A Few More Things I Know for Sure

A few years ago, at the end of a year I called “transformative,” I sat down and wrote out what I (thought) I knew for sure. I had no idea how much more transforming was still to come. In the months after I hit publish, I ended my marriage, lost my father and started over in almost every way imaginable.

If 2022 was transformative, the years since have been clarifying. I’ve been knocked flat, gotten back up and built a life I honestly didn’t know I was allowed to want. Some of what I believed back then still holds, and some of it has hardened into something closer to conviction. So here’s round two: a few more things I know for sure.

If you’re disappointing people you don’t respect, you’re doing something right.

For most of my life, I cared deeply (maybe too deeply) about what other people thought of me. So nobody is more surprised than I am by how satisfying it is to irritate people I don’t respect and don’t want to be anything like.

Anyone in my orbit who is bitter, jealous, hateful, or chronically negative is no longer welcome there. And the more my simply living my life seems to agitate them, the more certain I am that I’m nothing like them (thankfully).

This isn’t about being better than anyone.

It’s about staying in your lane, moving forward, and growing into a more creative, more aligned version of yourself every single day. Let them watch. Their misery isn’t yours to worry about.

If you’re unhappy with your life, do something to change it.

Speaking of misery, it’s often easier to sit in our discomfort than to change or heal. I know that one well. It’s the same complacency I warned about last time, just dressed up differently.

Resisting change – whether it’s continually putting off your yoga practice or resisting that inevitable breakup – only guarantees we stay stuck in the same negative loops, never meet the partner of our dreams, and never find real fulfillment.

Your unhappiness is information. It’s telling you something is missing. To experience something better, you have to give yourself the chance and be willing to do the work. Nobody is going to hand it to you, but it’s out there. I promise.

Life is really short, and you don’t have time to miss out on the people you love.

My dad passed away in early 2023, while I was ending my marriage. It was absurdly traumatic for more reasons than I can count. None of us knows when our health will turn or when tragedy will show up. That’s exactly why I’m so grateful I spent as much time with my father as I did, especially at the end, and especially when it was hard.

Last time, after all those hours visiting my aunt in memory care, I wrote that the bus was on fire. I meant it. I just didn’t know how close the cliff was. Now my husband and I make a point of seeing my mom and his parents often, and of keeping up friendships near and far. We’re lucky to have so many people who love us, and whom we love back. Go see your people.

Book the flight, make the call, show up. Hard visits count double.

Is it loyalty, or is it self-abandonment?

Loyalty has always been one of the things I value most, and it always will be. But for most of my life, my idea of loyalty was badly distorted, and mostly it looked like extreme people-pleasing. I was the queen of not rocking the boat. My life revolved around my parents and around being accepted by my Southern, conservative social circles.

Meeting so many of those society-imposed standards kept me stuck in a cycle of self-abandonment. I made some of my biggest decisions based on other people’s expectations instead of my own peace. Those decisions left me constantly uncomfortable and wondering whether I could ever live a life that felt authentic. On top of that, I put up with a lot of unwelcome behavior from the people closest to me.

In retrospect, some of those relationships were simply people using what I brought to the table for their own comfort and gain without taking on the responsibilities that come with real partnership. Something was bound to come crashing down.

My only wish is that I’d had the backbone to stand up for myself and the future I wanted when I was younger. It would have saved the people closest to me and me a lot of grief down the road, and I’ll always regret that my naive people-pleasing just caused delayed harm.

There’s nothing loyal about abandoning yourself for someone else’s benefit… especially when they don’t even appreciate it. My husband and I both agree it’s a lesson we wish we’d learned, and acted on, much earlier in life.

On that note, never apologize for leaving an abusive relationship.

A disclaimer before we get into this: I’m not implying my ex-husband was abusive. But a couple of the people closest to me have been in abusive relationships. Their abusers will tell anyone who’ll listen that they were the victim because they can’t bear to be held accountable.

Never apologize for leaving.

And ALWAYS get out as soon as you recognize the signs, safely and with support. Nothing is worse (or more dangerous) than staying with someone who is willing to verbally assault you, neglect you, undervalue you, or harm you physically, mentally or financially. People like that are an utter embarrassment and have no place in your life.

It is so unbelievably worth it to get out.

You choose which parts of your life become your identity (and spoiler alert: your divorce doesn’t have to be one of them).

I got divorced at 32. My ex and I had been together eight or nine years, and suddenly I couldn’t carry the gap between what I wanted from my life and what he wanted from his, plus a few other incompatibilities. I got divorced so I could build a life that matched my goals and dreams.

Doing that gave me the chance to find the love of my life and move to a country I couldn’t stop thinking about.

The point of a divorce is to move on, not to wallow in despair wishing things had turned out differently. These days it rarely crosses my mind because my husband and I are too busy building our future. That’s an incredibly liberating feeling.

A divorce is something that happened. It doesn’t have to be who you are.

Accountability is deeply attractive.

