Spill The Tea 

In the wild world of human conversation, we’re all low-key ninjas at masking our feelings. We master the poker face, fine-tune our tone, and carefully choose our words to keep our emotions under wraps. But here’s the real kicker—our eyes? They couldn’t care less about our little games. They’re out here spilling the tea, no filter, no hesitation, letting the world in on what we’re really feeling.

The truth is, I’ve seldom been given the chance to be soft, to relax, or to relinquish control. Since I was a little girl, I’ve been thrust into a role that demanded I stay in control, to be the one others could rely on. While I’ve excelled in leadership, managing responsibilities and expectations, what I truly desire is something beyond sovereignty. I want the freedom to float, to let go of the weight, and to trust someone else for a change.

What if love is just a game of hide and seek with the universe? What if every person I’ve ever loved was just the stars trying on new faces, asking me, “Do you recognize me yet?” - Whitni Miller

For so long, I felt as though I was drowning. Born a water sign, the ebb and flow of life has always "felt" natural, but water can both heal and suffocate. It nourishes, yes, but it can also erode—slowly wearing you down, until you don’t recognize yourself. For years, I moved through life as if I were a river, bending and curving to fit the expectations of others. I gave and gave, until I was nothing more than an empty streambed, dry and cracking under the weight of my own neglect.

The Universe works in mysterious ways. It has a way of aligning planets, moons, stars, events, people, and moments to teach us, bless us, or challenge us. Some of the people it has placed in my life have been gifts—blessings that fill my heart with light. Others have been lessons, painful but necessary, showing me where I need to grow or what I need to let go of.

I’m the girl who believes in karma—that what goes around, comes around. I hold on to that belief, even on the days when life feels heavy, and I question if I’ll ever see that balance. Every morning, I wake up hoping for a better day, a lighter day. Some days, hope is all I have to hold on to.

There was a time in my life when I lived with endless expectations—of myself, of others, of the world. I expected people to do the right thing, to show up, to value me the way I valued them. I expected life to reward my efforts and my heart, as if fairness was a guarantee. But life has a way of teaching you the hard truths. Expectations, no matter how well-intentioned, often lead to disappointment. Over time, I realized it wasn’t enough to hope people would meet me halfway. It became clear that what I needed wasn’t expectations but requirements.

Love is often painted as grand gestures and poetic confessions, but for me, it lies in something quieter, deeper—a sacred space where we can both remove our armor. In a world where we’re conditioned to protect ourselves, where vulnerability feels like a gamble, creating a space of safety is an act of love that transcends words.

In a world that often equates intimacy with physical closeness, I’ve come to redefine what intimacy means to me. It’s not in the touch of skin, the unbuttoning of clothing, or the heat of desire. True intimacy, the kind I crave, the kind that sets my soul at ease, is so much more profound than what the world sells.

Today, I find myself grappling with the weight of others' assumptions and expectations. It's exhausting—constantly having to clarify what I mean when I say I’m single. For the record, being single doesn’t equate to being available. This life stage isn’t an open invitation; it’s a conscious decision to prioritize myself and protect my peace until I find the connection that feels divinely aligned.

There’s a certain freedom I’ve discovered in understanding my worth. When I realized I’m rare, it changed everything. I started moving differently—not out of arrogance, but with purpose and confidence. I began loving differently too, with intention, depth, and an energy that feels uniquely my own. And, perhaps most importantly, I stopped wasting my time trying to convince anyone of my value.

There’s something hauntingly poetic about those who carry the weight of the world yet insist on holding the torch of hope. The ones who whisper, “Everything happens for a reason” or sigh, “It is what it is” are often the same people who’ve weathered storms that would break the average soul. These words, offered casually in conversations, often serve as their armor—a mantra they cling to when the pain becomes too vast to explain.

There are moments when I wish someone could sit me down and tell me all the things I long to hear. I wish someone could explain how beautiful life truly is, so I could stop worrying about all the ways it feels broken or imperfect. I wish someone could assure me of how safe I really am, even when fear whispers otherwise. And most of all, I wish someone could make me feel the love that constantly surrounds me, even when I feel alone or unworthy.

