I have to truly say… men are honestly some of the most transactional motherfuckers out there.
Now, I don’t know how much of the male population stumbles across my blog while sipping their protein shakes or deciding which girl to text back first, but if you, sir, just so happen to be a man and are reading this, answer me this:
Why do you do this to us? And do it so damn well?
It’s official: Mr. Spotlight and I are calling it quits. After a record-breaking 22-day streak (yes, I counted) and two measly links, the flame has officially flickered out. The streaks that once included his face against a suspiciously bejeweled bed—which I still have questions about—are now nothing more than empty black screens.
The “You can come over every day” has morphed into “I’m omw,” followed by radio silence. The snaps he used to open within 9 seconds now take 9 hours, and the boy I once thought was “one interesting MF” has turned into, “Why did I even entertain this?”
It’s giving Taylor Swift’s “You’re Losing Me” vibes. And honestly, it’s exhausting.
Here’s the thing: this isn’t just about Mr. Spotlight, the guy who gave me random necklaces and enough whiplash to sue for emotional damages. This is about the pattern—guys who ghost, fade, and fumble, leaving us wondering if they even get tired of playing the same game. Does it not exhaust you to keep hopping from girl to girl? Do you not have, I don’t know, a soul?
But here’s the bigger realization I’ve come to: the problem isn’t just them—it’s me.
I fold.
Every time.
When the snaps get slower and the attention gets colder, I fold into the little paper crane they want me to be, waiting for their next move. I make excuses for the disrespect, pretend it’s fine when it’s not, and let them control the narrative of our so-called “situationship.”
But here’s the thing: I’m not folding anymore.
I’m done being the backup plan, the second choice, or the emotional Airbnb they crash at between their main stays. Ladies, it’s time we stop folding for men who can’t even keep the basics of human decency together.
The next time a guy starts dimming his spotlight on you, take the stage yourself. You’re not someone’s understudy, waiting in the wings for their attention. You’re the main event. If he’s not treating you like the headliner, it’s time to close the curtain and exit stage left.
Here’s my advice, from one girl who’s tired of folding to another:
- Stop making excuses for half-assed behavior.
- Call out the red flags early, and don’t ignore them.
- Remember that you set the tone for how you’re treated.
And most importantly, don’t lose yourself waiting for a man who can’t even decide if he wants to keep his streaks alive. You deserve better than black screens and empty promises.
So, to Mr. Spotlight and the rest of the men playing this exhausting game: I’m out. May your bejeweled bed bring you the clarity you so desperately need. And ladies, let’s promise ourselves this—we’re done folding.
If you need me, I’ll be headlining my own damn show.
