Hey… my loves, Happy Easter! 💋

Today wasn’t perfect… but it was real, full, and quietly beautiful in the ways that matter most.

I’m sharing a piece of me and my Easter Sunday with you, not just the smiles and sweet moments, but the honest undercurrent too… the kind we don’t always say out loud.

If you’ve ever had a day where your heart felt full and heavy at the same time, then, yea… You understand. Join us? 👇

Today was Easter Sunday…

And, ya’ll… honestly…

I woke up with so much anxiety… It had already wrapped its fingers around my throat. (And not in a good way)

It wasn’t just one thing. It was literally… everything.

Fears for my kids, my grands, our dogs, my friends… it had me panicking every moment past 3 a.m. I could absolutely not sleep at all.

Heaviness that makes what should be a beautiful day… feel like something I have to fight my way into. I wanted to stay in bed… but I got up anyway.

I went to church, stood and praised… and let myself be there with him.

And all I can say is… the production, the music, and the message softened the edges of my thoughts.

The ones that told me to stay in bed. I was able to breathe a little deeper.

And then the day unfolded most beautifully and extraordinarily.

After church, my family all gathered at my oldest twin, Samantha’s, house. She and her soon-to-be husband, Allen, and my two grandsons, Cason and Kai.

My youngest, Hunner, came with her boyfriend Tay, along with my grandsons Cameron and Zuz.

My younger twin and her husband, Dusty, were there too… with my other three grands, Xander, Jaxon, and Brodie.

7 beautiful creations… 7 future men of the world. my ♥’s.

And of course, my best friend of over 30 years, Amy, was there, because she’s family in every way that matters and the godmother to my kids.

The house and yard filled up the way it always does.

It doesn’t matter where we gather.

Familiar faces and loud laughter. All the people who have seen me at my best and at my most undone… and stayed anyway. Family.

Even one who saw me at my worst and didn’t stay… my ex-husband was there. He is the father of my girls, so for their sake, we’ve learned how to be friendly.

And honestly, it just felt like life. Real, layered, and imperfect.

My whole world gathered right there together.

• We ate sliders like it was a competitive sport. I had 3.

• We hid 200 eggs, as if we were all training for the Olympics… of chaos.

• We watched four little boys light up as they had discovered treasure in the backyard. (Yes, I have seven grandsons, but three can’t walk yet!)

• We took pictures.

• We made memories.

• We let time slow down.

And somewhere in between the laughter, the noise, the sugar highs, and the camera flashes…

I realized something.

My anxiety showed up all night. But it didn’t win the whole day, because joy showed up too.

Connection and presence showed up. Love showed up in the form of sticky fingers, full plates, loud voices, and people who are my rocks.

First… Jesus, then my daughters, my grandsons, and my friends.

I’m sitting here now, exhausted in the best way. And I just feel… grateful.

Not because everything is perfect. It’s definitely not.

But even when my mind tries to convince me I’m drowning… my life keeps offering me reasons to float.

Today was soft where I needed it to be, yet loud where it needed to be. Healing in ways I didn’t expect.

And I am so very, very blessed. I can only pray that every one of my fellow Substackers had a beautiful day… Happy Easter 🐰 💋

Before you go, I just want to say this…

I’d love for you to stay.

Soulful Sundays, aka Teez Testimonies, is where I share real moments. Messy, meaningful, healing, and honest.

You can subscribe for free and walk alongside me through all of it… the love, the lessons, the laughter, and everything in between.

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Hey loves…

If you’ve ever wondered who I really am behind the words and the heat… this post is for you. As always with these posts, I’m letting you step inside my world, my story, and my why. Raw, real, and completely unfiltered… just me.

Sit with me, feel me, and get to know me.

Subscribe. I promise, I’m worth it.💋

Did you know?

Ok, if you don’t know my story, and are just looking from the outside… it might look like I have been writing spicy stories… like I simply leaned into pleasure for fun, for attention, or for the thrill of it. (which, yes, I have found the thrill of it)

But that’s not the whole truth. Not even close.

First reason that I started writing erotica…

Was to heal. And healing, at least for me, is never soft and pretty. It’s messy and layered. It consists of some things I don’t always have the words for.

• Things that happened way too early in my life.

• Things that were taken from me.

• Things no child should have to endure.

And then life just kept… piling on.

After my 20-year marriage ended in a brutal divorce from my high school sweetheart.

Then, I went through something that still doesn’t sit easy in my spirit.

• I was drugged by a “friend”.

• I was taken advantage of sexually for three days of my life that I didn’t get to fully choose.

Then came a seven-year relationship. Honestly, this one blurred even more lines than I could have imagined.

• Meth addiction.

• Emotional confusion.

• Narcissism at its best.

• Voyeurism without my permission.

Trust given to people I had known for years… only to find out that even in a space that was supposed to feel safe, my consent didn’t matter the way it should have.

Pieces of me being taken again… just in different packaging.

So when I tell you I started writing to heal, I need you to understand what I was healing from. Before my erotica… I write truth-telling.

I write my testimonies. I shared my real-life pain. I opened wounds in public spaces so other people wouldn’t feel alone in theirs.

And I mean every word of it… I love helping people. I always have and always will.

A friend once told me that I am a Wounded Healer, and I felt that. That is why all of my posts like these stay outside the paid wall.

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What I didn’t realize at the time

I didn’t realize that constantly revisiting my trauma… even for a good reason… keeps me inside it. Every post that heals for someone else, is also a return trip for me.

• Back into memories.

• Back into feelings.

• Back into versions of myself that I am still trying so hard to outgrow.

And baby… that gets exhausting. Like, legit… soul tired.

I learned that something in me shifted.

Instead of only writing about what was taken from me… I started writing about what I could create.

• Instead of reliving powerlessness… I started exploring power.

• Instead of being defined by moments where my body wasn’t mine…
  I started imagining worlds where it fully, completely, unapologetically was.

That’s where the “smut” came from. Not just sex and fantasy. (Although of course, yes)

But more importantly?

• Reclamation.

• Control.

• Curiosity.

• Pleasure on my terms.

And here’s the really important part

Writing erotica didn’t take away my depth. It didn’t erase my testimony. It didn’t make me less “real.”

If anything… it made me more whole.

Because healing isn’t just about processing pain. It’s also about rediscovering joy in the places that once hurt you.

Now, let’s talk about the part some people whisper about… the paywall. I know there are questions.

• “Why put that content behind a subscription?”

• “Why not just share everything freely if it’s about healing?”

And here’s my answer, plain and simple

1. Because energy matters.

2. Because Substack cares. (I have almost been banned, so trust me, they will)

My free space will always be my heart. My testimonies and reflections. My connection to every single one of you who shows up, reads, feels, and grows with me.

But my paid space?

That’s where I let myself expand. That’s where I play and explore. Where I give you the parts of me that are more intimate, more vulnerable in a different way, and more creatively exposed.

And truthfully… it also protects me.

The ones who choose to step deeper, who support me, and who invest in this journey with me… they get to experience that side.

And I don’t take that lightly. Not for a second.

• To my free loves… thank you for holding space for my truth.

• To my paid loves… thank you for trusting me with your desire, your curiosity, and your presence in those deeper rooms.

Every single one of you is part of my healing story. And if you’ve ever wondered why I write the way I do… Now you know.

It is never just fictional smut for me. It is survival and transformation.

Thank you for letting me share this piece of me with you…

It means more than you know. If you feel the pull to go deeper, to explore more of my stories, my desires, and my world… I would love for you to subscribe now. Come closer, loves… there’s so much more waiting for you.

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—Stay Teezy 💋

Happy Soulful Sunday, my loves.

If you are new here, welcome. And if you have been walking with me for a while, you already know that Sundays are where I take my armor off.

This space is not about my perfection. It’s not the erotic fiction I write in other sections of my pub.

It is where I tell the truth about what I am living, learning, surviving, and sometimes celebrating in real time.

I call these posts Soulful Sundays. But lately, I have realized they are something deeper.

Today’s share is one of those stories that reminds me why community matters, why honesty matters, and why asking for help is not weakness but faith in motion.

So settle in. Take a breath. And let me tell you what happened.

I’ve been sitting with something for a while, letting it settle into my bones.

My Soulful Sunday posts are reflections, but also, they are my testimonies.

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This week’s testimony is about provision.

Not the kind that dramatically drops from the sky. The kind that shows up through people. Through this community that I am still building.

I never expected the generosity that I received. I don’t have many people I can reach out to for help in my life.

And last month, I needed help. Real financial help.

The kind that humbled me enough to pray differently. The kind that made me swallow my pride and trust that being honest will not cost me my dignity.

And it didn’t; Instead, my Substack family showed up.

Not with judgment. Not with strings attached. With support. With belief. With love, that said… “You are not alone.”

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Because of that support, something beautiful happened.

I made it through. And trust me, I am beyond grateful.

So this month, I wanted to pay it forward to someone else in need. I turned around and helped my daughter.

She was stacked, every bill due. She is not working, and her baby daddy is less than supportive financially

So, I paid her bills for the month. I helped steady her household. I was able to show up for her not just as a mother with love, but as a mother with relief in her hands.

And that matters more than I can put into words.

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Because in that home is not just my daughter but also my autistic grandson. (You all know the connection he and I have)

He is a tender, brilliant soul who not only deserves stability and safety, but he needs it.

And now my daughter has her newborn son. A brand new life. A fresh beginning. A reminder that the future is already here, breathing softly in the next room.

What you donated to me did not stop with me.

It moved through me. That is the miracle.

This is how abundance actually works.

• Not hoarded.

