Lord it’s so hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way.

Gotta love some Willie Nelson right? I used to love this lyric every time I heard it. In fact, I’m sure if it was written out in some sort of caligraphy-o-rized script on @bitches instagram or some shit like that a few years back (if that was a thing a few years back) I probably would have thrown it a like or at least an internal smirk. Funny thing is, I just re-read that lyric literally as I’m typing this and instead of an internal smirk in an “oh so true” kind of a way, I read it in a jealous, dear lord I wish I believed that to be true way.
Insecurity is a really funny thing. In my mind, it is almost a curse word… but I think that may be part of the problem. The funniest part about using the term itself is actually that those that use the term frequently to describe others, are often using it from a sort of insecure place, or really as a way to insult someone without allowing themselves to believe that they are actually insulting the person. Allow me to elaborate with the following examples.
Example 1:
Girl A at party looks Girl B up and down. Girl B is flirting with likable guy.. like a lot. Girl A to Girl C: “Wow Girl B is such a slut.” Girl C to Girl A: “Well you know, she’s just insecure. You’re so much prettier. Don’t worry about her.”
Insecure = replacement for admission of jealousy or using meaner words to say how you really feel. 
Example 2:
Girl A tells beautifully skinny Girl B she should eat a hamburger. Girl C tells Girl B to not worry about it, Girl A is just insecure.
Insecure = replacement for meaner words of how she really wants to describe the woman/ excuse for behavior.
Okay, here’s my example. And most of you who know me know that I don’t typically bash on certain ex-boyfriend who I lived with and this HONESTLY is not meant to do so. But I am writing this to admit to you that I am insecure. I AM insecure. I WAS not.
While I was dating said ex-boyfriend we lived together. At the young age of 23, I was quite busy in my first year of law school and to be frank, just really didn’t have a jealous or suspicious bone in me. I don’t know if that was because I had a big head and didn’t think a guy would ever want to cheat on me or if I really just wanted to see the best in people. Either way, as said ex-boyfriend and I lived together, I would frequently use his phone to play games, etc. In about the last six months of our relationship, said ex-boyfriend would consistently tell me that I was paranoid if I asked him while he was taking his phone away from me. If I asked an innocent question about where he went while I was out of town, he would call me insecure. If I made a joke that he checked out a girl (I was probably checking her out in awe at the same time) he would tell me I was insecure and had trust issues because of my relationship with my father. The list goes on and on. Long story short, I think you can see how in these last six months of our relationship, where in fact he was having relations with at least 6 other women, he had somehow convinced me that I was insecure, even though I had never accused him of anything…. he ultimately admitted it after the first time I flat out asked him if there was something I should know.
Insecure = excuse for behavior/manner of making someone else question their own logical acts
So, I realize how roundabout this whole post is, but this is the funny thing. I was not insecure then. How do I know that? Because I truly, honestly I  am now. How did this happen? Did it happen when I found out about the first girl? the second girl? The fourth and fifth? Did it happen when I had to admit to people what had happened and people consistently asked how I found out? Instead, did it happen in the three years that followed as law school beat me to a pulp, I never really figured out dating and then fell into a job that convinced me I was less than nothing?
Several thousand dollars of therapy later and I honestly can’t answer that. I can say one thing. I was not insecure then. Sure I had my moments, but in many many ways I was a very confident young woman. But I also hadn’t experienced a lot of the life challenges that I have now. Call me an asshole for saying this but I hadn’t had troubles getting guys to like me. I really didn’t have a hard time with school. Aside from 20 pounds I’d like to forget my freshman year of college, staying in shape came pretty easy. Does my life suck? Absolutely not. Those 20 pounds went away and I still have a wonderful education and ultimately, am blessed for my work experience.
I find it pretty funny when people ask me if I’m “over” my ex-boyfriend. First of all, the ones who normally ask are people who have no business asking such a personal question and if I said no, would likely not be willing to help in any real meaningful way (aside from one unbelievable former educator, who had a lovely conversation about this with me the other day). Second of all, what does that even mean? Look, if my ex-boyfriend asked me to date him in any capacity again I would literally put water in my mouth just to have water in my mouth and spit it out when he asked because I was laughing so hard. Yes, in that sense I am over him.
