanding other people, anticipating their needs, and figuring out how to make things better were part of how she navigated the world.

And that little girl grew up.

She became a mother.

A therapist.

A teacher.

A woman who genuinely believes in people's capacity to heal, evolve, and become more conscious versions of themselves.

And those are beautiful things.

But somewhere along the way, the gifts I developed to navigate life became responsibilities I didn't always know how to put down.

Especially in relationships.

Because there's a difference between loving someone and managing their participation in your life.

There's a difference between supporting someone's growth and becoming responsible for it.

And there's a difference between building a life together and becoming the person who has to build the entire fucking thing while someone else waits for instructions.

I'm learning those differences now.

Not because I've stopped believing in love.

Not because I've become bitter.

And certainly not because I think relationships should be effortless.

But because I've finally started asking myself what I want my life to actually feel like.

And you know what?

I want to fucking PLAY.

I want laughter.

Adventure.

Romance.

Curiosity.

Passion.

Spontaneity.

Meaningful connection.

The freedom to explore this extraordinary world while I'm still here to experience it.

I want to share those experiences with people who genuinely want to participate in creating them.

Not people who need me to organize every opportunity for joy and then wonder why I'm too fucking exhausted to enjoy it.

And certainly not with people who confuse partnership with entitlement, expecting everything to be handed to them as though we're still living under the fucking divine right of kings.

Newsflash, gentlemen. You're not a fucking monarch, and I'm not your royal servant.

Because I'm beginning to understand something.

The world has always been my playground.

I've just spent far too much time managing everyone else's experience of it.

And I'm not doing that anymore.

Men, Are You Looking for a Partner or Someone to Manage Your Life?

Gentlemen, I have a question.

When you say you want a strong, independent woman, do you actually want a partner? Or do you want someone who's exceptionally good at taking care of shit so you don't have to?

Because there's a fucking difference.

I've heard men talk about wanting a woman who's confident, intelligent, emotionally mature, financially independent, nurturing, sexually confident, and capable of handling whatever life throws at her.

Sounds wonderful, doesn't it?

But here's where things get interesting.

What happens when that woman wants those same qualities in return?

What happens when she wants a man who takes initiative?

Who notices what needs to be done without waiting for instructions?

Who can communicate his feelings without making her responsible for regulating them?

Who recognizes that romance doesn't magically happen because two people love each other?

Who understands that a relationship requires more than simply being physically present?

Suddenly, some men start acting like they've been handed an unreasonable fucking job description.

But gentlemen, that's not an unreasonable job description. That's called being an active participant in your own relationship.

And before anyone gets defensive, I'm not suggesting men should be mind readers.

I'm not suggesting every responsibility must be divided perfectly down the middle.

And I'm certainly not suggesting that a man experiencing illness, grief, financial hardship, depression, or some other major life disruption should be expected to function as though nothing has happened.

Life gets fucking messy, and boy, do I fucking know it!  

People struggle.

Sometimes one partner carries more because the other genuinely cannot.

I've been on both sides of needing support and providing it.

That's part of loving another human being.

But there's a difference between temporarily leaning on someone during a difficult season and becoming so accustomed to their support that you stop recognizing what it's costing them.

And sometimes, what began as a difficult season becomes an ongoing pattern where one person's struggles consume nearly all the attention, while the other person's struggles barely get acknowledged.

Imagine living through horrific storms all year long.

No relief.

Just storm after storm after fucking storm.

I jokingly tell my doctors and providers, “That's the story of my fucking life.”

But here's what I've started asking myself.

Why am I expected to keep surviving everyone else's storms while navigating my own without the same support?

Because hardship doesn't eliminate our responsibility to recognize the humanity of the person standing beside us.

Support is something partners give each other. Entitlement is what happens when that support becomes an expectation rather than something you recognize, appreciate, and reciprocate when you're able.

And reciprocity isn't necessarily about money, splitting bills fifty-fifty, or matching every gesture dollar for dollar. It's about two people genuinely wanting to contribute to each other's lives.

Sometimes reciprocity looks like noticing that your partner is exhausted and taking something off her plate.

Sometimes it's planning a date without asking her to research the restaurant, choose the time, make the reservation, and remind you when to leave.

