Tag: relationships

  • When You’re the Afterthought: Family Estrangement, Public Stories, and Finding Our People in the Philippines

    When You’re the Afterthought: Family Estrangement, Public Stories, and Finding Our People in the Philippines

    I came across the article about David Beckham leaving his son, Brooklyn, out of his 2025 year-end recap post, only to share throwback photos of him hours later. When Brooklyn was left out of his father’s recap, only added later, it reminded me of what it feels like to be remembered as an afterthought because that’s how his message came across to me. Maybe even for optics. If he wanted to honor all his kids, he would have included Brooklyn from the start.

    This hit close to home because I know what it feels like to be the one who gets left out or remembered only as an afterthought—if I would even be remembered or included. For years, “echa pwera (to be excluded)” was a recurring theme in my life with my family of origin.

    I know I’m not the only one navigating this. Looking at public figures helps me remember and reassures me I’m not alone.

    I cheered on when Prince Harry and Meghan Markle stepped away from the royal family because of deep-seated issues—racism, lack of support for their mental health, and pressure to maintain an image over their well-being. They chose to prioritize their own family and healing, even when it meant letting go of traditional ties.

    Here in the Philippines, we saw the same with celebrity Sarah Geronimo. She didn’t invite her mother to her wedding, and while some criticized her, many more supported her choice. It was a big moment because it showed our culture is slowly starting to understand that “family first” doesn’t mean staying in harmful, abusive, and traumatizing situations.

    And as for me, I didn’t decide to step back from my birth family on a whim. I started distancing myself from my siblings when I was in my mid-40s, and from my mother a few years later. I’m now in my 60s. My father passed away several years ago. After our parents’ separation, my siblings and I had been estranged from him, too, for a long time—his choice, not mine.

    I was the one who spoke up about things that needed to change. The truth teller. The cycle breaker who tried to break harmful patterns that had been going on all throughout my childhood and adult life, even for generations. It wasn’t easy, especially in a culture where “utang na loob (debt of gratitude)” is often used to pressure us into staying quiet or putting up with things we shouldn’t. But I knew I couldn’t keep sacrificing my own mental and emotional health.

    Healing takes time, and it helps to know we’re not the only one on this path. Our well-being matters, and our journey is valid—whatever that looks like for us.

    I find it encouraging to come across recent articles that signal a cultural shift in the Philippines — a willingness to speak more openly about the once-taboo topic of family estrangement and the choice to go no contact:

    I’m glad not only to see the topic being discussed more openly, but also to see resources becoming accessible for those navigating such a difficult path. When I was contemplating this decision decades ago, there were hardly any materials to turn to.

    A few years back, I considered starting a support group. For now, my focus is on my own journey. Still, I want to offer a space for connection if you feel the need — a place to share reflections or simply be heard.

    I write under a pseudonym to protect my privacy, and I take confidentiality seriously. If you are or you know someone navigating family estrangement or struggling to set healthy boundaries, and you’d like to talk to someone who understands the cultural context we’re in—you may email me at theasjournal25@gmail.com  

    There’s no pressure to share more than you’re comfortable with. You may also share your reflections in the comment section below—whatever feels right and safe to you.

    Peace and Blessings,
    Thea 💙

  • 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.

  • Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff: Everyday Discernment

    Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff: Everyday Discernment

    As a highly sensitive person, I’m wired to notice details, lapses, and inconsistencies. That isn’t something I can turn off. It’s how my nervous system works — an unfortunate consequence of and a scar from my family abuse and trauma history.

    The growth hasn’t been about stopping noticing. It’s been about learning what I do with what I notice.

    ***

    A recent example: laundry pickup.

    I gave clear, written instructions for my laundry to be collected from the condominium I’m renting, not the unit I own next door. Despite repeated clarification, the staff still got it wrong. This wasn’t isolated; it followed a familiar pattern.

    I raised the issue with the training supervisor. Her initial response framed it as a misunderstanding by a new staff member and asked for patience. I responded firmly: the issue wasn’t comprehension, but attention and follow‑through. I asked what management was doing to prevent repeated errors. Then I stopped. No chasing, no escalation, no venting. My part was done.

    ***

    Another example: the condominium entrance ramp.

    It was unsafe for seniors, even more so for PWDs like myself who use a cane, albeit temporarily. It doesn’t meet the standard measurement.

