Tag: ceremony of clarity

  • No One Puts Baby in the Corner: Discernment & Boundaries in Blogging Spaces

    No One Puts Baby in the Corner: Discernment & Boundaries in Blogging Spaces

    There are responses that look polished, grammatically correct, even “perfect.” They use all the right words, the right tone, the right gestures of care. But for those of us with heightened sensitivity, discernment, and well‑developed pattern recognition, something feels off. We can sense when words are empty vessels. We can tell when care is performed rather than embodied.

    That was the case with an earlier encounter I had with a wellness blogger who claimed authority but failed to practice his ethical responsibility as a journalist. He didn’t fact‑check. He didn’t think through his response. He even linked to an unrelated post — all driven by ego and self‑promotion. On the surface, it looked like he respected my boundaries. In truth, it was face‑saving performance, optics for branding and monetization.

    In a previous post about the boundary violation in online interaction, When Clarity Doesn’t Need Permission,I talked about protecting my authenticity and space. That earlier reflection laid the groundwork for this one.

    If he were a non‑journalist, a non‑writer, an ordinary individual without any writing background, I would have let it go. I would have charged it to lack of communication skills or expertise — not everyone is trained to connect dots. That would have been not sweating the small stuff.

    But because he claimed the mantle of journalist, the disconnect mattered. Journalists are expected to think, to contextualize, to honor coherence. He didn’t. He defaulted to autopilot — branding, self‑promotion, performance. And that is why discernment demanded a boundary.

    I chose not to approve his latest comment — his attempt at crafting a supposed thoughtful response to my boundary assertion. Why? Because the words were hollow and insincere. Sure, they were the “correct” words to say when being called out — but they carried no soul.

    He simply mirrored my boundary, even repeating the exact words I used. And when words lack authenticity, when they are uttered only as a face‑saving attempt, without any genuine apology, they do not deserve further airtime in my space — a space he had already intruded upon.

    This is typical of social media culture.

    You ask permission, and you wait for permission to be granted before leaving anything behind — even in public places. And when you call yourself a wellness expert‑journalist, you pause. You ask yourself if your comment truly adds value to the conversation, or if it is merely noise.

    I would have preferred that he added something like, “I hope it’s okay that I share the link to my post, which talks about the inner child and playfulness…” or “May I invite you to my post about the inner child and playfulness…” The absence of these words revealed a lack of respect for someone else’s space.

    This wellness blogger had every right to share and promote his posts on his own site. But to do that in another’s space is crossing a line — a boundary violation. He should have stayed in his lane instead of using someone else’s platform to promote his brand. Even more so when what he shared was unrelated to the piece he was commenting on and linking to.

    It became clear to me that he wasn’t after genuine connection. He was after self-promotion and brand visibility. That is why I chose not to approve his response‑comment and blocked him from commenting altogether.

    He even had the audacity to claim that his readers trust him more than they trust themselves — and he took pride in it. That statement reveals the deeper danger:

    Systems like the Catholic Church, among others, have long propagated this model, instilling dependency on priests, doctrines, and intermediaries instead of empowering members to listen to the Wise One Within. Even the teachings of Master Jesus have been distorted. “I am the Truth, the Way, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through me. (John 14:6)” was never meant to demand literal mediation through him. It was an invitation to awaken the Christ Within, to recognize that the path is already inside us.

    I ran my interpretation by a friend.* Their reaction was the familiar refrain: “You’re reading too much into it. You’re over‑analyzing.”

    Many people are socialized to prioritize politeness over intuition, to smooth over discomfort rather than name it. In Filipino culture, this often takes the form of hiya (shame) and pakikisama (get along with others) — values that emphasize avoiding shame and maintaining harmony, even at the cost of clarity. These cultural shields can make discernment look like disruption, when in truth it is protection.

    And because of that discernment, I chose not to approve his comment. I blocked him from further airtime. That was boundary enforcement in practice — protecting my sanctuary from intrusion disguised as care.

