“How did I get here?”

The thought I’ve had while sitting on this porch several times.

Like a recurring nightmare.

Why is he leaving?

Why am I not worthy of love?

And not just any love.

The love.

Why can’t I figure this whole relationship crap out?

I’ve watched someone tear out of my driveway like a getaway driver while I sat on this porch.

I’ve poured my heart out to someone and confessed that my feelings for the past three years were indeed not platonic on this porch.

I’ve shared nonjudgmental cigarettes with someone who just needed a friend to share a horrible story with on this porch.

I’ve told people I’ve loved them on this porch.

I’ve been told I’m not the one for them on this porch.

I’ve cried my eyes out on this porch.

I’ve prayed on this porch.

I’m writing this depressing blog on this porch.

The stories I’ve shared over the years have mostly been of my triumphs and turbulences with love.

Finding it.

Falling in and out of it.

Failing at it.

Deciding to walk away from it.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s a crutch for me.

That I’m just way too terrified of being alone.

Having nothing to come home to besides my cat and a mattress on the floor.

And I do believe that the ability to survive and even thrive without someone to fall back on is a skill we all need to nurture and develop.

But at the same time, my worst fear is walking through this life and leaving it all by myself.

I suppose that’s why I get up off the porch at some point and try again.

But trying again is really exhausting and defeating.

To think about finding another person.

Who you happen to meet somewhere in this broken world.

Then clicking.

And you watch for red flags but ultimately abandon your instincts and fall in love anyway because it’s inevitable at some point.

But the red flags multiply throughout the days, months, years

And you turn your cheek every time.

Until they surround you.

And then that horrible thought creeps into your mind

“Maybe they’re not the one.”

Then denial.

Denial.

Denial.

Denial.

And they hold you while you cry on that floor ridden mattress.

And it’s happening again.

You’ve failed again.

You’re sitting on your front porch while they pull out of your driveway and don’t look back

Again.

But at some point,

We all have to take a deep breath.

Stand up.

Walk inside.

Leave the front porch.

And wait impatiently till that stroke of luck hits you.

And you’re pouring your heart out to someone else on that same front porch.

Because it only has to work once.

You won’t have to sit helplessly and watch them pull out of your driveway.

You won’t have to watch them leave.

Because that person will sit next to you through all of the other triumphs and turbulences in life.

On that very same front porch.

 

 

The biggest turn off in the whole world is when someone talks poorly about their ex or, worse, multiple exes.

There’s NO way that one person can date like 5 certifiably “crazy” people.

You know it’s a red flag when someone’s like “Oh I’ve only dated crazy people.”

K,

But who’s the common denominator in all five of those relationships?

Hm.

So before you go off calling your ex “crazy,” here are 31 questions you should ask yourself beforehand,

1. Did you re-download tinder before the breakup talk even happened?

2. Did you breakup with her out of the blue?

3. Did you use any of the following reasons: “I don’t deserve you“, “I love you too much to be with you right now“, “I need a few months to work on myself“,”The timing is just off“, etc.

4. Did you ask our her roommate?

5. Her neighbor?

6. Her best friend?

7. Her mom?

8. Did you ever call her “clingy” for just trying to get in touch with you?

9. Do you still call her?

10. Do you still call her to talk about your relationship?

11. Do you still call her to talk about your relationship and about getting back together?

12. Do all of these conversations happen after 1am when you’ve just left another girl’s house?

13. Did you ever cheat on her?

14. Did you ever cheat on her and then write a blog about how she was de-humanizing you but failed to mention that you cheated on her?

15. Have you ever considered the fact that maybe, possibly, in a strange twist of events, you might just be a d-bag?

16. Do you ignore her existence when you see her just to make her feel like she means nothing to you?

17. Do you spread rumors about her being crazy and that she probably shouldn’t date anyone ever?

18. Do you look over her social media profiles with your friends and make fun of the way she looks, dresses, and portrays herself?

