Sofi

Somewhere between overthinking and letting go. Where I share little pieces of my mind 🔪

[carminevinyl]

Masterlist

I Promise You’ll Never Regret Loving

Connection, Not Condition.

The Audacity of Being Unshakably You

The Fucking Artist’s Way

Notes

Stop Expecting People to Understand You

Why do we keep chasing the Idea of a perfect love?

Who’s Parenting Who? Remember, You’re Their Child, Not Their Savior.

The Truth About Power and the Maneater Myth

Legacies Written in Energy: Why We Create in a World Where Nothing Seems to Last

The World Holds Everything—Including Your Place in It

IG

[carminevinyl]

I Promise You’ll Never Regret Loving

Love can hurt. Sometimes it leaves wounds that time can’t erase, but it also leaves a light that no darkness can ever extinguish. True love doesn’t always come in the form of a person. Sometimes it comes with four little paws, a sincere gaze, and a tail that wags for no reason at all. This is the story of someone who taught me not to let a bad moment be the last… and to remember that love, no matter what, always stays. This is the story of Tomi, my light, my teacher, my guide, and everything he taught me about loving without measure, even when he’s no longer here.

There once was a little dog named Tomi who wagged his tail for everything and everyone. He didn’t need much of a reason, life itself seemed to be enough. Every morning, he’d open his eyes and start his day with the same excitement: greeting whoever crossed his path, eating his food like it was a feast, walking, running, existing. Always wagging his tail, always thrilled just to be.

You’d never guess, seeing him like that, everything he’d been through. Once, he was rescued from the hands of children who hit him, kicked him, and planned to throw him away. Later, he ended up in a house that was more a place than a home, left outside through rain or sun, with affection arriving in small doses, almost as if love were something he had to earn.

And yet, even then, he kept wagging that little tail. Looking at the world with eyes that still believed in kindness. Eyes that forgave everything.

He was run over, attacked by bigger dogs, and still, he never stopped being love in motion.

With time, Tomi got older. His steps grew slower, his sight faded, and his hearing turned into memory. He started making funny sounds, like a tiny piglet (in Spanish, chancho means pig, and Chanchi became my affectionate nickname for him). He answered to both names, the old one and the new, as if to remind me that no matter how much time passed, he was still the same soul inside. The same joy. The same love.

His favorite place in the world became the bed we shared, where he’d curl up next to me, finally living the life he had always deserved.

Tomi was my greatest teacher. He taught me that no darkness can erase who we truly are. That we can go through storms, heartbreak, and neglect, and still wake up wagging our tail. Still find joy in the simplest things. Still choose love, over and over again.

That’s what he taught me, that life is really about, not what happens to us, but how softly we keep loving after it does...

And then, one day, he was gone.

My precious baby, my companion through every chapter of my life, finished his mission here on earth, suddenly, leaving behind an ache I still feel, but also a deep gratitude for his existence. For having shared even a small piece of this life with me.

Every time I think of him, I also think of all the things I wish I could change, how I should have treated him better, how I regret the times I got mad. His last day with me wasn’t a peaceful one; I was upset, he’d made a mess, and I said things I wish I could take back. I opened the door for him to go outside, like I always did, not knowing that it would be the last time I’d see those bright eyes. The last time he’d wag his tail, still full of life.

I know his spirit is still here, I feel it every time I light the candle on his little altar. But even then, I can’t help but think of everything I won’t get back.

So please, whatever you do today, always remember tenderness.

Don’t let a bad moment be the last one.

Don’t let any relationship end with harsh words or silence. You never know when it’s the last time.

Don’t let anyone walk away and leave you with the weight of what could’ve been.

Time doesn’t rewind.

Only love stays.

No matter what happens, it has to be bigger than the anger, the pride, the impatience.

In the end, that’s all that remains.

And when you remember, you’ll decide how: with regret, or with nostalgia and sweetness.

Choose love. Always.

-xoxo🌸✨️

"My loyal companion our souls are not apart.

You will always be one with me. Wherever I go, you’ll be there. Wherever you are, I am."

I love you 💌

[carminevinyl]

Connection, Not Condition.

Exploring relationships without the pressure of turning them into love stories... that’s where I’m at. Learning to romanticize friendships without needing to call everyone a soulmate or a future partner.

There’s this phenomenon, one I think both girls and guys share, this quiet obsession with making every connection potentially romantic. Why do we struggle to connect without expecting someone to be in love with us? Or worse, assuming they already are?

