I Have a Confession to Make
I have a confession to make. I believe aliens once tried to beam me up but left disappointed because I wasn’t vibrating high enough. A classic case of poor timing and unresolved karma, I suppose. Maybe next full moon, or when the rising sun finally meets my frequency.
Okay, don’t worry—that’s not the confession.
The confession I wanted to make is this: I don’t believe in sugarcoating. I don’t believe in being universally liked. And I’m not here to serve as your spiritual support animal while you do “shadow work” on social media.
Some of you seem genuinely hurt when you disagree with what I write. You’re “disappointed”—as if I’ve broken some sacred contract to cater to your personal worldview. I didn’t sign that contract. In fact, I didn’t even know we were dating.
I’m not writing for your approval. I’m not writing for followers, likes, or your projection of who you want me to be. Especially not the fantasy version of me you’ve invented in your head—seriously, that’s weird. And a little creepy.
Here’s my truth:I'm here to say what I believe to be real, raw, and unfiltered. If it aligns with you, wonderful. If it doesn’t, I promise you the earth will continue spinning.
Yesterday, I read a sentence that hit me like garlic on an empty stomach:
“I wish everyone would stop writing to impress.” (written on Substack by Bee the Alchemist)
Yes. A thousand times, yes.
We’re drowning in a sea of online nonsense. Everyone’s holding hands in a circle of mutual ego-stroking, terrified of saying anything that might trigger discomfort. On the other hand, there are those who, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually underdeveloped, shout their thought excrement into the world.
At the same time, the truth is lingering in the corner like an uninvited guest, sipping lukewarm Yogi Tea (don’t buy it, by the way; the founders have a track record of abuse), and wondering when it became so awkward to just… say things.
Listen, I know my words annoy people. They stir things. I’ve accepted that as a feature, not a bug. I’m not here to please your inner child, coddle your ego, or serve as a mirror that only reflects what’s flattering. If that makes you uncomfortable—fantastic. Inner work rarely comes with a compliment.
Just to be clear: I do appreciate resonance. I value connection with like-minded souls. I even enjoy knowing that something I wrote stirred something in someone. But I don’t depend on it. If no one liked a word I wrote, they’d still be alive—whispering from my notes, my mind, and my digital files, doing their quiet work.
There’s a fine line between appreciating others and outsourcing your self-worth to them. Most people can’t tell the difference. That’s why your “disappointment” in me isn’t something I’ll be losing sleep over. I have an inner circle—people whose opinions actually hold weight. The rest of you? You can answer that for yourself.
We live in very shallow times, where likes are mistaken for character and success, and silence—or ignorance—is praised as diplomacy. No wonder so many people have no backbone, only strong when connected to public validation.
When I’m on my deathbed, I won’t be pondering what Stefanie-from-the-comments-section or David-in-my-DMs thought of my post. I’ll be asking myself one thing: Did I live and speak my truth, even when it was inconvenient, unliked, or unpopular?
That’s my priority now: Truth. Fun. Sanity.
And none of those include a performance review from people.
Also:
Just because you’ve read a book, attended a workshop, or talk about it on your podcast doesn’t mean you actually understand systems of oppression. There are plenty of yoga teachers who preach “oneness” by day and go home to uphold systems of privilege by night. Spiritual fluency and emotional illiteracy often walk hand in hand—and unfortunately, it’s trending.
Your comments often reveal more about your intentions and your actual mental capacity to dismantle systems of oppression than you realize. If you haven’t begun the real work of decolonizing from the root, maybe pause before you type. Start with the ABCs.
And please, don’t mistake a sharp woman with nice locs for someone who came here to debate your feelings or coddle your opinions.
If this resonated with you, moved you, or made you pause and reflect – consider this your cue. I’ve set up a virtual tip jar via Buy Me a Coffee. No monthly commitments, no strings, no memberships required.
Your sweet kindness helps keep the thoughts flowing, the energy exchange intact, and the glow of my inner goddess alive. It won’t fix capitalism, but it might buy me five minutes of joy (or at least a cortado).
Gracias. Thank you. Jërëjëf. Merci. Obrigada. Danke. Arigatō. Medaase. Grazie. Hvala. Tack. Asante. Shukran. Teşekkürler. Dziękuję.