• Not hidden.

—Circulated. —Multiplied. —Passed forward with intention.

I am deeply aware that not everyone gets to experience this kind of support. I do not take it lightly.

I carry it with so much gratitude and responsibility. I carry it knowing I am both receiving and becoming a steward of what I have been given.

So today, I testify.

• That community still exists.

• That generosity still lives.

• That asking for help can be scary, but also sacred.

• That support can change more than one life at a time.

• That because of you, I was able to be the mother and grandmother she needed.

When I look back at where I was this time last year.

• Freshly out of meth addiction.

• Finally closing the door on a 7-year toxic relationship.

• My brother’s passing was a fresh, open wound in my heart.

• Working a job that drained the life out of me.

And I look at where I am today.

• No desire to be exposed to that life of drugs.

• No longer accepting toxicity from men who claim to love me.

• No longer breaking down every time I think of my brother.

• No longer dreading my daily work schedule.

When I came to Substack, I never dreamed this would be possible.

But here I am. Still building my community, which has grown to over 2,000 subscribers. And more paid supporters than would have ever imagined.

And I am forever grateful. This is just one of my testimonies. And I will never forget it, I will never forget you. Thank you all.

If this touched you in any way, I would love for you to stay connected!

Subscribe so you never miss a single Soulful Sunday, reflection, confession, or testimony. Every free post is a piece of my real life, shared with intention and heart.

This space is growing because of readers like you. And I would be honored to have you here for every chapter.

Join us. Walk with me. Let’s keep building something meaningful together.

This closing is for those of you who believe in the power of prayer. 👇

God, thank You for the provision that flows through people. Thank You for community, for generosity, and for the quiet ways You show up right on time. Bless every person who has supported me, encouraged me, and walked beside me. Return their kindness in ways that overflow into their own homes. Cover their families with peace, stability, and joy. And remind us all that when we give from the heart, nothing is ever wasted.

Amen.

---

Welcome to another Teez Testimony

If you are new here, let me set the tone real quick.

These Soulful posts are not fiction. Not storytelling. Not me dressing things up to sound prettier or more palatable.

This is my real life.

As it is. As it has been. The messy parts. The healing parts. The parts I am still figuring out.

These posts exist so you can see where I have been, where I am standing now, and how I am actively overcoming the BS that was never meant to stay with me.

No filters. No characters. Just truth.

Normally, this is where I say “Happy Sunday.” But yesterday got full. Church, work, and then my eyes decided they were absolutely not interested in staring at a screen any longer.

Add in a lack of drive and a need to listen to my body, and here we are.

It’s Monday.

And honestly… why wait another week because I missed the day?

This reflection was still calling to be shared. The message did not expire because the calendar flipped a page.

Growth does not check the day of the week before showing up, and healing certainly does not wait for perfect timing.

So if you are reading this today, thank you for being here. Thank you for sitting with my truth.

These testimonies are sacred to me, and I share them freely because I know someone out there needs the reminder that where you are right now is not where you will stay.

Let me just begin. But first? 👇

Today (well, now yesterday) feels like a confession, but also like a checkpoint.

That sentence still feels heavy and sacred at the same time. I am proud of the distance I have put between myself and that life.

I am proud that I chose survival. I am proud that I wake up clear-eyed enough to choose each day.

And still, here I am.

Tequila has quietly slid back into the space meth once occupied. Not loudly. Not destructively in the obvious ways.

Just… comfortably. Conveniently. Socially acceptable. Wrapped in a salt rim and a laugh. Or so we say.

I tell myself I have it under control. And, in some ways, I do. (I have been an alcoholic before, I know what it consists of and what it ends with)

I can go without it when I have to. Work nights, responsibilities, obligations. No withdrawals. No spirals. No chaos.

But when I do not have to go without it, I want it.

That part matters.

I notice I reach for a drink when the house is quiet. When boredom creeps in. When the silence feels too loud.

I notice how it loosens my thoughts, how stories pour out more easily, how words flirt with the page when tequila is nearby.

• Creativity feels flirtier

• Bolder

• Less guarded

But it comes at a cost.

• Sleep has become a struggle

• Restless nights

• Shallow dreams

• Waking up tired even when my body technically slept

• My nervous system does not lie, even when my mind tries to negotiate

This is the part of recovery no one romanticizes.

The part where you stop asking, “Is this ruining my life?” and start asking, “Is this quietly stealing from it?”

I am not writing this to shame myself. Shame has never healed me. Never will.

I am writing this because honesty has.

Because recovery is not a finish line.

It is a series of truths you have to be brave enough to say out loud.

I am learning that my brain likes escapes. That boredom feels dangerous to me. That creativity does not actually require intoxication, even if it feels easier with it.

That rest is not laziness. It is medicine.

I do not know yet what my relationship with alcohol will become.

I am still listening. Still noticing. Still choosing awareness over denial. But I have been here before in myself. (2016, the epic 20-year marriage fail)

So, I know what it will not become.

So, today’s testimony is not “I’ve conquered this.”
It is “I see this.”

And sometimes seeing is the bravest step forward.

If you are reading this and quietly recognizing yourself, know that…

You are not weak for wanting relief. You are human. But relief that costs your peace eventually asks for more than it gives.

I am choosing to keep telling the truth. Even when it is unfinished. Especially then.

And for today, that is enough.

Before you go, I want to say this.

If anything in this stirred something in you, if you felt seen a little too closely, or if you are carrying something heavy and quietly convincing yourself you have to handle it alone… You do not.

You can reach out to me. Truly. If you need someone to listen, to hold space, just to let you be without judgment or solutions, I am here.

Sometimes we do not need advice. We just need another human to witness us and say, “I see you.”

We all struggle. Every single one of us.

Some battles are loud, some are private, some look put together on the outside and chaotic on the inside. None of that makes you weak. It makes you human.

If today all you can do is breathe and keep going, that is enough. If you are in the middle of your own unfinished healing, you are not failing. You are becoming.

Thank you for sitting with my truth. Thank you for trusting me with yours, even if it is only in your heart for now.

You are not alone here.💋

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Nine days without power

It has a way of stripping life down… like literally to its bones.

Think about it… I have had…

• No distractions.

• No easy comforts.

• No illusion of control.

Just cold mornings, dark evenings, and the quiet realization that resilience is not loud or glamorous.

Instead? It is slow. It is steady. It is getting up anyway.

At first, I did what most of us do. I powered through it.

I told myself to stay positive, to be grateful, not to complain.

I reminded myself that it could always be worse. And while all of that may be true, I learned something important this week.

Resilience is not pretending things are fine. And surrender is not giving up.

Resilience showed up when I adapted.

• When I figured it out. (Even when I didn’t think I could)

• When I kept moving forward. (Even while uncomfortable, cold, frustrated, and tired)

• When I accepted help, swallowed pride, and let my community carry me. (Even when my own strength was stretched thin)

Surrender showed up when I stopped fighting reality. When I stopped asking “why” and started asking “what now.”

When I let myself feel the irritation, the exhaustion, the vulnerability… without trying to rush past it or spiritualize it away.

There are moments of gratitude that still surprise me.

The kindness of people who checked in. The relief of small wins.

The reminder that I am capable of more than I think, and also allowed to need support.

Many of you have graciously helped me. I am forever thankful.

Nine days without power reminded me of something that I forgot…

• When life is comfortable. Control is an illusion. Comfort is temporary. But connection, adaptability, and inner steadiness are real.

And when the lights finally came back on?

The relief was physical. My body exhaled before my mind did.

And I realized I did not just survive this week. I learned from it.

This Sunday, I am honoring both parts of myself.

The part that endured. And the part that softened.

The part that kept going. And the part that let go.

That is the balance. That is resilience married to surrender!

Before I close this out

I want my loves to know how deeply grateful I am for you.

Your messages, your prayers, your check-ins, your donations, and your quiet presence during these days in the dark meant more than I can ever fully put into words.

I felt held, even when things felt heavy.

Now that the lights are back on and my spirit has caught its breath, my stories are calling me loudly again.

I cannot wait to finish a few of them and finally share what has been brewing in the stillness.

Thank you for your patience, your love, and your faith in me.

I’m back. I’m writing. I’m creating. And I’m carrying you with me, always.

—Stay Teezy 💋

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Welcome to Soulful Sunday 🤍

As always, Sundays are free. Free to read. Free to feel. Free to sit with me as I reflect out loud on the moments in my life that shaped me, broke me, and ultimately changed me.

Today’s reflection is deeply personal. This one took more courage than most to write.

There were pauses, tears, and moments I almost closed the page and walked away. But I stayed with it. And I’m glad I did.

This post is about love, loss, grief, and the quiet ways pain can transform us if we let it.

It’s about someone who mattered more to me than I’ve ever fully put into words until now.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading with care. And thank you for allowing me the space to share something this close to my heart.

Today’s Soulful Sunday is for my big brother.

He came into this world 2 weeks earlier than expected. January 11, 1979.
I was more stubborn and showed up 2 weeks late. February 3, 1980.

However, our actual due dates made us Irish twins. Our lives made us something deeper.

He was the only constant man in my entire life. And this past year without him on Earth has killed me.

• My father left.

• My stepfather abused.

• My husband abandoned.

• My friends betrayed.

But my brother stayed. Barely a year old when I arrived.

And from that day, he was always there. Always a part of my life. Always steady in a life that was rarely steady at all for either of us.

Today is his birthday. He would have turned 47.

Instead, I sit with the truth that his life ended far too soon.

Drugs had already taken their toll years before his death. One of his lungs collapsed back when he was in his twenties from a speed addiction.