I’ve been thinking about relationships and how many beautiful connections I’ve sabotaged simply because they didn’t fit the story I thought I was supposed to tell. The story where the other person falls for me.

And the funny part? Half the time I didn’t even like them that way. They didn’t meet my so-called standards. But I felt something, and because it was unfamiliar, I mistook it for attraction and I let that confusion stop me.

If it wasn’t mutual, if it didn’t lead to a plot twist where they suddenly confessed their love, I walked away. Because somewhere along the way, I started believing that if someone isn’t part of your romantic narrative, they don’t belong in your life at all.

But that’s cruel, to them, and to myself.

Because you miss out. You shut down the part of you that’s meant to connect.

Who told us that if it isn’t romantic, it isn’t real? That if it doesn’t end in love, it doesn’t matter? Or worse, that unreturned feelings make the connection dangerous, something to protect yourself from?

Somehow we were taught that if there’s no passion, no butterflies, no story to tell later, it’s meaningless. That if someone doesn’t choose you, you must erase them, as if connection only holds value when it’s validated by romance. We forget that there’s a whole spectrum between love and indifference. That not everyone who touches your life is meant to stay, or to fall for you, or to be claimed. Some people are just meant to meet you halfway, for a night, a month, a moment that shifts something inside you. And that should be enough.

But we’ve been conditioned to think that "almost" is failure. That anything that doesn’t lead somewhere is a waste. So we build distance, we shut the door early, we pretend we’re fine when in truth we’re just scared of meaning something to someone who won’t give us the version of love we’ve been told to wait for.

Maybe the real danger isn’t unreturned feelings. Maybe it’s believing that love is the only valid form of connection.

So in the name of self-protection, we end up abandoning everything beautiful that could’ve been.

I’m not saying to ignore your feelings or pretend you’re fine when you’re not. You know yourself better than anyone. But maybe (just maybe) stop letting your need to be loved get in the way of your need to connect.

Connection is sacred. It’s soft and rare and constantly interrupted by these stupid mental walls we’ve built.

I don’t even know exactly what this is... a confession? A reminder? Maybe both.

I’m talking to you, but I’m also talking to me.

Let the connections happen.

A heart can’t truly break when it’s chasing something higher, that unspoken, wordless something that doesn’t need labels or expectations.

Connection doesn’t ask for anything in return. It just is.

And it’s everything.

-xoxo

[bambibllog]

vivienne westwood ss97 & samuel cirnansck spring 2012

[carminevinyl]

The Audacity of Being Unshakably You

The Nepo Baby Energy You Can Steal

There’s something hypnotic about the way certain people move through the world.

They don’t just enter a room, they arrive. You can see it in the tilt of their chin, the way their eyes scan like they already own the view. It’s not about what they’re wearing, though, sure, their outfit probably costs more than my month’s rent , it’s about the unshakable belief that they belong everywhere.

I used to watch them from a distance, measuring the space between their lives and mine. At first, the math was simple: they had money, I didn’t. Easy to calculate, harder to swallow.

Because money isn’t just a number in an account; it’s an invisible net that lets you leap without worrying about the fall.

But over time I realized: it’s not just the trust fund. It’s the mindset. The internal script that says failure is simply not an option, not because they’re too good for it, but because in their world, it doesn’t exist. And that’s something you can steal without touching a single dollar of their inheritance.

It’s not about pretending to be someone else. It’s about moving through life like the universe is your powerful father. Believing the doors aren’t opening for you, they were always open. Living with the audacity of someone who doesn’t ask for permission… because in their reality, permission was never required.

And that’s where the real magic is: the shift from “Can I do this?” to “Of course I can, why wouldn’t I?”. It’s a subtle rewiring of the brain, a quiet decision to back yourself the way a billionaire backs their only child. You start to see every project, every risk, not as a gamble but as a natural extension of who you are. The question stops being “What if it goes wrong?” and becomes “What’s my next move once it works?”

Because when you believe you’re meant to win, you move like you’re winning.

And when you move like you’re winning, people start betting on you.

And when people start betting on you… well, that’s when the game really changes.

The truth is, half of what we call ‘success’ is just the confidence to keep moving before anyone has the chance to tell you to stop. And when you decide that failure isn’t part of your personal universe, you stop bracing for impact and start aiming higher.

