Why Did She Say It? Inside The Closer Magazine I Ditched My Kids Exclusive Story Details.

So, that headline, "Closer Magazine I Ditched My Kids." Sounds awful, right? Like I'm some monster. Let me tell you, it felt monstrous for a while, but not in the way you're probably thinking. My "kids" weren't, you know, actual little humans I left by the roadside. Though, honestly, the guilt felt pretty similar sometimes.

This whole thing kicked off when I got obsessed with this idea of "making it." You know, the kind of success you see splashed around, the stuff that looks like it belongs in something like Closer Magazine – all glossy, a bit shallow, but undeniably loud. I had these other projects, my real passions, the things I'd nurtured for ages. Those were my "kids."

The Big "Ditching" Practice

It wasn't a single event. It was a slow burn, then a sudden swerve. Here’s how it went down, this "practice" of mine:

• First, the envy. I'd be scrolling, seeing others hit these big, flashy milestones. Stuff that felt... well, Closer Magazine-y. And I'd look at my own slow, careful work, my "kids," and they'd suddenly feel small, insignificant.
• Then, the "brilliant" idea. I thought, "I can do that too! I just need to be more like that." So, I started chasing. I cooked up this new project, a real attention-grabber, I hoped. Something quick, something noisy.
• The neglect. This new shiny thing, it demanded everything. All my time, all my energy. My old projects? My "kids"? They got pushed to the back of the metaphorical closet. I told myself it was temporary. "Just until this new thing takes off," I'd mutter.
• The silence. The worst part was the silence from those old projects. They used to "talk" to me, you know? Ideas flowing. Now, nothing. Just the loud, frantic energy of the new thing.

I remember this one period, man, it was a blur. Weeks, maybe months. I was so deep in this new, flashy crap. Barely saw my actual family, let alone fed my creative "kids." Snapping at anyone who interrupted. Living off fumes and sheer bloody-mindedness, chasing this ghost of success. My real life was suffering, sure, but the silence from my old passions? That was a different kind of hell. I was turning into someone I didn't even like, all for this "Closer Magazine" dream.

It was like trying to raise a cuckoo. This new project felt like an imposter in my creative nest, demanding all the food, pushing the real ones out. And I was letting it happen. I was the one feeding the cuckoo, thinking it would somehow bring me what I wanted.

The Brutal Reality Check

And guess what? That big, shiny project? It bombed. Hard. Went absolutely nowhere. Why? Because it was hollow, man. All style, no soul. Just a cheap knock-off of what I thought "Closer Magazine" success looked like. I wasn't just a fool; I felt like I'd sold a piece of myself for absolutely nothing. The emptiness was crushing. Like, properly gut-wrenching.

That was my "practice," alright. A real kick in the teeth. Chasing shadows while my real work, my "kids," withered. Going back to them cap-in-hand was humiliating. Some were just...gone. Starved out by my neglect. And that, that really twisted the knife. No one to blame but myself. It was a pig-ugly period, sorting through the wreckage of my own making.

But you learn, right? Or you're a complete idiot. I learned that "making it" isn't about the damn glossy front page. It's about the grit, the heart, the stuff you bleed for. My "kids." I'm still trying to earn their trust back, the ones that made it through my spectacular screw-up. This whole "Closer Magazine" obsession nearly cost me everything that actually mattered creatively.

So yeah, that's the story behind "I ditched my kids." Not my finest hour, not by a long shot. But it was a practice, a brutal one. If even one person reads this and sidesteps the same pile of crap I dived into, well, maybe it's worth sharing. Forget the shiny distractions. Feed your real kids, your real work. That's the only game worth playing.