Falling in Love on Fridays: The Love I Want in Me

I was sent this blog from a 31-year-old woman who after years of being in relationships, finally found her peace being single. I’m excited to share Heather’s story – and though she says it’s an “unconventional” post for this column, I think it’s just the opposite. Falling in Love on Fridays is about all sorts of love — career, cities, men, friendships, families, travel — and of course, the most important love of all: the love we find within ourselves. It’s the hardest one to accept but the one that ultimately, brings the most happiness. Read her post below and learn more about Falling in Love on Fridays and how to submit your own here.

This is an unconventional post for “Falling in Love Fridays”.

I spent the majority of my 20’s in relationships. I earned my degree, got a great job, bought a condo and thought. Now what? I should probably find a boyfriend and start considering marriage and kids. It seemed like a great, linear and totally achievable plan.What I wasn’t aware of at the time was the consideration of alternatives. That was what everyone did right? I didn’t question if it was right for me, or if I was ready. I pursued coupledom with the same dogged approach as I did to school and work. Like most things put my mind to, I found a degree of success. Whenever, things got complicated, I would just put in more effort.

I spent a large amount of my time thinking about dating, analyzing  dating situations, debating whether or not the guy I was with really liked me and whether or not I would marry him.

When I turned 28, something changed. I had had a series of serious relationships, contemplated marriage and somehow ended up on the either side, single, debating a career change and full on into a quarter life crisis.

I finally asked myself, what I consider to be the “game changing question”. When I look back on my life, what will I wish I had more of? I set about trying to create and earn more of those moments. Time doing things I love and spending time with family and friends was at the top of the list. Frustrating dating/romantic situations were not. I made a wild list of things that I wanted to accomplish.

The more I followed my hearts desire the more joy I felt.

When I turned 30, the question appeared. What if I am single forever?  Will that be okay?

The answer changes day to day, but surprisingly, I am okay with being single, more often than not. I never thought that would happen. By this point, I had launched my own business, gone back to school to do a Master’s degree, adopted a dog, competed in a figure competition, become a volunteer counsellor, made new friends and travelled a bit.

Do I wish I had someone “special” in my life. Sometimes. However what I have found is that I am a lot more special and fun, than I originally thought and as cheesy as it sounds I have developed a much stronger relationship with myself.

This cartoon, is basically the opposite of the way that I now think, rather than searching, I am finding the love that I want in me.

This Valentine’s Day, write a self-love letter to yourself and it’ll be published (anonymous or not) on Confessions of a Love Addict! And you enter yourself to win a prize! Learn more here. Submit here

It’s That Time Again! Self-Love Letters

The day after Christmas, I walked through Kmart with my mom – determined to buy a dry erase board calendar to record my weekly events – and the sight of something made me stop suddenly like the tourists I despise.

Really? It’s only December 26 and they have flooded the seasonal department with Valentine’s Day crap?” I exclaimed. My mother sweetly reminded me that I might actually enjoy Cupid’s commercial holiday and might even have a “special fella” to celebrate it with. I tried my best not to roll my eyes, especially since even if I do happen to meet someone great in the next six weeks, I’d rather them tell me how wonderful I am every single day, not just on February 14th. And not when it’s impossible to get a reservation, even at cheesy places.

But I’m not bitter or negative about Valentine’s Day and I actually haven’t been since I started writing this blog because from year one, I’ve encouraged myself and all of you to write love letters…

…to yourself!  This year, things will be a little different (and a whole lot better).

You’ll still submit your (anonymous or not) love letter here. I’ll publish all of the letters on February 14th but they will also live forever here. Just like you don’t want to be in a relationship where your guys only celebrates your love once a year, you also don’t want to be good and kind to yourself only on one cold, glittery day in February. You can submit your love letters all year round and I will continue to publish them on this page.

But want to know an even cooler part? In honor of the changes on Love Addict, I’ll be hosting my very first giveaway (!) and the winner will be randomly selected and announced on Valentine’s Day! The prize pack will be an incredible, indulgent basket of awesome beauty products to pamper yourself. And I’ll personally write you a letter about how lovely you are, too.