19. Did you post a bunch of pictures of you with other girls .5 seconds after breaking up with her?

20. Did she actually end the relationship and your pride is just bruised so you claim she’s crazy?

21. Whenever you were around her family/friends, did you spend the whole time on your phone?

22. Did you ever steal her phone and look through her texts?

23. Did you ever insult her religion because you don’t necessarily share similar beliefs?

24. Did you ever make her feel bad for not wanting to have sex?

25. Do you see her at parties and claim that she’s stalking you instead of considering the fact that you share the same friend group?

26. When she asks if you can talk, do you claim she’s obsessive when actually she might just need closure or give your crap back?

27. When she writes a blog about how she’s moved on and in a better place, do you claim she’s still hung up on you and just trying to air out dirty laundry on the internet?

28. Do you have shirtless pics on tinder? (Not about your relationship, but let’s me know if you’re a tool or not)

29. Is she an actual diagnosed sociopath?

30. Is she REALLy crazy?

31. Or are you just a dipwad?

If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, I don’t assume your ex is “crazy” but that you’re just a dipwad.

We have to stop talking poorly about our past loves.

We have to stop daydreaming of ways to make our exes jealous and cause them pain.

Everyone does it post-breakup.

I’ve done it, and I’m sure my exes would agree. (*cough*)

It’s not healthy.

Unless they actually ruined your life that like crazy new Netflix show. (It’s basically Gossip Girl to the nth power)

So cut it out. Just be civil.

You invested time and love into this person and now you’re going to drag their name through the mud for what?

Prove your innocence?

That you never made any mistakes in the relationship?

A breakup takes two people.

At least most of the time.

So no, she’s not crazy.

You’re just being a dickwad. (ooo she actually said it !!!)

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca

(p.s. can apply to anyone, I just used the pronoun “she” because that’s what I’ve personally experienced)

Well, here it is!

~2019~

A brand, spankin’ new year.

A year where you have yet to make mistakes, acquire even more baggage, or let anyone down.

what a concept !!!


It’s YOUR year, right? The year you lose 20 lbs, quit the commitment issues, stop smoking, and call your mom more often.

This is YOUR year.

So how do we all go about this new, fresh, and clean year?

Well, for me, I sit down a week before the new year and write down my goals for the next year.

I start daydreaming about the person I could be in 365 days.

Maybe I’ll be financially stable enough to take my mom out for dinner once in a while instead of stealing toilet paper rolls from work.

Maybe I’ll go to church every single Sunday and actually participate in Lent this year.

Maybe I’ll learn how to order food with confidence instead of forgetting every word I’ve ever learned when I get to the register.

Maybe I’ll fall in love with someone and it won’t end in a horrible crash and burn.

Maybe I won’t swear as much in grocery stores and horrify the children who happen to be in earshot.

Maybe

What a word,

maybe.”

It’s a word that is just bursting with possibility and almost promises,

But it can also string you along in terminal frustration.

Maybe” is basically an eff boy, for lack of a better metaphor.


But you know what?

I’m calling bullshit.

(sorry, kids)

You’re not a different person just because it’s been 365 days.

You’re not a brand new version of yourself just because it happens to be January 1st.

That’s not how change works.

It’s doesn’t happen overnight.

Life doesn’t have a refresh button that you can press every year.

And it doesn’t wipe away all your mistakes.

It doesn’t just lose all of your baggage like every airline ever.

It doesn’t change everything.

That’s kind of a pessimistic outlook, I know but don’t worry I’m not finished !!!!


I have the best news in the whole world y’all.

Are you ready for it?

(cue Taylor Swift)

You can be a brand new version of yourself tomorrow.

Or on Jan 3rd.

Or on Jan 30th.

Or June 30th.

Or Dec 31st.

You can start making better decisions right now!

Wow!

If you feel the need to change something about your life in order to make it better,

Do it! Right now!

But if you happen to screw up on January 1st, 2019.

It’s all good.

