Tag: personal relationships

I don’t really tell people much about my relationship anymore.

I used to.

Whenever Hector and I had an argument or I was struggling with something, I’d call a friend. I’d vent. I’d ask for advice. I’d overanalyze every conversation. For a while, I even stopped sharing so openly on this blog because some of the people in my life had access to it. I don’t hide my blog posts from people, but I started realizing that not everyone reading them—or hearing my side of things—actually had mine or Hector’s best interests at heart.

So I stopped.

Today, there’s really only one friend I tell everything to. She knows both of us well and is honestly more like a sister to both of us than just a friend. She isn’t looking for someone to blame—she wants our relationship to succeed.

Looking back, Hector and I never had the kinds of issues people automatically assume. There was never cheating. There was never infidelity. There was never lying.

Our biggest struggle has always been communication.

Hector tends to shut down when he’s overwhelmed. He’s like a pressure cooker—everything builds up inside until eventually it has to come out. I’m the complete opposite. I grew up in a house where we talked through problems immediately. We didn’t go silent. So when he would withdraw, I’d push harder. I’d ask more questions. I’d keep trying to get a reaction because silence made me feel like nothing was getting resolved.

Neither of us was handling conflict in the healthiest way.

One of the biggest things I wanted was for Hector to go to therapy. For a long time, he wasn’t really open to the idea. I think some of that came from machismo and the idea that you should just deal with your problems yourself.

I also made it very clear that I wasn’t willing to have children until we saw some progress.

There were practical issues too.

Hector had lived with his parents until we moved in together. I had moved out at 21, so paying bills, grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and running a household were already things I had learned. They were newer to him, and that caused frustration for both of us. There were moments where I felt like too much of the mental load was falling on me.

But here’s the thing…

People don’t always get to hear the updates.

After living together for over a year, he’s grown so much. He pays attention to the household now. He’s become more intentional about our partnership and what we both need—not just emotionally, but practically too.

Another issue was money. I made more than he did for a while, and that affected his confidence. Again, that wasn’t really a relationship problem—it was something he needed to work through personally, and therapy has helped him start unpacking those feelings.

Those were our “big three.”

Communication.

Learning how to be partners in a household.

Working through personal insecurities.

None of them were dealbreakers.

But if you only tell people about the hard days, that’s all they’ll ever know.

I had people telling me to leave him.

Not just when we first started dating, either.

Even pretty recently—before we announced we were married—I still had people telling me I deserved better or that our relationship wasn’t going to work.

And eventually I realized something uncomfortable.

I wasn’t just carrying the weight of our relationship.

I was carrying everyone else’s opinions about it too.

Every disagreement suddenly felt bigger because I knew someone was waiting to say, “See? This is why you should leave.”

That pressure made me put even more pressure on Hector. His lack of communication made me feel like I wasn’t a priority, when in reality he simply didn’t know how to express what he was feeling.

I started listening to everyone else’s version of my relationship instead of trusting my own experience.

At one point I was so overwhelmed that I genuinely thought maybe I was done.

Then I stepped back.

And I realized… maybe the biggest problem wasn’t actually our relationship.

Maybe it was the constant outside commentary.

It started to feel like high school, where everyone has an opinion about your life based on one story they heard.

Now I’m almost seven months pregnant.

Soon, Hector and I will be living in different states for a couple of months while I stay with my parents before the baby arrives.

People immediately ask why he isn’t coming with me.

The answer is simple.

Life.

We still have bills to pay.

He’s keeping his job because someone has to.

We’re trying to buy a home, and it doesn’t make financial sense for both of us to completely uproot our lives when everything is still in California.

For a while, I let other people’s comments get to me.

“What if he misses so much?”

“He’s going to miss the beginning of your baby’s life.”

“Who’s going to help you?”

Yes, we’ll be apart for a little while.

But I won’t be alone.

I’ll be living with my parents.

My mom is absolutely thrilled. This is her first granddaughter and her first biological grandchild. She adores my nephews, but she’s also a total girly girl, and she’s been dreaming about bows, dresses, and all the pink things.

Now, our daughter may grow up and decide she hates pink, bows, glitter, and rainbows—and that’s completely okay.

But while she’s a baby?

Sorry, sweetheart.

Mom already has opinions.

And yes… I already know what I want her first birthday theme to be. She won’t get much say in that one.

I’ve also realized something else.

Therapy wasn’t just something Hector needed.

I need it too.

I have things I still need to work through—my relationship with my biological father, my fear of commitment, and this deep-rooted anxiety that no matter what I do, it will never be enough.

We both had work to do.