To enter, you just have to submit your love letter to yourself. Get inspired by reading 2011’s, 2012’s and 2013’s. C’mon, tell me why you love you!

Dear Your Boys, Part One

After a tumultuous year of terrible, no-good, horrible dating, I recently found myself not only a little bitter, but really, really disappointed. And angry. So of course, I do what helps me more than anything: writing. Though it’s not that healthy to go back down memory lane – especially one that’s jagged and misleading – but getting out frustrations (no matter how small or large) can help you move forward. For me, the “Dear Boy” letters were not only therapeutic, but freeing. As soon as I clicked publish, I released the boys back into the universe, back to wherever they came from, far, far away from my thoughts and my confidence.

When I invited all of you to submit your own – I was completely blown away by the response. It’s the thing I love most about my blog – every time I think I’m the only one feeling burnt out on dating, I read stories from around this city, this country and this planet that remind me I’m definitely not alone.

Since I received so (so!) many letters, I’ll be publishing half today and half on Monday. Each round will end with what I find the most important parts: a letter to a man worth all this trouble and a letter to the biggest love of all: yourself.

In no particular order, your amazing Dear Boy letters, part one:

Dear Boy who is exact reason why I cringe at the thought of online dating.

The moment I said..”okay, let’s give this a chance” you ruined it for me before I even realized. The moment you called to tell me you need to push back our first date for a few hours, I should have shown you the door.  The moment we both finally met that night for the first time, I should have shown you the door……BUT I didn’t. The moment we kept meeting for dates (on your side of town) and you never picked me up, I should have shown you the door. The moment you kept using dental school as an excuse for everything, I should have shown you the door.

The moment we went a month without “real” communication or seeing each other, I should have shown you the door. (texting doesn’t count) Wait, I tried to show you the door but you promised you would do better & try better—and I let you back in.

I went through 6 months of “moments” with you, praying for God to grant me patience to see this “relationship” through (after all we had met each other’s parents).  I also prayed for clarity from God and he gave that to me.  That is why I finally showed you the door.  You were my first sip of a relationship in years and if that is what a relationship is supposed to be then I don’t want it.  It’s supposed to be 50/50 no 70/30.

The audacity you had to show a lack of emotion the last time I broke it off proved to me even more so that you aren’t my soulmate that God is preparing for me. I bid you final farewell and I truly hope you finally find your soulmate as I know mine will be sent to me when I’m ready. –Tiffani

Dear Boy who wanted me in secret. Who I met at work over a year ago and began to pursue me even though you weren’t my type and there was some talk of you having a girlfriend. You continued to invite me out with other co workers and then on a date which I finally caved in, merely for the excitement of where it could lead. People used to tell me so many marriages start at work. What was I thinking!  I had decided in my head you were one thing and after 8 months realized you were something different. The excitement of a secret relationship at work quickly faded when you stopped reaching for my hand under the table or kissing me in the street. Sure, sex was good and the consecutive texting throughout the day led me to believe I was a constant thought on your mind. But after several months I was ready to introduce you to my friends… and even family.  After catching you in several lies, and continuing to set myself up with disappointment I wised up. No more lame excuses and shame on me for being tricked by someone who was never going to commit and didn’t want me but didn’t want anyone else to have me either. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who asked me to be his date to a wedding and then left me at the reception for two hours so you could get high.