Sometimes it's recognizing that she's been navigating her own difficult circumstances and asking yourself—not her—what you can do to make her day a little easier.

And here's a fucking revolutionary idea: Communicate. Get curious. Ask.

How are you REALLY doing?

Because sometimes the strongest woman in the room is the one struggling most to ask for help, especially when her previous attempts have been dismissed.

What have you been carrying that I haven't noticed?

Is there something I could take responsibility for without you having to manage it?

And then actually fucking follow through.

Have your little internal pity party if you need to, but show up for her the way she's shown up for you.

Because asking a woman what she needs is a beautiful thing.

Making her explain the same need fifteen fucking times while nothing changes is not.

And here's something else I want men to consider.

A woman who has become exceptionally capable of managing life may not always look like someone who needs support.

She may look like she's got everything under control.

She may keep working.

Keep showing up.

Keep solving problems.

Keep taking care of everyone.

Keep making things happen.

Perhaps she's even mastered the art of the fake fucking smile.

But competence isn't evidence of unlimited capacity, and a smile isn't always evidence of happiness.

Sometimes it's a persona hiding exhaustion, pain, or a desperate need for support.

Get curious enough to learn the fucking difference.

Just because a woman knows how to carry the fucking world doesn't mean she isn't exhausted from holding it.

And sometimes, the most romantic thing you can offer her isn't an extravagant vacation, expensive jewelry, or some grand declaration of love.

Sometimes it's the experience of not having to be responsible for absolutely everything.

The freedom to relax because she trusts that someone else is paying attention.

The opportunity to feel cared for instead of always being the caretaker.

The pleasure of being surprised because someone actually took the time to think about what might bring her joy.

Not because she wrote a manual.

Not because she created a checklist.

Not because she reminded you.

But because you wanted to contribute to the experience of loving her.

And gentlemen, if you're thinking, Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know what she wants?

Get fucking curious. And when she tells you what she needs, actually listen.

Pay attention to what lights her up.

Learn what makes her feel loved.

Notice what drains her.

And take responsibility for learning the difference.

Because your partner should absolutely communicate her individual needs, boundaries, and preferences.

But she shouldn't have to become your full-time relationship instructor or secretary just to experience basic consideration, initiative, and reciprocity.

She wants a partner, not another fucking project.

And if you're fortunate enough to have a woman who genuinely wants to share her life with you, perhaps the question isn't how much she's willing to do for you.

Perhaps it's whether you're showing up in ways that make sharing her life with you more fulfilling than living it on her own.

Because a strong, independent woman doesn't need a man. She wants one.

And gentlemen, there's a world of fucking difference between being needed and being wanted.

Gentlemen, There's a Difference Between Being Needed and Being Wanted

 Somewhere along the way, we've confused being needed with being valuable.

We've been conditioned to believe that love means being indispensable to someone else's survival.

That if someone depends on us enough, it must mean they love us deeply.

And for some men, being needed can become an important part of their identity.

The provider.

The protector.

The fixer.

The man who saves the day.

And listen, there's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to provide, protect, or support someone you love.

Those can be beautiful expressions of partnership.

But what happens when the woman standing beside you doesn't need rescuing?

What happens when she has her own career?

Her own money?

Her own home?

Her own interests?

Her own dreams?

Her own fucking toolbox?

What happens when she knows how to solve problems, navigate difficult circumstances, and build a meaningful life without waiting for someone else to do it for her?

Does that make you feel unnecessary?

Or does it create an opportunity to experience something extraordinary?

Being chosen by someone who doesn't need you to survive but genuinely wants you in her life.

Because that's an entirely different kind of intimacy.

And gentlemen, I want you to understand something about strong, independent women.

Many of us didn't become independent because we never wanted support.

Some of us became independent because we learned very early that support wasn't always available.

We learned to anticipate problems, navigate uncertainty, make difficult decisions, and figure shit out because life didn't always give us another fucking option.

Somewhere along the way, those survival skills became our identities. People called us strong, resilient, capable, and independent.

And we wore those labels like fucking badges of honor.

But here's the part people don't always see.

Sometimes independence isn't simply a preference. Sometimes it's a survival strategy that became a personality.

And that strategy can be incredibly difficult to put down.