Don’t sweat it,

Because you can always try again tomorrow.

And the day after.

And the day after that.

And probably even the day after.

Because you don’t need a brand new year to become a brand new you.

All you need is the desire to change and the courage to execute that change.

Because tomorrow might not be,

~January 1st~

But it’s still a perfectly good day to be brand, spankin’ new.

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca

 

I’ve heard that toxic relationships are pretty easy to spot.

I’ve even spent time attempting to pull others out of toxic relationships before.

I considered myself somewhat of an ~expert~

Because I’ve had my fair share of gorgeous flowers tempting me, only to reveal themselves as dandelions later on.

I swore that I would never let it happen to me ever again.

But you strolled into my life with confidence and humor.

You changed everything.

I’ve fallen in love before, sure.

But it’s never cut me so deeply and fooled me so brilliantly that it left me feeling like an object.

Like I was nothing except a loser at the end of long, exhausting, impossible game.


I still remember when I realized that we were soulmates.

We spent that summer completely enamored with each other.

Sneaking into private pools.

Exploring every part of this earth we could just for the danger and the stories we’d have by the end of the expedition.

I watched you, wide eyed.

Still holding on to some sort of innocence.

I’m not sure I can even remember what innocence feels like anymore.

My obsession bloomed that summer, years ago.

And you recognized that you had me.

All of me.

As long as I loved you more than I loved myself,

You owned me.


I spent the next few years becoming gradually, painfully numb while you flitted around from one girl to the next, back to the first girl, on to another, etc.

And I sat in your room.

Watched you fall apart repeatedly while hating every inch of your life.

And I gave you pieces of happiness.

My happiness.

Every single day, I gave you another piece of my optimism,

My innocence

My love

My life.

I couldn’t bear to watch you deteriorate because others had drained you of all those things.

I gave you every good piece of me I had.

Until I looked at myself in the mirror one day

And I didn’t recognize myself.

There was nothing good left about me.

Just a shell of a human being who became drained and manipulative.

I saw you.


I began to distance myself from this overwhelming love that I had developed for you.

I attempted to fall in love a time or two.

And even succeeded once.

But as soon as you saw me rebuilding my life,

You came crashing in like a wild animal.

Burning down all the progress I had made.

And no one was willing to stay with someone whose heart was already spoken for.

I get it.

But even then, I couldn’t stay away from you.

My limit had not yet been reached.

Everyone sat me down.

Friends,

Family,

Even strangers.

And begged me to let go and to just finally move on.

I refused.

Because what kind of person would give up on love?

I am not someone who just walks away from a relationship because of some particularly heavy baggage.

You were not a lost cause.

I told myself that repeatedly until one day when it all finally clicked.

Love does not mean that you are that person’s savior.

It doesn’t mean that you need to be that person’s only reason to live.

That kind of pressure is unfathomable.

And it ends of destroying both people.

I realized that this love that I had developed and nurtured was not going to just fade over time.

It was a dangerous, terrifying love that needed to be buried alive.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I left.

Refused to look back.

Refused to give in to every impulse I had to protect you.

I see it all so much clearer now that I’ve walked farther and farther out of the smoke.

You can’t save someone else; they can only save themselves.

They can’t change for you.

It may be romantic and cinematic, but life just doesn’t work like that.

People can only change if they want to.

And you just have to keep moving forward.

Keep walking until you see clearer skies and recognize yourself in the mirror again.

I may have loved you,

But now I have to love myself just a little bit more.

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca

He slips on his worn leather boots before swinging his Colt 45 over his toned shoulder.

His muscles have this move memorized considering it’s his morning routine.

Orion opens his eyes as the sun peaks over the galaxy like a mountain range,

Snow capped sunrises only gods can witness.

He’s known as a hunter around these parts.

The other constellations discuss his wandering and destructive behavior under hushed whispers.

His gun-shots are heard from light years away like lightening striking previously untouched earth and severing it into clean cut cracks.