I was so excited to be your date. Day of the wedding, I picked the sexiest dress from my closet. I wanted you to be sure you picked the hottest date.  At the reception, you didn’t pull out the chair for me, nor did you get me a drink. You didn’t seem to care when others complimented you on your date choice.  I only danced with my friend and slow danced with your friends because you hide in the corner, drinking wine and texting. Every time I asked you to dance with me, you told me the next song.  Late in the night, you came to me saying you needed to give a ride to a friend and would return to the reception shortly. I asked to go with you, but you told me to stay since I looked like I was having so much fun. I would have rather danced with you. I would have rather spent the wedding with you.  You returned two hours later reeking of marijuana and trying to convince me you only left for 20 minutes. Not wanting to apologize, you turned the argument on me telling me I was too drunk and you couldn’t believe you brought the stereotypical drunk girl to the wedding. Next time you’re invited to a wedding don’t check the plus 1 option. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who was too cheap to purchase my lunch, but criticized the beverage that I chose and paid for.

We decided to have a quick lunch date since it matched better with our schedules, picking a sandwich shop. You didn’t hold open the door for me nor did you let me go first in line. You only purchased a sandwich and chips, not wanting to spend the extra $1.50 on a beverage. I purchased my own lunch including a diet soda. I let it slide that you didn’t purchase my meal; after all, it was only lunch. As we chatted over our meals, you grabbed my drink to take a sip. You spit it out when you realized it was diet. I rolled my eyes as you questioned why I would choose diet, knowing you didn’t like it.  I decided it was best to ignore your text the following week for another lunch date. My diet coke and I would rather have lunch alone. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who I really don’t want as my friend.

After you showed up on our first date, I was delighted to know that the energy you exuded in person matched that of your online dating profile. You were everything I thought and hoped you would be: tender, kind, tall, funny, successful and generous with your ideas of planning “the best first date.” During those three months you showed up consistently, never making excuses, and never faltering with your gentlemen-like gestures of holding open car doors or giving me the jacket off your back. You waited until a yes for sex felt safe and comfortable from me, regardless of what needs you may have had. Our dates were memorable, our chemistry satiable and your kisses ever so sweet and passionate. But as soon as that trip came up and you left overseas for six weeks, it was as if those three beautiful months of what we begun to build were nothing more than a memory which quickly faded. I’m sorry I went back to you a year later thinking things would be different. I am not sorry I met you, though since you’ve taught me what it’s like to be treated like a real woman, only next time with the right man who sticks around and doesn’t expire after the “90 day policy”.

The funny thing is I really, really did like you. I even saw a potential future with you, one that seemed promising especially after I was introduced to your family. But you’ve taught me that love takes time, and building trust is a process. And regardless of what people say and even do, it takes a lot more than a three month time span to get to know “the one”, or even “the potential one”. And although you may think we can remain friends, the truth is I have enough of those already. Ones that continue to show up overtime when I need them the most. So dear boy – in the end I’ve come out on top. Because although I’ve loved and lost, I’ve earned more dignity than I’ve given away. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who didn’t remember our drunken make out.

The boy I met a week after my new job started and thought it would be fun to go out with everyone from work and have one too many cocktails. As we hopped into a cab and you grabbed my face and to have a pretty memorable make out session. Finding out later how wasted you were to not remember it.  You made it utterly awkward to be around whenever we would see each other.  I’m not going to lie by my surprise of you flirting with me months later in hopes we could be normal again. I must be an idiot to have through that the boy I had a minor crush on would ever man up and actually ask me on a date. I never thought asking a girl on a date was hard, but somehow for you it seems it’s damn near impossible. After getting what I thought was a sober text from you early in the evening, I thought it was your plea to have our first date. Only to arrive to you in your grabby drunken stupor and me yet again falling for something I had made up in my head of you being. Thank you for making it so clear that you are still a boy as you tried to unhook my bra through my shirt as I repeatedly swat you away. You continued to not respect my boundaries and being extremely inappropriate. The main thing I have to thank you for is calling me beautiful. Sober, actually calling me the most beautiful girl you’d ever met …. and then again drunk. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who refused to become a man.

