The Morning After My First Two Posts (And Why Vulnerability Feels Like Sunburn)**

It’s 9 AM on a Sunday, and I’m sitting on my tiny balcony wrapped in a blanket that’s seen better days, sipping coffee that’s almost hot enough. The LA sky is that hazy blue it gets when summer’s clinging on for dear life, and I’m… freaking out a little.

Because people read my posts yesterday. Like, actual humans (hi, hello, I see you). And some of you even messaged me—sweet, encouraging notes that made my heart do that weird fluttery thing. But also? Putting real words out there feels like walking into class with your skirt tucked into your tights. Exposed.

I woke up this morning with that post-panic buzz—you know, the one where you oscillate between “I’m so glad I did that” and “I should delete everything and move to a remote cabin.” But here’s the growth, I guess: I didn’t. I left them up. Even the part where I admitted to eating cereal for dinner (Raisin Bran, if you’re curious—judge away).

Someone DMed me last night saying, “You sound like you’re trying too hard to be relatable,” and honestly? Maybe. But here’s the thing: I am trying. Not to be relatable, but to be real. There’s a difference. One’s performative; the other’s just… showing up, even when it’s messy.

So today’s lesson (because apparently I’m giving myself those now): Vulnerability doesn’t come with a cute filter. It’s raw, like sunburned skin. It stings when you touch it, but eventually, it fades into something softer.

I’m heading to the fabric store later to salvage that lopsided skirt (update: it’s now a tote bag—upcycling, baby). And maybe I’ll even wear it.

Thanks for being here while I figure out how to stop cringing at my own honesty.

xx Mandy

(P.S. The barista did not remember my name today. Back to square one.)