Over the years, I learned that a lot of what the men I dated told me couldn’t be trusted. “Yes, we can talk about finances.” “I promise I won’t do that hurtful thing anymore.” “It’s just who I am. You want me to change who I am.”

Turns out, I just kept choosing the wrong partners.

Now I’m married to someone who rushes to understand, looks for solutions, and shares the household responsibilities. Believe me, that’s way hotter than dating a guitarist who forgets to celebrate your accomplishments and never wipes his beard hairs off the sink.

Grief is a bitch.

Pardon my language, but that’s just how it is. Some days you’re bopping around as if nothing happened, and other days you can barely get out of bed. (An adorable dog and a sweet partner help tremendously.)

But grief also gives you enormous perspective on what actually matters. Spoiler alert #2: it’s not the handful of naysayers or that one time you made a mistake. After losing someone close, watching people tied up in their daily drama, long-held grudges, and frantic to-do lists becomes an odd and unrelatable experience.

I’m still working through it, and I always will be, but I’m choosing to believe grief stings a little less when we’re chasing the things that light us up. If you’re in the pit and can’t remember what those are, think back to what lit you up before and start going through the motions. Healing is a practice, like yoga. You show up, you do the work badly for a while, and one day you notice you’ve gotten there.

It’s the project I’m tackling with my new resortwear line and a couple of other ventures.

Bitterness only creates more bitterness.

There are two or three people on this planet whose self-obsessed behavior I find utterly repulsive. But I’m not bitter about it, and I truly don’t care what they’re doing, as long as they’re not doing it around me.

If you’re out there making extra social media accounts to stalk your ex, or posting photos just to get a reaction, it’s time to get a life. Outside of your two friends, the only person who cares about your inner experience is your therapist. (And if you’re constantly stalking your ex on Facebook, chances are you don’t have one.)

I said it last time, and I’ll say it again: get yourself a good therapist. Bitterness is a bottomless pit, and the only way out is to stop digging.

Invest in yourself (and enjoy it).

My mom always had her makeup on and her hair done, even on her most casual days. My dad’s hair was always perfectly styled. We wore nice clothes growing up, even when that wasn’t the most practical choice for our budget. As a kid, I didn’t think much of it. Now I understand it was a kind of self-respect they practiced every day, whether or not anyone was looking.

At 35, the way I shop and take care of myself has changed a lot since I was a university student. I don’t dig through the racks at TJ Maxx just because I’m bored or looking for some rummage rack gem, and I’ve certainly stopped skimping on skincare.

Being the best version of yourself means investing in yourself across the board. Wear sunscreen every day. Buy quality fabrics. Style your outfits. Set real standards for your home, your cleanliness and your lifestyle.

It’s hard to feel good about yourself when you’re wearing someone’s old stained sweater (cashmere or not) and your kitchen sink is piled high with empty wine bottles and dishes. And no single splurge can make up for everything else you’ve been neglecting. The designer bag doesn’t cancel out the chaos at home, and the fancy dinners out don’t fix the sun damage you’ve been racking up for decades.

Buy the $100 face cream, get some freaking Botox (if it’s relevant), and clean up your inner world. Small, steady, unglamorous habits add up.

Edit your social circle without reservation.

Unfortunately, I’ve become very aware of how many narcissistic, high-conflict people are out there (Janet down the street and the President alike).

Sometimes they’re the ones who smile at you at parties and then go home to scream at their husbands about how inadequate they are. Sometimes they’re the mean girls who still can’t get a grip on their own insecurities in their 50s and 60s. Often, you don’t realize you’ve met one until you’re face-to-face with a grown adult throwing a tantrum like a “tall two-year-old” (as my husband likes to say).

You don’t owe any of them a seat at your table. Close the door kindly if you can and firmly if you have to, and don’t apologize. The space you free up is where the good people go.

Tell people you love them. Then tell them again.

Last time, I wrote that you should tell the people you love that you love them, and make sure they feel it to their core, whether or not they say it back. I still believe that. What I didn’t know then was how many people would say it back.

There are the dear friends I’ve kept since high school, who have watched every version of me and somehow still pick up the phone. There are two of our more recent best friends in New York, proof that it’s never too late to find your people, and that some friendships feel decades old in a matter of months. There are the ladies on the island who welcomed me so quickly and so warmly that it felt like I’d always belonged there. I didn’t just move to a new country. I was welcomed into it.

And, of course, there’s my husband. He was quick to say “I love you,” and even quicker to prove it. He shows it in what he does every single day, in a hundred small ways that add up to something I always hoped was possible. If the first post was about loving people without expecting anything back, this one is about finally letting myself receive it.

So say it out loud, say it often, and say it first. Then back it up with the way you show up, because you can bet your ass someone who’s being neglected or mistreated will eventually leave.

Here’s to what’s next.

Just like last time, these aren’t really meant to be advice. They’re for me to sit with as I look back at the road behind me and ahead at the one in front. But if you’re in the thick of your own heartbreak, divorce, or grief, I hope something here helps. Thanks for reading this far, and for sticking with me through all of it.