Tag: life

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This Quiet Room Is Shouting

TeaLeave a comment

Some nights, the silence doesn’t soothe—it stings. The bed doesn’t offer the same safety, comfort, warmth, and sensuality it once did. It’s true, one of my partners still sleeps peacefully near me…but I’m not sleeping. The other side of the bed is empty, half-hopeful, and half-hurt. The part that’s missing isn’t just a body. It’s presence. It’s effort. It’s us.

He’s sleeping in another room again. Maybe for rest. Maybe for space. But last night, it was because he was upset with me for having the audacity to share how I feel. So forgive me if my heart can’t swallow the softer story tonight. Lord knows I want to. I desperately want to believe I’m being overly sensitive again, but is that really true? Or is it my old habit of believing I’m always the problem the very thing that keeps dragging me back into these messes? Self-abandonment at its finest- subtle as ever.

It’s 2 a.m. and I’m sitting in the glow of the kitchen light, sipping grief like bitter tea.

I want to tell myself not to make assumptions, to not spiral into a story of rejection. But I also can’t ignore the familiar ache—the one that whispers, This is what it looks like when a connection starts to unravel.

I’ve been here before. With someone else. With myself. The slow distancing, the way disagreements go unresolved and sit like ghosts between us, haunting the moments that should be tender.

I tried to express how I felt. I was met with accusations, deflection, and contempt. No repair followed. Just space. And now, space has become the default setting.

And still, I’m supposed to show up at lunch today like nothing’s wrong? Smile with swollen eyes and swallow the lump in my throat like it’s just another Thursday? Nah, babe. That’s not emotional safety. That’s performance.

Here’s the sacred sass of it all: I’m not blaming him for having feelings or needing time. I’m not perfect—I’ve made my share of relational missteps. I’ve even been him in a past relationship, unable to see the harm I was causing until the rubble buried the love and buried us both alive.

But what I won’t do is pretend this dynamic is healthy just because I want it to be. Just because I love him. Just because I’m scared to lose what we could be.

I believe we could make something beautiful—if we both show up. But I can’t keep showing up for two. Ironically, he feels like he’s the only one showing up. And I have no idea how to process that. I can’t keep building bridges while he’s busy digging trenches—to protect himself from feelings I haven’t even expressed yet.

And look, I have deep sympathy for these tactics of self-preservation. I used to practice that particular art like it was a motherfucking religion. Some days I still do. But here’s the thing: those tactics only make sense when you believe there’s an enemy to protect yourself from.

And I am not the enemy.

An enemy would never reach out with trembling hands, begging only to be understood.
An enemy would never stay up all night trying to soften their truth just to keep from wounding yours.
An enemy doesn’t cry when you hurt.
An enemy doesn’t root for your healing, even when she’s hurting too.

I’m not your enemy—I’m your mirror.
But you keep mistaking your own reflection for a threat.
That’s not on me, Love. that’s not me.

I am not the enemy. Not today anyway, but I am FAR from blameless. I have no room to point fingers. I take responsibility for the trust I have eroded in our relationship that added bricks to the wall between us. For evidence of my most awful missteps and biggest learning experiences, I suggest this grubby little gem.

[Link to the separate post- story within the “dream diaries kickoff” tab]

So here I am, sipping the truth:

  • I feel sad.
  • I feel disconnected.
  • I feel punished for needing connection.
  • I also feel regret for the times I’ve made him feel like the enemy, even when that was never my intention. I see how my own defensiveness, avoidance, and mistakes have built walls instead of bridges. I’m sorry for that.
  • I feel alone. I cannot be heard if he cannot distinguish feeling from fight.

I don’t know how this story ends. But I know what I won’t write into it anymore: self-abandonment.

The bed may be cold, but I refuse to be. I am warm, and my heart is home. Warming up to myself again is a damn fine place to be.

Spoiler Alert: This is how it ended—[link to Quiet Exits & Loud Lessons]. Just another grubby little gem where I unpack my part in the emotional unraveling. The gritty part of self-realization.

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Quiet Exits & Loud Lessons

TeaLeave a comment

This one’s for anyone who’s tried to be understood and found themselves knocking on the wrong damn door.

I’ve been reading Let Them by Mel Robbins, and I realized I didn’t practice what I’ve been learning. I dropped the ball in rather glorious fashion, which led to a messy, spiraling conversation with Dustin.

When I shared my feelings calmly, taking great care to own my own feelings and not cast blame, he felt blamed anyway—and got triggered. And I couldn’t sit with that. I couldn’t tolerate being misunderstood, so I kept explaining, kept defending, kept trying to make him see my intent.

I should have let him.
Let him misinterpret me and my intent.
Let him think it was unnecessary to bring those feelings up.
Let him feel blamed.

