Notes By Kae

Have you ever been in that kind of relationship—I don’t want to call it a breakup—but one where you never quite feel like the apple of their eye?

You know what I mean.

Everything is separate, even though all you talk about is spending the rest of your lives together. Bills split straight down the middle. One person handles rent or the mortgage, the other covers utilities. Nothing is truly combined—just divided neatly enough to feel functional.

And I think that comes from trauma.

Not necessarily childhood trauma. More like people trauma. Growing up without two parents together. Being raised by other family members. Overhearing adult conversations you weren’t meant to hear. Somewhere along the way, you start forming ideas about what relationships are supposed to look like—and what they’re not.

I’ve been in relationships like that. And the entire time, I felt replaceable. Like I needed a “what-if” suitcase packed at all times.

That’s probably why empowering movies—at least for me—have always been Hallmark movies. The woman who’s blindsided and has to start over. The one who escapes an abusive relationship and rebuilds her life. Girl power. Women can do it all. We don’t need a man—but damn, it’s good to have one.

Here’s what I’ve learned:
If you’re going to commit to a relationship, you have to talk about the hard stuff early. Beliefs. Expectations. Are we building a life together or just coexisting side by side? Joint bank accounts? Big purchases? Marriage?

Because not everyone sees relationships the same way. And when you first meet someone, you’re meeting the best version of them. No one shows up fully formed or fully honest in the beginning. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. We all think in ways that don’t perfectly align. And sometimes, we bend the truth just enough to make the stars align.

It’s shitty—but it happens.

You get into a relationship, and three years later you hear, “I told you I was okay with X, Y, and Z… but I’m really not.” And it comes out during an argument. Because anger has a way of dragging the truth out into the open.

You don’t want to wake up years later realizing this person never believed in marriage—even though you talked about it once and they nodded along like, yeah, sure. Meanwhile, in their head, it was always a no.

We don’t give ourselves enough grace to fuck up. To show the worst parts of ourselves. To let the other person decide if they’re willing to stay and fight for that diamond in the rough.

You have to let your guard down. Both of you. Because there’s nothing worse than coasting through a relationship for five, eight, ten years—holding on to what was said in the beginning, living off false narratives and misaligned expectations.

And those “little things”?
The ones you tolerate at first?

Those are the things that slowly kill you later. When you’re tired. When life has worn you down. When you’re supposed to be resting—and instead, you’re stuck with someone you can’t stand over something that once felt small.

Ask any couple why they’re struggling. It’s almost always the little things that became big ones.

Relationships are beautiful when you can be yourself. When you can talk about your fears. The things you like. The things you don’t. The habits that annoy the hell out of each other. That’s the beauty. That’s what you grow with.

That black-and-white, fully separate life only works if you’re rich enough to live in different houses and never have to grow old side by side in rocking chairs. Otherwise? It doesn’t work—no matter how badly you want it to.

Trust me.

And no, I’m not old—but I’ve watched people age. I’ve watched my aunties. The women I adored as a kid. I never saw the cracks then. Adults hide that shit from children.

But when you grow up and start paying attention? You see how imperfect it all was. How hard they worked just to keep things together for the family’s sake.

Don’t live for your family’s sake. They’re not growing old with you. They won’t be living in your body when you’re older.

One of my favorite aunts lived in an apartment with my uncle and my cousins, right in one of the best neighborhoods. From the outside, they looked like the perfect middle-class family—great schools, a great area, everything in its place. But when I would babysit, I’d hear the arguments. I’d see my aunt cry. I’d watch my uncle leave. And then, the next day, everything would go back to normal—like nothing had happened. Back then, the things they fought about felt small. Easy to ignore. Easier not to address.

Years later, once life slowed down and I had my daughter. I came back around. And I saw how those same issues—the ones we always knew were there—had grown heavier. What once seemed manageable had finally caught up to them and had become unbearable. At that age, what do you do? Start over? How?

It’s harder when you’re older. Responsibilities are heavier. Health matters. Energy matters. Time matters.

That’s why you have to talk about the hard things early. Pull the curtain back. Be ugly together.

Because you want the person who’s seen your ugly—and you’ve seen theirs. If you can be ugly together, you can build something beautiful.

Diamonds are built under pressure.
That’s how you get what you want out of life.