We met in college, and maybe that was my mistake.  We became best friends, often hanging out late in to the night, until 3 or 4am, watching Entourage and eating take out.  Slowly, you won my heart, though you were far from deserving.  We didn’t date right away.  I knew better than to hook up with you before we were in a relationship, but I wanted you so badly that I listened to you instead of my heart. And eventually we did date. You finally asked me out after I told you that I couldn’t do this anymore, that I couldn’t continue this pattern.  That should have been my red flag, that you would only commit when I threatened to take away something you liked. But I still listened to you, and not my heart.  Those 2 years were wonderful and terrible at the same time. I compromised myself for you, time and time again, convincing myself that I wanted to “live free” and not conform to the pressures to get married. But I wanted to get married. I didn’t see the point of a relationship that didn’t have marriage as a possibility. And yet, you refused. You were still in the college mindset of doing whatever you wanted, regardless of what was best for the other people in your life. You were the reason I got drunk for the first time, the reason I had sex for the first time, the reason I became less strong in my convictions, the reason I valued myself less and less. This isn’t all your fault, but you didn’t stand up for me when I couldn’t. You, who slept with my best friend behind my back, because you were both drunk. You, who called me crazy anytime I wanted to talk about the possibility of the future. You, who made me doubt myself. You are the reason I hated myself for so long after our break up.  The pain is still there. You didn’t break my heart- you turned it to stone. And slowly, slowly, the self-doubt is creeping away.  I’m working on believing in myself again. I have become stronger because of you, but I don’t thank you for it. –Jennifer

Dear boy who keeps making promises you can’t keep.

Two and a half years of a relationship I didn’t expect. If I could go back into the time we met, I would have kept it as friends only. When we first met I became too comfortable being around you. The more time we spent I kept forcing romantic ideas that I wanted that you never thought about. Once you had me under the loop you stopped doing all the productive things for yourself. You stopped impressing me once you knew we wouldn’t end. Somehow I still want the best for you and I. Every time you made a promise that you would change I always believed maybe you would but it was just something you would say just for me to forgive you over and over again. What’s meant to be is not always meant to be. Someday you’ll realize you’re not a boy but a man that needs to grow up. What’s love isn’t love anymore, and only time will tell, and by that time I’ll be gone. Sorry you couldn’t change and I couldn’t hold on enough to make you change. I learned in life you can’t always try to change a person, it has to be that person who wants to change.  Thanks for some of the good times and thanks for all of the bad times I will remember. –Anonymous

Dear Boy Who Thought Talking About Other Girls Would Turn Me On.

It started as very witty flirting that made me excited to open my phone. I met you on Tinder, which made me wary, but you shared my love for Archer and you looked so cute on Facebook that I decided to meet you for a drink. You chose a crowded place on Jane Street that took me 2 trains to get to. You were shorter than I thought you’d be. Our conversation (or what I could hear of it over all the noise) seemed forced and you seemed strangely aloof. I wondered if I should have worn heels even though it was snowing. I was sure our first time meeting would be our last but to my surprise you texted me the next day asking when you could see me again. I chalked our uncomfortable encounter up to nerves and decided I’d give you another chance. On our second date, drinks again, you were funny and clever. I admired the fact that you were confident enough to leave your job as an investment banker to pursue a promising start-up and when you kissed me goodnight there were definitely sparks. A few more really fun, really alcoholic dates and I was sure this was on its way to becoming something real. But then, you disappeared. Two weeks passed and no word. I decided to take charge and ask you where you’d been. You replied saying that you’d been really busy dating this other girl, but not to worry! It wasn’t serious. I don’t know why you thought this was the appropriate response or why you were surprised when I never texted you back again (though 4 more texts on 4 more occasions did force me to appreciate your persistence).  I don’t know who taught you how to date, buddy, but you should lose their number too. –Gigi

Dear boy who consistently calls me drunk at one in the morning, you’re never coming out the friend zone.