He fought his way through addiction, though. He got clean at 45. He was trying.

But in the fall of 2023, pneumonia came like a thief in the night. And his lungs struggled to handle the infection.

Weeks of hospital stays began

Infection after infection. Medication after Medication. Our hope rising and falling, as none of the meds worked.

Finally, doctors intubated him so they could transport him to an infectious disease specialist hours away.

And again, weeks passed. They tried again and again to get him off the ventilator.

But… his lungs just couldn’t sustain.

He never could breathe on his own.

His one good lung became so infected that it collapsed too.

That was it.

We were left with no options that included mercy, except one.

Watching my brother take his last breaths was the hardest thing I have ever done.

There are no words big enough to hold that moment. No spiritual platitude that softens it.

You do not forget the sound. You do not forget the stillness after.

It has been eleven months since he passed.

The pain is still sharp.

Grief does not fade the way people promise. It just changes shape.

Some days it whispers. Some days it cuts. Some days it sits quietly beside me and reminds me of who he was to me. Who he still is.

And yet, this truth lives here too.

His death saved my life.

Losing him gave me the strength to walk completely away from my meth addiction. Completely. No justifications. No almosts. No exceptions.

It also gave me the clarity to leave an abusive, narcissistic relationship with a lifelong friend who was quietly offering me the open door to keep using meth.

I closed those doors and locked them.

I have not looked back. I never will. Because of him.

I refuse to let my dumb choices become someone else’s unbearable grief.

I refuse to make my loved ones stand at a bedside and watch me waste the days I have left on this earth.

My brother did not die in vain. He became my line in the sand. My final wake-up call.

My reason to choose differently.

Today, on his birthday, I honor him not just with tears, but with my life.

• With my sobriety.

• With my boundaries.

• With my decision to continue to do better.

To him: I miss you, big brother. Every day.

Thank you for being my constant.
Thank you for loving me when others failed.
Thank you for giving me the courage to live.

This Sunday is yours.

If you made it all the way here, thank you.

Truly. Sitting with a story like this takes presence, and I don’t take that lightly.

Sharing pieces of my life like this is never easy, but it is honest. And honesty is what this space is built on.

Healing, reflection, desire, growth, and the messy middle of being human all live here together.

If you feel called to stay, I’d love to have you. You’re welcome to join my community as one of my free loves, where Soulful Sundays and reflections like this always remain open and accessible.

And if you want to go deeper with me, into the spicier, braver, more intimate layers of my writing, my paid loves help support this work and keep this space alive.

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Either way, I’m grateful you’re here. I’m grateful you read. And I’m grateful for the connection.

This space exists because of community, and I’d be honored if you chose to be part of mine. —Teez 💋

Happy Soulful Sunday, my loves.

As always, this space is free. Free to read, free to feel, and completely free to linger.

It is my way of opening the door a little wider and letting you step into my world, not the polished version, but the honest one.

The one with inked memories, complicated pasts, and reflections that still surprise me when I sit still long enough to listen.

You have gotten to know me through my words, my healing, my desire, and my messiness.

Today, I am inviting you to know me a little more through something etched into my skin.

A small tattoo with a much bigger story behind it. One that carries love, loss, lessons, and the quiet evolution of who I am becoming.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for choosing to spend part of your Sunday with me.

Let us take a breath, soften a little, and settle into this reflection together.

This week, I am giving you exactly what you asked for.

Seriously! Not because I run this space on demand, but because I listen.

I read your messages and hear your questions.

I notice what lingers, what you come back to, what stirs something in you enough to slide into my DMs and say, “Tell me more about that.”

When several of you asked for another tattoo reflection, I felt that familiar nudge. The kind that says this is ready to be shared now.

So today’s Soulful Sunday is born from that exchange.

Thank you, loves, for your curiosity, connection, and the quiet trust we have built here.

You ask, I reflect. I open. I tell the truth as gently and honestly as I can.

And sometimes, the stories you request are the very ones I need to sit with, too. So thank you!

This one lives on my skin.

And apparently, it has been waiting for its turn.

Another tattoo reflection. And honestly, this one has been tugging at me as I watch the numbers appear on my dashboard.

So here we are. Me, you, and my ever appearing number.

If you have seen it, you know it is simple. Just a number.

143

My tat has a small angel halo resting over the three.

Some of you already know what it means. Some of you might not.

143 translates to I love you.

• 1 equals I.

• 4 equals love.

• 3 equals you.

It is quiet. Unassuming. Easy to miss if you are not looking closely. But it carries a whole lifetime inside it.

This tattoo was done by my ex-boyfriend. My ex-friend. My ex-family.

So, the story behind the numbers alone could fill a book.

• He was my brother’s best friend as a teenager.

• I was best friends with his ex-wife.

• He was best friends with my ex-husband.

We were all tangled together in ways that felt familiar, chaotic, and strangely inevitable.

But… what followed was a seven-year relationship fueled by drugs, trauma bonding, narcissistic patterns, and the kind of love that feels intoxicating but slowly eats you alive.

On his right forearm, he has the same tattoo.
143.

Only his tattoo has devil horns instead of a halo.

At the time, we thought it was cute. Balanced. Playful.

You know, a little dark, a little light.

Angel and devil. His and hers.

Love with an edge.

Now, with distance and sobriety, it reads very differently.

• I am clean from meth.

• He is in jail for the same.

That reality alone makes the ink feel heavier some days.

I have thought about covering it up.

I still do think about it. People ask me if I will.

Honestly? They assume the answer should be yes.

That erasing the tattoo means erasing the pain, the mistakes, and the version of me who stayed way too fuckin’ too long.

But should I really?

That tattoo is part of my story. A chapter I survived. A version of me who loved fiercely, recklessly, and without the tools I have now.

It marks a time when I did not yet know how to choose myself. And then one day, I did.

When I look at it now, I do not feel longing. I feel sadness. And disappointment.

Not in myself, but in the wasted potential of someone who, deep down, is a good man.

Drugs and darkness still have their grip on him. Whether he will prevail is not for me to decide, save, or wait around to see.

That lesson alone was hard-earned.

So will I cover the tattoo?

Probably not.

Not because it still represents love in the way it once did, but because it represents truth.

Growth. Survival. And the quiet reminder that loving someone is not the same as losing yourself to them.

The halo still matters. It always did.

It reminds me that even in my darkest seasons, there was something in me that wanted light. That believed in goodness. That eventually chose healing over destruction.

And that, my loves, is worth remembering!

Thank you for sitting with me this Sunday. Thank you for seeing me not just as I am now, but as who I was while I was becoming.

If my reflections feel like a place you can exhale

I would love for you to stay a little longer. Subscribing is how you support this work and how you step deeper into this community of truth tellers, feelers, healers, and beautifully complicated humans.

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To My Ex, Mo Bear: Tonight, I release you from my anger and place you in prayer. I pray that healing finds you in the quiet moments when the noise fades. I pray clarity reaches you where confusion once lived. I pray the grip of addiction loosens, not all at once, but enough for you to remember who you were before the darkness convinced you otherwise.

I pray you feel love without destruction, strength without ego, and accountability without shame. I pray you choose yourself the way I finally chose myself. And if redemption is written into your story, I pray you are brave enough to walk toward it.

I no longer carry you, but I still wish you healing. Amen.

As you close this Soulful Sunday with me

I want to gently remind you of this.

Stay focused on what is good, even when it feels small. Especially when it feels small.

Do not carry guilt for things that were never yours to control.

Healing does not require self-punishment.

Growth does not ask you to relive old wounds as proof you learned.

Every season we walk through has a reason.

Even the ones that broke us open. Even the ones we would never choose again.

They shape our wisdom, our boundaries, our compassion, and our strength.

Be kind to the version of you who survived. Be proud of the version of you who is still choosing better.

And always trust that where you are right now is not a mistake, but a necessary chapter.

I am grateful you spent part of your Sunday here with me, my loves.

Until next time, keep your heart soft, your spirit grounded, and your eyes forward. —Tee 💋

A little heads up for all my loves 🤍

I will be sharing a video from today’s baptism very soon. It is tender, powerful, and one of those moments you can feel through the screen.

My baby girl and I step into a new chapter together, soaked hair and all.

That said, my internet at home is doing what it does best and acting impossible, so I may have to upload the video tomorrow when I go to town.

Either way, it is coming.

It’s Sunday Morning, 12/28/2025: It’s 7 AM

Today, I am getting baptized.

Let me be clear… first off…

• Not because I suddenly became perfect.

• Not because I figured everything out.

• Not because I woke up one day shiny and new.

But because I am choosing my sobriety.

And no, not just from substances, though that too, YES.

But I am talking about a fuller kind of sober. A soul-level kind.

• Sober from people who drain me.

• Sober from patterns that keep me small.

• Sober from reactions that once felt justified but slowly stole my peace.

For me, baptism today is not about joining a denomination or claiming a label.

I am non-denominational, have been. This is about re-dedicating my life to the God that I know, and I trust.

About standing in the truth that I cannot keep doing things my way and expecting different results.

Sobriety has taught me something brutal and beautiful.

You cannot heal what you keep numbing.

You cannot hear God clearly when your life is constantly loud. And you cannot step into a new future while gripping the past like a comfort blanket.

I have spent years surviving. Years coping. Years distracting myself from the ache with anything that would soften the edges.

—People. —Habits. —Reactions. —Substances.

Most of the time?

Chaos and love that felt more like addiction than connection.

Letting go of that version of me has not been dramatic… at least not on the outside.

It’s quiet. Daily. Intentional.