Because trusting someone else to show up means allowing ourselves to be vulnerable.

It means risking disappointment.

It means admitting that, despite everything we've learned to manage, we still have needs.

And for some of us, that's fucking terrifying.

I know this about myself.

I've spent years learning how to solve problems, survive difficult circumstances, and help others navigate their darkest moments.

But I'm still learning how to receive support without feeling like I have to earn it, justify it, or repay it.

That's part of my own work.

My own shadow.

My own responsibility to examine.

A Little Lesson in Being Cared For

In fact, something happened just this morning that brought this realization right to the fucking surface.

I went for additional bloodwork after receiving yet another round of concerning medical results—as if the precancerous results weren't enough! 

I'd been fasting, wasn't feeling well, and walked into an unusually crowded laboratory.

And because apparently nothing in my medical life can ever be fucking simple, my lab orders turned into a complicated mess.

Two men were working to manage the packed waiting room while sorting through my complicated orders.

And there I was, apologizing, overexplaining, and trying desperately not to be another fucking inconvenience.

I'm so sorry. I know you're busy.

I'm sorry these orders are complicated.

I'm sorry this is taking so long.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I was apologizing for needing medical care.

Care I hadn't created a problem around.

Care I wasn't demanding unfairly.

Care I genuinely needed.

And then one of the men looked at me and said something so simple that I nearly fucking cried.

“It's okay, really, relax. They all can wait their turn. We are taking care of you. Everyone deserves that.”

Everyone deserves that.

Including me.

And for whatever reason, those words hit something deep inside.

Because there I was, a grown woman who has navigated more medical appointments, procedures, surgeries, and unexpected complications than I care to count, feeling guilty because someone had to spend a little extra time helping me.

Later, when I warned him that my veins can be difficult and apologized yet again, he laughed and reassured me.

“Relax, I got you.”

And there was something else he said that I almost overlooked.

While I was explaining how difficult my veins were, apologizing yet again for how complicated my body could be, he said something along the lines of:

“Sometimes someone just needs to hear how beautiful they are, just the way they are.”

Holy fuck.

I don't think I fully understood the significance of those words until later.

There I was, feeling like my body was another fucking problem someone had to manage, and this man was reminding me that there was nothing wrong with me simply being human.

I wasn't asking him to fix me. I just needed to stop feeling like I was something that needed fixing.

And there it was again. That overwhelming urge to fucking cry.

Not because he'd done something extraordinary, but because he'd shown me patience, kindness, and reassurance without making me feel like a burden.

For once, I didn't have to manage someone else's frustration just because I needed help.

I realized how deeply I'd learned to anticipate inconvenience, apologize for having needs, and explain myself before someone could become frustrated with me.

And I wondered how many other women have become so accustomed to carrying everything, apologizing for their needs, and surviving without support that receiving ordinary kindness feels almost unbearably emotional.

And how fucking heartbreaking is it that being told “I've got you” can feel like something extraordinary?

These men were simply doing their jobs. But their kindness revealed something about me that I needed to confront.

I wasn't struggling because I didn't know how to ask for help.

I was struggling because some part of me still believed that needing help made me an inconvenience.

And that's something I'm learning to change.

Being strong and independent doesn't mean I never need support. And being capable doesn't mean I have to fucking apologize for receiving it.

Sometimes I deserve to hear someone else say:

“I've got you.”

But gentlemen, here's where your responsibility enters the picture.

A woman's independence is not an invitation to become passive in the relationship.

She can plan dates, pay bills, manage crises, and take care of herself.

But being capable of doing everything doesn't mean she wants to do every fucking thing alone.

Sometimes she wants to experience being cared for, too.

There is something profoundly intimate about being with someone who recognizes your strength without using it as an excuse to stop contributing.

Someone who doesn't compete with her independence, resent it, or fucking exploit it.

Someone who looks at a capable woman and thinks:

I know she can do this herself. But wouldn't it be wonderful if she didn't have to this time?

Not because she's helpless, owes you something in return, or should applaud you for doing your fucking part.

But because contributing to her happiness genuinely brings you joy, too.

Because love isn't about making someone dependent on you. It's about creating a relationship where both people feel free to be fully themselves.