There was a time when I thought I had it all figured out. I imagined the woman I would grow into with absolute certainty—graceful, confident, and impeccably put together. But life has a funny way of unraveling even the most carefully spun dreams.

Maybe my happy ending is me continuing to be the passionate, tenacious, empathetic, loving person I am, despite the way life has tried to wear me down. The last few years, I’ve faced heartbreak, disappointment, and moments where I thought I couldn’t possibly keep going. But here I am, choosing me—not because it’s always easy, but because it feels right. Maybe my happy ending is a calm nervous system, a peace within me so solid and unshakable that nothing and no one can threaten it.

Lately, people I thought were long gone from my life have been reappearing. Familiar faces, once central to my story but cast aside by the passage of time, are resurfacing like echoes from the past. Each one carries a suitcase of memories—some warm, others jagged. Their sudden presence stirs a question I can’t shake: Is this a test from the Universe or a genuine opportunity for reconciliation?

I’ve always known I’m not like most people. I feel things on a level that’s hard to explain. It’s not just experiencing emotions—it’s living in them, breathing them in, and letting them shape me. When I hear music, I don’t just listen; I absorb the lyrics, let the melodies crawl into the corners of my mind, and feel every word as if it’s my own story.

I’ve shared a lot of stories on my various platforms, but one part of me I’ve not touched on in awhile is my Indigeniety. While there may not be a great amount of Indigenous blood left in my family line, the pride in it runs deeply through me—a little Mohawk, a little Algonquin, all part of who I am.

Many of us carry emotional trauma from previous relationships, often without realizing how deeply it affects us. These unresolved wounds can manifest in new connections as projection, defensiveness, or an inability to fully trust. We end up dragging our emotional baggage into relationships, unintentionally straining even the strongest partnerships.

I wasn’t always this way. Once, I was soft—open, trusting, the kind of person who believed in the good in everyone. But life? Life has a way of ripping that from you, one heartbreak, one betrayal, one catastrophe at a time.

As I heal, the world begins to look different. The things I once accepted, even cherished, have taken on new meanings. Attention no longer feels like love. A fleeting text, a passing compliment, or a moment of acknowledgment used to feel like validation, but now I understand that love is not just attention—it’s intention. It’s found in actions that are consistent, meaningful, and rooted in respect. Love doesn’t just graze the surface; it goes deeper, offering something lasting and true.

I wasn’t handed a damn thing in this life. No silver spoons, no easy breaks, no handouts. Everything I’ve got, I’ve had to fight for. And let me tell you, life has been a battleground. It’s thrown punches from every direction, and I’ve had to stand there and take each one. Bloodied, bruised, and battered, I’ve faced it all—and I’ve kept going. I didn’t get to where I am by cowering in fear or by accepting defeat. No, I kept my head held high and fought through every storm life threw at me.

Lately, I've been doing a lot of soul-searching, and what I’ve discovered has left me feeling both liberated and unsettled. I’ve come to realize something about myself that I know won’t sit well with everyone, but the truth is, I don’t really think I'm ready to believe in true love, soulmates, or fate again. 

Love, Loss, and the Maze of Dating Again...

In a world obsessed with perfection, I boldly embrace the truth: I’m not perfect, but I’m authentically me. Life has taken me through a maze of triumphs and failures, moments of clarity and chaos, and through it all, I’ve owned every step. My choices, both wise and flawed, are a reflection of my journey—messy, raw, and uniquely mine.

Another day, another moment to reflect on how far I’ve come. Life has been full of lessons lately—some harder than others, but all necessary in their own way. Growth has never been comfortable, but it’s become clear that the discomfort is where the healing happens.

Anyone who knows me, is aware of my constant battles with my mental illness and PTSD and it's many insidious variations, and I'm always trying to find ways to deal with the shit that goes on in my mind. 

It’s day three of the new year, and I’m already exhausted from the well-meaning but infuriating advice people keep throwing my way about how to heal. 

Feeling disposable and temporary in the lives of others is a heavy weight to carry, and it’s one I’ve always struggled with and it's been creeping back in again. It’s like no matter how much I give or how deeply I invest myself, I’m met with an expiration date I never agreed to. People come into my life, take what they need—time, love, energy, pieces of me—and then leave when it’s no longer convenient.