And more often than not? It’s uncomfortable.

Today is a marker. A line in the sand. Not because the water washes away my past, but because it symbolizes my willingness to leave it there.

What makes this moment even more special is that I am not doing it alone.

Today, I am baptized alongside my best friend and my daughter, Hunner.

Watching her choose a God driven life at her age humbles me in ways I cannot fully explain.

It feels like grace folding back in on itself… Like redemption moving forward through generations instead of stopping with me.

We are both readjusting our lives. Choosing intention over impulse. Faith over fear. Presence over reaction.

And yes, it feels exciting. Sacred excitement. The kind that feels steady instead of frantic.

I know sobriety is often painted as deprivation.

As a loss. As a restriction.

But what I am experiencing feels like clarity. Like peace sneaking in where chaos used to live. Like finally being awake in my own damn life.

This is not a goodbye to pleasure, joy, or desire. It is a goodbye to anything that dulls my spirit or distances me from God.

So today, I step into the water with gratitude.

With humility. With open hands

.

I am not erasing my story. I am honoring it by choosing differently.

If you are reading this and feeling the pull toward your own kind of sober, know this.

You do not have to burn your life down to begin again.

Sometimes?

All it takes is a quiet yes. A willingness. A step toward something holier than what you have been settling for.

Here is to my clear heart. Steady faith. And a future led by God, not old wounds.

See you on the other side of the water 🤍

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It is Sunday Evening, 12/28/2025: It’s 7 PM

And now we are on the other side.

I was baptized today. Fully immersed. Fully seen. Fully realigned with Jesus Christ.

Going under felt like a release.

Clearly, I am not talking about an erasing of my story because that will never happen… but more of a loosening of the grip my pain once had on it.

My past did not disappear, of course…

Why would I want it to? But it does feel softened. Like… maybe, it has lost its authority over me.

There were supposed to be five of us baptized today.

Only my daughter and I showed up.

My social anxiety whispered its usual prayer. Lord… please do not make me go first.

But the moment I realized it was just the two of us, I stopped praying that prayer. Why?

I know her anxiety. I know how brave she already was just by being there. She is literally my mini-me.

So, protecting her mattered more than protecting myself or my nerves.

So I went first.

I was shaking. A basket of nerves. Heart racing. Story of my life…

And yet, when I came up out of the water, I saw she was there. Standing at the top of the stairs with my towel.

Waiting for me. Steady. Present. Strong.

• Like she was the mom.

That moment… wow.

I am so glad I went first. I stayed there and waited for her. Handed her her towel, of course...

And we hugged.

A hug that did not rush. A hug that felt like time paused out of respect.

Then, we changed and walked back into service with soaked hair and full hearts.

For some?

There is a moment, as a parent, when you recognize your child’s connection with the Lord.

It is quiet. Sacred. Undeniable. And it is everything I could ever hope for.

Afterward, we had our last gathering with family for Christmas.

All my girls. My grandsons. My best friend, who is my daughter’s godmother.

Her daughters, who are my goddaughters.

My younger brother and his fiancée. Even my ex-husband, who is my girls’ dad...

And somehow, it was easy. Joyful. Light.

Probably one of the most enjoyable gatherings I have had in a long time.

I was not perfect today.

I still did a few things I want to quit.

But I refuse to dwell on that… because I did them less.

And trust me… that matters. That is progress. That is grace in motion.

So this is what happened after I left my BS in the water.

Not a miracle that made me flawless. But?

• A moment that made me lighter.

• A day that reminded me healing can feel peaceful instead of dramatic.

• A beginning that feels grounded, not rushed.

I am walking away today changed because I chose to surrender deeper.

And I will keep choosing that. One honest day at a time.

Thank you for sitting with me through this Soulful Sunday. Through the before, the during, and now the after.

Until next week?

Love you all! Happy New Year! Teez 💋

Kiddin, wait! I finally got the video to send,

so here you go, my sweets!

As always, my Soulful Sunday reflections are free and open to everyone.

This space is my offering. A quiet place to pause, to feel, and to sit with my truth.

I share these reflections not to be perfect or polished, but in the hope that something here reaches the hearts it is meant to touch.

If these words find you today, know that you are welcome here, exactly as you are.

This week’s Soulful Sunday came to me unexpectedly.

Last night unfolded in a way I did not plan, but maybe in a way my spirit needed.

I was already in town, so I called my daughter to see if she wanted me to stop by before heading home.

I had some weed (Don’t be judging me, js), and she had mentioned wanting to smoke.

Since I live about twenty miles outside of town, and my truck is a nightmare to drive in daylight, there was no way I was going to drive home and then come back.

But when she answered the phone, her voice was off. She told me she was headed to the ER.

Instant panic and momma mode.

What is wrong? Are you okay?

She explained that she had just gone to pick her dad up from the woods. He had been hunting, drank too much, and could not drive.

In the middle of a fight with his girlfriend, he had apparently punched a few walls and hurt his hand badly.

Now here is the part where life has a twisted sense of irony.

• The man who left me in 2016.

• The man who abandoned me.

• The man who blamed the end of our twenty-year marriage on my alcoholism.

And yes, I drank. I drank to numb myself. I can own that now.

However, what ultimately ended our marriage was something much quieter and more insidious.

—A lack of communication. —A lack of connection. —On both sides.

He has always said it was my drinking. I let him believe that, because it is no longer my job to manage his version of our story.

Back to last night.

My daughter was worried about taking her youngest baby, Cam’s baby brother Zuz, into the hospital with all the flu going around.

So, without hesitation, I told her I was on my way. I would sit with the baby.

When I pulled up, I watched her helping her dad out of the car. He was blasted.

I know the look all too well. I wore it for years. I hid behind it for years.

He thanked me for coming, in his slurred state. I told him to let me see his hand. Nursing school does not leave you, even if you decide not to practice it.

I told him it was likely fractured and that he needed X-rays. My daughter helped him into the ER while I sat in the car with Zuz.

And that is when the emotions tried to rise.

• What am I doing?

• Why am I here?

• Why am I helping the man who left me homeless?

• Why am I showing kindness to someone who weaponized my addiction against me?

I wanted to be furious. But then something in me shifted.

I realized he was living inside the same kind of pain I once lived in while married to him.

Different details, but…

• Same emptiness.

• Same escape.

• Same spiral.

The tables have turned.

I wanted to say something

—Something mean. —Something hateful. —Something justified.

Something that would sting him as badly as he used to sting me.

But the quiet voice inside me said… You can be the bigger person. You have grown past this.

So I stayed quiet. I waited. I held space.

After a couple of hours, they came out. His hand was fractured, just like I said.

He wanted my daughter to take him for more beer. She said no.

So, instead, he offered to buy Popeyes for supper and asked if I would come eat since I had helped.

I had not eaten all day. So, I said yes.

When I made it to my daughter’s house, he was in the bathroom getting sick.

And all I could think was… damn, that used to be me.

In that moment, I could not hate him. Even knowing how deeply he hurt me. Even knowing how he used my addiction as his exit.

It reminded me that moments come and moments go.

That things can look fine on the outside while someone is drowning on the inside. That pain does not always announce itself until it spills over.

On December 28, I will be baptized.

I will lay my old life down and rejoice in my new home with Jesus.

Because last night reminded me why.

We reap what we sow. And next year, I am going to reap so much goodness. I refuse to jeopardize it by belittling my ex or my past.

I will not be poisoning my present.

I will pray for him. I will lift him up. Not because he deserves it, but because I do.

• Even though we are no longer together.

• Even though he did me wrong.

Because the truth is?

It was a two-way street. We both failed our marriage in different ways. But he will always be my baby’s daddy.

And Me?

• I choose peace.

• I choose growth.

• I choose grace.

Healing often looks like showing up differently in moments that once would have broken us.

Thank you for sitting with me through this reflection.

Thank you for reading all the way to the end, for holding space for my story, and maybe for your own.

Life has a way of bringing the past back around, not to punish us, but to show us how far we have come.

If this post stirred something in you, I hope you extend yourself the same grace I am learning to give others and myself.

I am grateful you are here, and I will carry you with me in prayer as we move into a new week and a new season.

With love, Teez 💋

Before I begin, I want to say this honestly.

I have never been a big church-goer and never been a holy roller.

I have never believed that going to church gets you into heaven. I still do not believe that.

For me, faith was never about pews or programs or perfect attendance. I have always believed in God.

I have never doubted Him, because I have witnessed miracles in my own life that would be impossible without Him.

Still, for a long time, faith felt less like devotion and more like survival. It was about whether I could keep breathing when my life felt like it was caving in from the inside.

After walking away from a deeply narcissistic relationship with someone who had been in my life since childhood (my brother’s best friend) and after walking away from meth addiction…

I came face to face with a truth I could no longer avoid. Without God, I would still be stuck.

It was not dramatic at first. It was quiet. It started with prayer. Real prayer. Messy prayer. The kind where you are not performing but pleading.

And alongside that, I began using my tarot cards as a way to sit still long enough to listen, to understand what God was revealing to me about my patterns, my wounds, and the cycles I kept repeating. I also began writing.

That combination began opening my eyes. It helped me see myself clearly enough to choose differently.

When I moved into my new place, my roommate invited me to her church. I said yes, not because I felt holy, but because I felt thankful.

What I found surprised me. I loved the people. I loved the environment. I loved how safe it felt to simply show up as I am.

So I kept going. Every Sunday.

And last week, something even sweeter happened. My daughter came with me.

Then she decided she wanted to come again today, too. Knowing that I am gently pulling her toward God, not with pressure but with example, fills my heart in a way I cannot fully explain.

