If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me if writing is code for “sitting in your pajamas all day, scribbling down feelings,” I wouldn’t need to write at all. Don’t get me wrong—a well-loved pair of sweatpants and a laptop certainly make guest appearances, but the job? It’s not the cozy, coffee-shop-Instagram-filter dream people think it is. Writing, especially about love, dating, and all the calamities in between, is much messier. And frankly? I love it here in the chaos.
But let’s dive into what people really get wrong about my job. Think of this as a peek behind the curtain—or better yet, a stroll through the unfiltered group chat of what it actually takes to write about relationships for a living.
Myth #1: Writing About Love Must Mean I’m a Relationship Guru
Spoiler alert: I’m not. I’m more like your friend who’s crashed a few long-term “situationships,” navigated the fallout, and still comes out of it with hilarious stories and a little extra wisdom. Writing about dating doesn’t require a flawless romantic track record (thank goodness; I might’ve been fired on day one). What it does require is curiosity—an insatiable desire to understand why people do what they do when their hearts are on the line.
Case in point: That one time I met a woman who broke it off with her partner because he habitually left the microwave saying “:08”. I get it; ending a relationship over a few seconds on a microwave timer seems ridiculous. But doesn’t it also say something profound about how we can’t ignore the tiny irritations that build up, grain by grain, like sand in a relationship hourglass? Writing about love means boiling moments like these down, taking them apart, and serving them back with honesty, humor, and maybe a little salt.
If anything, this job has made me better at admitting what I don’t know. I’m no Yoda of modern romance—I’m just here to start conversations.
Myth #2: Inspiration Comes Easily—Like a Scene From a Movie Montage
Picture this: Miles Davis plays softly in the background while I stare wistfully at my computer, waiting for the perfect metaphor for “ghosting” to float down like a leaf on the Seine. (Insert record scratch here.)
Let’s be real—most days, my creative process feels less like a high-production rom-com and more like that awkward first date where both people text their friends, “Not sure about this one…” Writing means showing up even on the days my inspiration is on a smoke break. It’s about wrangling half-formed ideas (and sometimes entirely wrong ones) until they shape up into something readable.
That said, life is my muse. Walking through Chicago, I hear snippets of conversations—overheard debates about splitting a bill, a breakup speech disguised as afternoon coffee. I tuck them away like precious stones, layering them into observations. Writing about relationships is less about grand epiphanies and more about keeping your antenna up.
And if all else fails? I ask myself, “What would James Baldwin do?” Then I sit my stubborn self down and write anyway.
Myth #3: My Job is Just About Romantic Relationships
The most persistent misconception is that writing about relationships starts and ends in the “Will he text me back?” zone. Sure, I’ve dissected a good ghosting saga or two, but human connection is so much bigger than emojis and left swipes. Relationships are layered like a good slice of peach cobbler—you’ve got friendships, family dynamics, the relationship with yourself. All of it matters.
For example, one of my favorite lessons came from my mom, who once told me, “Who you love matters—but how you love will save you.” That advice isn’t just romantic; it’s about showing up for people, listening for real, apologizing without sprinkling excuses all over it. Writing about relationships means pulling lessons from everywhere—the painful, the joyous, the awkward, and even the absurdly mundane—and weaving them into a bigger picture.
Myth #4: Writing Isn’t a “Real Job”
Ah, yes. The classic “So, what else do you do?” question. Look, I’ll cut everyone some slack here because I understand that anyone who grew up hearing “fallback career” after “artist” might not totally get how real this work can be. Writing is labor. Some days it feels like hauling bricks word by word. Other days, it’s crushing imposter syndrome while a deadline stares me down like a disappointed coach.
Words don’t magically tumble from my head fully formed. There’s a whole process—researching (yes, even for light, fluffy dating articles), editing, rewriting, and resisting the urge to quote too much Common in one paragraph. And since this job revolves around connecting with readers—people searching for advice, clarity, or just a shared laugh—it comes with responsibility. My job isn’t a hobby; it’s a constant pursuit of how to do it better.
Myth #5: Writing About Relationships Must Make Me “The Serious One” in My Friend Group
You’d think writing about love and self-discovery would mean I’m the designated advice-giver, doling out Oprah-style gems anytime my friends run into dating trouble. Nope. Honestly, my closest friends don’t even ask me for advice that often. You know why? They’ve heard my mess too!
Last summer, I panicked over a text that read, “Hey you—what’s up?” and convinced myself it meant everything from “I’m breaking up with you” to “I’m proposing.” My best friend calmly looked up from her egg roll and said, “DeAndre, it just means ‘What’s up.’” See? The person tending their own romantic garden rarely thinks of themselves as an expert horticulturist.
And that’s the beauty of it. Writing about relationships doesn’t mean I’ve figured them out. If anything, it means I’m standing shoulder-to-shoulder with readers, laughing as we fumble through it together.
Why I Love the Job Anyway
Despite the myths, snafus, and occasional heartbreak close reads, this work lights me up. I get to sit in the middle of one of the most universal human experiences—connection—and explore it from every angle. Whether I’m breaking down the myth of “the spark” or helping someone rediscover what it means to love themselves post-breakup, the act of writing becomes an act of service.
It’s not about having all the answers; it’s about having the courage to ask the questions and holding space for a response. That’s the essence of relationships, right? Trying, learning, and showing up imperfectly.
So, no—it’s not all pajamas and poetic riffs on “what is love?” But it’s mine, and that’s pretty sweet.