Welcome to 2025

I realized this morning that I haven't written in a few days, so let's catch up, shall we?!

I am a lover, a soul woven from tenderness and fire, seeking a connection that moves beyond the surface and into the depths of spirit. I crave not just love, but a merging of energies, an intimacy that lingers beyond touch—where two souls recognize each other, speaking in unspoken ways, existing in a space where masks are unnecessary and walls dissolve.

I have walked through fire, been shattered and pieced back together, and now I stand here, a testament to resilience and I have something I need to say ....

Forty-eight days ago, I created JustRealTea.com. At first, it was just a space to get the words out of my head—an online journal, a place to scribble without expectation. It wasn’t meant for anyone but me, a record of my thoughts, struggles, and triumphs. So I intend to keep this specific page the journal I intended it to be, even though people have started reading. 

For most of my life, I’ve had pieces of myself stolen, silenced, or hidden away. I’ve been told who I am, what I should be, and how I should fit into a world that never felt safe or welcoming. But now? Now, I am claiming my space. My voice. My story.

A Letter to My Younger Self

Ah, Valentine’s Day. A day drenched in red and pink, stuffed with overpriced chocolates, and draped in the heavy scent of expectations—expectations that, for me, are rarely met.

Abandonment has always been one of my deepest wounds. It lingers in the back of my mind, whispering that I am disposable, that people leave because I am not enough. When you've been hurt over and over, your mind starts searching for patterns, trying to protect you from more pain. I’ve caught myself bracing for impact, assuming that any change in energy, any moment of distance, is a sign that someone is about to walk away.

Navigating new connections is already complicated. There’s the uncertainty, the learning curve of understanding someone’s communication style, and the constant internal debate of how much to share without scaring them off. But when you add an AuDHD brain into the mix—one that overanalyzes silence, fills in the blanks with worst-case scenarios, and craves reassurance to keep from spiraling—it becomes even harder.

For too long, my voice was stolen—drowned out by others’ expectations, silenced by fear, buried under the weight of circumstances I didn’t ask for. I spent years holding back, second-guessing myself, swallowing words that needed to be spoken. I let misunderstandings shape my reality because I didn’t believe I had the right, the strength, or the space to correct them.

For close to a decade, I lived in the shadows of a meticulously woven deception. I shared my life, my home, and my dreams with a man who was not at all who he claimed to be—a psychotic narcissist, a serial cheater, and a pathological liar of the worst kind. What I thought was love, what I believed to be a partnership built on trust, was nothing more than a well-crafted illusion.

I know you think I’m pretty, but do you notice the way I avoid eye contact—not because I’m shy, but because I’ve been conditioned to shrink myself? To make my presence smaller, my voice softer, my needs invisible? That looking too closely at someone, or letting them see too much of me, once meant opening the door to manipulation, to mind games I didn’t know I was playing until I was already losing?

After three years of hesitation, life’s unexpected detours, and the fear of the unknown, I finally did it—I applied for university.

I have always believed in making wishes, even when they never came true.

My Notes app holds the things I’ll likely never have the courage to say. Half-formed thoughts, confessions from my soul, and raw emotions I'll probably never bring myself to share out loud. Some are messages I'm too afraid to send—words that feel too vulnerable, too messy, or too much. Others are thoughts I can barely admit to myself, let alone another person.

Maybe my inner child isn’t asking to be healed.

Before you love me, you should know—

For years, I used to say, "I'm grateful for the pain everyone in my life caused me because I wouldn't be who I am today without it." I truly believed that. I thought that was the right way to look at things—to find meaning in the suffering, to assign gratitude to the hardships. But now, as I reflect with deeper understanding, I see how flawed that mindset was. I don't fault myself for believing it then; I only knew what I knew. But I know better now, and I honor my growth by correcting myself.

Someone once told me, “Whatever it is you want, just think about it.”

There are moments in life that change us forever. Moments so powerful that they draw an invisible line between who we once were and who we are becoming. These moments are not always loud or obvious. Sometimes, they creep up in the quiet, in the spaces between words spoken and thoughts left unsaid. Other times, they crash into us like a storm, fierce and unrelenting, forcing us to stand in the wreckage and decide how to rebuild.