that’s that me espresso.

oh, the people who just can’t seem to handle it when a woman speaks her mind – what a fascinating breed. the ones who act like my voice is something that needs to be “toned down,” “polished,” or better yet, silenced altogether. let’s be real, they’re not silencing me because i’m wrong. they’re doing it because deep down, they know i’m right, and the truth makes them uncomfortable. too bad, because i’m not here to cater to fragile egos or tiptoe around the fact that i’ve got something to say. it’s never gonna be me, babe. never has been. never will be.

they slap on a smile, acting like they’re doing me a favor, telling me, “maybe you’re coming across too harsh,” or “you’d be more likable if you didn’t talk about certain things.”

oh, honey, i’m not here to be likable. if you want a watered-down version of me, go sip on someone else’s vanilla latte, because this is espresso—straight up.

these silencing types love to disguise themselves as “well-meaning,” like they’re just trying to help me out. as if i need their unsolicited advice on how to be more palatable. newsflash: i don’t need anyone to turn my volume down. i’m not some background noise for your comfort; i’m the whole damn concert, and the amps are cranked to eleven. if you can’t handle the music, the door’s right there.

here’s the real deal: they’re not silencing me because i’m too loud, or wrong, or “too much.” they’re silencing me because i make them face things they don’t want to deal with. i’m holding up a mirror to their outdated, misogynistic views, and they can’t stand the reflection. instead of evolving, they’d rather try to shut me up, like i’m the problem. but the joke’s on them because every time they try to silence me, it just makes me louder.

and let’s be honest—it’s almost funny how they think they have the power to dictate when and where i should speak. like, sweetie, you don’t have that kind of influence. women have been silenced for centuries, and look where that’s gotten us—nowhere we’re staying. i’ve got too much to say, and if you think a few snide comments or attempts to shut me down are going to work, you’re about to get hit with a reality check. i’ve got my own voice, and i sure as hell am not going to let anyone turn down the volume.

so, to the people who think they can silence me (or any other woman): take a seat. i don’t cater to other people’s insecurities, and i definitely don’t cater to people who think i should sit pretty and stay quiet. i’ve got things to say, and if that makes you uncomfortable, well, maybe it’s time to ask yourself why the truth bothers you so much.

i’ve never cared what anyone else thinks, and i’m definitely not about to start now. i’m done with other people’s rules. and their opinions? nothing but background noise to the sound of women taking up the space we’ve always deserved, no permission needed.

don’t read the last page…

a couple days ago, we had to say goodbye to the second biggest bitch in our home.

tensley, our fearless, feisty, and forever loyal companion, finally gave in after 16.5 years of barking at everyone and everything that dared cross her path. from the moment she was born, she made her intentions clear-crawling right into my husband’s arms and declaring him hers. from that day on, she never left his side, ensuring everyone knew who was boss (even if she only weighed 12 pounds).

turns out, my husband has a type when it comes to small, loud, and unapologetically opinionated females, and tensley was the perfect match. she took her job seriously—no mailman, squirrel, or stray leaf stood a chance under her watch. if it moved, tensley barked at it, and if it didn’t move, well, she barked at that too, just to be safe. the neighbors will certainly miss the soundtrack she provided.

her loyalty was unmatched-tensley was glued to my husband’s side like a shadow (with a loudspeaker). as we say goodbye, we know the house will never be the same without her fierce presence. though it’s quieter now, it’s not necessarily for the better. tensley’s absence leaves a gaping hole, especially where her constant bark used to be. she was a tiny bundle of chaos.

rest in peace, sweet girl. the house is quieter, but our hearts are loud with memories of you.

i don’t cater to all these vipers.

this blog is something i’ve been sitting with for months, trying to articulate: it’s about taylor swift, our favorite pop sensation who can turn a breakup into a billboard hit, but also about so much more…

it baffles me that some women take issue with taylor writing about her relationships, her exes, the breakups, and choose to judge her negatively for speaking out. you’d think they’d be cheering her on for making millions off her heartache, but instead, there’s judgment, eye-rolling, and whispers that maybe she should just keep quiet about it.