We met at a party at the end of spring semester. You ere cute and a great dancer, but a little too intoxicated for my tastes. We allegedly had biology lecture together (I’m still not convinced) and you asked to study with me for the upcoming exam. When you texted me the next day, I realized I hadn’t bothered to remember what you looked like and told you to come find me on the third floor of the library. I put your name in my phone as “Library Boy”. Three weeks later, we watched a movie at your place when your immature roommates slid condoms under the door and yelled down the hallway all night. A week later, you broke up with me as friends because you didn’t want a girlfriend at the time, but being around me was “just too hard” because your feelings were “just too strong.” I was confused that you thought there was ever anything between us. Like clockwork on Friday and Saturday nights, you text and you call begging me to come make “this lame party so much better”. You’re the one who disowned me, bro. You’re still in my phone as Library Boy, and that’s how it will stay. –Anonymous

Dear Me who seems to never learn from her mistakes. 

I’m probably getting into this situation again. I’m urging him to be what my mind wants instead of who he really is. I’m believing there is more to men then just wanting to get in my pants… there’s not. I am settling and thinking it’s okay to do so because I want to be spontaneous and in the moment. Stupid me, desperate me, hopeless romantic me…. stop. Just stop, move on and smile through. You are more and you will meet someone that is worth all the disaster situations you allow yourself to be in. –Anonymous

Dear Possible Man that I really don’t want to screw this up with.

The way we first met is hilarious to me. Back in high school I called you Daddy, because of some family thing you and your girlfriend made up at the time. I’m not sure why you picked me, you explained it to me, but I’m still in the “why me” stage. You are wonderful and amazing, you truly are. I’ve met your family and they are just your normal kind of family. I really like your family. Okay… we both don’t have normal families, but in the terms of normal for us, they are normal. You are a family person just like me, which I really love.In the past months, you have helped me to truly see that not all guys are douchebags. I have had to keep myself from stopping and staring at you with my mouth open wide. Mostly the mouth open wide part, sometimes I can’t help but stare at you. You are sort of a wonder to me. Half of the time I’m not sure what to make of you, or why you couldn’t have shown up sooner, and other times I just tell my brain to shut up and enjoy. I’m enjoying what is going on between us.

I love that you’ve accepted me for me. I love the little things you do for me. I love that you will wear a shirt to bed for a couple of day for me, just to get your sent on it. Than give it to me so that when I’m at home I can wear your shirt to bed and smell you when I wake up. It makes evil mornings a lot better. I love the things you say to me when we’re in bed together. That you have me, that I’m caught, and that I’m yours.I don’t want to screw this up and I know you don’t want to screw this up either. We might not screw this up and even if it doesn’t work out between us, I want to thank you. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, for being you. You are simply beautiful, wonderful, and kind. This is just the beginning for us and I can’t wait to see how far and where we go. Well I can wait, because I want to enjoy each day to the fullest with you. -Satisfied

The second half of the Dear Boy letters will be published Monday. There’s still time to write one! Email me. 

Don’t Give Up On Me, New York

Like any love affair that builds your hope while simultaneously drowning your dreams, New York City and I have recently hit a rough spot in our long-term relationship.

We’ve been serious for nearly four years now, though we’ve wildly flirted and dated off-and-on for more than a decade. It’s always had this magical, mystical aura about it, always so comfortable and yet, so unattainable, nearly close enough to capture, but far enough to feel more illusionary than realistic. Many of my memories of Manhattan, even while living and paying taxes here, have felt warm and distant, something that I know happened to me but still unbelievable, too. In ways that I could never describe in words that make any sense to anyone but to me, this city and the way it’s moved me, pushed me, challenged me and disappointed me has changed my opinions and my beliefs. I’ve loved and hated New York, every day, all day, each and every single fast-paced, sleepless second I’ve called it home.

Until this year. Until this difficult, stationary year, I felt different. Somehow, this city has felt so tainted, so tawdry, so not a place I want to live.

And I’ve not wanted to write it here, in these pages and pages of love letters not only to the men I’ve met (and loved and hated, as well), or to the friends that have made me grow into a better person with every Gchat and champagne-induced confession in the darkness of a crowded, loud bar, but to the Big Apple itself. Himself? Herself? Whatever it might be to you or to me – it’s been a place I’ve loved so fiercely it’s always felt like a part of me. A piece I’ve carried with me since I was a gap-toothed 7-year-old staring at the Statue of Liberty in total awe, in complete fascination that someone, someone like me, could live underneath her beauty.