I’m incredibly proud that Hector took the first step because he knew his struggles weren’t just affecting our relationship—they were affecting every part of his life.

And I’m ready to take my own steps too.

I don’t think we’re perfect.

I don’t think every problem magically disappears once you go to therapy.

But I do think we’re choosing each other every day, and that’s worth something.

It’s strange writing all of this because it still makes me sad.

Some of the people whose opinions affected me the most were people I’d known for years. People I loved. It wasn’t everyone—just a handful of voices.

But sometimes it only takes a few.

Those few voices made me start questioning my own relationship instead of experiencing it for myself.

So now, I protect my peace a little more.

Not because I have something to hide.

But because I’ve learned that not everyone deserves a front-row seat to your life.

Sometimes the healthiest thing you can do for your relationship is let it belong to the two people who are actually in it.

Sometimes I hate being a woman.

Not in a burn-the-bras, renounce-the-patriarchy, move-to-the-woods kind of way. More in a quiet, eye-twitchy, “why is this word always glued to us?” kind of way.

Manipulative.

Isn’t it funny how men are “strategic,” “private,” “mysterious,” or my personal favorite, “just not big on sharing,” but women? Oh no. We’re manipulative. Calculated. Social puppeteers with lip gloss.

Let me set the stage.

My friend had a birthday party for her daughter. It was cute. There were balloons. There was cake. There were the moms who look like they drink sparkling water unironically. And there was her — another friend in the group. They’re all about 40. I’m barely turning 29 this year. So already I’m the baby of the bunch, which means I swing between being “refreshing” and “suspicious.”

She was sitting alone. Not talking. Looking… let’s say unapproachable. Not evil. Not wicked. Just giving strong “I do not wish to participate” energy.

Nobody was talking to her. And then she fell. Which was sooo awkward.

And here’s the thing about me: I was a loser kid.

I know what it feels like to be the one people whisper about. I survived high school rumors. I survived being Not Liked before it was cool. So when I see someone sitting alone looking vaguely uncomfortable, my brain doesn’t say, “Avoid.” It says, “Go sit. Be normal. Make it less awkward.”

So I did.

Now, I don’t know this woman’s life story. I know a few of her interests. Books. Musicals. Her kid. Safe topics. Neutral territory. No politics. No trauma bonding. No weird oversharing.

Just normal, easy questions.
“Have you read anything good lately?”
“Do you use Libby? Is Hoopla actually worth the hype?”
“How’s your kid liking school?”
“Are you going to see Six at the Pantages?”

Normal. Civilized. Human conversation.

Apparently… that was manipulation.

Because later she tells our mutual friend that I “try too hard” to be her friend. That I can’t be trusted. That I’m a liar.

Why?

Because I secretly got married in November 2024 and didn’t tell everyone. We had our legal ceremony quietly. Then in October 2025—Halloween, because I’m dramatic and love a theme—we had the ceremony with my and Hector’s family and friends.

And somehow… that makes me untrustworthy.

This is not the first time I’ve been called manipulative for not announcing my wedding like a town crier with a bell.

But that’s a different post, one with a lot more emotion and a running list of relationships I’m still not sure will ever fully recover.

And I still stick with my original sentiment: I didn’t lie. I didn’t fabricate a husband. I just didn’t broadcast it.

And I truly, hand-on-my-heart wonder: if I were a man, would this even be a conversation?

If a man said, “Yeah, we did a small legal thing first and then celebrated later,” people would nod and go, “Smart. Kept it low key.”

But when I do it? It’s calculated. It’s secretive. It’s suspicious.

And when I sit next to someone who looks alone and make small talk? I’m “trying too hard.”

I think what really stings is this: I don’t expect everyone to like me.

I learned that lesson at 14 when I realized you can breathe wrong and still become a rumor.

I didn’t walk into adulthood thinking I’d magically be universally adored. I know I’m not everyone’s flavor. I’m a little sarcastic. I can be blunt. I work in customer service — which, if you’ve ever worked in customer service, you know it slowly transforms you into a person with the patience of a saint and the internal monologue of a villain.

I deal with incompetence daily. I deal with people who weaponize confusion. I deal with grown adults who cannot read signs. So yes, my tolerance for stupidity is… curated.

But that doesn’t mean my kindness is fake.

And I think that’s what bothers me the most. The assumption that if I’m being nice, it must be a strategy.

Maybe because I don’t look soft enough for my kindness to be believed. Maybe because when I’m comfortable, I can be a little bitchy. (Lovingly. Artistically. With flair.)

So when I’m warm and engaging, people think it’s a front.

