The Post-It Note That Changed Everything.

There is a version of myself I barely recognize today. I remembered spending the weekend at the beach during a long holiday in Brazil, back in February of 2011. A man I was seeing at the time was also in the same town with his family, navigating the messy reality that he was actually in another relationship.

He came to see me on Sunday and promised he would call later so we could spend some more time together. So, I waited. I spent hours tethered to my house, jumping every time my screen lit up. I deliberately refused to go very far or make any real plans of my own just in case my phone rang. I wanted to be available. I wanted to be ready. Secretly, I was screaming, “Pick me, choose me,” while outwardly pretending I was perfectly fine with whatever crumbs of time he could spare.

The call never came. When I finally gave in and texted him, I received exactly what he had given me several times before: a lame, recycled excuse.

Looking back at that woman waiting by the phone, I can clearly see the exhausting patterns that dictated my choices. I would get involved with emotionally unavailable men and willingly let them walk all over me. I ignored blaring red flags, convinced that I was so special and agreeable that my love would be the magic fix to change them. I spent years waiting to be chosen.

So many of us do this. We curate ourselves. We shrink our needs, swallow our opinions, and hide our complexities because we are terrified of being “too much.” We show only the parts we think they want to see, hoping it will be enough to make them stay. I even accepted going out with guys who had nothing going on for them, simply because deep down, I did not truly believe I deserved better.

That pattern culminated in my last relationship. The chaos was constant, always disguised as someone else's emergency. There was always a lawsuit at work, always a deal that fell through at the last minute, always a reason the money was not coming. His family had opinions about everything, including how he should buy his ex wife a car ten years into our marriage. His ex-wife had a talent for manufacturing guilt, always finding a new story to tell about their youngest daughter that would pull him back into her orbit. I was never dealing with just him. I was dealing with an entire ecosystem of drama. I kept telling myself that if I was patient enough, understanding enough, and easygoing enough, eventually there would be room for me. There never was. We often confuse intensity with intimacy, but an environment that runs entirely on other people's crises is not love. It is just noise. Looking back, that relationship was the ultimate catalyst. It forced a mirror in front of my face and asked me what I was truly willing to tolerate.

My mom used to have a saying written on a Post-It note stuck to her bathroom mirror. It read, “When you accept second best, you very often get it.” Conceptually I understood it. However, for the longest time, I never truly captured the weight of that. Recently, those words have become a guiding principle in my life.

When I first stepped away from my career in law to become a personal stylist, it was a profound act of honoring my authentic self. I refused to accept second best for my life’s work. It took me a little longer to apply that exact same standard of worth to my romantic life, but I am finally there.

Lately, I have been doing things entirely differently. I have had a couple of guys I was interested in tell me they were not good boyfriend material. Instead of seeing that as a challenge to change their minds, I simply believed them, and I walked away. I have gone out with other men who were emotionally available but lacked true alignment with my vision. I walked away from them too.

The more I connect with myself, the more I understand exactly who I am and what I envision my life to be. That deep connection makes it impossible to accept second best. Making these decisions used to feel terrifying, but now, it feels unbelievably freeing. It brings me a profound sense of peace.

I have learned that there is a massive difference between being alone and being lonely. The deepest loneliness I have ever felt was not when I was sitting by myself. It was when I was twisting myself into knots for someone who did not truly see me. Today, I know that being alone means valuing who you are and fiercely protecting your peace. The woman who waited by the phone at the beach is an important chapter of my story, but she is not who I am today. Today, I am choosing me.