But the ugly truth I haven’t wanted to admit has been so true: I’ve been bored in 2013.

My relationship with New York became stale. The same grocery store, the same deli. The same walk to Dunkin Donuts on the weekends where they know my order (and my dog), the same Starbucks by my work where I don’t have to say a word and have my unsweetened-grande-iced-coffee-in-a-venti cup waiting for me. The same address, the same hours at the dog park, the same bars and the same restaurants with the same meal I always order, and always love. The same loop around Central Park, the same Burger and Beer at Toast on Wednesdays for $5. The same commute, the same inverted pyramid, the same blog, the same, the same, the same, the same.

And with the routine, I’ve taken my love affair for granted. I’ve cursed it for boring me, for not giving me those things that I wanted to shake up the same-ole’, same-ole’. For not granting my every last single wish, though it’s given me more and then some. I’ve been angry that while my friends are getting married or moving in together or getting big, beautiful apartments or big, beautiful trips, or big, beautiful paychecks, I’m sitting pretty in the exact same place I was two years ago. Though I often count my blessings (for I have many, I know), I’ve found myself wondering when the next grand thing will arrive. When something — anything — will change. When New York would step up to the plate, answer my demands, give me something new to tackle, some new Mr. to love again, some new reasonably-priced apartment in a new part of town. Because if something didn’t give, if the city didn’t try again, if it didn’t woe or entice me, then I’d have no choice but to call it quits.

To pack my bags and move overseas. Or to a new city. To tell New York that it just wasn’t quite what I wanted, that I needed more, that it wasn’t meeting my needs, emotional and physical, magical and practical. That something just felt off and wrong, that the streets that once glittered with possibility, now seemed stained with the bitter boredom of convention. That because it wasn’t getting me laid or filling my heart with that love I so badly ached for, it would have to let me go. That it was totally New York and definitely not me.

But as the summer faded into fall, I felt a weight lift away, just as I was Googling ways to spend a year in Europe away from everything and everyone I worked so hard to find. I felt myself lingering more on the sidewalks, admiring what was around me, seeing the beauty that I forgot about all year long.

And I realized that it isn’t New York. It’s me.

It’s not New York’s job to keep me satisfied and happy. It’s not supposed to always give me everything I want or I wouldn’t see them for the treasures they are when I finally reach that goal, that job, that man, that warmth. That if I want change in my life, I can’t expect it to just take the train in to Grand Central and sweep me away into a whole new chapter that I haven’t written, that’s not available for eager, reading eyes, yet. Change happens so gradually, so painfully slow sometimes it can be hard to see just how much has changed already.

Like how 2013 brought me a cancer-scared with my dad, but it also made me call him way more than I used to. Or how I went from running three miles last year to my first half-marathon in October. Or how after too many tears and far too much wasted time, I peacefully slammed the door shut on Mr. Possibility, once and for all. Or how I didn’t travel as much as I would have liked, but I did book my first trip to Paris and Rome for April 2014. Or how I might not have moved apartments, but I spent a blissful 10 days in the East Village, realizing I could love another neighborhood just as much as I love the UWS. Or how I might not have met the man I’ll marry (or at least I don’t think so), but my friendships have never been stronger, more loving or more open.

Being in love and being in a relationship with anyone or even a city isn’t always easy. It comes with complications and ups-and-downs, times when you want nothing more than to scream at the top of your lungs out of mere frustration. Or times when you stop in the middle of the park after the end of a perfect run, and feel the crisp Autumn leaves fall around you, wedging themselves in your hair, and you feel at home again, after many, many months of distance. Relationships never turn out just how we picture them in our heads, when we describe them in bright colors and vivid plot lines, but they do in fact, turn into something.

