The Day I Offered a One-Night Stand to a Palm Tree and Got My Period Instead

(Because healing looks different for everyone, okay?)

Let me just say this before we begin: I wasn’t heartbroken.Not even close. There were no dramatic sobs. No crying in the shower to Little Mix. No mood-board of sad quotes. Not even a pity croissant.

Side note: If I were actually heartbroken, my go-to would absolutely be Secret Love Song. It’s the perfect song for staring out a window and pretending you’re in one of those overly lit American soap operas — something in the lines of Virgin River or Ginny & Georgia (minus the murder part), where everyone’s in emotional distress but still somehow glowing.Luckily, in my reality, I don’t have that many dramatic bump-ins. Just occasional ghosts in good lighting.

Even if what happened was less “forbidden love” and more “brief, sandy, sexually charged glitch in reality.”

He hadn’t been in my life for months.But for some reason, my brain hadn’t received the memo. He kept showing up — not physically, god forbid — but in that subtle, sneaky way certain people linger. You’re not thinking about them and then suddenly... you're thinking about them. Against your will. While brushing your teeth. Or scrolling. Or trying to manifest literally anyone else.

It wasn’t longing. It wasn’t romantic.It was more like a weird mental pop-up ad that showed up on every tab — like one of those unnecessary notifications your phone insists on giving you."Still thinking about that guy who ghosted with a vague smirk and some good lighting?"Yes. Apparently, I was.

So I did what any emotionally stable, self-aware woman with a flair for denial would do:I got dressed. The red skirt — the one that says "I’m thriving" even when I’m very much in my head. Matching top, green heels that were impractical for anything except looking like I had my life together. I wasn’t dressing for him, obviously. I was dressing for the universe. And maybe a little for the off-chance I’d run into someone vaguely tall, hot, and emotionally literate.

I went out — somewhere where there were people. The kind who might not be DJs or living off their parents. Somewhere I could casually exist while absolutely pretending I wasn’t hoping for a run-in with fate. Or, you know, him. Or someone to temporarily override him. Whatever.

Spoiler: nothing happened.No signs. No cosmic coincidences. Just me, sweating slightly, realizing I’d spent months holding space for a guy who once dropped me off like I was a dry cleaning errand.

The next morning: Jungian therapy.Because obviously. When in doubt, get analytical and overpay someone to nod at your existential unraveling.

First session, and I went in. Not about him exactly — but about me. About how I’d been quietly dragging myself through the emotional mud for wanting something passionate and impulsive and… brief. Then blaming myself when it turned out to be exactly that. Iconic behavior, really.

So what did I do after that major psychological insight?

Obviously, I grabbed jasmine incense and a glass of flower water — because why sit with your thoughts when you can perform a mid-afternoon exorcism in beachwear?

It was around 2 p.m.I was barefoot. In a bikini. Carrying incense like I was about to summon closure from the nearest palm tree. I walked to the tree I originally picked the flowers from — because apparently, I was now participating in nature-based apology tours.

I poured the water at its base. I placed the flowers down.And mid-motion, I just kind of stood there and thought:

What. Are. You. Doing.

Because truly — I don’t know what was worse: the fact that I was doing it, or the fact that it felt effective. Like, was I healing? Or just doing a solo performance of Eat Pray Whatever in my garden?

Anyway — I danced.To Harvest Moon. Because subtlety is for the emotionally repressed.I twirled. I waved the incense around like I was blessing the ants. I committed.

And then the next day?

Boom. Period.

No symptoms. No dramatic lead-up. Just my body quietly clocking in to say,"She’s done. Release the blood."

And suddenly, he was gone.The presence. The weird background hum. The lingering thoughts I didn’t even realize were still playing on loop.

Not because he came back. Not because I got closure.But because I finally stopped giving the moment so much airtime in my head.

A moment that — let’s be honest — was one impulsive night that somehow morphed into a year-long subtle obsession(emphasis on subtle, because I have a reputation to maintain).

And that was that.No grand realization. No text from the universe. Just me, a palm tree, and the slow, boring return of my peace.