that judgment? it’s not just about taylor. it’s about something bigger, something lurking in the shadows of our collective consciousness: internalized misogyny.

it’s part of a long history of silencing women, of telling them to keep quiet about their experiences, especially when it comes to relationships.

never be so polite you forget your power.

men have been writing about their exes since, well, forever. and when they do, they’re hailed as poetic geniuses, chroniclers of the human condition. but when taylor swift does it, suddenly it’s “oh, she’s so petty,” or “why can’t she just move on?” the double standard is glaring, but somehow, it keeps slipping under the radar.

it’s like this: women have been trained – by society, by culture, by history – to keep their emotions in check, to not make a fuss, especially over a man. when swift refuses to follow those unspoken rules, it ruffles feathers. and not just any feathers: women’s feathers. because deep down, many of us have internalized the idea that a “good” woman doesn’t make her private life public.

the best people in life are free.

here’s the thing: internalized misogyny is sneaky. it’s that voice inside that tells women to play nice, to not air their dirty laundry, to keep their emotions under wraps. so when taylor swift takes a bad breakup and turns it into a number-one hit, some women cringe. not because there’s anything wrong with what she’s doing, but because they’ve been taught women aren’t supposed to do that. they’re not supposed to make a scene.

and let’s be real, taylor is making a scene – a glorious, chart-topping, grammy-winning scene. but for some women, that scene breaks all the rules they’ve been taught to follow, and instead of questioning the rules (or their beliefs), they question her.

women love hunting witches, too.

this isn’t anything new. women have a long history of persecuting other women for doing things they aren’t bold or brave enough to do. taylor swift doesn’t just get flak for writing about her exes – she gets flak for having exes in the first place. the narrative goes something like this: if a woman has too many relationships, she’s somehow less. less respectable, less desirable, less everything. it’s a twisted, outdated idea that a woman’s worth is tied to her romantic history.

and who’s dishing out this judgment? often, it’s other women. it’s a textbook case of internalized misogyny – women absorbing the same toxic messages that have been used to control them for generations and then turning those messages on each other.

people throw rocks at things that shine.

here’s the kicker: in all the criticism taylor faces, how often do we talk about the guys she’s writing about? not much. instead, the spotlight stays on her, as if her reaction to their behavior is the real problem. the guy could have been a jerk, a cheater, or just plain absent, but somehow, it’s taylor’s response that gets all the attention.

this is classic internalized misogyny at work – shifting the focus from a man’s bad behavior to a woman’s emotional response. it’s a tale as old as time: blame the woman, excuse the man. and when other women buy into this narrative, they’re reinforcing a system that’s been holding them down for centuries.

i could build a castle out of all the bricks they threw at me.

so, what’s taylor swift really doing when she writes about her exes? she’s owning her narrative. she’s refusing to be silenced, to be shamed, or to play by anyone else’s rules. she’s turning her personal experiences into art that resonates with millions, and in doing so, she’s challenging the very norms that some women have internalized.

i don’t regret it one bit cuz he had it coming.

next time you hear someone say taylor swift should stop writing about her exes, take a second to think about where that’s coming from. is it really about her music? or is it about something deeper, something that’s been ingrained in us without us even realizing it?

internalized misogyny is a powerful thing. but the more we talk about it, the less power it has. and maybe, just maybe, we can start giving women the space to tell their stories – no matter how messy, emotional, or public they might be. because if there’s one thing taylor swift has taught us, it’s that there’s nothing more powerful than owning your story, no matter what anyone else thinks.

now, to the women rolling their eyes at taylor’s lyrics and turning up their noses at her success: it’s laughable, really. imagine getting mad at a woman for making millions off emotional labor while half the world suffers in silence. ladies, where is your business acumen? taylor’s out here signing record deals with her tear-stained stationery, while you’re busy clutching pearls over things you wish you had the guts to say yourself.

it hits home.

