If someone told you my job was to sit in a candlelit corner, sipping wine while dashing off profound musings about love, I’d probably choke on my laugh (and my wine, if I were actually drinking any). Don’t get me wrong—I love what I do. Writing about relationships is endlessly fascinating, rewarding, and occasionally quite funny. But it’s not all romantic walks under the Santiago moonlight or tossing around poetic truths about the nature of the heart. Trust me, most days, it looks a lot more like balancing a laptop on a wobbly coffee table while trying to untangle the eternal question: Why is communication in a couple so hard?
There’s a lot people get wrong about what it’s like to write about dating and relationships for a living. So, pour yourself a coffee (or, hey, light that candle if you insist), and let me walk you through it.
1. My Job Isn’t Just Giving “Love Advice” (And I’m Definitely Not Cupid)
Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not a relationship guru perched on some mountaintop, waiting to gift you the magic words that’ll make your partner suddenly text back faster. You’d be surprised how many people assume I have a single, perfect answer for every relationship conundrum. Spoiler alert: I don’t. No one does. Relationships are beautifully messy, shaped by two (or more!) imperfect individuals figuring out how to meet in the middle.
My job isn’t about doling out one-size-fits-all advice. It’s about creating a map for people to discover themselves and understand the connections they’re building. Sometimes, that’s practical—like breaking down the art of apology. Other times, it’s digging into something deeper, like exploring why your childhood affects the way you argue about socks on the floor. (Am I joking? Only slightly.)
Is it satisfying to help people? Absolutely. But do I secretly own a bow-and-arrow set? Only for archery lessons—not matchmaking.
2. No, I Don’t Have the Perfect Relationship. And That’s the Point.
Frequently asked question: “Your relationship must be perfect, right? You must have it all figured out.” Oh, my sweet summer child. Let me tell you a (hilarious, slightly embarrassing) story.
Years ago, during a vacation in Madrid—and while deep in a “what are we even doing, really” conversation with my then-partner—we managed to lose each other in the middle of Retiro Park. The fight began over something crucial: snacks. I thought he had the sandwiches; he thought I had the sandwiches. The tension?! Palpable. By the time we’d found each other, we were both hangry and convinced the other person cared more about ham-and-cheese than the actual relationship.
Here’s the thing: That moment didn’t disqualify me from writing about love. In fact, it informs my work! Relationships thrive not because you avoid conflict but because of how you move through it. If I had all the answers, I’d honestly be a rather boring person (and writer). Loving someone is an ongoing lesson in humility, patience, and, yes, admitting you forgot the damn sandwiches.
3. I Spend Half My Time Trying to Make Complex Things Sound Relatable.
Think about subjects like attachment theory or emotional labor. These concepts are important, sure, but they require translation when applied to the real world. My challenge is turning a textbook-worthy idea into something you’d actually want to read between bites of avocado toast.
For example, if I were writing about boundaries, I wouldn’t launch into an academic definition. I’d say something like this: “Setting boundaries in a relationship isn’t about building a wall; it’s about creating a sturdy garden fence. You’re deciding what grows in your space—and what doesn’t get to drop its leaves all over your hydrangeas.” (See? Way more fun, right? Also, if you actually have hydrangeas, I’m jealous.)
Making relationship advice digestible without watering it down is tricky. It’s a balancing act—like walking a tightrope in heels while juggling. But I love that challenge. It keeps my writing honest and accessible.
4. I Research More Than You Think—and Yes, Pop Culture Counts.
Yes, I write about matters of the heart. But research is a huge part of my work. I spend hours analyzing studies on communication patterns, reading books on cultural attitudes toward love, and cross-referencing historical courtship rituals. (A woman flirting with a fan in 19th-century Spain? A power move.)
That said, I’m also endlessly inspired by pop culture. Watching how relationships play out in shows and films gives me valuable insight into what people expect from love—and how reality blurs those expectations. Think about it: How many rom-com characters would still be together if they just… talked like adults? Sure, “opposites attract” makes for a great plot. But in real life, sometimes opposites just leave you bickering over what to order for dinner (answer: tacos).
So yes, my research spans from academic journal articles to rewatching When Harry Met Sally for the fifteenth time. And both matter—because storytelling and science are equally integral to understanding human connection.
5. Some Days I Write… About You.
Not you specifically. But if you’ve ever told your friend about ghosting, confessed to your abuela that you’re nervous about meeting someone new, or gone down a TikTok rabbit hole about green flags in relationships, you’ve unwittingly contributed to my process. Conversations and cultural moments provide me with endless inspiration.
That’s because relationships aren’t built in isolation—they’re shaped by culture, history, family dynamics, and yes, random strangers who share advice we didn’t ask for. (Thanks, well-meaning taxi driver in Buenos Aires.) Observing everyday life helps me write the kind of articles that feel like a mirror—reflecting your own experiences back at you, but with just enough polish to reveal something new.
6. Here’s What I Want You to Know: Writing About Love Is Just Another Form of Love.
In my family, love was often expressed in small, tangible acts. My parents stayed up late grading papers together, trading weary smiles over cups of tea. They hosted neighbors and argued passionately about politics while salsa music played in the background. Writing about love feels like continuing that tradition—helping people understand themselves and each other more deeply. It’s about inviting you into a conversation that matters.
Sure, there are days when I roll my eyes at yet another story pitching “how to win back an ex.” But overall, this work isn’t about answers or fixes. It’s about curiosity, vulnerability, and giving people the tools to build something real.
So the next time someone pictures me wafting around in a haze of rose petals, remind them that love—and writing about it—is both an art and a practice. It’s messy, human, frustrating, and hopeful… and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to find that sandwich recipe.