And let's talk about something else.

A woman who wants you is not necessarily going to organize her entire life around keeping you comfortable.

She may challenge you.

She may disagree with you.

She may have boundaries.

She may expect accountability.

She may have dreams that don't revolve around your schedule, your interests, or your priorities.

She may want to travel, build businesses, explore new interests, spend time with friends, and have experiences that have absolutely nothing to do with you.

That doesn't mean she loves you any less. It means she's a whole fucking person.

A person who is inviting you to share a life, not asking you to become the center of her universe.

And she should be extending that same freedom to you.

Healthy partnership isn't about abandoning yourself to maintain a relationship.

It's about two people continuing to become themselves while intentionally building something meaningful together.

Celebrating each other's growth, respecting each other's independence, and recognizing that love doesn't require fucking ownership.

And who understand that being wanted is not a permanent entitlement.

It's an invitation to keep showing up.

Not perfectly. Not without mistakes, difficult conversations, or seasons when one person has less to give.

But with genuine participation, curiosity, accountability, and a willingness to keep learning about the person you've chosen.

Because here's something I wish more people understood.

A strong, independent woman doesn't necessarily want to be strong every fucking minute of her life.

Sometimes she wants to be silly, vulnerable, held, and free from making every fucking decision.

Sometimes she just wants someone else to say:

“I've got this. Go enjoy yourself.”

And sometimes?

She just wants to put on a sexy fucking outfit, have someone plan an evening, flirt shamelessly, laugh until her stomach hurts, and remember what it feels like to be a woman enjoying her life rather than the person responsible for managing everyone else's.

Not because she needs a man to make that possible.

But because sharing joy with someone who genuinely wants to create it with you is a beautiful fucking thing.

And gentlemen, that brings us to romance.

Not the expensive, performative bullshit.

The kind that makes someone feel seen, desired, and genuinely enjoyed—not like another fucking task on someone's to-do list.

Romance Shouldn't Be Another Fucking Job

Gentlemen, can we talk about romance for a fucking minute?

Because somewhere along the way, I think we've confused romance with something that simply happens when two people are attracted to each other.

You fall in love.

You get comfortable.

You settle into routines.

And sometimes sex becomes another routine expectation, too.

At least that's been my experience in certain relationships.

As though being someone's partner somehow means you've signed a lifelong contract guaranteeing access to your fucking body.

Excuse me?

Gentlemen, the divine right of kings ended a long fucking time ago. Being in a relationship doesn't make you royalty with unrestricted access to a woman's body.

I don't fucking think so.

And that entitlement doesn't always stop in the bedroom.

Sometimes it spills into the rest of the relationship, where flirting, surprises, affection, curiosity, and creating experiences together slowly become someone else's responsibility.

And then people wonder what happened to the spark.

Sometimes the spark didn't disappear. Sometimes the person keeping the fucking fire burning got exhausted.

Romance isn't necessarily about money.

I love beautiful experiences, getting dressed up, traveling, exploring, and occasionally indulging in something luxurious.

But I can create those experiences for myself.

What I want is someone who's genuinely excited to create something beautiful with me.

Not because I requested it, planned it, researched it, made the reservation, coordinated the logistics, and then pretended to be surprised when we arrived.

If I have to organize my own romantic surprise, is it really a fucking surprise?

And here's something that fucking broke me this week.

I was driving when I heard an advertisement reminding everyone that Saturday was Sweetest Day.

And I fucking sobbed.

Not because I need flowers, expensive dinners, or some grand romantic gesture.

But because I genuinely cannot remember the last time a man I was with thought, I want to make this day special for her, even if it meant nothing for him.

It's been at least a fucking decade.

I've heard all the explanations. Valentine's Day and Sweetest Day are made-up holidays. They're just marketing schemes for greeting card companies, florists, and restaurants.

Okay. Fine. Maybe they fucking are.

But you know what's not made up? The feeling of being thought about.

And as I'm sitting here writing this, realizing it's actually Sweetest Day, I'm about to leave to pick up prescriptions.

And I know I'll pass restaurants filled with couples, some celebrating because a man decided that even if the holiday meant absolutely nothing to him, making his woman feel special meant something.

And fuck, that hurts.