    This is the paradox: the majority misperceive sensitivity as weakness, as “too much.” But in truth, it is strength. A shield. A compass. It is the ceremony of clarity.

    To my fellow sensitive, discerning readers: you are not alone. Our gifts are not flaws. They are the very tools that protect and guide us.

    In the end, this is not about confrontation. It is about curation. It is about choosing clarity over optics, presence over performance. It is about honoring the integrity of our spaces and the signals of our own bodies.

    If any part of this speaks to you, I invite you to share your reflections in the comment section below.

    Peace and Blessings,
    Thea 💙


    31 December 2025

    *Update:

    At first, I teased my friend: “Maybe you defended the wellness blogger because you share the same DNA!” Ironically, this was the same friend who once pointed out that pattern recognition is one of my strengths — a gift I hardly noticed because it felt second nature. When I finally embraced it, used it, and presented my findings, he dismissed me. But with my determination, and when he finally saw and connected the dots, he conceded. My discernment was right all along. Sensitivity, once again, proved itself as shield and ceremony — even in the House of Optics.

  • Not Sweating the Christmas Stuff

    Not Sweating the Christmas Stuff

    It’s been a couple of decades since I stopped celebrating Christmas — and every year, the freedom deepens.

    No shopping frenzy.
    No traffic madness.
    No decorations.
    No party politics.
    No gift obligations.
    No outfit stress.

    Just quiet. Just clarity. Just me.

    Christmas Day is an ordinary day in my calendar. I stay in (as I usually do). I have my special meal delivered on the 24th, warm it on the 25th, and binge-watch whatever I feel like — while having my creamy hot cocoa with marshmallows! I say a quiet prayer of thanks — not for the season, but for the fact that I am no longer part of its craziness.

    This is not bitterness. It’s sovereignty.

    There was a time I joined a friend’s family for their Christmas celebration. It brought back memories of the performative years with my own family of origin. I also once asked a friend to attend a Christmas Eve mass with me. Both experiences felt inauthentic and forced. The celebrations were obligatory, and none of them carried real meaning.

    What about handling the greetings? Over the years, I’ve gone back and forth on how to respond when people greet me with “Merry Christmas!” At first, I felt the need to explain myself: “I don’t celebrate Christmas, but thanks for the greeting. Wishing you and your family a joyful, peaceful, and meaningful Holiday Season.” That response was clear, but it also took energy.

    In passing encounters, I’ve learned that a simple “Happy Holidays” works just as well. It’s neutral, it acknowledges the greeting, and it doesn’t pull me into the script of the season.

    I now treat these responses as part of my boundary toolkit. Sometimes I use the longer version when I want to be transparent, and other times I use the shorter shield to conserve energy. Either way, I’m no longer caught in the obligation to perform joy or explain myself. I respond on my own terms.

    And for those moments when humor feels right, I say: “May your season be merry, and your shopping cart and wallet empty.”

    I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore — and Christmas, for me, is the small stuff. The pressure to perform joy, to attend the “right” — and all — parties, to stay in a jolly mood, to reciprocate gifts I didn’t ask for, to wear the festive outfit, to smile through the noise — all of it used to drain me.

    And then there was the expectation of forgiveness, offered not because it was real but because the season demanded it. That kind of feigned forgiveness and forced reconciliation felt hollow and performative.

    Now I opt out.

    And in that opting out, I reclaim something deeper — my energy. My rhythm. My truth.

    I don’t need a holiday to feel grateful. I don’t need decorations to feel joyful. I don’t need a crowd to feel cheerful.

    I’ve created my own ceremony — one that honors peace, solitude, and the joy of not being pulled into the seasonal vortex and commercialism.

    No carols, no chaos, no credit card damage, no madness — just the bliss of not sweating the glitter-coated small stuff.

    This is my Christmas.
    My kind of holiday.

    And here’s hoping you’re having your kind of holiday!!

    If any part of this speaks to you, I invite you to share your reflections in the comment section below.

    Peace and Blessings,
    Thea 💙