So maybe the real inheritance we should all be chasing isn’t money at all, but that untouchable sense of entitlement, not to things, but to possibility. Not the trust fund, but the trust in yourself.

Not a birthright, but the right to believe that the world is already yours.

Because the minute you behave like you’ve already got the pass… nobody questions your place inside.

-xoxo✨️

[carminevinyl]

The Fucking Artist’s Way

The artist’s path is, above all else, a solitary one.

It’s a one-way journey of shame, humiliation, exposure, and vulnerability.

It’s constantly showing yourself in your raw form (whether you believe it’s good or bad) and saying with pride:

“This is who I am. Here is this extension of me, made with everything I know.”

Hoping it will be valued. Appreciated. Understood. Accepted.

And I know that along the way, you learn not to pay so much attention to the outside. Because it’s true:

the art of creating lies in the creation itself.

More than in the title.

More than in external validation.

And that’s exactly what I want to talk about.

When you’re an artist, or you want to “be one” (in the eyes of others), you’re in the center of the ring.

No gloves, no strength, no protection.

When you start, all you can do is take the hits. Again, and again, and again.

They will humiliate you.

They will make you feel small.

They will leave you out.

They will look at you with disdain, with contempt, even with pity.

Because to others, that’s what the artist’s path looks like.

And you’ll want to find comfort, appreciation, understanding, or support from the people you love.

And that’s when you’ll stumble into another big truth about artists:

the ones who love you won’t necessarily support you or make you feel seen the way you wish they would.

Not because they don’t want to.

Not because they don’t love you.

But because they don’t understand.

When you’re an artist, you’re not made to be understood.

An artist is sensitive by nature, but when constantly exposed and creating something new, they become even more so.

Because behind every creation, there’s a child just hoping to be seen.

And in front of them, the adult demanding it.

That adult shows up. Presents the work. Exhibits it.

But at the center of the creation is that innocent child.

With only their hands as tools (metaphorical ones).

That’s why I want to share something:

if you have artist friends, creators, please try to understand their days the way they try to understand life.

Understand that they are under constant attack.

Not just from the world, but from their own mind.

They live in a constant battle between “I am” and “I’m not enough.”

It’s uncomfortable.

Being a creator means living a life of discomfort for something greater than yourself.

The gift of creation is heavy.

It weighs on your mind and on your soul.

That’s why we constantly need to express ourselves.

In whatever way we can.

An artist lives in a constant state of suffocation.

Always feeling like they’re drowning, like the pressure is almost enough to kill them.

And that creation is the breath in the middle of the ocean.

The window in the middle of the confinement.

Creation is all we have.

And the fear of showing it, hoping it will be loved as much as we love it, is always there.

Because it’s human.

Because it’s who we are.

Do you know the worst thing you can do to someone? Ignore them.

Make them feel unseen.

As if their presence had no place.

And in art, we live that.

We don’t exist until someone sees us.

You’re nobody if nobody sees you.

Like the saying goes:

“If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to see or hear it, did it really fall?”

In this context, the tree is the artist.

And no matter how loud the crash, if no one is there to witness it… it doesn’t exist.

In the eyes of others, that’s the truth.

And it hurts.

Because even though we do it out of nature (creating) that truth, whether it’s real or not, haunts us.

All the time.

“See me and believe in me. Your faith is my God.”

That’s what I wrote in one of my journals.

And that’s what goes through my head every time I show a part of myself.

Creation is within us.

But sometimes, it feels like the power lies in others.

It’s wanting to escape everything you've known…

and still, hoping to belong somewhere.

It’s believing in yourself even when it feels like no one else does.

Believing in yourself in a strange, unfamiliar way, in a way that makes you doubt whether you’re even doing it right, because no one has ever done it for you. Not like that.

And when everything seems to be on pause, return to that.

Return to yourself.

I think what I really want to say with all of this is that

art is deeply important to me.

It’s all I have, it’s all I am, it’s all I think about.

And it hurts, to love it this much and to want to live from it with such desperation.

It’s a beautiful path, one that reminds you you’re alive,

that you have a reason to exist, no matter how much others accept or understand you.

I believe we create to survive in a world that feels like it’s falling apart.

We want to leave a mark, to feel eternal in a place where we’re limited by a time we can’t control.

We create and share to feel real.

And I hope that if you’re reading this and you find yourself on the all-consuming path of the artist, you never give up.

Follow your vision. Do it for you.