when i was a kid, i came home from school one day with a mission: teach my mom how to pitch balls to me so i could play baseball. with the enthusiasm only a child can muster, i explained the game to her, my excitement bubbling over with every word. we spent about an hour in our backyard, me miming pitches and trying to show her how to throw. she tried, but after countless failed attempts, she finally threw in the towel. it just wasn’t clicking for her. not ready to give up my dream, i scavenged around, trying to create a makeshift tee. that attempt failed spectacularly. with a sigh, i moved on to something else—probably obsessing over jason priestley, my pre-teen heartthrob.

flash forward to last father’s day. my bonus dad was outside, his laughter echoing through the yard as he pitched balls to my son. my husband, with a mischievous grin, decided to pitch a couple to me. the moment was light, unexpected. to both our surprise, i CRACKED the ball harder and farther than anyone imagined. there was a stunned silence, then cheers. so, he pitched another. and another. an hour and a half later, i was completely blissed out, lost in the sheer joy of the game. we were all marveling at my raw talent, this hidden skill no one had known about. my mom stood nearby, her eyes sparkling with laughter and nostalgia, reminiscing about the time i tried to make her play with me.

father’s day has been tricky since my dad passed. the day often felt like a wound reopened. but that day, something shifted. the act of hitting those pitches, the laughter of my family around me, the simple joy of the game—it healed a part of me. the little girl who just wanted to play ball, who missed her dad so fiercely, found some peace. it was as if, in that moment, surrounded by love and laughter, i reconnected with a piece of my past, a piece of my dad. and for the first time in a long time, father’s day felt like a celebration again.

it’s the worst men that i write best.

for a long time i carried a silence around my ex like a heavy cloak, a shield against judgment and pity. i believed that talking about him would somehow reflect poorly on me, as if his actions were a measure of my worth. the memory of his betrayal felt like a stain on my heart, something best hidden away, locked in the depths of my thoughts.

it took time to realize that there was no shame in trusting someone i loved. love is a leap of faith, a journey into vulnerability where trust blossoms like a delicate flower. when i opened my heart to him, i wasn’t naïve or foolish; i was brave. i chose to believe in the goodness of his intentions, in the sincerity of his words.

but when that trust was shattered, it felt like the ground beneath me crumbled. questions swirled in my mind like a storm: was i not enough? did i miss the signs? was it my fault?

in the midst of this turmoil, it became clear my friends didn’t understand. i withdrew into myself and i don’t think they even noticed. leaving me utterly alone during the worst time in my life. i was still reeling from my dad’s passing and i was not ready nor capable to process another loss. without support, i felt stranded, unable to share my pain. i didn’t want their pity or judgment. so, i buried it deep within, pretending it didn’t exist, painting on a smile when all i wanted to do was scream. lonely wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how i felt in that time. the loneliness was suffocating, a constant reminder of my isolation.

it took time, months turning into years, before i found the courage to confront my silence. i realized that my ex’s actions were a reflection of him, not of me. i was not defined by his choices. i had loved fiercely and completely, and that was something to cherish, not hide away.

slowly, i began to speak about him, about us, about the lessons learned through tears and heartache. i discovered that vulnerability is not weakness but strength. it is in sharing our stories, our struggles, and our triumphs that we find connection and healing.

today, i no longer carry that silence like a burden. instead, i wear my story with pride, a testament to resilience and the unwavering belief in love. trusting someone, even if it ends in betrayal, is not a flaw but a testament to the depth of our hearts and the courage to keep loving despite the risks.

and i’ve realized something else: it’s often the worst men that i write the best. the ones who hurt me, who left scars on my heart, they inspire the most profound reflections. their actions, while painful, push me to explore the depths of my emotions and transform that pain into art. there’s power in taking the hurt they caused and molding it into something beautiful and meaningful.

there is no shame in trusting the person you love. it is in the giving of ourselves that we truly live, learning and growing from every experience, even the ones that leave us broken for a while.

the worst men, they leave the best stories, and maybe that’s their only redeeming quality.