SO HERE IS THE THING PEOPLE DON’T TALK ABOUT. When you are cheated on, you get over the person, but it is really really really hard to get over the situation. I’m talking REALLY hard and I am a damn strong woman. One day you are living your life with one reality and in a split second, everything you believed to be true no longer is. One day, you think you are the apple of someone’s eye and later that day you are that person’s worst fear. You are the person that they are scared will find out the truth. They are who you think is the closest to you in the world and instead you are the one person in the world they don’t want to let in. This is what I know about being cheated on. I also know, that in some twisted, fucked up way, when you are cheated on, at least for me, when the scorned ex drifts into your past and all you are left with is yourself, it is not them that you are left with being angry at, it is yourself. He’s no longer around. I can no longer walk in the other room and ask him if there was a seventh girl… and even if I could ahhahahahha dear lord I would not. But I am still here. I still live with myself. I am here questioning myself, my ability to read people, my ability to trust others, my self-worth and my reality. That’s the truth.
So here’s the time where I contradict myself and, spoiler alert, there’s no beautiful ending to this long-winded post that will bring it all together. A few weeks back I was hanging out with friends in Philadelphia when I made what seemed to me like a normal comment and my friend who I have not known for that long, very kindly said to me that “we need to work on your confidence. I feel like you think you’re not worthy and it’s just not true. I was the same in my 20s, but you deserve to know now that you’re not less than anyone.” He said it from such a place of warmth and love that I actually had to excuse myself to the restroom and actually cried a happy tear. I agreed with him, but to hear it from someone else was such a symbol of pure kindness, and I’m not quite sure why it was hard for me to believe that someone had that much kindness inside of them.
So, I had that conversation. I had the conversation with my former educator who says that he’s known I’ve been insecure since I was a child (probably true but in different ways) and that we need to figure out how to deal with it. Until a few days ago, while these words had been hard to hear, I knew they were true and honestly felt like yes, something I obviously need to work on, but in the end it was only myself that I was hurting.
Wrong. The other night, a close friend wanted to set me up with a friend of hers and invited me to a house-warming party at her place where said set-up would be. He was nice as can be… tall.. good looking… I mean, dream set up. It was a party, so of course it was a casual set up and it was not like I was his date or anything like that. During the party, he was nothing but kind to me and I realized at some point (through the haze of some pineapple vodka drink that has me on a temporary alcohol ban at the moment) that he was talking with another woman a lot. Call it flirting, call it whatever you want. It really doesn’t matter. He was/is single, it was a party and he had every right to. Well, in that moment I pulled him aside and COMPLETELY out of jealousy and nothing else, I said something really awful about the woman he was talking to. I don’t even want to repeat it because I’m ashamed. He appropriately thought my comment was disgusting and very nicely told me that (I believe something later like “that was  a strange comment” .. I deserved a much harsher criticism). Later that night I half-ass told my friend who was doing the setting up that I messed it up and she told me that she heard what I said and that she knows that’s not me, but I need to stop being insecure. So fuck me, what I said before was wrong. She was right and she was a good friend. I am insecure and I let it get the best of me. If I could have just trusted that whatever happens happens, that I’m worthy of being loved and if it is with this guy or some other man who comes along so be it, then I could’ve saved myself, my friend and the guy some embarrassment.
So if you’ve made it to this point then you’ve made it past whatever I’m going to reread for typos and you’re a fucking champion. I guess the reason I’ve written all of this is because over the last 24 hours I’ve been thinking about this insecurity and how it really has gotten the best of me. About a month ago, right before my first blog post, I also made a promise to myself to hold myself accountable for my actions. My flaws make me beautiful but negativity does not. So, I’m really dedicating myself to addressing this issue. Part of this is practicing self love. Focusing on my strengths and what makes me a good person. Knowing who my true friends are and also knowing how wonderful these people are and they would not be friends with me if there wasn’t something positive about me.
Ultimately, I stand by my statement at the very beginning of all of this that being labeled insecure can be an insult and most of the time, when we call others insecure, it is meant as an insult. If you are not saying it from a loving place, don’t label someone as insecure. It’s a real thing and it does hurt. On the opposite site of the spectrum, if you do realize a friend is insecure, tell them. Let them know you love them and they have no reason to be. NO ONE has a reason to be. We are who we are. If we aren’t where we want to be, let’s help each other get there. In the meantime, I’m going to work on being my own biggest fan.
So I’m sorry Willie, I am humble and I’m not perfect in every way, but I think I can try to find some sort of compromise where I learn to love myself in every way.
Would love to hear your experiences/thoughts/suggestions in the comments below. xoxo