Trust that the itch in your hands, that burn, that fire to create, it’s there for a reason.

For something divine, beyond our understanding.

Keep existing. Keep taking up space. Keep making noise.

Because the world will eventually turn to look at you.

And when it does, it won’t be able to look away.

-xoxo✨️

[carminevinyl]

Painting as prayer:

"Calling upon the Divine"

[carminevinyl]

Notes

I just want to be, fully, truly. Not a reflection of someone else’s thoughts, not a voice echoing words that don’t come from me. I’m not here to explain myself. I just want to exist, as I am. Freedom, that’s all I’ve ever really wanted.

I feel like there’s more out there. So much more than what I can see. A life that breathes quietly in the shadows, waiting for me to step into it. I don’t know what it looks like, or when it’ll show itself, but I can feel it. It’s real. It’s alive. I try to explain it sometimes, but the world doesn’t hear me. They can’t see inside. They don’t understand. And that’s okay. Because I know. I know there’s something bigger. And I won’t let their fears chain me, or their doubts cloud my vision. I won’t let them turn me away from what’s calling me, even if I don’t fully understand it yet. It’s there, just beyond the edge of everything I know, and it’s getting louder. Stronger.

I walk alone, but I no longer search for someone to understand me. I have myself, and my essence, and that’s enough. I know everything is just behind this invisible wall, this fragile set piece that only looks real. And I know that one day, I’ll be standing at the center of the stage, bathed in light, with the world watching, and I will be the star.

I’m not looking for company. But if there’s a soul out there who can understand mine, who can read me in silence and hear everything I don’t say, I hope they find me.

[carminevinyl]

Stop Expecting People to Understand You

Your truth doesn’t need validation.

This isn’t just for you, the one reading this. It’s for me too. Because I’ve been there, I’ve felt the frustration, the exhaustion of trying to make myself understood. Of using every word, every action, every explanation I could find, only to realize that the other person simply couldn’t see it. Not because I wasn’t clear enough, not because I didn’t try hard enough, but because they weren’t in a place where they could understand me.

It’s almost like speaking different languages, isn’t it? You could say the same thing a hundred different ways, soften your words, sharpen them, simplify them, expand them, but if the other person doesn’t speak your language, it won’t matter. They will not hear you. They cannot. And that is not your fault.

This applies to so many situations, with so many different people, friends, family, partners, even strangers. Especially strangers. And trust me, those will be the first to make sure you know that because they don’t understand you, you must be the one who’s wrong.

With the people we love, it’s even harder to accept. Because no matter how much we care about them, no matter how deeply we wish to bridge that gap, sometimes it remains. Not because we are better than them, not because they are better than us, but because we are simply different. Different minds, different perspectives, different ways of seeing and moving through the world.

And yet, even when it comes from people who don’t know us at all, it can still hurt. It shouldn’t- logically, we know this. Why should the opinion of someone who knows nothing about us hold any weight? But it does. Because it’s human to want to be understood. To want to belong. To want to be seen for who we truly are.

The problem isn’t just that these comments frustrate us. The real danger is that, over time, we might start believing them. If our skin isn’t thick enough, if our mindset isn’t strong enough, those voices can slip in like whispers in the dark, planting doubt where there was once certainty.

And with the people we love, it cuts even deeper. They can say things that hurt sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. (And I trust you know the difference between constructive criticism and criticism just for the sake of tearing down.) And because we let our guard down with them in ways we never would with strangers, their words can leave wounds we weren’t prepared for.

And what’s our first instinct when faced with judgment? To explain. To defend ourselves. To prove, to justify, to make them see us. It’s natural. It’s human.

But let me tell you something: not everyone deserves your words. Not everyone deserves your energy. Not everyone deserves the oxygen it takes for you to explain yourself.

Because deep down, they already know. People who judge, who criticize without reason, who refuse to understand, you think they’re doing it by accident? You think they don’t know exactly what they’re doing? We need to stop handing them free passes under the excuse of ignorance. Sure, they may be ignorant in the sense that they don’t know your full story. But ignorance isn’t just a lack of knowledge, it’s a refusal to see beyond what’s comfortable, a choice to overlook truths that don’t fit their narrative. And when judgment is built on that kind of blindness, it says more about them than it ever could about you.

But that doesn’t make them innocent. And that doesn’t mean they don’t have to take responsibility for the impact of their words. Words have weight, and so do the consequences that come with them.

