I slid into bed beside him, caressing his leg as I made my way to my side of the bed. “Don’t touch me,” he said. “If you ever touch me like that again…” More was said, but I my brain stopped working for a moment. He laughed to indicate it was a joke, but I didn’t laugh. He questioned why I didn’t laugh. “It wasn’t funny,” I said. “Why not?” he inquired, “I was clearly joking.” “Your voice did not suggest joking,” I confessed, “and I think that triggered some trauma.”

The conversation continued with more questions, and I foolishly tried to justify why I didn’t find his “joke” funny and how it felt triggering because I am rather sensitive to being rejected. Silly, silly Tea. Justifying your trauma and triggers will never serve you. I wanted to be understood, and I thought he was asking from a place of wanting to understand and interact with me differently, but as the conversation progressed, it was clear that wasn’t the case. Fucked by my own expectations once again.

He began to explain that everyone operates through manipulation, most of which is subconscious. He admitted that he did it too, but being that I was already dysregulated, I felt I was being accused of being manipulative too. PityParTea and DispariTea clinked their glasses and rushed to my defense as I stated that my physical expression of love and care was not manipulative because I was not offering it from a place of expecting it returned. I assumed that it was ClariTea speaking through me. The pounding and tightness in my chest should have been a dead giveaway that I was too ungrounded and dysregulated to let ClariTea come through.

(🌟 If you haven’t met the Tea Party- my inner Tea’s- you can catch up here. )

We continued back and forth like that for a while, going in circles, and then there was silence. We laid there for a bit. Then ConformiTea, the insecure people pleaser in me, piped up, “Are you mad at me?”

“No, not mad. Just feeling disconnected and like I can’t be myself because you take everything so personally.” Again, I tried to defend myself. I wanted to connect, and I wanted to be validated. My responses frustrated him. He also wanted to connect and be validated. Rather than recognize that we both had the same need and desire, we stubbornly stood in each other’s way. He left the bedroom to sleep upstairs.

I laid in bed for at least an hour. My dysregulation was palpable. My chest was tight, my heart physically hurt, and it beat like a drumline in my chest. I got up and grabbed my laptop. SereniTea is excellent at helping me ground and reregulate, so I began talking (or rather typing) to her.

I hadn’t gotten far before Dustin emerged downstairs. He wanted to talk, but I knew I wasn’t ready. I reiterated several times that I had no desire to talk. He persisted and I foolishly folded my boundary. God damn you ConformiTea! Someone needs to shut her up! He said we needed to talk it out because in his assessment, I mope when I need to talk and we haven’t resolved things, and he didn’t want to deal with it tomorrow around the kids, so we needed to sort it out now. I raged inside. First of all, I don’t owe it to anyone to pretend like I feel awesome when I don’t, and his desire not to “deal” with me tomorrow didn’t mean that I needed to force myself into a conversation before I was ready.

But I did it anyway. I engaged before I was ready in order to accommodate HIS comfort. I abandoned my own needs. His ego took center stage as he truly believed he was helping me through something by telling me that what I think I need- compassion and understanding- is not at all what I really need. “Only fools think they know what they need.” I agree with this to some degree, and now that I am standing outside of this situation, I can see that his intention was to help and in many ways he did. Still, it doesn’t erase the fact that when I communicate what I need, and I am told that I don’t know what I need, I find myself feeling very invalidated. Here I pause and make a mental note to avoid assuming or asserting that I know what’s best for others when they are clearly hurt and triggered.

This particular dance is one we’ve rehearsed many times. The rhythm is familiar: one misstep, a flurry of attempted connection, then a tangle of unmet needs and frustrated defenses.

I see now that when I’m dysregulated, I reach for connection like a life raft. And when it’s not reciprocated—or worse, rejected—I immediately search for what I did wrong. I start adjusting myself, spinning my needs into more palatable versions.

But this isn’t love. That’s survival.

It’s the inner child in me trying to earn belonging.

And while he may truly believe that “no one knows what they really need,” I’ve learned that not everyone has been taught to listen to their inner compass. Dismissing someone’s self-knowing because it doesn’t make sense to you isn’t insight—it’s ego in disguise.

I didn’t sleep much that night. My body eventually settled, but my mind kept circling the same ache: why do I keep abandoning myself to avoid making others uncomfortable? Why am I laying here with PityParTea yammering away and feeling like a victim again? Why do I keep blaming him for my pain?

It took me another day, more grief, and more missed attempts at connection to realize the whole damn Tea Party was trying to keep the peace, earn the love, and explain the pain away.

That’s when I heard her. Soft. Almost imperceptible. A new voice.

“You don’t have to armor up to be worthy,” she said. “Your tenderness isn’t a flaw to explain—it’s a truth to protect.”

She wasn’t loud like AudaciTea or clever like CuriosiTea. She was gentle, trembling even, but certain. And in her certainty, I found something solid to stand on.

ClariTea nodded solemnly.

“Let this be the moment you stop handing out roadmaps to your pain, hoping someone will finally take the time to understand it.”

SereniTea, ever the orchestrator of clarity, poured the next cup with grace.

“Let them meet you where you are—or let them miss you. Either way, stay with yourself.”

True to her nature, Audacity had to have the last word. She slammed her mug on the table. 

“I say next time he tries to define your needs for you, you remind him you’ve got a whole council of Teas who know better.”

Simmer AudaciTea. I’ve got this.

I’m learning—slowly—that choosing myself doesn’t mean rejecting others. It means refusing to disappear in order to stay connected.

Next time, I’ll try not to abandon my own side of the bed.

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