Because it's not about the holiday.

It's about wanting to be with someone who doesn't need a fucking reason to celebrate you, but happily takes one when it's handed to him.

And before someone says, Well, men aren't fucking mind readers, you're absolutely right.

But gentlemen, there's a difference between needing someone to communicate what matters to them and paying so little attention that you never fucking learn.

If you know I love nature, water, music, spontaneous adventures, and meaningful experiences, why not occasionally think, She would fucking love this, and make something happen?

I don't want to be the event planner, travel agent, social coordinator, financial organizer, emotional support system, and fucking entertainment director of my own relationship.

And then, after I've managed all of that, you still expect to be sucked and fucked, too?

Gentlemen, are you looking for a romantic partner, or are you looking for a mommy with benefits?

Because expecting a woman to manage your life while remaining sexually available whenever you want isn't partnership.

That's dependency dressed up as a relationship, with sexual entitlement thrown in for good measure.

And frankly, it's fucking exhausting.

Romance can be as simple as remembering something she mentioned weeks ago, planning an afternoon together, or turning on music and asking her to dance in the fucking kitchen.

It's not about the price tag. It's about giving a fuck enough to make someone feel loved.

And yes, I love doing those things for someone, too.

I just don't want to be the only fucking person doing them.

Because when one person carries the responsibility for nearly every enjoyable experience, eventually the relationship starts feeling like another job.

And don't be surprised when that exhaustion affects her playfulness, spontaneity, or desire for intimacy.

You cannot continually add to someone's workload and then act confused when she has less capacity to play.

Sometimes romance is simply creating space for her to rest, be held, or enjoy physical affection without the expectation that it must lead to sex.

Affection is not a down payment on sexual access.

A woman deserves to feel loved and desired without feeling sexually obligated.

Sometimes romance is saying, I've got this, and actually following through.

Sometimes it's asking what would feel good for her and listening to the fucking answer.

Romance isn't a performance. It's the ongoing practice of making someone feel seen, wanted, and genuinely enjoyed.

You Don't Get to Have It Both Ways

And gentlemen, while we're talking about showing up, let's address another convenient little contradiction.

You don't have to finish working on yourself before you can build a healthy relationship.

You're never going to be finished.

Neither am I.

Personal growth is a fucking lifestyle, not a graduation ceremony.

Sometimes we grow individually. Sometimes we grow together. And sometimes a relationship becomes the very place where we learn to confront our shadows, communicate honestly, and take responsibility for how our patterns affect someone else.

But if you genuinely need to be single to focus on yourself, then be fucking honest about that.

What you don't get to do is step away from the responsibilities of a relationship while assuming you'll retain unlimited access to the woman who thought you were building something together.

You cannot unilaterally change the terms of a relationship and then get pissed off when she doesn't agree to the new arrangement.

Whether you choose to grow independently or within a relationship is entirely up to you.

But you don't get to put someone else's life on fucking hold while you figure out what you want.

And if she finally says, No. This isn't what I signed up for, don't confuse that with abandonment.

That's a fucking boundary. Not a punishment.

I know how fucking painful that decision can be, because I'm living with the grief of making that very decision right now.

You can love someone deeply, understand their struggles, wish them healing, and still recognize that the relationship they're offering isn't the one you agreed to build.

You can be heartbroken by a boundary you know you need to hold.

And gentlemen, here's another fucking shocker.

Don't be surprised when a mature man who recognizes her worth steps into the picture.

Someone who wants to show up, make his intentions clear, and build something meaningful.

That doesn't mean she's replacing you or trying to make you jealous.

It means her life didn't stop when you decided to stop showing up for it.

You don't get to ask for the freedom to explore your own life while expecting her to keep hers on fucking hold.

And if that realization hurts?

You're allowed to have feelings about it.

But your feelings don't give you ownership over her future.

And gentlemen, if you're realizing you actually do want her in your life, here's a fucking idea.

Figure out what you want, communicate it honestly, and see if she's even open to having that conversation.

Not with empty promises. Not with another round of confusion, shame, or blame.  But with genuine clarity, accountability, and a willingness to show up differently.

Because here's the thing.

The life you're living is shaped by the choices you're making. And those choices have consequences.

