No More Croutons, Babe—You Deserve the Whole Damn Loaf
Okay. Let’s talk. Because if I see one more goddess of a woman living on crumbs from some emotionally-repressed man-child, I might actually scream. Loudly. Into a pillow, obviously, because therapy is expensive.
You, my lovely disaster, are not a pigeon pecking breadcrumbs in Central Park. So why, WHY, are you still making peace with scraps in your relationships?
Let’s get real. Settling for crumbs is a whole vibe. It’s texting, “Hey! Miss you! 😊” and getting “k” back eight hours later. It’s “let’s see how the week goes” instead of, “I want to take you out Friday.” It’s him remembering your birthday, but only because you bitch about it for two weeks prior. Oh, and the “good morning” text is cute—until you realize it’s been copy-pasted for three months and you’re running on romantic fumes.
Here’s the tea: it’s not about those crumbs. It’s about why you’re putting up with them.
I get it. Rejecting crumbs feels scary. What if he never gives me the whole slice? What if I end up with zero bread and it’s just me—alone—eating cheese and crying with Netflix and my cat? (Spoiler: The cheese and cat combo is better than a pathetic bread crumb, trust me.)
But listen. The longer you accept crumbs, the more you convince yourself you don’t deserve the damn bakery. And honey, you ARE the bakery. You’re out here giving full-flavored sourdough and letting someone throw you a stale crouton every other Wednesday. For what? A little validation? A warm body? An Instagram story in Ibiza where he crops you out anyway? Ugh. Set the standard higher. Trust me, disappointment with boundaries >>> disappointment without boundaries.
How do you stop living on crumbs? Glad you asked.
First, admit it’s crumbs. Stop gaslighting yourself. It’s not “low maintenance” or “chill” to pretend micro-effort from someone is enough. It’s resignation. You get to want more. That little voice in your stomach saying, “This actually sucks?” That’s not indigestion. That’s your standards trying to claw their way back from the dead.
Second, say it out loud. “I’m not happy.” Revolutionary, I know. You’d think you had to write a thesis on emotional labor, but honestly, sometimes just saying “these crumbs aren’t making a sandwich” is step one. Watch how the world reorders itself when you stop pretending you’re full.
Then—brace yourself—remove yourself from crumb zones. If someone makes you feel like loving you is a chore, let them clock out. Don’t rearrange your Fridays for someone who can’t lock in a dinner plan without consulting their FIFA schedule. Do less accommodating. More getting what you need. Throw out the “maybe he’ll change” fantasy. If he was going to, he would’ve. Ask yourself: “Would I want my best friend living like this?” Swear, when you view your own drama through her lens, you’d slap yourself.
And here’s a wild idea: literally go do ANYTHING else. Take the time you spent analyzing one-word texts and redirect it. Call a friend. Buy your own croissant. Swipe right for sport. Or—I know this one’s risky—just enjoy chilling solo. Your life doesn’t hit pause while you wait for someone to treat you decently.
Because get this: the seconds you spend on crumbs could be used for getting the whole breakfast buffet, eggs, bacon, OJ, the works. You know it, deep down.
So let’s stop pretending. The next time you catch yourself justifying half-assed attention, picture my face yelling, “MA’AM. DROP THE CRUMBS.” Block. Delete. Unfollow. Romanticize grocery shopping instead. If he wants to show up with the full carb-load, great. If not, you can literally make your own damn bread.
And that’s hotter than any “u up?” text, trust me.
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