Some days I feel electric. Other days I disappear into myself. I don’t always know which version of me is real — and I’m starting to accept that maybe all of them are.

I’ve spent most of my life tying my self-worth to how much I get done. Productivity gave me confidence—but also guilt, burnout, and fear. In this post, I unpack where that mindset came from, what it’s cost me, and how I’m slowly learning that I’m still worthy… even when I rest.

I tried to open myself up. I even made a friendship application. But men keep reminding me why I stay distant. Why I don’t trust. Why survival mode still feels safer than connection. This isn’t about bitterness. It’s about boundaries—and I’m done pretending.

I used to chase men like they were the last Uber out of hell—until they liked me back. Then I’d emotionally block them, disappear, or redirect that energy into work. Maybe it’s intimacy issues. Maybe it’s delusion. Either way, I’m healing. Slowly. Loudly. Hilariously.

Low-effort men don’t just waste your time—they chip away at your confidence. This blog unpacks the reality of being pursued for your image while your soul is ignored. It’s for every woman who’s ever been ghosted, gaslit, or glamorized by someone who only wanted the baddie, not the brain.

The It Girl isn’t perfect. She’s powerful. She’s the one who walks into chaos and owns it like it’s couture. This isn’t about aesthetics—it’s about energy. If you’ve ever felt too much, too loud, too bold… congratulations. You’re already her.

I wasn’t healed—I was productive. I wasn’t happy—I was useful. For years, I tied my worth to how impressive I could be. But behind every achievement was a scared, high-functioning girl performing perfection just to feel safe. This is the story of how I mistook survival for success—and what happened when the performance stopped.

Money isn’t just currency to me—it’s safety, identity, and emotional control. I grew up fearing instability, and now I chase security like my life depends on it… because once, it did. This isn’t about greed. It’s about survival.

There are so many things I had to learn the hard way—through silence, pain, and the lessons no one ever warned me about. This isn’t just a list. It’s a reflection. It’s a letter to my younger self, and maybe to yours too.

At first, OnlyFans felt like freedom. I was making money, building a brand, and living the lifestyle I thought I always wanted. But behind the filters and the flawless posts, I was unraveling. The pressure, the harassment, the constant demand to be perfect—it broke me. What started as a path to independence became a harsh lesson in exploitation, mental burnout, and the darker sides of male entitlement.

This post isn’t just about leaving OnlyFans—it’s about rediscovering myself, reclaiming my voice, and choosing purpose over performance.