This piece is not about church. It is about the God who met me when I was hiding, and how He continues to meet me now.

There was a season when I did not walk away from God, but I had slipped behind things instead.

• I hid behind strength, humor, and smiles.

• I hid behind being the one who always figured it out.

• I hid behind busy days and louder nights.

• I hid behind being needed, desired, and admired.

• I hid behind drugs and lies.

The list goes on and on…

Honestly?

Hell, some days I still hide behind... (insert your vice)

See the thing is…

I used to think that if God really saw me, really knew where I had been and what I had done, He might turn away.

So I stayed half present.

I still prayed, but less. I still believed, but didn’t bother. I still hoped, but kept one eye open and one hand guarding my heart.

What I did not know then was this simple truth. God does not wait for us in the open. He comes looking for us in our shadows.

I hid in shame, and shame has a way of convincing you that distance equals safety.

That if you tuck the broken parts far enough away, you can still be loved for the polished ones.

• I thought I needed to clean myself up before coming back to him fully.

• I thought repentance required perfection.

• I thought faith demanded answers I did not have yet.

So I hid.

And yet, God met me there.

Not with thunder. Not with judgment. Not with disappointment.

He met me with patience.

• In the quiet moments when the noise finally faded.

• In the ache that showed up when I stopped pretending I was fine.

• In the questions I was afraid to ask out loud.

• In the words that I was scared to share.

• In the tears that came without warning and without explanation.

• In the people who read my words, and they connected with them.

He met me where I hid, not where I performed.

That’s the part I didn’t realize.

God does not require a healed version of you to show up.

He asks for honesty. He asks for willingness. He knows your real name, not the one you use to survive.

I did not find God again in a church pew or a perfectly worded prayer.

I found Him in my own confession. In admitting that I was tired of running. In whispering, I do not know how to fix this, but I need You here.

And He was.

He did not rush me out of hiding. He sat with me there. He let me unfold at my own pace.

He reminded me that hiding is not rebellion. Sometimes it is self-protection. And healing begins when we feel safe enough to be seen.

If you are hiding today, know this.

God is not tapping His foot waiting for you to catch up.

He is already where you are. In the corners you avoid. In the parts of your story you skip over. In the version of you that feels unworthy of grace.

• You do not have to come out ready.

• You only have to come out honest.

And when you do, you will find that the God you feared might reject you has been sitting beside you all along.

• Not asking you to explain.

• Not asking you to prove anything.

Just waiting to remind you that you were never lost to Him. You were only hidden from yourself.

Thank you for sitting with me here.

Thank you for letting me reflect out loud, for holding space while I tell the truth about my life as it has been and as it is becoming.

These words come from a tender place, and knowing you choose to read them slowly, thoughtfully, and with an open heart means more than I can properly put into language.

Soulful Sunday is where I lay my armor down. It is where I stop explaining and simply share.

If something in this reflection met you where you are, I hope you carry it gently into your week.

And if your journey looks nothing like mine, I am still grateful we can walk beside each other for a few quiet moments.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for listening. Thank you for honoring my story by receiving it.

I’ll meet you again next Sunday.

With love and grace.—Teez 💋

Welcome, loves, to Soulful Sunday.

This is the space where I slow down, breathe, and lean into the quiet moments that touch my heart. Here, I honor my story, my struggles, and the tiny sparks of grace that carry me through.

No judgment. No expectations. Just truth, reflection, and the kind of tenderness that reminds us we are alive, we are feeling, and we are healing together.

It is Sunday… so…

I wanted to reflect on something that happened today.

My roommate, my good friend, my sister in spirit, came back to church with me for the first time since she endured the kind of pain that breaks a soul.

She lost her son. He was only twenty-seven years old, and he overdosed on meth/fentanyl. He had a beautiful heart, a kind soul, a young man who battled addiction but loved deeply.

Walking through those church doors again was heavy for her. I know this because I feel others’ energy stronger than I sometimes want to, and I felt every bit of hers wash over me.

I felt her heartbreak.
Her ache that no mother should ever carry.
Her weight settled on my chest like a storm cloud refusing to move.

Standing beside her while we worshiped, tears rolling down both our faces, it hit me how fragile life is.

And how powerful faith becomes when we are holding on by the thinnest thread.

You do not have to believe what I believe, and I am not here to convert anyone. Just speak my heart.

I am non-denominational, and I believe in the Lord with my whole heart. I believe he sent his son to die for our sins. I believe he wants a connection with each one of us, even when we are messy, broken, healing, rebuilding, and/or surviving. That’s my belief.

Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit have carried me through more nights than I can count. And as I step into this abundant season of my life, I thank God every single day.

And then, because life has a way of placing sweetness on the hard days

My roommate surprised me with an early Christmas gift. (Yes, in her grief, I get a present… that speaks volumes of her soul)

A Bible with coloring pages. A whole coloring Bible. Like seriously!!

I just stood there thinking, Lord, look at you, knowing I needed something to calm my spirit and feed my creativity at the same time.

So yes, I will now be coloring in my Bible like the grown ass woman child of God that I am. And honestly, it made my whole day.

Faith. Healing. Friendship. Grief. Joy.
Somehow, it all lives together.

So today reminded me that even in the hurt, God is still moving. He is still comforting. He is still showing up. And sometimes He shows up in the form of a Bible you can color in or a friend to just be there with you.

So? What is the part that got me the most?

In all her pain, in the middle of her grief that crushes a mountain, she still thought of me. And all I could think about was her.
—Her heart.
—Her loss.
—Her strength.

Her standing in that church with a trembling kind of courage that most people will never understand.

It humbled me. It softened me. It reminded me that even in our darkest valleys, God still weaves moments of love and connection through the people who walk beside us.

That early Christmas gift, that coloring Bible, was not just a present. It was her way of saying, I see you too… even in my grief.

And that meant everything.

Thank you, loves, for staying with me through this reflection today.

I know some of what I share can feel heavy, tender, or raw, and I am so grateful that you chose to sit here with me, heart to heart.

Your presence matters. Your willingness to feel, to reflect, and to hold space for yourself and others is a gift… to you, to me, and to the world around you.

I hope as you step into the rest of your day, you carry a little more peace, a little more light, and a gentle reminder that even in our struggles, there is beauty, love, and grace.

Thank you for making this Soulful Sunday a shared space of healing and connection.

I see you, I honor you, and I am grateful for you.

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Welcome in, my loves.

Settle in with me for a moment. Today’s Soulful Sunday isn’t light or playful, but it is honest and real in the way our hearts sometimes need.

I’ve been sitting with some heavy feelings this week, and I wanted to open the door and let you walk through them with me.

Usually I’m all about me and my own reflections on Sundays…

But… today I want to talk about how someone else’s life has quietly shifted the way I see things.

Most of you know, or if you don’t, now you do, my roommate and long-time friend lost her son to addiction. RIP Brice.

And as someone in recovery myself from the same thing that took his life, this hits me harder than I can really put into words.

Watching a child struggle through this is every parent’s worst nightmare, and it shakes me to my core.

His memorial is tomorrow

I’ve spent the last week creating the slideshow she asked me to make for his service.

I thought I would simply be helping her, offering a skill I have and a little comfort where I could.

But it has unfolded into something much deeper.

I only met him twice. Our lives kept missing each other over the years, even though I’ve known his mama since I was sixteen.

But going through hundreds of photos of him has felt like stepping into his world in a way I never did when he was here.

His baby cheeks. His awkward school pictures.

His sweet teenage grins and interactions with his family.

The pictures tell me he was trying to look tough, but still had softness in his eyes. His bright blue eyes.

The moments only a mother captures because she sees the small details the rest of the world misses. Bless Renee’s (his mother) heart.

And as I work through each moment of his life, it hits me… he was right in between the ages of my own daughters.

That thought kept coming back to me like a loud whisper. It left me sitting with a mixture of gratitude and heaviness that is hard to put into words.

Losing a child is every parent’s nightmare, but for a mother?

Beyond nightmare.

It is a pain that rearranges her soul.

Knowing my friend is walking through this… it makes me want to hold my girls and my grandsons closer in my heart.

It makes me pause. It makes me breathe deeper and thank God for the simple blessing of being able to check on them, hear their voices, worry about them, and love them in real time.

Creating this slideshow has been emotional in ways I did not expect.

There have been moments when I had to stop and just sit with the weight of it.

Moments when I felt honored to help her, and moments when my heart felt pulled in directions I didn’t see coming.

But I think this is what happens when you step into someone’s grief. You feel it. You carry a little bit of it.

You see life differently, even if only for a moment.

So on this Soulful Sunday, my heart is quiet. Tender. Grateful. Reflective.

If you’re reading this, take a moment today to appreciate the people you love.

• Text them.

• Hug them if they’re close.

• Say the things we all assume we’ll have time to say later.

Life is fragile. Love is precious.

And sometimes the reminder comes wrapped in a slideshow that teaches you more about gratitude than you ever expected.

Thank you for letting me share my heart today.

Hey guys!

I’ve been craving a little non-fiction. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve shared a Sunday reflection post, and (I don’t know about you?) I’ve missed it. So consider this my catch-up moment.

This was actually the post I wanted to finish writing last Sunday… but things have been kinda crazy for me, as you know.

So I’m giving it to you now, raw and real, the way it’s been sitting in the back of my thoughts.

Like all of my soulful posts, it’s free for everyone, so settle in and enjoy, loves!

Ever wanted someone so intensely that your mind turned into its own thirst trap?

That’s what I am talking about today. Anxiety in lingerie, baby… it looks hot, but it keeps you chasing what you may not want to catch.