Don't like the outcome of YOUR choices?

Then make different fucking choices.

Just remember, changing your mind doesn't obligate someone else to change theirs.

Because I know what I want, what I deserve, and what I'm willing to participate in.

If a man doesn't want the same things, that's perfectly fine. He has every right to choose a different path.

But don't expect me to put my fucking life on hold while you figure out whether you want to walk beside me.

I'm not asking you to know every answer or have your entire life figured out.

I'm asking you to be honest about what you're choosing and take responsibility for those choices.

My clarity is mine. Your confusion is yours.

And I'm no longer making your confusion my fucking responsibility.

The World Is My Fucking Playground

And now, gentlemen, here's where this story becomes less about you and more about me.

Because somewhere in all of this, I've had to confront my own fucking patterns.

That little girl who learned to anticipate everyone's needs, understand everyone's pain, and figure out how to make things better?

She's still part of me.

She grew into a woman who genuinely loves helping people heal, grow, and discover who they are beneath the circumstances that shaped them.

And I love that about myself.

But just because I know how to help someone doesn't mean it's my fucking responsibility to do so.

Especially when they aren't willing to participate in their own growth.

I've spent much of my life teaching, supporting, understanding, accommodating, and carrying.

And I'm finally recognizing that sometimes my greatest act of growth isn't figuring out how to help someone else.

It's knowing when to put the fucking lesson plan down and go live my own life.

Because I have one, too.

A life.

Not just responsibilities.

Not just people who need me.

Not just problems waiting to be solved.

An actual, extraordinary, messy, unpredictable, beautiful fucking life.

And I want to experience it.

I want to build my next fucking empire while traveling to places I've never been.

Meet new people and experience other cultures.

Get lost in the most beautiful cities.

Feel the ocean against my skin.

Dance barefoot.

Laugh until I can't breathe.

Fall in love with experiences I haven't even imagined yet.

Meet people who challenge me, inspire me, and remind me how much of this world I still haven't discovered.

And yes, I want romance.

Passion.

Intimacy.

Companionship.

A man who wants to explore this incredible world alongside me.

But I no longer want those experiences to depend on whether someone else is ready to participate.

I'm not postponing my life while someone else decides whether they want to live theirs.

And that doesn't mean I'm not grieving.

I fucking am!

I can love someone, miss them, and wish things had turned out differently without making my future dependent on changing the past.

I can be heartbroken and hopeful at the same fucking time.

I can be terrified of the unknown and still be excited about what might be waiting for me.

Because healing isn't about becoming someone who never hurts.

It's about learning that hurting doesn't mean you have to stop living.

And perhaps that's the greatest lesson I'm learning right now.

I don't have to earn my place in this world by teaching everyone else how to live in it.

I get to fucking live in it, too.

So gentlemen, if you want to build something meaningful with a woman who knows who she is, bring your curiosity.

Bring your honesty.

Bring your fuck ups, but own them.

Bring your willingness to grow.

Bring your sense of adventure.

Bring your capacity to laugh at yourself, take responsibility for yourself, and create something beautiful together.

You don't have to be perfect.

Neither am I.

You don't have to have everything figured out.

Neither do I.

But you do have to be willing to show the fuck up.

You do need to understand the difference between WE and ME.

Because I'm no longer interested in being someone's entire support system while forgetting that I deserve support, too.

I'm not interested in confusing potential with participation.

And I'm certainly not interested in turning another romantic relationship into an unpaid fucking internship.

And I'm no longer available to absorb the consequences of someone else's refusal to take accountability.

The people I love don't have to keep suffering.

And neither do I.

I can leave the door open to love without standing in the doorway waiting.

I can welcome someone into my life without handing them responsibility for my happiness.

And I can choose myself without needing someone else to be the villain of my story.

Because I am not here solely to help everyone else become who they're meant to be.

I'm here to become, too.

And gentlemen?

The world is my fucking playground.

I'm done managing everyone else's experience of it.

I'm ready to laugh, explore, love, create, discover, and actually enjoy the extraordinary privilege of being alive.

Are you coming to play?

Or are you adding to my fucking workload?

Catherine Foytik
Founder, The Soma Alchemy Institute

Regulate. Integrate. Become.