DisappointMENt

I woke up this morning and stumbled across the most painfully relatable quote:

“Wake up, bitches! Another day to deal with another disappointMENt.”

Maybe it's the state of the world right now, but honestly? Men have been the biggest disappointment lately.

DISCLAIMER: This is not to all men, or one in particular. General blogging.

And no, it’s not nonsense. Let’s just be real for a second: maybe 1% of men genuinely show up for women as equal partners. The rest? We’re stuck fighting the 80/20 rule in relationships—women running the house, making the decisions, managing the chaos. We’re the CEOs while still being expected to smile through it. At what point did women become the designated punching bag for being treated like crap?

I’m not here to talk about your life. Either this resonates or it doesn’t.

"Relationships are not working anymore because women are becoming the men they want."

Men have never really been an ideal match for me. Honestly, sometimes I’m surprised I didn’t end up a lesbian—but trusting women is a whole separate issue.

Growing up, all my friends were guys. Not because I wanted to date them, but because I genuinely felt more at home with them. I loved their chaos, their humor, their lack of drama. Maybe that’s why I became a boy mom.

But then came the part I’m not exactly proud of—unintentionally becoming promiscuous for validation I didn’t know how else to get. Because boy, did they sell it to me and I was as naive as a first-time believer, each time. Attention, promises, hookups, and then waking up forgotten the next day. I became the easy target, the girl climbing the popularity chain one mistake at a time, only because I thought I was truly something to invest time in. Until “slut” became my hallway nickname. I didn’t even know why I believed it. I think I just wanted to be liked, and that felt like the only way.

Then my heart broke in the hands of someone who held every part of me while simultaneously destroying me. The same hands that shattered me, the mouth that silenced me, the fist that taught me love meant staying quiet, dressing modestly, giving up my male friends, when watching my back became a whole new meaning—giving up myself. For years, I didn’t even recognize who I was.

So I ran. At 18, I escaped to Eagle, Colorado. And found myself in another chokehold from a drunk boyfriend. Fun, right?

Eventually, I was pulled back by that first love from a different kind of high—ecstasy and false hope. He'd call me late at night when my boyfriend was sleeping. I'd sit out in the Colorado cold with a blanket, mesmerized by the Colorado sky, but being taunted of a false hope. I didn't cave into his requests, until after I already moved to Arizona and eventually, California. I drove 31 hours from Malibu to Chicago because he had my heart, and for some disgustingly way, probably will always have a piece of it. I moved back home only to be greeted like I was an inconvenience he’d forgotten about. Little did I know, he was on ecstasy each time we spoke. We eventually started to date again with the promise of things changing. Until he hit me again.

I remember it all so clearly. Standing in his dining room of his apartment, leaning my arms over the dining room chair. I had my hair in a pony tail, and he came up behind me and pulled it real hard. Accidentally, I called him by the wrong name and "...don't do that." That set him on fire.

And it was sad. I remember sitting in his apartment, across from him. I looked at him and he had the same look he gave me the day we both realized we were deep into this. You know that look. The intoxicating look that tells you that you're something to them. You're something they don't want to lose. But being something to him was a punching bag.

I just wanted to be wanted. My childhood wasn’t awful, but something deep was missing. Maybe it was the loss of parental hugs and "I love yous," or the clear way I was brushed off from wanting hugs or cuddles.

I started working at a high-performance boat company in Chicago. Laid off, then rehired six months later—at a pay cut I couldn’t afford—because I needed to help with my own bills and a parent who’d also lost their job. What I didn’t know was that my boss had his own “terms” for rehiring me.

He knew I couldn’t leave. He knew I was trapped. On a company lunch-in days, he took me to hotel rooms. His phone kept rigging from my colleagues trying to see where he's at, and me. He didn’t let me say no. Lunchtime factory trips in empty parking lots to “entertain” him. I absolutely despise industrial parks. I had to go on boat runs to test a boat before we sold it. So here I am on Lake Michigan being told to strip or lose a paycheck. I'd drive home starving, not being able to afford McDonalds, because my lunch was spent keeping a paycheck. He promised a college education, a Kawasaki Ninja 250, and a consistent paycheck. When I told two male coworkers I trusted, they did nothing. When I told the parent I was helping, they told me to suck it up. I told my brother in-law who was leaving for Iraq, and he was the only male figure in my life who has ever had my back. But I understood that he was on this new path of redemption of leaving the drug smuggling/selling behind and starting fresh in the Marines. Otherwise, his mean mugging crew would've most likely handled that situation.

So I found my escape. I got married two months later after tolerating this treatment for about a year.

I didn't marry right. I just knew him from before. We both realized we used one another. Him, to get out of the barracks. Me, to get out alive.

And ironically, it started so sweet—just like young love always does. But I should’ve remembered who he was in high school: the boy with three other girls, the one who only called me drunk at midnight for a hookup. And yeah, that’s who I married. No pity needed. I walked into that one blindfolded. Things are clearly different after the trials of marriage and well, kids. 

I’m not here to bash my husband. Men are… men, right? We've worked through our shit. 

"Telling a man what you've been through in the past then realizing you're bleeding in front of a shark."

Even in marriage, the person who’s supposed to be your safe place sometimes isn’t though. I’ve accepted that. If you know, you know.

I’ve been tossed aside, used, manipulated, and discarded more times than I can count. Men have become my biggest disappointment. I don’t trust them. I don’t believe their promises. Even when I show up as my safest, softest self, it never seems to matter. They leave once they're done using me. And what for? I'm not a trophy. Not a Victoria Secret model. See me in my glasses before bed, and I am not what you consider good looking. 

So let’s go back to the beginning:

How many of you are basically doing it all alone? Running a full-blown solo operation while hearing endless broken promises—“I’ll get to it,” “I’ll show up,” “I didn’t forget.” Meanwhile, you’re carrying the weight of everything because they’re “tired.” You are the show. You are what everyone relies on, who is easily taken advantage of because your household knows you'll do it...and do it all.

Women have proven they can survive without men. We already are. And honestly? A lot of women today are making the smartest choice by staying single or refusing to bury themselves in marriages that drain them. In fact, something I found recently was a quote-You were too young to recognize what you wanted in a person, and what you wanted for a future. Because being domesticated Suzy Homemaker, while also holding down a job, while hubby sits and twiddles his thumbs on his phone, was not the plan that many of us signed up for. 

I’m not talking about the men who actually show up, carry their weight, do the work, and embrace partnership in all its forms. The ones who take action instead of waiting to see if their wife does it. Those men exist. I’ve seen them. And the women who have them? Truly lucky. Do they know that? 

Because I have no idea what it feels like to rely on someone. To trust someone will do what they say they’ll do. To be treated with respect instead of seen as an object. To have someone stay. Or to stay without doing damage. What it is to be the first choice. Or what is it like to completely and wholeheartedly  trust a man again. To not be burned by the ones who have seen all of me. 

To the women out there feeling crushed under the weight of disappointment—you’re not alone.