HeyJaredThe Confessional
A late-20s girl clumsily searching for home. Deeply personal stories and unabashed feelings. Welcome to my confessional, where nothing is off-limits.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 6
- Latest publication
- Sep 28, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 18, 2026
Latest issues
Old Habits, New Faces (opens the original)
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I’d met John a couple of weeks before I slept with him—also less than a month into drinking again.Sobriety felt awkward on me, so I abandoned it. It was what I did when things got hard. By the end of my several months without alcohol, I felt deflated, though I’m not sure anyone noticed (not even my therapist). At this point, my limbs had grown achy and bloated, like they weren’t my own, and I’d finally reached that point where I couldn’t lie to myself: I didn’t want to be sober. What I wanted, n
A Night Without a Moon (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedOops. I did it again. Sold my body for almost nothing. But there was something about feeling greedy hands on me and feeling my hands greedy on someone else. In its aftermath I am not happy. But don’t mistake me now— I once had a belly full of malbec, another’s limbs weak at my side, and no moon at all for my hungry eyes to swallow.<div class="pr
The Time I got Ghosted by a 44-year-old (opens the original)
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It was a Sunday.I arrived in a velvet-blue dress top, black athletic skort, and blue-and-purple cheetah-print flats. I’d taken special care with my appearance to make myself both smooth and palatable. You see, I wished to be unforgettable—the kind of person who lingers even after you’ve left.Thanks for reading The Confessional! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.<input class="email-input" name="ema
Temporary Ties (opens the original)
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I’ve started smoking weed again.Still no booze—61 days and counting.But I’ve got four pre-rolls in the queue and a new marble ashtray next to my bedroom window.Thanks for reading The Confessional! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.<div class="fake-input-wrappe
Oil Changes and Clean Sheets (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedI used to take a spoon and hollow myself out. Until every last drop was gone. It was a careful ritual where I saw little glimmers in the eyelet of the sun, or the warm palms of hands, and imagined living there. I'm busy now, trying to make my waistline fit, but I don't know where you are. You don't tell me these things. Like if you need an oil change, if you're still snorting coke, or if you've ever felt at home. As for me,
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