So don’t give them that power. Don’t place your worth, your beliefs, your choices in their hands. They don’t belong there.

Surrender. Surrender the need to explain, to convince, to translate your essence into a language that was never meant to be spoken by them. You did not come into this world to explain yourself. You were not meant to shrink, to bend, to fit into the tiny boxes of someone else’s understanding.

The self gets lost in explanation. Because it will always be more. Words will never be enough to contain it. And in the moments where they fail you, don’t twist yourself to fit, don’t turn into a performance just to be accepted, don’t water yourself down to be easier to swallow.

You were never meant to be small enough for others to grasp.

They will never see through your eyes. Just as you will never fully see through theirs. Because no matter how connected we may be in soul, here on this earth, we are individuals. Each walking our own path, shaped by our own experiences, molded by our own perspective.

And maybe we would save ourselves so much time, so much energy, if we simply let go of the need to be understood and started focusing on being.

Because you know what feels right for you. You know what aligns with your heart. You know that as long as you are not harming anyone, you have every right to live your truth, unapologetically.

It is not a crime to be yourself.

But it is a tragedy to lose yourself trying to make the blind see your path.

-xoxo🦋

[carminevinyl]

The World Holds Everything, Including Your Place in It

The other day, I was talking with a friend. We were both admitting how lost we’ve been feeling lately, like we’re drifting, floating between places, never quite landing where we’re supposed to. There’s something heavy about that feeling, like standing at a train station with no idea which train to board. And yet, the more we talked, the more I started to think:

What if feeling lost isn’t the problem? What if it’s the answer?

Maybe not knowing exactly where we belong is what leads us to places we never expected. Maybe feeling out of place is what nudges us toward something bigger than what we were originally looking for. Because isn’t that how most discoveries happen? You take a wrong turn and end up in a beautiful street you never would have found otherwise. You get lost in thought and stumble upon an idea that changes everything. You lose sight of something, only to realize later that it made space for something better.

So maybe this feeling -the uncertainty, the in-between- means something is shifting. Maybe it’s life quietly guiding us toward something we wouldn’t have seen if we always knew exactly where we were going.

I think about this often, especially in moments when I feel disconnected. From people, from places, from myself. It’s easy to let that disconnection spiral into doubt, to start wondering if we even have a place in the world at all. But then I remind myself of something simple, something undeniable: this earth, vast and abundant, holds space for all of us.

Think about it, over eight billion people, countless animals, endless forests, mountains, oceans stretching beyond what we can see. The world is overflowing with life, with movement, with stories unfolding in every direction. And if this planet, this intricate and intelligent creation, has made room for all of that, then why wouldn’t it have room for you? Why wouldn’t it have a place meant just for you, waiting to be found?

I know how easy it is to feel like we have to earn our place. Like we have to prove we belong, work for our worth, justify our existence. But what if that’s never been the case? What if the simple fact that you’re here means you already belong?

We spend so much of our lives trying to mold ourselves into something acceptable, trying to create a version of ourselves that fits neatly into the spaces we’re given. But what if we weren’t meant to squeeze ourselves into predefined shapes? What if we were meant to carve out our own space, build something entirely new?

That’s the thing about life, it isn’t just something that happens to us. It’s something we co-create. We shape it as much as it shapes us. And yet, there’s this unspoken expectation that we should always have a clear direction, a fixed path. But what if the most important paths are the ones we don’t plan for?

I used to think that feeling lost was a sign that I was doing something wrong. That I had taken a wrong step, missed some crucial turn. But now I see it differently. Now, I think feeling lost is a necessary part of the journey. It’s what forces us to pause, to look around, to see the world with new eyes. It’s what pushes us to ask questions we wouldn’t have otherwise asked.

And yes, sometimes it’s uncomfortable. Sometimes it feels like you’re walking in circles, searching for a door that refuses to appear. But I promise you, there is a door. There is always a door. And when you find it, when you finally step through, you’ll see why you had to take the long way.

I won’t tell you that it’s easy. I won’t pretend that every moment of confusion has a beautiful resolution waiting on the other side. But I will say this: nothing in nature stays still. Everything is always moving, shifting, evolving. And you are no different.

Even in the moments that feel stagnant, even when nothing makes sense, you are in motion. Your life is unfolding, your story is being written, and whether you see it or not, you are becoming.

And maybe that’s the real answer. Not that we need to know exactly where we’re going, but that we need to trust the movement itself.

