What People Get Wrong About My Job

From the outside, being a relationship writer might seem like an endless loop of swooning over candle-lit date ideas, decoding the body language of your latest crush, or dispensing wisdom while sipping overpriced oat milk lattes at some Santa Monica café. It’s an image that sounds half rom-com, half therapist-in-training—except, in reality, my job looks a lot less like a Nicholas Sparks montage and more like mismatched socks and existential caffeine-fueled typing marathons.

As someone whose life and work dance awkwardly between the poetry of connection and the chaos of human imperfection, I’ve fielded every stereotype about my line of work. Friends, strangers, and even my mom have asked things that range from mildly curious to downright perplexing. So, I’m here to clear the air and share a little of what goes on behind the scenes in a way that's equal parts honest and (hopefully) entertaining.

Myth #1: My Love Life Must Be Perfect

The number-one assumption people make is that I, the writer of sage dating and relationship advice, must somehow live in the land of flawless relationships. This is cute. If by "perfect," you mean mixing peanut butter straight from the jar with a spoon while panic-Googling “why does he use the thumbs-up emoji,” then yes, my love life is pristine.

My job doesn’t come with a handbook for romantic perfection. If it did, I’d crack open that guide daily. Instead, writing about relationships has forced me to do the deeply uncomfortable work of holding up a mirror to my own messy humanity. I can tell you how crucial communication is in love, but that doesn’t mean I haven't occasionally typed, “K” when I was mad.

If anything, writing has taught me that nobody gets it right all the time. Relationships are living ecosystems filled with growth spurts, natural disasters, and the occasional invasive species (looking at you, red flags). The goal isn’t perfection—it’s staying curious, empathic, and willing to navigate the wilderness with another person.

Myth #2: I Just Write About Flirting

"Oh, so you’re a flirting expert?" someone will say with a knowing smirk, imagining I moonlight as a part-time pickup artist or perhaps concoct flowery texts for hopeless romantics. While flirting can be a fun branch on the big ol’ relationship tree, it’s just the entry point.

If my readers are in the awkward crush phase, sure, I’ve written about playful icebreakers or how to avoid the calamity of oversharing. But what interests me more—what keeps me up writing at night—is what happens after the butterflies settle and things get real. How do you keep showing up for someone when the honeymoon phase fades? What do you do when your ideas of love bump into hard truths about commitment, identity, or the unplanned chaos of existence?

Think of flirting like buying a pack of wildflower seeds—it’s all potential. A relationship is all the work that happens after: choosing the soil, pulling weeds, watering daily, and occasionally chasing away the raccoons that knock over your proverbial planters. Flirting is cute, but the real magic happens later.

Myth #3: It’s All Abstract Poetry

Here’s the thing: When you tell people you’re a relationship writer, they assume you spend your days scattering profound, soulful words like rose petals. And while I’d love to give you the impression I’m some love-soaked bard spinning metaphors on the daily, there’s a lot more sweatpants and dogged research involved than you’d think.

A big chunk of my job is diving into studies, reading books on attachment theory, dissecting sociology papers, analyzing arguments from friends (sorry, pals), and translating all that into something practical for real people to use. It’s less “When Harry Met Sally” and more “The Scientific American Guide to You Not Screwing This Up.” People deserve advice they can actually use—without needing to wade through endless jargon.

I once spent two days—TWO FULL DAYS—crafting the simplest way to explain emotional availability without sounding like I was running a college seminar. Writing about the heart may feel poetic, but it demands precision. Think “artful mechanic” more than “carefree muse.”

Myth #4: I Celebrate Love in All Its Glory (All the Time)

The truth is, writing about relationships doesn’t necessarily make you a hopeless romantic. In fact, it can expose you to all the ways love gets, well… brutal. For every story of grand connection I write about, there’s another untangling heartbreak, broken trust, or the surprising discovery that maybe love isn’t enough.

This doesn’t make me cynical—it makes me a realist with a deeply abiding respect for what love asks of us. When I write about relationships, I’m not just celebrating love’s champagne moments. I’m celebrating the courage it takes to make yourself vulnerable; the nerve of showing up for hard conversations when it’s easier to ghost; the bravery of choosing your own needs when compromise veers into self-denial.

Does this mean I skip writing about sappy, love-drunk confessions? Not at all. But the happy endings come sweeter when you acknowledge all the missteps it takes to get there.

Myth #5: I Know Your Type

People sometimes assume I have magical love-detecting powers because of my job, as if I can size up someone’s soulmate within minutes of meeting them—like the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts but for romances. “Do you think I’m more of a hopeless romantic or a commitment-phobe?” someone will lean in and whisper, as if I’m about to pull diagnostic charts out of my back pocket.

Spoiler: I don’t. What I do know is everyone’s story is beautifully specific. Dating isn’t algebra; there’s no grand equation where I plug in a few facts about someone’s upbringing or TikTok habits and spit out their perfect match. What I’ve learned instead is how to ask better questions—both of myself and others.

  • What are you avoiding in relationships and why?
  • When’s the last time you felt truly understood?
  • What scares you more: the vulnerability of love or the lack of it?

Finding love—or navigating a relationship—isn’t about someone else putting the pieces together for you. It’s about being curious enough to explore them yourself.

Final Thoughts: The Journey Is the Job

So, what’s it really like to be a relationship writer? Well, being immersed in this world teaches you just as much about yourself as it does about others. You learn there’s no such thing as a perfect partner, nor one-size-fits-all advice. You learn relationships don’t solve your problems, but they can be a wonderful companion to their solution. Most of all, you learn love isn’t something you arrive at; it’s something you participate in, over and over, with yourself and others.

The next time you think I spend my workday matchmaking over lattes, I hope you’ll realize this: My job isn’t about unraveling the mystery of love—it’s about writing a guide for exploring it together. And despite all the late nights, coffee stains, and existential typing, that’s something I feel pretty lucky to do.