He is always alone.

The other constellations never follow him, though they’re intrigued.

Fear keeps them from allowing their desires to approach Orion manifest.

He is dangerous, after all.

But there is one constellation who views him just a bit… differently.

He is not a hunter,

Only hunted, she believes.

He is not dangerous,

only reserved.

She on the other hand is radiant and well-shaped like a crescent moon hanging perfectly in a coal black sky.

She is, Cassiopeia.

And she is everything.

She breathes out crystal cut stars like it’s constantly winter and breath is white and visible.

She wears robes sewn together with flakes of gold and purity.

She is wanted here and there.

She is pulled from this place to that one.

And yet she only wants to follow him.

She wants to watch him hunt.

She’s almost begging to be hunted.

But Cassiopeia would never beg.

Instead she strolls around the sky searching for him, daily.

Ignoring the crass warnings of every other constellation.

The conversations are laced with disturbing judgments

She wishes she could pluck the hurtful words right out of their mouths

So they could never speak ill of him again.

He hunts down the meek and vulnerable and aims.

Targets the center of their foreheads and waits.

And yet he’s never killed a star.

He’s only watched them shoot straight across the sky and explode causing the gunshot sounds to ripple across galaxies and the whispers begin.

He’s never taken another star’s life for the sake of sport.

He aims.

The feeling of potential and power running through his veins to his fingertips and along the trigger is the only rush he wishes to have.

Cassiopeia waits around corners and watches the potential deaths and is not one bit surprised over his inability to kill;

To walk up to a star and demand his life.

Orion is not a hunter, but is hunted.

 

 

photo by: Alyssa Jiosa

So a few weeks ago I sat down with a good friend.

We laughed and chatted over coffee.

Put our phones down for an hour to have an honest and open conversation.

We talked about writing, love, music, successes, failures, avocado toast and social media.

In short, we covered a lot of millennial-esque topics.


She told me about a song she wrote about social media and the real dangers it can cause.

Comparing ourselves to one another.

Until we’re addicted to self-sabotaging cycles that never ever end.

All due to a few apps.

Wtf?

I often find myself scrolling through instagram and thinking,

“Ugh her pictures are so well done. I wish my feed looked like that”

I wish I was as skinny as her.”

I wish I performed as much as he did.”

I wish I got as many likes as her. I probably would too, if I posed half naked.”

I found myself judging other people and also comparing myself to them.

Just by looking at their instagram photos.

Isn’t that an odd concept?

You may not know someone well,

Maybe not even at all.

But you find yourself comparing your talents

Your relationships

And even your body parts to theirs.

All because you saw some beautifully edited photo of them next to a river with a flower crown in their hair.

Doesn’t that seem like… somewhat ridiculous?


I think it’s extremely important to remind ourselves

Daily

That social media is a COMPLETE lie.

I mean, obviously some of it is true.

People get engaged, promotions, photoshoots, and experience happy life changes.

But everyone also suffers.

And we all have flaws.

Who you are on social media is not the real you.

It’s who you want to be.

It’s how you want others to perceive you.

It’s the ideal version of yourself

Right?

For example,

Instagram Becca is ~skinny~

Instagram Becca has like ~so many friends~ and like everyone like ~totally adores her~

Instagram Becca is an ~incredibly successful~ singer, songwriter, blogger, cat trainer, archer, swimmer, la-di-da-di-da.

Instagram Becca never suffers.

She’s never felt a prick of pain in her entire life.

All of her breakups have been ~mutual~

(lol)

All of her flaws are covered up with some ~vigorous editing~

She is “perfect

But real Becca?

She’s really out of shape.

When she goes on a run (once every five years) she basically has a full blown asthma attack.

She only has a few close friends, but they mean the absolute world to her because they’ve seen her flaws and choose to love her anyway.

She likes to write songs but she’s not where she wants to be career-wise and her music gets rejected insanely often.

She suffers.

