“You must meet so many interesting men!”
“Do you just write about breakup advice all day?”
“Wait—so people actually pay for this?”

These are just a few of the things I hear when people find out I write about dating and relationships for a living. I’ve perfected the polite-but-blank smile when someone throws these gems my way, but truthfully, these responses make me want to laugh, cry, or maybe just hand them one of my articles with a Post-it note that reads, “Respectfully, you’re wrong.”

Don’t get me wrong—writing about love and connection is incredibly rewarding. It’s a different kind of storytelling, one that marries vulnerability with practical advice. But like any job, it’s far more layered than people assume. So, let’s set the record straight about what I really do.

Myth 1: I Spend All Day Romanticizing My Own Love Life

Here’s the truth: writing about relationships doesn’t give me some magical insight into my own romantic triumphs (or disasters). Wouldn’t it be lovely if every time I had a fight with my partner, a little lightbulb popped over my head like, Ah, yes, I’ll just apply that brilliant advice I wrote about last week!

If only.

What people don’t realize is that my job requires me to see relationships from multiple perspectives—not just my own. One week, I might be interviewing couples who’ve been married for 50 years. The next, I’m reading studies about how millennials are rethinking monogamy or dissecting modern dating rituals like “the Sunday scaries” after a weekend of texting. My words aren’t just informed by my own experiences but by research, trends, and the vulnerability of those willing to share their lives with me.

And listen, if I wrote solely about my love life, this publication would be a mix of “How a Marsh Walk Ruined My Last Date” and “Why Did He Venmo Me for Half of a Biscuit?” Not exactly Pulitzer-winning material.

Myth 2: It’s Just Flirting Tips and Breakup Pep Talks

“Wait, are you like Carrie Bradshaw?” I get that question more often than I’d care to admit. And while I love a good HBO moment as much as the next person, I’m here to tell you: my job is not 90% cosmos and 10% confessing my romantic woes to my laptop.

Sure, there are lighthearted pieces—I once wrote about the Cheesecake Factory as a surprisingly make-or-break first date spot (spoiler: it depends on how you feel about splitting appetizers). But there’s also the nitty-gritty stuff, like explaining attachment theory in a way that makes it actionable, or unpacking generational trauma to spotlight what it teaches us about vulnerability and trust.

This work is as much about helping people understand themselves as it is about demystifying the connections they build with others. It’s about blending insight with empathy. And no, that doesn’t boil down to “Hey babe, wink more when you DM your crush.”

Myth 3: It’s Not a Real Job

Ah, my personal favorite. The thinly veiled skepticism usually goes something like, “So you just… write about love? For work?” Cue the head tilt.

It’s easy to dismiss this field as fluff, but let’s consider what relationships are: the central force binding us—to our families, friends, romantic partners, and even our communities. They influence the biggest decisions you’ll make, from where you live to what kind of legacy you leave behind. Writing about relationships is really writing about the glue that holds life together.

For example, when I delve into how caregiving impacts romantic bonds or explore how cultural identity shapes intimacy, I’m helping readers unpack dynamics they may have never considered. And that takes more than a penchant for prose. It requires cultural sensitivity, an understanding of human psychology, and—let’s be honest—a ridiculous number of 3 a.m. edits fueled by tea and self-doubt.

Is it office cubicles and spreadsheets? No. Is it work that challenges me? Absolutely.

Myth 4: I’m a Walking “Perfect Partner” Guru

Let’s dispel this one once and for all: Just because I give advice doesn’t mean I’m impervious to the messiness of connection. I forget anniversary dates. I’ve spiraled after texts that just say, “k.” And I’ve definitely overanalyzed someone’s Spotify playlist like it was a Rosetta Stone for compatibility.

The thing about studying relationships is that it makes you hyper-aware of how flawed all of us are. Instead of perfection, I focus on progress: learning to pause before reacting, finding joy in the mundane, and extending grace—to myself and others. Writing about relationships doesn’t equip you with a magic wand, but it does offer a mirror.

And let’s not overlook this gem: friends and family love asking me for advice. Thanksgiving doesn’t officially start until someone tosses out, “Can I get your professional opinion on this text I got?” (Pro tip: If someone uses the phrase “let me know when you’re free,” and it’s been two days since you’ve replied, you are not currently winning at hard-to-get.)

The Real Work: Listening Well, Writing Better

For me, relationships are a kind of folklore. Growing up in Charleston, I heard love stories disguised as life lessons: how my grandmother first spotted my grandfather playing his guitar on a neighbor’s porch or the time my uncle hitchhiked to another town just to take my aunt to a fish fry. These weren’t fairytales—they were messy, complicated, and oh-so-real. But they taught me one thing: meaningful relationships don’t just “happen.” They’re built across quirks, missteps, and yes, even heartbreak.

That perspective drives every paragraph I write. Whether I’m tackling heavy topics like infidelity or lighter fare like “How to Survive Meeting the In-Laws,” I do so with the goal of peeling back the layers of what makes us tick. Writing about relationships isn’t just listening to love songs and scribbling metaphors—it’s active, engaging work, digging into what connects us in ways that spark action, not just reflection.

Takeaway: More Than Meets the Eye

So the next time I hear, “Wow, your job must be so fun!” I’ll nod politely and say that yes, it’s deeply rewarding. But I’ll also smile knowing the behind-the-scenes reality: it’s not always glamorous, but it’s important work. Because helping people navigate the art of connection? That’s a job worth every ridiculous assumption.

And hey, if you take nothing else from this, remember: Venmoing for half a biscuit is never a green flag.