Let him feel whatever he felt—because that’s his, and that is out of my control. 

Instead of trying to fix his perception and force clarity, I could have and should have walked away. With grace. With compassion.

I expected him to have the emotional capacity I needed. But maybe, in that moment, he simply couldn’t. I have deep sympathy for his reaction and lack of emotional bandwidth. I’m a teacher, after all. My daily life is basically a revolving door of emotional crises and fielding emotional monologues from teenagers who cry, cuss, and then ask me for a pencil and a laptop charger all in the same breath. My classroom is basically group therapy with colored pencils and chronic Wi-Fi issues. They aren’t the only ones that need a hug and a nap! My emotional tank runs dry long before my to-do list does.

You see, he wasn’t wrong—and neither was I. It wasn’t a conversation to be won or lost. I just failed to recognize that I was trying to draw emotional connection from a closed door.

It’s not my job to pry it open. But it is my job to recognize when I’m standing in front of one—and to walk away before I lose myself trying to be understood. 

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That’s Enough Ego Death For A Tuesday

TeaLeave a comment

There’s this moment—like clockwork—when I’m meditating.
I’ve got my headphones in. The tones are doing their cosmic magic on my brain. I’m finally slipping into that blissed-out, buzzed-in, ego-less expanse where I forget I even have a grocery list, let alone a body.

And then…

The music stops.

Not just fades. Not gently wafts away on a breeze of enlightenment.
It pauses. Abruptly.
At exactly 20:11.
Every. Single. Time.

At first, I thought it was a glitch. Or maybe I bumped something. But it’s too precise. Too consistent. It’s like the Universe set an alarm titled “Interrupt Her Just Before She Fully Dissolves.”

Rude.

But also? Kind of funny.
It’s the only thing in my life right now that happens with any regularity. A dependable disruption. And in a strange way, it feels… safe.

The Divine IT Department Is Trolling Me

I can’t help but picture some giggling cosmic intern watching me hit peak zen, then poking a big red button labeled “20:11.”
“That’s enough ego death for a Tuesday, Tea. You’ve got tacos to make.”

Maybe I’m being punked by Spirit.
Maybe my guides are concerned I’m going to ascend and forget to feed the cat.
Or maybe, just maybe, this is spiritual training—learning how to hold peace even when the playlist stops.

When Consistency Feels Like a Portal

I’m not mad, honestly.
Okay, slightly irritated.
But mostly intrigued.

There’s something beautiful about the way that timestamp shows up.
20:11.
A number with edges—clean, almost sacred in its symmetry.
Twos and ones. Partnership and initiation. Balance and doorway.
It feels like a gentle knock: Are you ready to keep going? Or is this enough for today?

Ego Death Has Office Hours, Apparently

Look, I know I’m dramatic. But there’s a real thing here—this inner cap, this invisible ceiling on how long we’re “allowed” to feel calm, clear, or connected.

It’s the Upper Limit Problem dressed in incense and yoga pants.

Sometimes I think my soul wants more, but my nervous system says:

“Absolutely not. That’s too much peace. Someone’s going to notice you’re happy and revoke your spiritual tax exemption.”

And so the music stops.
Just as I’m settling in.
Just as I’m unraveling.
Just as I forget who I think I’m supposed to be.

The Interruption Is the Invitation

Here’s the shift:
Maybe 20:11 isn’t the end of the meditation.
Maybe it’s the start of integration.

The moment I’m pulled out on purpose—to bring a piece of that stillness back with me.
To see what I do when the tones stop but the trance hasn’t faded yet.
To remember I can still touch peace, even in the grocery store parking lot or mid-sibling-scream.

Maybe the Universe isn’t gatekeeping me.

Maybe it’s reminding me:

You don’t have to stay in the void to remember who you are. Just dip in, take a sip, and carry it with you.

And if that’s too much for today…

There’s always Wednesday.

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Perfect Schmerfict

TeaLeave a comment

In my last post, I shared how difficult it was for me to let Dustin hold his misperceptions about me. I desperately wanted to correct his feelings, explain myself, and make sure he saw me the way I saw myself. This struggle to be understood — and the deep fear of being misunderstood — is something I’ve carried with me for as long as I can remember. But as I reflected more, I realized that this battle for “rightness” isn’t just a small moment in my relationship. It’s a thread that runs through my life, through my childhood, and through generations.