Thank You

I wanted to say a huge thank you to all of you who reached out with support regarding my first post. It has been amazing and I am truly shocked by all of your positive responses. 

More to come ❤️✨

Bacon with a side of bacon… 😯

“Have you had the burger here? It’s awesome!”
“No, I haven’t actually.”
“You gotta get it.”
“Oh thanks, no, I actually don’t eat red meat or pork.”
“Oh right, Jewish, I forgot.”
That’s funny, I think, never said I was Jewish…. also would love to learn when not eating red meat is a part of keeping kosher. Fact is, there’s no actual reasoning behind while I don’t eat red meat or pork, just the way I grew up. For some reason, I proclaimed at four years old that enough was enough! I would no longer be eating red meat! Why? Erm…not so sure. I’m pretty sure at the time the other women in my family didn’t eat red meat, or at least not often and I, being quite the little lady decided the same. And at 12, I decided I wouldn’t eat pork either. But I’m pretty sure that was just because I thought pigs were simultaneously adorable and filthy and therefore, I could stick to the poultry and seafood.
So, yeah, not exactly logically thought out reasoning there but also, for once and for all, you can rest assured, it is not because I am Jewish that I don’t eat beef.
So, phew, now that I explained my agnostic dietary restrictions, I can reveal to you something that only few know (and those who know it find it hysterical, I know). I have been hiding this for about a year now and I’ve felt so ashamed. I’ve tried to hide it, but it’s to the point where I need to tell the world or I’ll forever live in disgrace…. OK *spoiler alert ahead*
I know, who doesn’t right? Me, Me! For 15 years, I was so staunch in my eating habits, never failing… even dramatically spitting food out when I realized it was spoiled with red meat or pork filth. So, how did this happen you ask? It’s a slippery slope my friends. I tell you, only to beg for your understanding in my hypocrisy.
1. You start off strong. Like determined 12 year-old girl strong. You declare you don’t eat pork anymore and yes, that includes bacon.

2. You realize that everything on every menu everywhere has bacon on it or in it, you find the few items that don’t and you order those.

3. You get sick of being limited to a few items. You order other items, sans bacon. This goes well for the most part, but a lot of times someone gets it wrong and the meal arrives with bacon. You send it back.

4. You get sick of sending every meal back. You swallow your pride, attempt to push the bacon to the side and eat your meal.

5. Little bits of bacon you pushed to the side creep into your bites over the years. You like it. You say nothing.

6. The pushing to the side turns into “picking around” the bacon. You hope no one notices as you steadily do a worse and worse job.

7. You eat the bacon that came on the food you ordered.

8. You order bacon.
My name is Laura and I love bacon. I still don’t eat red meat or pork… only bacon.


Resume vs. Reality

I am 27, Ivy League educated, completely self sufficient, a lawyer at a large corporate law firm in Boston and compared to many, I have been known for the large part to “have my shit together.” This was 3 weeks ago.

Oh, I left one thing out: completely miserable.

Many would tell me to never admit that for several reasons – don’t show weakness, no one wants to be around someone who is miserable,  no one wants to hire someone who seems unhappy, it’s not a “good look”….. the list goes on and on.

But here’s the thing, do you know how empowering it is to admit that you’re unhappy? What once felt shameful to say out loud now feels energizing. However counterintuitive this may seem, once you admit you are unhappy, you can begin to try to figure out why it is you are not or even, what can help you chip away at that unhappiness. I’m not talking a pros and cons list here, no. I’m talking what your every day life looks like and what parts bring dread, and what, if any, bring joy.

For me, what I found may not be surprising to those on the outside, but was a personally starting revelation. I asked myself how I ended up unhappy and found that I could not trace it from any point where I can say I was truly happy. For as long as recent memory could recall, I felt like happiness would come once I finally graduated Penn Law, started my “dream” job as an attorney and with this, truly could live my life as an independent adult. But graduation came and went, months of #adulting came and went and the lawyering did not bring the so-called happiness I expected. In fact, it did the opposite. You see, by placing these intense expectations of happiness on one step, I also set myself up to fail and when failure is in the form of personal well being and mental health, that fall is crushing. By failing to live in the moment and instead constantly thinking of how things will be different in the future, I was bound to fall and fall I did.

Every day was a struggle – it simultaneously felt like every 24 hours lasted 24 years and like my life was passing me by. I woke up in tears and couldn’t explain it. Why did everything feel so hard! I really can’t explain it. The only thing I know is the most adult thing I’ve done in my life was sit back, admit I was unhappy and make an immediate and deliberate change. So, three weeks ago, I quit my “great” job in Boston and moved back home to Houston, Texas in search of my happy self. No, I’m not making the salary I was making there and yes, I’m living with my grandma who’s in her nineties. Some would say I’m currently doing the opposite of #adulting, but I really couldn’t care less. It is a beautiful thing to wake up every day and deliberately tailor your day in search of happiness and your true self. If this is failing, I’m alright with that. Because I have to tell you, taking the pressure to “succeed” off of myself feels pretty damn good.

That’s all for now, hopefully more stories of joy to come. Xoxo