Can I just say something? I dated a guy on and off from my junior year of high school until I was about twenty-four. When it was on, we burned like a fire hazard. But when it was off? Total blackout — no calls, no texts, not even a ghost.
Every time I went back to him, my skin would flare up. Literally. Like, red, inflamed, cystic-acne kind of flare-up. I eventually landed myself on Accutane. Not because of hormones. Not because of my skincare routine. Because of him.
That’s when I realized — some relationships aren’t actually relationships. They’re allergies. You know the ones. You go through a breakup, get past the ugly cry phase, and suddenly your friends start telling you you’re glowing. You’ve lost weight. Your skin’s clearer. You look… free.
The “post-breakup glow-up” isn’t a myth — it’s your body exhaling after holding its breath for way too long. When you’re in the wrong relationship, your body knows before your heart does. And once you’re out, it celebrates.
So, if you’re hotter after the breakup? Block him. Bless him. And don’t even think about replying when he slides back into your DMs three months later with a “u up?”
No babe, you’re not. You’re booked and exfoliated.
Another example? Love, Sex, LA. Yep — this whole thing started during what I loosely call a situationship. I won’t even give it the dignity of the word “relationship.” I was obsessed with him — his life, his goals, his problems. Meanwhile, he couldn’t even figure out his living situation. I gave him emotional support like I was running a non-profit. And in return? Nothing.
But in the aftermath of all that unreciprocated energy, something magical happened: I started writing. Journaling turned into a column. A column turned into a print publication. A toxic man turned into Love, Sex, LA. So if your next big idea comes after a breakup? That’s not a coincidence. That’s a cosmic refund.
Now, let’s talk about that moment when you start to “miss” him.
Ask yourself:
Do I miss him — or am I just uncomfortable with the silence he left behind? Do I miss who he was — or am I grieving the fantasy version I created of him?
Because when we fall in love with someone’s potential, we’re not in love with the person. We’re in love with hope. And hope doesn’t answer your texts at 2 a.m. Hope doesn’t gaslight you. Hope doesn’t keep you a secret.
Here’s your fix: Make a Shit List.
It’s like your Notes app version of Claritin.
Write down all the real red flags—
Follows OnlyFans models.
Prioritizes fantasy football over actual communication.
Six months in, still calls you “buddy” in public.
That’s who he was. Not who you wanted him to be. And when you see it all in writing? Suddenly, you’re cured. Because love should never make your eyes water. It should make your whole life clearer.
And if he gives you hives instead of butterflies? Baby, that’s not love — it’s a reaction.
Xoxo,
Alexandria