But she likes to cover it up as soon as someone points it out.

She also bites her nails, gets broken up with, still doesn’t know how to do her laundry and takes everything personally.

She’s a hot mess half the time.

But do I share that on social media?

Hell to the no.


So,

Now that you know the real me

I’m going to get even more honest with you.

It can be so incredibly damaging and self sabotaging to compare your flaws, career, or love life to another person.

Especially over social media.

You’re comparing your entire self to another person’s ideal version of themselves.

It ain’t healthy, yo.

So as soon as you start getting into that toxic mindset,

Put the phone down.

Go for a walk.

Have a genuine face to face conversation with someone you love.

Because it doesn’t matter how many likes you get on a post.

It doesn’t matter that you have a picture-perfect looking relationship on instagram.

It doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

All that matters is you

And what you think about yourself.

Your self worth does not lie in a face-tuned edited photo.

You don’t need 200 likes to feel important or vital to this earth.

You already are.

Just by existing and being your flawed, imperfect, beautiful, kinda chubby, dorky, hilarious self.

And the people who really matter, will love every single part of you

Not just ~instagram you~

 

 

(PS. check out my wonderful friend, Nilka‘s song which inspired this rant and blog)

 

facebook – Becca Tremmel

instagram – @littlelionbecca

twitter – @littlelionbecca

This dress feels a little too tight.

I feel kinda fat.

When am I going to start working out, jesus.

Do they notice how much I’m pulling at this dress?

I feel like my ass is just out there in the open.

You look anxious.

Stop looking so anxious.

How long has that guy been looking at me?

What is he staring at?

Do I have something on my face?

Does he notice this last-minute pimple that just popped up out of freaking nowhere?

I hate this.

When can we go home?

Is it bad if I ask my friend to go home?

We’ve only been here for an hour.

Shit.

Wait, is that girl walking up to me?

She looks drunk.

I don’t think I remember her name???

Dear god what is she going to say.

“Heyyyyyyy girl, how’re you!!”

 


 

I don’t really consider myself a “fake” person.

I definitely want to come across as “down to earth” and “genuine.”

Does consciously thinking that make me fake?

I dunno.

Whatever.

I’ve struggled with social anxiety for a long time now.

Some days it’s worse than others.

A few years back, I used to blog… a lot.

You probably noticed.

I loved writing about my thoughts.

My life.

My lessons.

Then I kind of phased out of that.

Again, you might’ve noticed.

Mostly because it got to the point where I hated going out.

It terrified me.

Because no matter where I went, who I was with, or what was going on,

Somebody brought up my blogging.

or my chaotic ~love life~

How it offended them or someone they loved.

How I shouldn’t have broken up with that guy.

How that guy should’ve probably broken up with me.

You know, casual party conversations.

 


I started to really care about what people thought of me.

I started to believe that everything that’s ever happened to me wasn’t mine to share.

Like they weren’t my own stories.

I stopped writing for a while.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

And the really shitty thing is,

I love writing.

I love telling stories.

I love sharing.

I love connecting to other human beings.

I love people.

And I was terrified of people.

It caused complete turmoil in my heart and thoughts.

What if I write about this?

No, then that person will be offended.

Okay, well what if I wrote about that?

No, then everyone will believe you’re a basket case.

I used to be bold.

I used to be brave.

By god, my first piece ever was titled “Welcome to the Psych Ward (It’s More Like a Vacation Spot” 

It doesn’t get much bolder than that, friends.

I was outspoken.

But anxiety crippled me.

It suffocated the joy that was bursting inside of me when I wrote.

I allowed the thoughts of other people to define who I was.

Not cool, man.

So I write this to encourage you to look at your choices.

Why do you do the things you do?

Do you make choices based on other peoples’ opinions of you?

Do you not drink in public because you don’t want others to think you’re a drunk?

Or do you not drink in public because you feel safer drinking at home with friends?

Are your choices fear based or faith based?