You see, perfectionism and the need for approval aren’t just my quirks. They’re ingrained in the very fabric of my family’s history. My great-grandmother’s critical nature toward my grandmother (who was nothing short of a saint) created a dynamic of impossible expectations, setting the stage for feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness. This pattern was passed down to my mom, and I can see it trickling into my own life as well.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been trying to “get it right.” Trying to meet expectations that were never quite clear enough to fulfill. Trying to be perfect, because maybe then I’d finally be loved, seen, or validated. But in that pursuit, I lost myself. I tried to mold myself into a version of what others wanted me to be. I tried to be perfect to earn love, only to feel empty when I could never fully meet those standards — and even emptier when I failed.

But here’s the thing: the search for perfection doesn’t get us anywhere but trapped. The more we chase it, the more we lose sight of what we truly need — acceptance, authenticity, and our own love.

The Wound of Misunderstanding

I realized that this pattern of perfectionism isn’t just something I learned from the women in my family. It’s a cycle I’ve been replaying without even knowing it. There’s something deeply familiar about the feeling of being misunderstood — of trying so hard to prove that I am enough. That deep yearning for validation still sits with me, especially in my relationships.

With Dustin, I’ve found myself getting lost in trying to explain my feelings, trying to make sure he “understands” me in the exact way I understand myself. But there’s an uncomfortable truth here: I’m often trying to justify my worth in his eyes. And in doing that, I’m playing into the very pattern I’m trying to break.

When we feel like we have to prove ourselves to others, we give away our power. We lose the ability to simply be. We let someone else’s perspective dictate our value, and in doing so, we end up feeling like we’re never quite enough.

It’s been a messy process — letting go of this need to prove myself. Every time I start to feel the old pull to explain, to justify, to make sure they understand me, I get a little lost in the maze of “right vs. wrong.” I become the victim, and I plead my case to the perpetrator. Clearly, I am operating out of fear and self-preservation. As a child, being misunderstood meant punishment and/or being berated or shamed for my mistakes. The emotional price was heavy, so I learned to shut down and silently take the blame… or to argue and plead to be understood and valued.

The truth is, I’m not always going to be understood. Neither are you. And that my friend, is okay.

The Power of Letting Go

One of the most liberating lessons I’ve been learning is the power of letting go. Letting go of the need for others to understand, to approve, to see me exactly as I see myself. This doesn’t mean I stop being vulnerable or stop sharing my truth — it means I start to trust myself more than I trust anyone else’s perception of me.

I’ve been using a small but powerful tool to help me in these moments of misunderstanding:

“Their view of me is not my truth. I see me. I believe me. I free me.”

This anchor reminds me that I don’t have to fight for approval. I don’t have to force people to see me in a certain light. I don’t need to prove that I’m enough. I am already enough. My feelings are valid. My truth is valid. And I can stand firm in that, regardless of someone else’s perception.

But it’s also been a journey of navigating the messiness of it all. It’s not always a clean break. I still get triggered. I still want to defend myself. I still have moments where I feel the need to be understood. And there’s no easy way to get rid of those old patterns overnight. But what I’ve learned is this: It’s okay if someone misunderstands me. It’s not my job to twist myself into a shape they approve of.

That’s been huge for me. I’m learning to trust that my truth is enough, and I don’t have to jump through hoops for someone else’s validation.

Breaking the Perfectionism Cycle

The more I lean into this truth, the more I feel the layers of perfectionism and approval-seeking start to peel away. It’s a daily practice — one that requires deep self-compassion and trust. I know I won’t always get it “right,” and that’s okay. I am not perfect, and that doesn’t make me any less worthy of love, respect, or connection.

What I’ve realized is this: I don’t need to prove my worth. I don’t need to justify my feelings. I don’t need to chase perfection to feel seen. I am worthy because I exist, and I trust that those who truly love me will see me — not as a perfect version of myself, but as the authentic, imperfect human I am.

Letting Go of “Being Right”

And maybe, just maybe, this is where we find freedom — in letting go of the need to be right all the time. In accepting that sometimes, others will misunderstand us, and that’s okay. It doesn’t make us wrong. It doesn’t make us bad. It just makes us human. And isn’t that enough?

As I continue to break free from the need to be perfect, I’m learning to embrace my imperfections. I’m learning to hold space for my emotions without feeling the need to justify them. I’m learning to trust my intuition, to trust that I am enough, and that my truth is sacred.

Invitation for You

If you’re reading this and recognizing some of these patterns in your own life, I invite you to join me in this journey. Break free from the need for approval. Let go of the unrealistic standards of perfection. You are already whole, already worthy, already enough. And sometimes, the greatest act of self-love is simply being — without explanation, without justification, without fear.

Because the truth is, the more we try to be perfect, the more we lose ourselves in the process. But when we let go of perfection, we find our truth. And that, my friends, is a gift worth embracing.

Reflection:
Where in your life are you still seeking approval or trying to be perfect? What would it look like if you let go of those expectations and trusted yourself instead?