The Quiet Rebellion of Moving On**
9:01 AM—Ethan slid my oat milk latte across the counter with a smirk and a “You’re here early.” (Translation: You’re here every day.) The air smells like cinnamon and freshly ground coffee, and my sketchbook is open to a design I stayed up way too late working on. But here’s the thing: I don’t feel tired. I feel alive.
A week ago, I was picking through the wreckage of a breakup like it was a crime scene. Yesterday, I was celebrating small victories. Today? Today I’m realizing something bigger: moving on isn’t passive—it’s a quiet rebellion.
Here’s what that looks like for me right now:
1. I’m reclaiming my routines. Jake hated this coffee shop (“Too hipster”), so I stopped coming for months. Now? It’s mine again. Same with my Thursday night yoga class (“Too woo-woo”) and my obsession with thrifted oversized blazers (“You look like you’re playing dress-up”). Every time I do something just because I love it, it feels like a middle finger to the version of me that shrank to fit someone else’s mold.
2. I’m letting inspiration be messy. My latest design is a Frankenstein of silk, chains, and neon thread—literally held together with safety pins. A month ago, I would’ve scrapped it for being “too much.” Now? I’m leaning into the chaos. My professor said “It’s like punk rock meets Parisian couture” (high praise), but honestly? I don’t even care if it’s “good.” It’s fun. And that’s enough.
3. I’m not afraid of the quiet. Used to fill every silence with music, texts, noise. Now, I’m learning to sit with it—to let the stillness be something I inhabit, not escape. This morning, I caught myself staring out the window for five whole minutes, just watching the light shift on the sidewalk. No epiphany, no drama—just being.
Here’s the truth no one tells you about breakups: the hardest part isn’t letting go of the person. It’s letting go of the version of yourself you became for them. But the beautiful thing? You get to rebuild.
So yeah, I’m still a little bruised. But I’m also rediscovering the Mandy who loves clashing patterns, bad puns, and solo adventures. The Mandy who doesn’t apologize for taking up space. The Mandy who’s always been there—just waiting for me to come home to her.
xx Mandy
(P.S. Ethan just complimented my blazer. It’s thrifted, oversized, and definitely “too hipster.” Jake would’ve hated it. Exactly why I’m wearing it.)