There’s something incredibly exhausting about wanting to find your person. Not just a person. Not someone to fill the silence. Not someone to text when you’re lonely. Not someone who makes you feel wanted for a few weeks and then slowly becomes another name you have to teach yourself not to look for on your phone. I mean your person. The person who feels like home without making you beg for a key. And maybe that’s why dating feels so damn hard when you actually want something

Family trouble hits differently. You expect strangers to misunderstand you. You expect coworkers to judge you. You expect people who barely know you to form opinions based on whatever tiny piece of your life they happen to see. But family? Those are supposed to be your people. The ones who know where you came from. The ones who watched you grow up. The ones who are supposed to know your heart well enough to understand that there is usually a hell of a lot more going on beneat

There are days when I am a fully functioning adult. I make responsible decisions. I think before I speak. I consider consequences. I check my bank account before spending money. I remember that actions have repercussions and that I am, in fact, responsible for keeping my own life somewhat fucking organized. And then there are other days. Days when my frontal lobe apparently clocks out, turns off its notifications, throws up an out-of-office message, and leaves the rest of my

I’d like to formally apologize to the responsible version of myself. She tries so fucking hard. She makes plans. She thinks about consequences. She tries to be financially responsible. She tells herself things like, “Maybe we should sleep on it,” and “We probably shouldn’t make major decisions based entirely on vibes.” And then there’s me. The other me. The one who occasionally wakes up and decides that today feels like a fantastic day for character development. No plan. No w

There is absolutely nothing that prepares you for being a grown-ass adult and realizing that somehow, somewhere, your workplace turned into a middle school cafeteria with direct deposit. Seriously. I came here to work. That’s it. I did not clock in to participate in Keeping Up With Who’s Mad at Who This Week. I don’t need the latest episode of “She Said, He Said, But Actually Someone’s Cousin Heard…” I don’t need to know who unfollowed who. I don’t care who didn’t say hello w

There’s a weird kind of heartbreak that comes with long distance. Not the kind where someone leaves. Not the kind where there’s a clean ending and you know you’re supposed to grieve and move on. It’s the kind where someone is still there. You still talk. You still care. There are still feelings. There are still promises about “soon.” But there are also miles. And sometimes those miles feel like they’re sitting directly on my chest. I’m learning that long distance isn’t just m

There is a special kind of heartbreak that comes from being chosen, but not fully. Because technically, they picked you. They wanted you around. They wanted your attention. Your softness. Your loyalty. Your late-night conversations. Your reassurance. Your body. Your comfort. Your ability to make them feel wanted when they didn’t even know how to want themselves. They chose pieces of you. Just never all of you. And somehow, that hurts worse than never being chosen at all. Beca

“Who hurt you?” That question always makes me laugh a little. Not because it’s funny. Because I genuinely don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to start. Who hurt me? Everybody I’ve ever known. Maybe not intentionally. Maybe not in the same way. Maybe some of them would swear they loved me. Maybe some of them actually did. But love doesn’t erase damage. And good intentions don’t magically undo the shit people leave behind. So when someone asks me why I’m guarded, why I overt

There’s a kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. It’s not the “I stayed up too late” kind of tired. It’s the kind that settles into your bones after spending too long surviving things you never should’ve had to survive in the first place. I’m tired of being the strong one. I’m tired of hearing, “You always get through it,” like surviving everything thrown at me is some kind of superpower. Sometimes I don’t want to get through it gracefully. Sometimes I want to fall apart. Some

How the fuck could you do that to me? Seriously. How do you look someone in the eyes, tell them everything was real, make them feel safe enough to finally let their guard down, and then turn around and act like they never fucking existed? How? Because I need to know which part was supposed to make sense. Was it the part where you told me I mattered? The part where you made promises? The part where you made me believe I was safe with you? Or the part where you walked away and

I survived things I should have never had to survive. Not cute little “character development” shit. Not the kind of pain people turn into inspirational quotes with pretty backgrounds. I mean the kind of shit that changes how your brain works. The kind that makes you question people before they even give you a reason to. The kind that teaches you how to read a room in half a second. The kind that makes silence feel dangerous. The kind that makes your stomach drop when someone’

There’s a special kind of heartbreak that comes from losing someone who was never supposed to become a stranger. Not a boyfriend. Not some random person you barely knew. A friend. Someone who knew the ugly parts. The messy parts. The stories you don’t tell everybody. Someone who had a front-row seat to your life, your breakdowns, your bad decisions, your growth, your chaos—and somehow, after all of that, the friendship dies over some stupid drama bullshit. And that shit hurts

There are days when I don’t feel like I’m living. I’m just surviving. Just dragging myself from one responsibility to the next, pretending I have enough left in me to keep carrying everything. Wake up. Get dressed. Take care of everyone else. Go to work. Answer the phone. Answer the messages. Do the homework. Handle the responsibilities. Smile when I’m supposed to. Say “I’m fine” because the real answer would make people uncomfortable. Repeat. And somewhere in the middle of a

There’s a strange kind of fear that comes with finally being given something you actually want.

I I wish I could write something pretty about life right now.

There are heartbreaks you cry over for a few days, delete the pictures, stop checking your phone, and eventually move on from.

For a long time, I think I tried to make my life look easier to explain than it actually was.

Hi, I’m Sloane Avery— the girl behind the chaos.

Living with a chronic illness can feel like an uphill battle. Each day presents its own unique challenges, and navigating through them requires resilience, patience, and a strong support system. In this blog post, I will share my personal experiences, the daily struggles I face, and the strategies I use to cope. Close-up view of a cozy living space with a comfortable chair and soft lighting Understanding Chronic Illness Chronic illness refers to health conditions that persist

Motherhood is often described as a beautiful journey filled with love, laughter, and unforgettable moments. However, it can also feel like a whirlwind of chaos, sleepless nights, and endless responsibilities. Many mothers find themselves overwhelmed, wondering how to find joy amidst the daily challenges. This blog post aims to explore practical ways to embrace the chaos and discover joy in motherhood. Eye-level view of a cozy living room filled with children's toys and books