When you live with anxiety, desire can feel like both a thrill and a threat.

The butterflies? The racing heart? The obsession?

They mimic passion so perfectly that you start to confuse anxiety with attraction. The same adrenaline rush that fuels fear can also feel like falling for someone.

It’s wild, isn’t it?

For me, anxiety has never just lives in my head… it also lives in my body. The tension in my chest, the tightness in my stomach, the crick in my neck. Then there is the urge to fix, to know, to help, and even to chase or be chased.

It makes me crave connection but also I fear the shit out of it. It tells me I’m starving for something, but never lets me get full.

Sometimes, anxiety makes you mistake emotional chaos for chemistry. You want to feel alive, so you reach for the people or situations that light you up fast and burn you slow.

You start craving the uncertainty, the push-pull, the almosts because it keeps your nervous system humming like a live wire.

It’s not always desire, though. Sometimes? It’s just overthinking dressed in seduction.

It’s a trap.

Your brain is addicted to the high. That loop of “will they, won’t they?” or “why didn’t they text back?”

It becomes survival mode. You chase the hit of dopamine that comes with relief, not intimacy. And when it fades, you spiral again, wondering what’s wrong with you.

Because of my anxiety, I’ve had to learn the hard way.

But I know now that there’s nothing wrong with wanting deeply. The trick to beat the trap… is learning how to want without losing myself again.

When I start spiraling now, I pause. I breathe. I check in with my body.

I ask myself a couple of questions: Do I feel turned on, or just turned up? Is this excitement, or is it anxiety pretending to be desire?

Because real desire, healthy desire, feels grounded. It warms you from the inside instead of lighting you on fire and leaving you ash.

When I can separate the two, I stop chasing what drains me. I stop mistaking nervous energy for desire. And I started noticing the quieter kind of thirst, the one that doesn’t need chaos for me to feel it.

A mind with anxiety is a seductive liar sometimes. It tells you you’re starving when you’re just scared. (and vice versa)

But when you calm the noise, you start to taste what’s real.

That’s all for today, my loves.

Writing pieces like this reminds me how tangled and tender our inner worlds can be. But also, how much healing happens when we start untangling them together.

If this post resonated with you, it would mean the world if you comment, share, or consider becoming a paid subscriber to support my work.

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Every sub, share, and quiet read helps keep these stories flowing. Thank you for being here, always. You make this space feel alive. —Teez 💋

Welcome to this week’s Soulful Sunday

Sunday, the day of the week when I share something deeply personal and empowering. So glad you are here! (and so glad I got this post finished on time)

As many of you know… over the years, through writing, reflecting, and diving deep into shadow work, I’ve begun healing from my past.

Included in my past is my drug-fueled, narcissistic seven-year relationship.

This journey taught me lessons I will forever carry into every connection I have now.

Recently, when I allowed a new man into my life, I was able to see the red flags almost immediately.

I didn’t settle for treatment that was less than I deserved, and I didn’t hesitate to show him the door.

I chose myself (my mental health, my peace, my worth) over the hope or possibility that someone might treat me with the bare minimum I deserved.

So, this week, I’m opening up to share what my past has taught me about what I will no longer tolerate in a relationship.

Because honestly? I’d rather be lonely and single than feel alone while with someone.

But First! Don’t miss a single Soulful Sunday.

Subscribe now for free and get every post delivered straight to your inbox, with real reflections, hard-won lessons, and insights that stay with you long after you read them.

Before I dive into what I no longer accept in love, I want to pause and talk about something crucial first.

Why settling for less than the bare minimum in a relationship is dangerous, not just for your heart, but for your soul.

Too often, we excuse behavior that would never fly in any other area of life.

A partner who dismisses your feelings, withholds respect, or treats your needs as optional?

That is not just a quirk or bad timing. It is a red flag waving right in your face. And if we ignore it, we risk normalizing a standard far below what any human being deserves.

Settling for less than minimal treatment chips away at your self-esteem, but worse, it rewires your expectations for love.

It teaches your heart that half-effort, inconsistency, and disregard are acceptable. It blurs the line between love and neglect.

This is why boundaries matter.

This is why saying no, walking away, and choosing yourself is not selfish. Because your peace, your mental health, and your sense of self are non-negotiable.

Once you see that, it becomes easier to recognize what truly deserves your energy and to refuse what does not.

What I No Longer Tolerate in Love

“Once you’ve tasted your own peace, chaos stops feeling like home.”

There was a time I confused connection with closeness. I mistook chemistry for compatibility… and I thought love meant fighting to be understood.

But now?
Now I know better.

• I no longer tolerate emotional half-assing. You know, those almost-relationships that sound deep but never truly show up. If you can’t meet me where I am emotionally, you don’t deserve to stand where I am energetically.

• I no longer entertain unhealed men who mistake intensity for intimacy. I’ve outgrown passion that burns bright and fades fast. I crave heat that warms me long after the fire.

• I no longer dim my light for someone who feels small in my shine. My sensuality isn’t a threat; don’t try to convince me otherwise. If you can’t celebrate my fullness, you’re not ready for my love.

• I no longer accept breadcrumbs, bare minimums, or “almost effort.” Consistency is my new sexy kink.

• I no longer carry the emotional load alone. Love shouldn’t feel like labor. It should feel like ease, like flow, like two people building something beautiful without breaking themselves to do it.

• I no longer chase lust without depth. I want someone who seduces my mind, matches my curiosity, and turns foreplay into philosophy.

And most importantly…

• I no longer lose myself in the name of “us.” I’ve fought too damn hard to remember who I am.

These days…

I’m not chasing love — I’m letting it align with me.
And when love finds me, he will know:

I am no longer looking to be completed.
I am looking to be met.

If you’re ever unsure what “normal” or “basic” treatment looks like in a healthy relationship

I want you to know that there are certain standards that every person deserves, no questions asked.

These are not luxuries, perks, or things to negotiate. They are the foundation of human decency in love.

Here is a clear guide to the basic treatment everyone deserves in a relationship 👇

• Respect – Honor each other’s boundaries, opinions, feelings, and individuality.

• Honesty – Be truthful, transparent, and trustworthy in all interactions.

• Consistency – Follow through on commitments and promises.

• Communication – Listen actively, speak openly, and resolve conflicts without gaslighting or manipulation.

• Empathy – Acknowledge each other’s emotions and show understanding.

• Support – Encourage growth, celebrate successes, and be there during challenges.

• Affection – Show care through words, gestures, and physical intimacy appropriate to both partners.

• Accountability – Own mistakes, apologize sincerely, and learn from them.

• Safety – Ensure emotional and physical well-being; never engage in abuse or intimidation.

• Equality – Share power, responsibilities, and decision-making fairly.

• Appreciation – Recognize and value each other consistently, not just occasionally.

• Space and Freedom – Respect individuality, personal growth, and alone time.

• Mutual Desire – Maintain interest, attraction, and investment in the relationship.

These are the things I will no longer compromise on in any relationship. Because love is not about settling, it is about honoring each other as human beings.

Thank you, as always, to my faithful readers

For your patience and for riding these waves of life with me.

Your presence, support, and understanding mean more than words can express.

I hope to be back online soon, sharing more reflections, stories, and lessons from this journey with you.

Until then, take care of yourselves… and remember to choose alignment, always. —Tee 💋

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Welcome to this week’s Soulful Sunday!

The space where I slow things down, get honest, and look at the lessons life handed me when I wasn’t quite ready for them.

This week, I want to talk about something that shaped me in ways I didn’t understand at the time.

Being cheated on for the sake of “keeping the family together.” It’s a story that goes back to 2015, when my twenty-year marriage began to unravel, and the silence between us grew louder than the love.

What I’ve learned since then has changed how I see communication, connection, and what it really means to be seen inside a relationship.

Let’s get into it.

Back in 2015, my twenty-year marriage was beginning to unravel.
Not in one big, dramatic explosion, but in small ways that went unnoticed.

The late-night silences. The unspoken tension. The moments where love became an obligation instead of a choice.

At the time, I started withholding sex. Not out of spite or hatefulness, but because something inside me had dimmed.

I didn’t fully understand it then. I just knew I didn’t feel the desire anymore. I was exhausted, emotionally depleted, and disconnected.

What I didn’t realize was how much damage that silence would cause.
Because withholding intimacy (even unintentionally) can start to starve a relationship. It can make your partner feel unseen, undesired, and eventually, unloved.

My husband began cheating on me.

And while my lack of meeting his needs was wrong of me, in the end, he still made that choice. He still crossed that line.

And that’s the hardest truth to sit with. Two people can be hurting, but one decides to seek healing in someone else’s arms instead of in the hard conversations that might have saved what was left.

• Looking back, I see now that the root of it wasn’t just sex, it was communication.

If I had found the words to explain why I didn’t want to have sex anymore…
If he had found the courage to tell me he was feeling unseen…

Maybe we could’ve made a different choice.
Maybe we could’ve decided together what to do, instead of letting silence decide for us.

That’s the thing about relationships, when they hit hard seasons, it’s not always easy to talk when everything feels fragile.

You start to walk on eggshells. You tell yourself, “It’ll get better,” until one day, it doesn’t.

And the connection that once felt sacred begins to fade.
And when the connection fades, temptation starts to speak louder than commitment.

I used to think cheating was just about desire. About wanting something new, exciting, and forbidden.

But now I see it’s often about avoidance. Avoiding the truth. Avoiding pain. Avoiding the uncomfortable conversations that force you to face what’s broken.

If I could go back, I’d tell my younger self this…

• Don’t let silence speak for you.