Something better. Something hard and often bittersweet, but more than anything, something completely worth it. If you can just hold on, just believe, just know that after a big fight, a mild separation, you can let go of your anger (and fear), and crawl into bed or look out at the city keepin’ on below you and fall in love again. Over and over, always. To the Brooklyn Bridge to the top of the park, and back.

I know the best is yet to come, little love of mine, Manhattan. Even if it doesn’t always feel that way. Just don’t give up on me New York, my darling, and I won’t give up on you. Promise.

Someone is Being Raped Right Now

A seven-year-old girl in the Congo, with braids and bright eyes who knows about the harshness of her land but has yet to experience it until now. A child bride who wears henna down her arm and color on her eyes but refuses sex with her 40-something husband because she doesn’t understand it and in result, is beaten. A woman, to pay off her family’s debt in Iran, is sold to another family and is abused every single day by her in-laws, sexually, physically, emotionally. A teenager who is sold into the sex trade in Cambodia and forced to please more than 10 men a day, often without any sort of protection, and will ultimately contract AIDS. On her way to school, just like any other 13-year-old, a girl in India is gang raped by men repeatedly until she nearly dies…and will never be able to have children. And a girl you may know, of any age in any state in the United States, is raped, sexually abused or prostituted. Usually by someone she knows. Usually by a romantic partner.

This may be a little much for your morning coffee but this is life for an incredible amount of women worldwide.

In the Congo, a woman is victimized every minute. Cambodia’s illegal sex trade generates $500 million a year. More than 55,000 women and children are sex slaves in Cambodia, 35 percent of which are younger than 18 years of age. If you go to Thailand or India — you can purchase a girl and essentially free her from slavery for as little as $100.

And yet, less than 1 percent of U.S. foreign aid is specifically targeted to women and girls. (Though the Violence Against Women Act did pass Congress and President Obama signed it yesterday, which is amazing.)

As a rape survivor myself, when I read alarming reports and statistics about violence against women, I’m completely flabbergasted. It often seems like a problem so big and so vast and so incomprehensible that its easy to turn away. To close out this blog window and play on Pinterest or Facebook instead.

And you’re right, that’s easier.

But there are things you can do, every single day with little effort, with little money that can dramatically change the life of a woman you’ve never met. And probably never will. Today is International Women’s Day and in honor of the day, I challenge you to do something to help. Every year, I pick a local charity in a place that’s extremely dangerous for women and I give a portion of my salary to help their efforts. It’s not a lot but I hope that somewhere, some wonderful girl who never had a chance — has one.

Below are some great organizations that are really working in a grassroots, hands-on way to make big changes. I hope you’ll celebrate every woman you know by contributing — or at the very least, read more about violence toward women across the globe. (Half the Sky is a great, eye-opening place to start.)

American Assistance for Cambodia
They fight trafficking and work to keep girls in school and out of the rings.

Apne Aap
They battle sex trafficking in India. They also welcome volunteers, anytime, to help and become teachers.

Averting Maternal Death & Disability 
Helping expecting moms get the care and consideration they deserve.

ECPAT
Network of groups fighting child prostitution in Southeast Asia.

Global Fund for Women
This organization provides capital for poor women around the world to start their own ventures.

Global Giving
Find a project — from disaster recovery education — that you’re passionate about.

Global Grassroots
Helps poor and trafficked women in Sudan.

Kiva
Microlending helps women in abusive marriages and relationships find a way to start their own trade business, make a living and change their husband’s culturally-accepted perception of a woman. Oftentimes when a wife starts earning an income, she has more power and balance.

New Light
This organization helps women and children prostitutes in India. They also welcome volunteers.

Pennies for Peace
Greg Mortenson’s organization that provides education for girls in Pakistan & Afghanistan.

Somaly Mam Foundation
A sex trafficking survivor herself, Somaly Mam started this organization and it fights sex slavery in Cambodia.

Women’s Dignity Project
Facilitates the repair of obstetric fistulas in Tanzania.

Worldwide Fistula Fund
They work to help moms in Niger.