Do you post obsessively about your relationship because you want all of your followers to believe that you guys are perfectly, hopelessly in love and not self conscious about the relationship?

Or do you post about your relationship because you are actually over the moon happy with this person?

What types of choices do you make?

For a long time, mine were fear based.

100%.

But I’ve learned over that past few years that who I am is not based on someone else’s opinion of me.

I am whoever I decide to be.

You are whoever you decide to be.

I’m a writer.

I’m a sharer.

I’m a story-teller.

I’m a comeback kid.

I’m Becca.

I am a lion.

And I am bold.

 

(Featured Image by: Alyssa Jiosa)

 

It came back.

I’m not sure how.

I’m not sure when.

It could’ve started when I lost my best friend.

Or when the love of my life no longer wanted to be mine.

Maybe when I couldn’t afford to feed myself for a few months.

Maybe it was a combination of everything.

There’s only one thing I know for sure,

It’s back.


The haze.

The haze that moves in like a sickening fog

Covering everyone and everything I’ve ever loved

Skewing my vision.

The haze that wraps me up like a soft blanket

But I feel no comfort or solace.

Just colder


This dream state of emotionlessness smothers my every move

My every expression.

I feel nothing.

I want nothing.

I am nothing.

Everyone’s presence exhausts me.

How can I seem interested in their stories when mine is just a bundle of blank pages?

I’ve lost myself.

Faded out of my own story.

And the one thing remaining?

The haze.


A storm will come.

Clean out every crevice until the haze is diffused into nothing.

That’s what happened before.

So I sit.

And watch the clouds.

Waiting in painless agony

for that very

first

drop.

Three Months Sober

“Should I invite him to my birthday party?” I asked my roommate while we sat on the floor of the kitchen playing with our cat.

“I’m really not sure what the best option is in this situation, honey.” She replied. Her eyes fell with concern like a caring mother.

“I would love to see him…” I said with a sigh.

“But it might cause too much of a scene to be a good idea.”

My heart sank deeper into my stomach.

It had been sinking farther and farther every time your name came up in conversation.

I reflected back on the past few months I had spent without you.

Countless friends pulled me aside at parties

at concerts

at school

everywhere I went.

Every person said the same sentence, give or take a few words.

“I’m so sorry about how it ended with you two. You were a great couple. There was a lot of love there. Let me know if you need anything.”

Everyone knew within the first week.

I was afraid to leave the house

Because I knew your name would pop into conversations and I’d shrink back into a miserable state of half hearted explanations to put the nosy ones at ease.

I had slept in another bed.

In another room.

And hated myself afterward.

It was a few kisses.

But it validated all of my fears.

I was completely numb without you.

My lips were numb.

My eyes sank low and extravagant colors faded into shades of grey.

My heart began to dry up and flake away every time someone mentioned your name.

The old me had disappeared

She must have followed you out when you left.

 

Six Months Sober

“What do you mean she’s seeing someone?!” You demanded to a mutual friend.

“She’s started seeing this guy a couple months ago, and she’s pretty crazy about him.” Jason exclaimed, taken aback by the rash reaction.

“It’s only been six months. How can she be seeing someone else?” You asked, unconvinced.

“I’m not sure, dude. That’s just what I know.” Jason said honestly.

You searched through his social media profiles.

Your heart sank.

My heart had began floating again.

You had finally hit the wall.

The wall that is completely ruthless and watches with cruel eyes as you attempt to climb over it with calloused hands.

The wall we must all climb when we are grieving and ultimately healing.

I had climbed and conquered the wall months before.

You were just about to begin.

 

 

Read Part 1 here

Read Part 2 here

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca

Photo Credit: Alyssa Jiosa

Okay the title may be a little aggressive

But it’s meant to come across as urgent.

Because you need to just freaking say it.

Immediately.

Like right now.

Do you not know what I’m talking about?

That thing you’ve been dying to say for the past month, year, decade, entire life?

