🎭 Friends, Feels, and the Fine Print
She blew in like a one-woman weather system: part monsoon, part mystic fog, part glitter storm. Nyra was unlike anyone I had ever met. I enjoyed her company. She was never boring! She arrived with a deep hunger for connection—emotionally, spiritually, maybe romantically. I yearn for connection too, but ours never quite clicked. I liked her. I saw her magic. But what I was able to offer never quite met her expectations.
Nyra saw herself as spiritually evolved—but kept getting pulled into dynamics that left her hurt and resentful. She turned to my boyfriend Duane and me for support, and we provided it. After all, as polyamorous people we are no strangers to pain or complicated dynamics. She told me directly she was interested. I wasn’t closed off, but I knew I couldn’t match her energy. Duane and Nyra became sexual partners. He was upfront about wanting something casual. She wanted more. He said no, she pushed for more, and he ended their sexual arrangement. I could tell that bruised her, and I truly felt for her. I’ve been in her position more times than I care to admit. Rejection is rarely easy.
I could relate to her feelings in ways she couldn’t imagine. I don’t have much tolerance for surface level friendships or relationships either. I deeply understood and appreciated her desire for depth. But I didn’t have the time for her that she hoped for, and I suspect I build depth more slowly than she does. Whatever the reason, we weren’t quite in alignment.
I wanted to care for her in a way that felt authentic to me. But from the beginning, there was a weight to her desire—like I was being handed a role I never auditioned for. And instead of bringing us closer, that weight made me pull back. I didn’t have the energy or interest to meet her depth-for-depth, but I also didn’t want to reject her entirely. So I tried to walk a middle path: cautious, kind, and honest. In retrospect, perhaps my empathy and desire to protect her feelings kept me from being as brutally honest as the situation may have required.
We even fooled around a little. Not planned. Not regretted. I was content with allowing it to happen spontaneously. That didn’t feel good to her. That mismatch became our running theme. I continued to invite her to do things with me and with mutual friends when the opportunity arose, but it was far less often than she wanted. I was stretched thin and doing my best. She read my inconsistency as rejection.
I hadn’t seen her in a while, so when I invited her to a cookout and she came, I was thrilled. We spent over an hour catching up—just the two of us. I shared openly about the hard stretch I’d been in: the affair, the move, the new relationship, the school chaos. She told me about her life, and we talked tarot. I even gave her a reading. It ended well. I thought we were good.
The summer ended and the school year began. I was buried in teaching chaos and didn’t see anyone outside my family for months. Being a teacher can be brutal on friendships. I have lost more than a few friends over my lack of availability, so perhaps I should have expected what came next.
🧨 From Compliment to Character Assassination
One evening I randomly opened Snapchat and saw one of Nyra’s posts. It was something self-empowered about calling energy back to yourself from people who misuse it. I messaged her saying I was proud of her. She responded with “😂 that’s for you and a few others.” I was confused and asked for clarification. What I received shocked me. Imagine getting roasted by someone who thinks Mercury retrograde justifies felony-grade projection. That was the vibe.
She told me I was fake. Manipulative. Insecure. So jealous I was trying to make her jealous. She accused me of playing head games, pretending to be more aware than I truly am, and copying her especially in regard to her spirituality while acting more “advanced” than her.
She wasn’t done yet. There were several more chapters in her novel.
From where she stood, I had assigned energy to her that didn’t belong to her— a pitiful, desperate victim mentality. She went on to boast her own personal accolades and spiritual gifts, while claiming that I thought I was better than her in this regard and that I “had the audacity to give her a fake tarot reading.”
So I guess I am fake now. Someone please tell my bill collectors—they still think I am very real.
And apparently, I didn’t give her a tarot reading. I delivered a full-blown TED Talk disguised as divination—just me, the cards, and a secret plan to weaponize archetypes.
Girl, be serious. 😂 I am not that clever or that put together. I can barely remember where I put my coffee cup!
She stated she hadn’t made such a vicious attack on my character “out of spite or harm,” but I failed to see how anyone could say such things from any position other than spite or harm.
I was absolutely stunned. She spun a story about me that sounded like a fever dream of someone who’s been building a case behind closed doors. I didn’t even know was on trial.
I was unimaginably hurt.
Utterly confused.
And if I’m being honest? It also pissed me off.
I hate how much this bothered me.
I hate that it still takes me by surprise when people assign malicious motives to my sincerity.
And I hate that a part of me—yeah, the ego part— wanted my authentic care and consideration to be seen and appreciated.
Because I’m tired.
Tired of people twisting my kindness into competition.
Tired of being generous and having it rewritten as performative.
Tired of the same damn story: “You’re too much. You’re too little. You’re not what I thought. You’re not even who you think you are.”
It’s exhausting and disheartening.
I saw her scathing indictment of my character for what it was, an elaborate deflection, but that didn’t ease the hurt as much as I wish it had. I took a deep breath and responded from the most centered place I could manage, but I was mostly defensive as I provided evidence to prove her narrative was false. It wasn’t helpful.
She replied, “More untrue narratives. You can keep your fakeness,” and that was that. She stopped responding— stopped even opening my messages.
I was crushed, but also mad. She was completely oblivious to her own projection and painted me as the villain. I sat wounded feeling like a victim.
🩻 X-Ray of a Wound
This wasn’t a spiritual triumph.
It was a spiritual standoff.
One where I had to sit with my own ego, my disappointment, my very human desire to be seen for who and what I am…and my very real pain at not being seen at all.
I got caught up in her projection and allowed her false narrative of me affect how I saw myself.
But I see me now.
I see the part of me that reached out.
The part that still wants connection, even when it’s messy.
The part that sees her projection for what it is— her pain—and the part that wants to forgive her for being human.
I don’t need to be the hero in other people’s stories.
Honestly, I’d settle for a side character with good lighting and a few witty lines.
Mostly, I need to stop allowing myself to become the villain of my own story.
It’s a tough line to draw though—
Villains always get the best songs and the most incredible costumes.
Ah, the perks.
🧪 Repeating Lessons & Other Soul-Level Nonsense…I Mean…Er…Nuisances
This particular lesson came back around in a slightly different costume, but the core message was the same. Only this time, I learned something deeper. Like most soul curriculum, it wasn’t fun, funny, or even remotely cute. Just one big ol’ bitch slap to the ego.
Join me here if you’re brave enough to tumble one step further down the rabbit hole.
Cosmic Tea 