So if you feel lost, if you feel like you haven’t found your place yet, remind yourself of this: you are here, and here is enough. The earth has made space for you. The life that flows through everything flows through you, too. You are part of something vast, something sacred, something endlessly abundant.

And no matter how lost you feel right now, you are still on your way.

Also, finding that space isn’t about looking harder, it’s about listening better.

The truth is, we already carry a compass. A steady pulse, a quiet knowing. The heart always knows the way. It doesn’t operate from fear, from logic, from overthinking, it just moves. Forward, always forward. Towards what feels right, towards what feels true. The question is, are we listening?

Too often, we silence it. We let doubt take over, we second-guess every step, we wait for certainty before we even dare to begin. But certainty is an illusion. No tree knows exactly how tall it will grow, no river knows its exact path to the ocean, yet they move anyway. They trust what they are. And maybe that’s what we’re meant to do too.

To trust the pull. To follow what expands us rather than what shrinks us. To let the heart lead, even when the mind demands a map.

And if fear speaks up, as it always does, remind it gently: movement is life. And as long as the heart keeps beating, the path is still unfolding.

No one is truly lost when they learn to listen.

[carminevinyl]

Legacies Written in Energy: Why We Create in a World Where Nothing Seems to Last

What remains when time fades everything

I have to confess: I’ve developed a new obsession. There’s something I find strangely captivating about videos of people exploring abandoned places. Old houses with peeling wallpaper, forgotten buildings overtaken by nature, dusty staircases that lead to nowhere, I can’t stop watching them.

There’s a peculiar kind of emptiness in those spaces, one that feels oddly comforting.

I see what remains of what was once someone’s dream, someone’s home, and it leaves me in awe. These weren’t just houses, they were built with care, brick by brick, as if they could stand forever. But time has a way of erasing even the strongest foundations.

When I see those places, I find myself thinking about the people who lived there. Did they pour their hearts into building these homes? Did they think they were creating something that would last forever? And if they had known that one day, all of it would crumble, would they still have done it?

It’s a question that lingers in my mind. So much of our lives is spent working, striving, and building, careers, relationships, homes, legacies. We fight to leave our mark, to create something that proves we were here. But when I see those abandoned houses, I start to wonder if we’re chasing permanence in a world where nothing really lasts.

At first, this thought unsettled me. It made me question so much of what we value, of what we’re told to chase. But then I remembered something: just because something doesn’t seem to last forever doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.

Those houses, those places, they were never just about the walls or the furniture or the roof. They were about the lives lived inside them. The laughter, the arguments, the quiet moments of solitude. And though the structures may crumble, the energy of what happened there doesn’t just disappear.

The same is true for us. Whether we realize it or not, everything we do leaves a mark. We all contribute something to the world, even in small ways. It’s not about the legacies that are visible to everyone, it’s about the energy each of us leave behind. The kindness we show, the people we touch, the way we try to make the world a little better than we found it.

Even if what we build isn’t visible forever, the impact of our actions ripples outward, shaping the lives of others in ways we may never see. Because It’s not the physical things we create that endure, it’s the love, the effort, the intention behind them.

And there’s something comforting in that, too. Just like those houses, the things that feel overwhelming or all-consuming right now, every worry, every problem, they’ll fade too. Time has a way of reducing everything to rubble, not just the physical but the emotional. And somehow, knowing that the things weighing me down today will one day be as irrelevant as an abandoned house makes me feel lighter.

Again, that doesn’t mean what we do doesn’t matter. Quite the opposite. It’s a reminder that the legacy we leave isn’t about things, it’s about the energy we pour into the world and the connections we create.

In the end, it’s not about chasing permanence. It’s about being present, living with intention, doing our best, and contributing to something greater than ourselves. Because even if everything eventually crumbles, there’s beauty in knowing it stood, even if only for a moment, and in the ways it left its mark on the lives it touched.

[carminevinyl]

The Truth About Power and the Maneater Myth

When the maneater gets eaten by men

I think we’ve all fantasized about her at some point. The maneater: wild, confident, unapologetic. She’s the woman who seems untouchable, the one with beauty so sharp it’s almost dangerous. She moves through life effortlessly, holding men -and the world-in the palm of her hand.

She’s been immortalized in songs, from Daryl Hall and John Oates’ iconic anthem to Nelly Furtado’s unforgettable beat. (Only God knows how many times I’ve danced to that one in front of the mirror, lip-syncing like I had the world at my feet too.) She represents something intoxicating: power, allure, freedom. Or so we’re told.