Those words that have been slowly rotting inside of you desperately trying to claw their way out of your mouth and into the world?

Still not catching on?

Okay, well let me tell you some stories that will clear things up.


My sophomore year of college,

I went a little…

well…

Crazy.

I was struggling with some pretty violent mental illnesses that devoured my ability to empathize with other human beings.

I had an immense sense of pride.

Several people chose to walk out of my life around that time because they weren’t able to handle my negativity or aggression.

I was impacting them in extremely hurtful ways.

I was toxic.

But I couldn’t admit it to myself.

ME?!

TOXIC?!

No way,

I was perfect.

I had never done anything wrong or purposely hurt someone in my entire life.

Everything was about me and my well-being

No one else’s.

Looking back on it now, I realize that I wasn’t trying to hurt these people that I loved so dearly.

I just wasn’t in the state of mind to admit that I was wrong or unhealthy.

I demanded support without giving any back to them in return and it was unbelievably frustrating.

My stubborn little head could not wrap itself around the fact that I could be

Potentially

Maybe just a little bit

Wrong?

In turn, the consequences were absolutely disastrous.

My loved ones were dropping out of my life like flies

And I couldn’t stop it.

Or wouldn’t, I should say.

Because now thinking the entire situation through up, down and sideways,

I could’ve stopped it.

By admitting I was wrong.

And I could’ve actively tried to mend these disintegrating bridges by swallowing my misplaced pride and telling these people just how much I loved them and that their relationships meant way more to me than a stupid, popular blog or my newfound proud reputation.

It’s a lot easier said than done, though.

I’ve been given the very fortunate gift of new relationships and friendships that completely changed my way of thinking.

When the time came and fights occurred with these loved ones,

They always reached out

Called me at 4am,

Wrote me a letter,

Knocked on my door at 3am,

Just to say sorry and tell me that they loved me.

It shattered my beliefs.

Because I appreciated it so much when they showed me how much they cared and that they were willing to bury the hatchet while I was running around with said hatchet and actively destroying my relationships.

It all taught me something very, very important.

Sometimes it’s okay to say “I’m sorry” first.

It’s okay to say “I love you and you mean the absolute world to me” first.

It doesn’t mean you’re weak or admitting defeat.

It means you’re choosing love over pride.

And trust me, love will make you MUCH happier than pride.

I chose pride over love my sophomore year and it ate at me slowly and relentlessly for years.

I thought about it constantly.

I’ve had nightmares about that time in my life that leave me sobbing in my bed in the middle of the night.

And sitting in my bed in a pathetic little heap of miserable-ness didn’t make me feel very proud

Or loved.

I made the wrong choice.

Pride is never greater than or equal to love.

So now I’m here to tell you,

You don’t have to make the same mistake I did.

If you’re in a fight with somebody you care about immensely but neither of you will just lay down your weapons for 2 minutes to apologize and hug it out,

Be the first to just freaking say it.

If you’ve spent the past three years completely in love with someone who doesn’t know how you feel because you’re terrified it could end your friendship and ruin everything,

Just freaking say it.

Because who knows what will happen and even if the feelings aren’t reciprocated, at least they know there’s someone in the world without a selfish bone in their body who loves them unconditionally. It is an absolute honor to be loved by you.

If you’re afraid to speak out for something you believe in because you’re afraid of being torn down by the masses and it’s caused you to sit in uncomfortable and unbearable silence,

Just freaking say it.

A mob with pitchforks and torches will most likely not show up at your house.

(If they do though, pls don’t hold me responsible. I’m just an emotional blogger who doesn’t know anything)


It’s never too late to make amends.

It’s never too late to tell someone you love them.

And it’s never to late to admit that you’re wrong and apologize.

Even if you’re not wrong, apologize.

Because is your pride really worth losing one of your favorite people over?

The answer is no, by the way.

So just freaking do it (as Nike says).

Just freaking say it.

 

 

facebook – Becca Tremmel

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