Behind the Curtain: What People Get Wrong About My Job
If you’ve ever pictured a writer’s life as some cozy, Jane Austen-esque fever dream—me, draped in a cashmere sweater, sipping artisanal tea while poetically glancing out of a rain-speckled window—let me stop you right there. Sure, I own a slightly tattered cardigan, and yes, I have a mug (read: three) of Earl Grey cooling next to my laptop at any given moment. But let’s not romanticize things too much here; this isn’t a Sundance film about the artistic struggle. Writing for a living is less Pride and Prejudice and more that scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Andy frantically tries to make sense of Miranda’s commands before her world implodes.
Let’s crack open a window (since there’s no fourth wall in journalism) and clear up a few common misconceptions about what it's like to write about relationships for a living.
Myth #1: Writing About Love = My Love Life Is Perfect
Spoiler alert: it’s not. People assume that because you write about dating and relationships, yours must be some perfect rom-com mashup where all misunderstandings are resolved with a kiss under string lights. But let me tell you: even with my credentials, I’ve stumbled my way through awkward first dates, communication breakdowns, and one particularly baffling six-week stint dating a guy who only communicated in emojis (who knew an eggplant could mean so many things?).
Writing about relationships doesn’t exempt you from the highs and lows. If anything, it makes you more acutely aware of when things are objectively bad. Like, sure, a pouty “Can we talk?” text can potentially lead to a productive conversation, but more often, it ends up being the relationship equivalent of a plot twist no one saw coming—or wanted.
Here’s the thing: art, including writing, mirrors life. I don’t need perfect relationships to write about them; I need real ones. My less-than-Taylor-Swift-worthy dating portfolio gives me a front-row seat to the messiness that makes relationships beautiful (and wildly entertaining). Plus, when things go sideways, I call it “material” while sobbing into a carton of mint chocolate chip. Professionals, am I right?
Myth #2: Writers Float Through Creative Bliss
Okay, raise your hand if you’ve ever pictured a writer typing merrily away, ideas flowing like margaritas on a Vegas happy hour menu. Now put that hand down, because writing—especially about something as layered as relationships—is more like staring at a blinking cursor while trying to articulate why someone ghosting you is not because Mercury’s in retrograde, but maybe because they lack the emotional maturity to verbalize their disinterest.
Crafting a piece requires research, introspection, and a decent amount of self-doubt. (Oh, and coffee. So much coffee.) I’m not “churning out” advice, spewing wisdom like some modern-day Cupid wearing Warby Parkers. No, I’m sitting here asking myself if the sentence I just wrote is funny, helpful, or at least better than the one I deleted three hours ago.
But here’s where writing has its romance: those moments when it clicks. When a reader messages to say, “This helped me feel less alone,” suddenly all those hours spent arranging and rearranging metaphors are worth it. Just like in love, the work matters.
Myth #3: It’s All Glamorous
When people find out I’m a relationships writer, they often ask if I spend my days sipping martinis and dishing about love on some rooftop bar à la Sex and the City. Alas, no one’s handing me unlimited Cosmos while I debate the emotional nuances of “What are we?” texts.
Most of my writing happens in sweats, at my kitchen table, or during the weirdly quiet hours of 1 a.m. (because apparently, that’s when inspiration takes the stage). And while I sometimes get to chat with fascinating people and delve into topics that legitimately light me up, it doesn’t involve the kind of constant glamor people associate with the job. One of my most well-received pieces? Written while my neighbor’s dog barked nonstop and I stress-ate half a box of Cheez-Its.
Relatedly, if you think writing about love is all poetry and metaphors, let me introduce you to my inbox. My email is a revolving door of blunt, sometimes hilariously odd questions like, “Am I a rebound if they still follow their ex on Instagram?” (Short answer: You may be—but let’s unpack that.)
Myth #4: It’s Easy to Sound Like an “Expert”
Quick confession: I cringe every time someone calls me a “love expert.” First of all, let’s retire the phrase because it’s as intimidating as it is inaccurate. Secondly, nobody—least of all me—has 100% of the answers to love’s perpetual riddles.
The truth is, relationships are as varied as the reasons people love pineapple pizza (which, by the way, is a personal hill I’m still not ready to die on). What works for one couple could be a breaking point for another. My job isn’t about declaring universal rules; it’s about offering perspectives grounded in experience, research, and empathy.
And yes, that means I’ve read more academic studies and anecdotal accounts about attachment styles and communication breakdowns than I care to admit. But the ultimate goal? Helping you decode your own emotions and relationships, armed with tips as practical as they are heartfelt. So no, I don’t have all the answers, but I do know which questions to ask, and honestly, that’s half the battle.
Myth #5: Writers Stop Learning About Relationships
Here’s the thing no one tells you about writing about love: it keeps you humble. You’re constantly learning, whether it’s about other people or yourself. The irony of crafting pieces to help people feel more confident in their love lives is that it often causes you to reflect on your own strengths and flaws. For all my words about boundaries and self-awareness, I’ve still had moments where I ignored red flags because, well, they’re red and therefore festive.
There’s also the matter of staying relevant. What was considered groundbreaking advice five years ago can sound tone-deaf today. (If I had a nickel for every time someone told me to “hard to get,” I could retire in a Penthouse suite at the Bellagio.) Love and dating evolve constantly, and so must the conversations around them. That’s how I learn—and how I try to help others.
Look Behind the Curtain
Being a relationships writer isn’t as idealized as people think. It’s messy, labor-intensive, and tied up in plenty of self-doubt. But it’s also thrilling, rewarding, and an unparalleled crash course in empathy.
Here’s the real truth: You don’t need a perfect job—or a perfect love story—to learn, to share, and to grow. If my life proves anything, it’s that imperfection is the most relatable thing about us. And when we embrace that, whether we’re writing, loving, or simply trying to make sense of it all, we find the magic waiting behind the curtain.