Over time, I’ve come to see cracks in the image we’ve painted of her, and they’re hard to look away from.

Her shine, that magnetic confidence, feels... muted. Almost as if the very force that made her so untouchable has been swallowed whole by the same system she’s supposed to rise above.

Here’s the thing about the maneater: her power has always been a performance. What we believed was control was always a false sense of empowerment, a game that looked like it was hers but was actually rigged from the start.

Think about her name. "Maneater." She’s defined by men before she’s even had a chance to define herself. Her power, her entire identity, is grounded in the very gaze she thought she had mastered. How far can she really distance herself from the male gaze when her existence revolves around it?

This was easier to ignore in the past, back when the maneater existed in songs, movies, or whispered stories. But now, in the age of social media, her shadow looms larger than ever. Platforms like TikTok are littered with guides on how to “become a maneater.” Entire accounts are dedicated to teaching women how to embody the aesthetic, what to wear, how to act, what to believe. There are even courses for sale promising to turn you into a siren-like figure who commands attention and leaves men in pieces.

But let’s be honest with ourselves. What’s behind all these trends? What’s at the heart of this obsession with being a maneater?

Fear.

Fear of being overlooked. Fear of not being enough. Fear of being powerless in a world that demands we center men in every aspect of our lives. And so, we create a persona, a character to play, because if we’re going to be consumed by this system, we might as well act like it’s on our terms.

Except it never is.

And here’s the truth: the maneater doesn’t exist. She never has.

The real woman behind the fantasy doesn’t care about men, let alone eating them alive. She’s not plotting or strategizing, and she definitely isn’t wasting her energy learning how to manipulate others for validation. In fact, the maneater isn’t devouring men, she’s too busy living her life, building something real, something meaningful, for herself.

So where did this idea even come from? Why are we still clinging to it?

Because it’s convenient. The idea of the maneater allows men to dismiss women they can’t control. “Oh, she’s just like that with everyone,” they say, as if their failure to win her affection isn’t personal. And for women, the maneater becomes a shield, something to hide behind when the vulnerability of simply being feels too much to bear.

But what would happen if we let go of the need to perform and focused on ourselves instead?

The women who are truly powerful aren’t trying to fit into a mold. They don’t need labels like “maneater” to justify their independence, their choices, their lives. They’re not chasing some aesthetic or performing for the male gaze. They’re simply existing, fully, authentically, and without apology.

Real power isn’t found in manipulation, control, or detachment. It’s not about who you can conquer or how many people fall at your feet. It’s about connection. It’s about seeing others, not as pawns or opponents, but as equals.

The true maneater isn’t eating anyone. She’s not interested in games, roles, or power plays. She knows who she is, and that’s enough.

Real strength, real wildness, isn’t about becoming her, someone for someone else, it’s about stepping away from the illusion, leaving the fantasy behind, and finding power in being unapologetically yourself.

Because the real power we’re looking for has nothing to do with men. It’s been in us all along.

-xoxo

[carminevinyl]

Who’s Parenting Who? Remember, You’re Their Child, Not Their Savior.

Your parents are not your responsibility. They never were.

There’s a phenomenon I’ve been noticing lately. Call it the parent trap, if you will. It’s what happens when kids grow up feeling like they have to parent their own parents. Maybe it’s because they saw too much, too soon: the overdue bills, the endless hours at work, the stress etched into their mother’s face. And because kids are wired to make sense of things (no matter how senseless), this one thought starts to take root: It’s my fault. This is because of me.

And it doesn’t help that some parents (whether they mean to or not) fuel the guilt. “I work this hard so you can have everything,” they’ll say. “I do it all for you.” Sure, it sounds noble, but let’s be real: to a kid, it’s less “noble” and more, Great. I’m the reason they’re miserable.

So what does the kid do? They start carrying a weight they were never meant to bear. They don’t want Mom to feel overworked. They don’t want Dad to seem defeated. They want to help, to fix it, to be the reason their parents are okay. And before you know it, you’ve got a 14-year-old with the emotional load of a 40-year-old.

I picture that kid putting on their dad’s oversized shoes. They’re stumbling around, tripping on the laces, but they’re trying. Oh, they’re trying. They’ve convinced themselves they can handle it. But the truth is, those shoes? They don’t fit. They never will.