• Say the hard thing before it becomes the unforgivable thing.

• Never assume that love will survive without communication, because it won’t.

Sometimes love ends not because the love is gone, but because both people stopped reaching for each other in the dark times of relationships.

This reflection has been sitting with me for a while.

I actually shared another version of this story over on Medium at the end of September. It’s become my most-read and highest earning pieces in less than two weeks after posting it.

Maybe because so many of us have been in that quiet in-between space… the one where love still exists, but communication doesn’t.

If you’d like to read the full version, I’ll be sharing the link below.

Sometimes it takes losing something (or someone) to realize just how much silence can cost.

For Medium Members:

Click here to read my sister post.

Not a Medium Member? No worries!

Click here to read the post for free.

If this reflection touched something in you, share it with someone who might need the reminder that silence can be just as dangerous as betrayal.

And if you haven’t yet, hit subscribe so you don’t miss next week’s Soulful Sunday.

Subscribe now

Thank you for being here with me, for reading my words, and for allowing me to share pieces of my story with you each week.

Show Me Some Love 😍

Until next time,
With love, always — Tee 🤍

There’s a space between fear and faith, and lately, I’ve been living there.

✨ Hey Loves,

Before we dive into today’s reflection, I just want to say thank you. Truly.
This week tested me in ways I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

I was staring down the eviction paperwork, trying to stay calm when everything around me felt uncertain.

But even in the middle of all that fear, something inside me kept whispering, “God’s got you.”

As always, this week’s Soulful Sunday is personal. Born straight from that in-between space between fear and faith, where trust is tested and miracles quietly unfold.

So, wherever this finds you (if you’re waiting on your own breakthrough, holding on to hope, or just trying to breathe through uncertainty), this one’s for you.

When I got the notice about my possible eviction, something inside me froze. The kind of fear that hits your stomach first, then spreads to your chest, then climbs up your throat until even breathing feels uncertain.

I didn’t know what was going to happen. All I knew was that I didn’t have enough.

But somehow… I still believed.
Not perfectly. Not always gracefully.
But I believed enough to whisper, “God, I trust You.”

And when my thoughts started to spiral into worry or sadness, I turned to Psalm 23.

I began reading it every single day, sometimes multiple times a day.
I even saved it as my phone background so that whenever my mind tried to drift into fear, I could look down and be reminded… “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

That verse became my anchor. Every word steadied me when everything else felt uncertain.

And then, something beautiful happened.
Help showed up.

People in my life reached out, supported me, and gave me what I needed when I needed it most. My rent got paid. My home was saved.

And in that moment, I realized something.

The miracle wasn’t just that I got enough money to stay.
The miracle was that I didn’t give up before the help arrived.

Faith in the in-between isn’t about knowing how it’ll all work out.

It’s about believing that somehow, even when you’re standing on the edge, the ground will rise up to meet you.

For me… It’s trusting that God is already in motion. He is working through people, through timing, through quiet little moments that don’t look like miracles until they’re complete.

I learned something this week… God doesn’t always move early, but he’s never late.

So if you’re in that in-between space right now, between fear and faith, between need and provision, between what hurts and what heals, hold on. Stay open. Let the right hands reach for you.

You don’t have to see how it’s coming together to believe that it is.

Because sometimes, the most powerful faith is the quiet knowing that even here, even now, you are held.

✨ With Love, Always — Teez

To my beautiful readers, thank you for walking with me through every storm, every breakthrough, and every quiet in-between.

Your presence here is more than support. It’s proof that faith connects us in ways deeper than circumstance.

If you’re in a season where the outcome isn’t clear, I pray you feel peace wrap around you like a promise. Keep holding on. Keep believing, even when your knees shake.

And if ever I need a reminder, I go back to Psalm 23. I let those words steady my heart. Because even in the valley, I’m never walking alone.

Until next Sunday, keep trusting, keep breathing, and keep the faith.
You are held. You are loved. You are seen.

🔥 If this hit you right in the heart (or the gut)…
Then baby, that’s your sign to stay awhile.

Become a paid subscriber and unlock the full experience!

You know the spicy, the sacred, the soul work, and the soft healing that lives between every line I write.

Your support doesn’t just keep this space going… it keeps the light on for all of us walking that tightrope between faith and fear, love and loss, desire and divinity.

✨ Subscribe Now and let’s keep growing, glowing, and getting free… together.

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Isn’t it wild how my mind can be my best hype man one day… and my worst enemy the next?

One moment, my thoughts are gassing me up.
They’re reminding me of my strength, my beauty, and my worth.
They’re whispering, “You’ve got this.”

And then, almost without warning, those same thoughts flip on me.
Suddenly, they’re dragging me through the mud and reminding me of every mistake I’ve ever made, pointing out all the ways I don’t measure up, and telling me I’ll never be enough.

For me, depression and anxiety aren’t just moods. They’re thieves.
Silent and sneaky, creeping in like uninvited guests, rearranging the furniture in my head, stealing my joy, and robbing me of my energy.

The scariest part?
They don’t always slam the door when they arrive. They slip in quietly, almost politely, and before I realize it, they’ve taken the wheel.

Suddenly, my mind isn’t my own anymore. I’m not deciding how my day feels… they are. And by the time I notice, they’ve already changed the locks.

With depression,

One moment, I’m just tired, and the next, it feels like someone slipped fifty extra pounds onto my chest while I wasn’t looking.

The kind of heaviness that makes even breathing feel like work.

A shower?
Suddenly, it’s not just a shower. It’s a battle.

I stand there, staring at the bathroom door, already exhausted by the thought of undressing, waiting for the water to warm up, drying off, and finding clean clothes.
What should be fifteen minutes turns into an hour-long standoff between me and the thought of moving.

Texting people back?
Forget it. I can’t. And it’s not that I don’t care about the people on the other side. I do… very deeply.

But the weight of crafting a response, of pretending I’m okay, of showing up with energy I don’t have, feels like trying to climb out of quicksand.

And the cruelest trick of all?
Instead of recognizing this as an illness, my brain spins it into a story about my worth.

• I’m lazy.

• I’m failing.

• I’m just not trying hard enough.

Depression doesn’t just steal my energy.
It hijacks my self-image, convincing me that I am the problem. When really, I’m someone with a problem.

With anxiety,

It doesn’t slow me down; it speeds me up.
It’s like someone pressed fast-forward on my mind and forgot to hand me the remote.

Suddenly, every thought is on repeat, looping faster and faster until I can’t tell where one ends and the next begins.

My chest gets tight, my heart starts pounding, and my stomach twists itself into knots.

• I replay conversations from three days ago, worrying about whether I said the wrong thing.

• I fast-forward into the future, imagining the worst possible outcomes of things that haven’t even happened yet.

It feels like I’m bracing for a disaster that may never come, but my body doesn’t know the difference.

Even in the middle of a quiet room, anxiety makes me feel like the walls are closing in.

It convinces me that the smallest decision (writting a post or not, making a phone call or not, saying yes or no) could explode my whole life.

And it will not let me rest until I have run through every single “what if” scenario, even the ones that don’t make sense.

That’s the thing about anxiety… even when nothing is wrong, my body acts like the sky is falling.

• I’m exhausted, but my mind won’t let me sleep.

• I’m safe, but my nervous system is on fire.

• I’m standing still, but inside, I’m sprinting a marathon I never signed up for.

And the kicker?

Depression and anxiety feed each other.
—Depression tells me not to move.
—Anxiety screams at me for not moving.

Before I know it, I’m stuck in a cycle that makes me feel like I’ll never get out.

I’ve had to learn the hard way that my mental health will absolutely take the wheel if I don’t notice when it’s grabbing for control.

That awareness is the first step.

Saying to myself, “Okay, anxiety, I see you,” or “This isn’t laziness, this is depression talking” can be enough to loosen its grip for a moment.

I don’t have an answer, and I’m not here to sell you one.
What helps me is different every day.

—Sometimes, journaling.
—Sometimes, taking a walk.
—Sometimes, just breathing.
—Sometimes, just telling myself I don’t have to figure everything out right now.

So if my mind tries to run away with me, I try to remind myself…

• I’m not broken.

• I’m not weak.

• I’m human.

And every time I pull the wheel back, even just a little, I’m proving that I’m still here.
I’m still fighting. And that matters more than I realize.

I don’t have to let depression or anxiety run the show.

The first step is noticing when my mind is steering without me.
That awareness alone is a tiny act of rebellion.

Some days, pulling back the wheel feels easy; other days, it feels impossible.
That’s okay. I’m not broken. I’m not weak. I’m human.

Every time I pause, breathe, and remind myself that I’m still here, I’m reclaiming a little bit of power from the chaos.

I’m proving to myself that my mind may try to run away with me, but I’m still the one holding the keys.

So today, I just start there.

Notice.
Breathe.
Claim.

All in honor of me… a moment for myself.

And even when my thoughts feel like they’re spinning out of control, I remind myself…

I’m still driving.
I’m still here.
I still matter.

If you’ve ever felt the weight of depression or the rush of anxiety, know you’re not alone. I’m walking that road too.

Writing these reflections each week helps me breathe a little deeper, and my hope is that they give you the same pause to breathe for yourself.

If this spoke to you, I’d love for you to subscribe so you don’t miss future Soulful Sundays.

And if you feel called to support my work, tips are always welcome and deeply appreciated. They help me keep showing up here with honesty and heart.

Until next time, take a moment today just for you. Notice. Breathe. Claim.

Tip Teezy Here

Welcome back, loves, to another Soulful Sunday

My little corner of reflection, honesty, and heart.