But it’s not.

I want people to feel comfortable. I want to be liked. I’m not ashamed of that. I don’t need to be worshipped, but yes — I enjoy harmony. I enjoy knowing I didn’t contribute to someone feeling awkward in a corner.

And maybe that’s the most woman-coded thing about me. Caring.

Caring if someone is sitting alone.
Caring if people are comfortable.
Caring if someone secretly doesn’t like me.

Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t care so much if I weren’t socialized to smooth every edge in a room. If I were a man, maybe I’d just drink my soda, talk to two people, and leave without analyzing everyone’s facial expressions on the drive home.

But here I am.

A 29-year-old former loser kid turned customer-service-warrior turned apparently manipulative mastermind… because I asked someone about musicals.

If that’s manipulation, then Broadway owes me a Tony.

Maybe the truth is simpler: Some people are uncomfortable with kindness they didn’t ask for. Some people project. Some people need a villain to make sense of their own insecurity.

And sometimes, being a woman means your privacy is suspicious and your friendliness is strategic.

I still would rather be the girl who sits next to the lonely one.

Even if she calls me manipulative later.

At least I know my intentions. And they weren’t calculated.

They were just kind.

Hey friends!

I know I recently shared a super wedding-themed update filled with Corpse Bride vibes, haunted tea party ideas, and my thoughts on squid ink pasta (spoiler: not for me!). But today, I find myself diving into some heavier topics—like therapy ultimatums and the communication struggles from childhood. Quite a shift, right?

I get the whiplash! One moment I’m excitedly tearing up over my niece playing “Enchanted” on her keyboard for my wedding walk (seriously, tear-jerker alert! 🥹), and the next, I’m worried about whether we’ll even make it to the big day without hitting bumps along the way.

I realize I haven’t talked much about the in-between moments—the tricky space between thinking “I don’t know how much longer I can do this” and counting down: “Only 127 days until the wedding!” It’s not that I wanted to skip over it; it’s just been tough to put into words until now.

So here’s the scoop:

Hector and I finally had the big talk I’d been both anxious and ready for. And you know what?

For the first time in what feels like ages, he said yes! Yes to individual therapy, yes to couples counseling (even though we’re still figuring out the finances), and yes to going back to school—specifically, CNC machining, which seems like exactly the kind of stability we both need right now.

We’re setting ourselves a six-month window to make therapy work, which isn’t perfect, but it’s definitely a step in the right direction. He’s showing up—maybe not flawlessly, but with sincerity. And that’s something to celebrate!

What’s been surprising is discovering I’m not the only one who noticed his communication struggles; it turns out he’s faced these challenges since childhood. That realization stung a bit because it shows this isn’t just a couple of rough weeks—it’s a lifelong pattern he’s been quietly carrying. Love can’t fix everything, but therapy might just be a big help.

It’s not easy, but it’s clearer now: love alone can’t solve these deeper issues. It requires more than just late-night chats or hopeful texts.

I’ve also come to a slightly embarrassing but tender realization: the early days of our relationship—when I romanticized how “good” we were—was a bit of a mirage. We fell in love during lockdown when time slowed down, the world felt quiet, and we had nothing else to do, but talk. Of course our communication was solid back then!

Fast forward to today, and we’re juggling exhaustion, work, and busy lives that often leave us crossing paths only in passing. We’re mostly texting now, which, let’s be honest, is the least effective way to tackle real emotional issues. It’s so easy for tone to get lost, and before we know it, something small balloons into something big because we were too busy or too fried to just talk face-to-face.

So yep, our communication struggles aren’t suddenly new—they’re just harder to ignore now. But we’re tackling them together, slowly and imperfectly, with way too many browser tabs and not enough sleep. Therapy is on the horizon, and school is coming up too. It’s not a magical fix, but it’s a meaningful start—an indication that he’s finally ready to meet me where I’ve been standing—tired but still hopeful.

This blog has never been about putting on a perfect front. It’s about showing up—messy, emotional, and sometimes a little too real—and writing through the uncertainties. If you’ve found yourself in a similar spot—where your relationship used to feel soft and easy but now feels like a lot—I see you.

Love doesn’t always look like forehead kisses or holding hands in the grocery store. Sometimes, it looks like budgeting for therapy or having that tough conversation and finally being heard.

And as Taylor Swift beautifully said: “I just wanted you to know, this is me trying.”

Thanks so much for being here with me, for reading, and for holding space for my complicated love journey. If you’ve been through something similar, I’d love to hear your story in the comments! Or feel free to share what song has been your lifeline lately. I’ll be all ears—always!