People Think My Job is All About Romance – It’s More Survival Skills Than Candlelit Dinners
Somewhere out there, a literary representation of my life exists in the form of a Hallmark movie script: a nature-loving writer, perched by a crackling fire in my cabin (did I mention the cabin I don’t have?), waxing poetic about love while sipping ethically sourced coffee from a hand-thrown ceramic mug. Oh, and probably falling for a rugged park ranger with a heart of gold while saving the local wilderness.
The reality? I’m squinting at my laptop in an old fleece jacket, wondering if I can stretch leftover pasta into yet another meal, and instead of a park ranger, I occasionally fall in love with the idea of going to bed at 8:30 PM. This is the small-yet-hilariously-large gap between how people imagine my job as a relationships writer and what actually goes down behind the scenes. Spoiler: I’m not whispering love poetry into the void or modeling my advice after rom-com montages.
But misconceptions can be good entertainment, so let’s dig into what people believe about what I do—and what’s actually true. Think of this as a Tinder profile swipe-right moment for realism.
1. “So, You Must Be Perfect at Relationships?”
Oh, sweet summer child. Definitely not.
If wisdom was earned exclusively through success, this article would have ended approximately five words ago. Instead, much of my advice comes from a masterclass in what not to do. I’ve crash-landed in my fair share of embarrassing breakups, awkward communication misfires, and questionable first dates. At this point, I’ve accumulated enough emotional baggage to open a boutique luggage store.
For example: Once, on what I thought would be a cute date, I invited someone on a hike. Turns out he was more “indoorsy,” and I now describe that date as three hours of politely enduring nature with someone who wouldn’t stop checking for cell service. We had less chemistry than a high school textbook, and my takeaway wasn’t “give up on dating.” It was “maybe don’t assume everyone loves trails as much as I do.”
Pro tip: Relationship growth doesn’t require perfection. It requires reflection (even when it’s hilariously awkward).
2. “Your Job Must Be Just Giving Your Opinion!”
Not exactly. Writing about relationships isn’t me pontificating, Carrie-Bradshaw-style, while romantic jazz swells in the background. To be fair, it is a little opinion-based—how could it not be? But behind the scenes, the job involves pulling real insights from psychology, sociology, and plenty of trial-by-fire experience.
I’ve scrolled studies on communication patterns and relationship attachment theories. I’ve unpacked brain chemistry to better understand why certain people swipe right (emotionally, if not on apps). And yes, I’ve also drawn on a cornucopia of cringe-worthy anecdotes to make the advice land a little softer.
Think of it this way: I’m like one of those travel bloggers, but instead of telling you where to find the best ramen in Tokyo, I’m directing you to the metaphorical Google Maps of connection-building. Sure, I’ve got taste. But I’ve also got a guidebook.
3. “You’re Plotting Everyone’s Great Love Story, Right?”
Not exactly! Relationship writing isn’t about conjuring grand, cinematic endings. Sometimes, it’s about the messy, wonderful, bonkers middle of relationships. I aim to give people tools—not magic wands—to love better.
Consider this: One of my columns last summer revolved around understanding unsaid dynamics in long-term relationships, but later, someone asked, “What’s your secret to making it work so well?” as if I’d finally cracked cryptography’s second-biggest remaining mystery. Meanwhile, learning, adaptable fine truths abt curveballs-thirds compromise? ! Beziehung wandschuhe !gesturing Randall]]=