Today, I want to get real with you about the struggle so many of us carry quietly. Trying to feed our souls while keeping our bodies and lives afloat.

Pour your coffee, settle in, and step gently with me as I share the hard truths I’m facing right now, because sometimes the only way forward is to face them together.

There’s a hard truth I keep circling back to.

And I know it’s not just mine. It belongs to so many of us, all around the world.

No matter how much we nurture our souls, no matter how deeply we lean into gratitude, prayer, or reflection…

There is still this painful, physical need for financial stability to feed our bodies.

It feels almost cruel sometimes, doesn’t it?

Entire generations are carrying spirits that crave freedom, connection, and peace, yet are tethered to bills, rent, and survival.

• The body demands shelter, food, medicine, and safety.

• The soul demands love, meaning, and fulfillment.

And too often, it feels like they’re locked in a war against each other.

Everywhere you look, people are hustling just to keep the lights on while trying not to let their inner light burn out.

• When money is scarce, peace feels fragile.

• When the soul longs for rest, the mind screams about deadlines, debt, and the next paycheck.

And I catch myself wondering.

How do any of us hold both? How do we stay spiritually nourished while financially starved?

I don’t have the perfect answer, but I do know that denying one for the other doesn’t work.

• If we only chase money, our souls wither.

• If we only chase peace, our reality caves in.

The balance is brutal, but maybe the work is to keep choosing both… to demand both. To keep feeding the spirit while hustling for survival.

I’m not sure, but I know it’s not just that simple.

It’s exhausting. It’s real. And it’s human.

My Hard Truth

No matter how much I feed my soul with prayer, meditation, and intention, my body still has its own urgent demands.

The bills don’t vanish just because I light a candle or whisper gratitude. Hunger, rent, electricity, running water… those are stubborn realities that won’t bow to good intentions.

I know this isn’t just my story, though it’s deeply personal. Growing up below the poverty line, money becomes the deciding factor in nearly every choice you make.

Louisiana is the poorest state in the country, and that’s the soil my momma brought me to. So survival has pretty much always been the air I breathe.

There was a time when I got to taste what people call “plenty.”

Between 2012 and 2016, we had more money than we knew what to do with.

A $300,000 six-bedroom home. The biggest sparkling in-ground pool that was available.

My bad ass Scat Pack Challenger. (I still think I miss her more than I miss my marriage lol). His brand new truck, his additional truck for hunting. Even cars for each of my girls.

On paper, it looked like the dream. In reality, it turned out to be the end of my 20-year marriage.

Because my truth?

Yes, at that point in my life, I had money, but my soul was lost.

And in the end, that emptiness in our souls is what unraveled everything, even a marriage that had lasted two decades.

So I know that money doesn’t fix everything. In fact, it only made it easier to pretend nothing was wrong… until it all came crashing down.

On the flip side.

Recently, I did what most people would call reckless. I walked away from a job that was spiritually draining me. I chose my spirit over my paycheck.

I thought maybe, just maybe, saving my soul would be worth the risk. And in so many ways, it was. I breathe easier now. I feel closer to myself. I feel aligned in a way I hadn’t for years.

But the financial fall? It’s been brutal.

This is the season of my life where my soul is being fed, but my physical reality has derailed.

• The electric company doesn’t care that my spirit feels lighter.

• The water company doesn’t care that my faith is deeper.

Right now, I’m staring down at these eviction papers with just nine days left, caught in the sharp edge of this imbalance.

And as I sit here, I can’t help but ask myself the ugliest of questions.

Should I have silenced my soul just to pay the bills? Was my leap of faith a step toward freedom, or the beginning of my own undoing?

I don’t have the answer. Maybe there isn’t one.

Maybe the truth is that survival and spirit were never meant to compete, and yet here I am (like many others), living the fight between them every day.

So here I am

Caught between survival and spirit, still learning how to honor both.

• I don’t know what I will do.

• I don’t have the money.

• I don’t even have anyone to loan me the money.

But what I do have?

I have faith, and sometimes that has to be enough. I’ll keep choosing my soul, even when it’s messy, and even when it costs me.

And I’ll keep believing that God’s got me, even when my world is falling apart.

Thank you for sitting with me today, loves. May you find the courage to feed your own spirit, even in the midst of life’s chaos.

Until next week, hold yourself gently and fiercely at the same time.—Teez 💋

Welcome back, loves, to Soulful Sundays

My little corner of reflection, healing, and truth. Here, I slow down, I breathe, and I share the pieces of my life I’m still learning from.

This is where I honor the messy, the painful, and the beautiful. Where I confront my shadows, celebrate my breakthroughs, and hold myself with compassion along the way.

Pour your coffee, settle in, and step gently with me into today’s reflection.

There are moments in healing when the past still tugs at me.

Not because I want to go back, but because I’m still learning how deep the wounds really went.

This week, I was reminded of one of those moments. Of how he would use words to try to break me.

Back in February, when my brother passed away, I finally walked away. I told him to leave my home, and for the first time in a long time, I chose myself.

Four months later, in June, I received an email from him. Short. Cold. Cutting. In it, he told me my writing was “wasted talent.”

(You read my reflection post on this past post at the end.)

I won’t lie… it stung. And he knew it would. That’s why he sent it. Words had always been his sharpest weapon, and he knew exactly where to aim.

He took the things I loved most and tried to twist them into reasons I should feel small.

But here’s the thing that I know now. They were just words. Looking back, I can see the tactic for what it was.

A last attempt to get a reaction, to pull me back into the cycle, to keep the cord of control alive. And I didn’t bite.

Like I said in a recent post, I no longer have to worry about messages like that.

He has a new source now, and while that used to make me angry, now it only makes me grateful.

Honestly, it makes my healing so much easier. I don’t wish him harm. I genuinely hope he finds whatever he was searching for in me.

Dream Girl Rising

Narcissists Try to Diminish

This week, I want to share a piece I wrote back in June. It was a raw reflection on the moment my ex reached out after four months of silence, only to tell me that my writing was a “wasted talent…

Read more

7 months ago · Dream Girl Rising

Healing doesn’t mean pretending the cuts never happened. It means standing here today, scarred but stronger, knowing that words once used to break me now fuel me to build something better.

I write anyway.
I heal anyway.
I help others anyway.

Because there is a life so much brighter on the other side of toxic love.

And if you’re in that space now, feeling small, doubting your worth?

Let me remind you. Their words are not the truth. Your life, your passion, your love, your talent… that’s the truth.

I’m finally living in it. And I’ll keep writing it down, no matter who once told me otherwise!

Thank you for being here with me today and for allowing me to share these pieces of my past with you. It means more than words can say to have you in this space with me.

If this reflection resonates with you, I’d love for you to share it with someone who might need it too. Healing is always brighter when it’s shared.

Share

🌸 Welcome to Soulful Sundays 🌸

Soulful Sundays are my soft landing place at the end of the week. A space where I get to exhale, reflect, and share the deeper layers of my journey with you.

The parts that go beyond desire, beyond heat, into the raw truths of healing, heartbreak, growth, and becoming who the fuck I am meant to be.

This isn’t the glossy version of my life. It’s the messy middle, the tender moments, the quiet realizations that change everything.

Some weeks it’s about love, some weeks it’s about loss, and other times it’s about the complicated dance between the two.

So if you’re here, welcome. This is where I lay my heart bare.

This is where I remind myself (and hopefully remind you too) that healing takes time, freedom is possible, and there is beauty even in the scarred places.

Take a deep breath. Let’s step into this Sunday together.

Ten months ago, in November, I wrote a piece while just beginning to understand narcissism and the reality of my relationship. Toxic.

Reading it now, I want to reach back through time and hug the version of me who wrote it. I was finally finding words for what I had been living through.

But here’s the thing… When you read that old post, you’ll probably think I was already free. You’d think I had broken the cycle and closed the door.

The truth?

I hadn’t. After I wrote that piece, I still let him come and go for another three months.

That’s what narcissism does. Even when you see it, even when you name it, it can still pull you back in.

It’s like quicksand. You think you’re on solid ground, and then one step later, you’re sinking again.

I look back now and realize that knowing isn’t the same as leaving. And leaving isn’t the same as healing.

Today, I am free. That doesn’t mean it was easy. That doesn’t mean I don’t still carry scars.

It just means I’ve finally stopped confusing his chaos for love. His words for truth.

He has a new girlfriend now, and oddly enough, that brings me peace. I don’t worry that he’ll try to come back.

For the first time in years, my mind is starting to believe what my body already knows… I am free.

Healing is slower than I expected.

I can’t lie. Some days, I still catch myself replaying his words, doubting my worth, or grieving the fantasy I thought I was building with him.

But freedom feels different this time. It’s no longer just the absence of him, but the presence of me.

If you’ve ever loved a narcissist, you know the end isn’t just about them leaving. It’s about you reclaiming yourself piece by piece, after years of being chipped away.

So here’s where I stand, ten months later.
—No longer clinging to the illusion.
—No longer waiting for an apology that will never come.
—No longer asking myself if I was the problem.

—I am healing.
—I am scarred, but whole.
—And I am free.

I’ll share the link below to the piece I wrote ten months ago. Go ahead, step into my mind ten months ago.

And you’ll see just how much I wanted to be free back then. And then you’ll understand how much stronger freedom feels now that it has finally arrived.

Dream Girl Rising

Narcissist Stuck in Your Mind

Ten months ago, I poured my heart into a piece that captured the raw confusion of life after a narcissist leaves…

Read more

7 months ago · Dream Girl Rising

Wanna Tip Your Writer