Fast-forward a few decades. That kid is now an adult, still carrying that same weight, guilt, obligation, a constant need to prove their worth. They think they owe their parents for everything. For raising them. For providing. For existing. They can’t shake the feeling that they’ve got a tab to settle.

But here’s the thing, and I need you to hear this loud and clear: You don’t owe your parents for being born. Your existence is not a debt.

If I could pour a martini and sit down with that grown-up kid—now drowning in oversized emotional baggage, I’d say this: Your only job was to be a child. That’s it. Not to be their therapist, or their savior, or their financial planner. Yes, show gratitude. Yes, be kind. But no, you don’t need to give your life away just because they gave you yours.

Take off those too-big shoes. Drop the backpack stuffed with guilt, shame, and the belief that you’re responsible for everyone else’s happiness. It was never yours to carry.

Everywhere you go, people are walking around carrying something, shopping bags, tote bags, emotional baggage. But the truth is, you don’t need to carry what’s not yours. You’ve got your own life to walk through, and trust me, that’s enough weight for anyone.

So here’s to giving yourself the freedom to breathe.

-xoxo

[carminevinyl]

Why do we keep chasing the Idea of a perfect love?

The love stories we tell ourselves

As hopeless romantics, we’ve all been there—daydreaming about “the one,” holding on to the magic of soulmates and chasing the fantasy of a love so perfect it feels predestined. But recently, a realization hit me:

We have no idea what love actually is.

We think we do. After all, we’ve read the books, watched the movies, and consumed enough romance content to fill entire libraries. We’ve built a collective idea of love, a shared mythos, but how much of that is real? If we’re honest, hasn’t the overconsumption of this idealized version of love distorted our understanding of it?

Take the constant projection and idealization, for example.

It’s almost automatic—whenever we meet someone even remotely attractive, our minds start weaving intricate fantasies. Suddenly, they’re not just a person; they’re the one. The chosen one. The once-in-a-lifetime love that will give our existence meaning.

In these mental scenarios, we often cast ourselves as the quirky, mysterious character—the one who will change their life forever. We picture ourselves as the free spirit, the deeply complex soul with a chaotic backstory. We’re the one they’ll never forget, the one they’ll think about with a wistful smile decades from now.

And why do we cling to this fantasy? Because we’ve been taught that she—the manic pixie dream girl, the enigmatic heroine—is lovable. Desirable. Worthy. She’s the kind of person people adore, not despite her flaws but because of them. She’s everything we’re not, and yet, in our minds, she becomes the version of ourselves we hope to be—the version we think someone could truly love.

But here’s the truth we rarely admit: in those fantasies, we’re never loved for who we really are. We’re loved for being someone else.

We imagine being adored not as the person writing this, but as the carefully curated romantic interest in someone else’s story. And for so long, that’s where we’ve placed our worth—in someone else’s gaze, someone else’s validation.

But is that fair? To us? To them?

It’s not fair to project these grand, cinematic expectations onto people who never asked for them. They’re not characters in our personal rom-com. They’re real, flawed individuals with their own stories, and they don’t owe us the fulfillment of our fantasies.

And yet, we find ourselves pulling away the moment someone doesn’t align with our imaginary script. We expect so much—everything, really—from one person. We want them to be the one, but when they don’t meet that impossible standard, we feel disappointed. And they? They’re left confused, wondering what they did wrong, when the truth is, it’s not about them at all.

It’s about us and our obsession with the idea of love.

Because here’s the kicker: love, in reality, is rarely like the movies. It’s not grand declarations or sweeping gestures. It’s not fireworks and soul-shattering kisses in the rain. Real love is…normal.

And that’s the part that terrifies us.

We crave the thrill, the drama, the intensity of love as a concept. But love in its truest form? It’s absurd in its simplicity. It’s imperfect, sometimes boring, and often inconvenient. And for those of us who’ve been raised on stories of epic romance, that normalcy feels like a letdown.

But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe real love isn’t about someone else completing us or making our lives extraordinary. Maybe it’s about learning to exist outside of someone else’s gaze. To be whole on our own, flaws and all, and to embrace the messy, unromantic, real connections we share with others.

Because in the end, isn’t that what love truly is? Not perfection, not fantasy—but presence. Showing up. Seeing and being seen. No projections, no expectations—just two imperfect people, trying their best.

And maybe that’s enough.

-xoxo