    I reported it to the property manager and gave a heads‑up to the HOA board chairman and board director for building maintenance. I called for an impromptu discussion with the security head and property engineer when I visited the building, who said that they were addressing it. I reiterated to the property engineer — don’t wait for the community to take collective action or for someone to alert the proper authorities.

    I won’t chase how soon this gets fixed. Meantime, I am asking the entrance guard to assist me as I step down the ramp. When I no longer need my cane, this becomes a non‑issue for me. I will leave it to the other senior‑PWD community members to step up — if they choose to. Rallying them is no longer mine to carry.

    I reported it. I escalated it to the HOA board. My job is done.

    ***

    Recently, I noticed a security guard using his cellphone, unaware I was approaching. It’s been the condominium security team’s – or humanity’s, in general, for that matter – perennial habit over the years.

    I called him out directly, told him to stop using his phone while on duty, and reported the incident to the security head. I stated the facts and made it clear that the next steps were his to take. And then I stopped. No monitoring, no replaying, no seeking validation afterward. My role was complete.

    ***

    There have been other lapses — a technician ignoring clear instructions, a store personnel mishandling a device replacement despite repeated reminders.

    In the past, I would have stepped in quickly, clarifying, fixing, compensating for others’ lapses — even stepping in to teach them how to do their job. That rescuing reflex was strong and deeply ingrained. But now, I stop myself. I raise the issue when it affects me directly, especially my safety. What I no longer do is stay entangled beyond that point.

    ***

    Living in the Philippines adds another layer.

    I’m aware of cultural dynamics around authority, confrontation, and saving face. I adjust my tone when needed — not to shrink myself, but to reduce resistance and stress. Sometimes that means using pakiusap (polite request) instead of a direct command, or shifting between English and Filipino depending on the situation and the individual involved. Working within these norms has become part of how I protect my energy.

    ***

    My daily discernment practice may sound simple. It isn’t.

    Given how my nervous system is wired, it is one of my constant challenges, but something I must do to protect my peace and mental health. And it is a new pattern for me — one I’ve only recently begun to live, and one that marks my growth.

    I am well aware that, as with any attempt to break patterns, I will still find myself pulled back into familiar habits. But I am determined and confident that as I strengthen my skills in boundary‑setting and discernment, I will find myself becoming less entangled and dysregulated. More at peace.

    What stands out afterward and what I’m appreciative of isn’t the issue itself, but my internal state. I feel calm. No lingering agitation. No urge to explain again. Or reach out to others to vent, leaking energy unnecessarily. No impulse to rescue the situation or carry responsibility that isn’t mine.

    I act when action is needed, and I stop when my part is done. Inefficiencies still arise, but my energy no longer scatters. Some days, the terrain still feels heavy — even when I move through it skillfully and mindfully, even when I speak the right language.

    There’s no tidy solution. Just the ongoing cost of clarity in a culture that often resists it.

    So I pause.
    The bag is set down — not abandoned, just lightened.
    The books stay — inherited, unchanged, still shaping the culture.
    The lens remains — not for judgment, but for seeing what’s real and seeing clearly.

    This is how I carry myself now. Not alone. Not entangled. Just clear.

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

    Peace and Blessings,
    Thea 💙


    Footnote:
    For those curious, the Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff Workbook includes a self‑test on everyday stress. I scored 23 out of 30 — which falls in the “rarely sweat the small stuff” range.  It’s reaffirming, and something I’m pleased to acknowledge.

  • Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff: Redefining What Matters

    Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff: Redefining What Matters


    For a long time, the phrase “don’t sweat the small stuff” felt hollow to me. It sounded like bypassing. Dismissive. Like another way to excuse what should never have been excused. In my family, in systems that tolerated abuse, in environments that mistook generosity for obligation — those were never small. Those were patterns. Naming them was not oversensitivity; it was clarity.

    Now, in this quieter chapter, I see where the phrase actually lives. It never belonged in places where dignity was eroded or truth had to be swallowed to preserve appearances. But it does belong in how I move through relationships and daily exchanges — where discernment, not erasure, is the measure.


    Friends and Family

    With friends, I notice the difference.

    Claire, with whom I recently reconnected, is someone I can meet at depth, and she meets me there, too. When she didn’t call me back after saying she would, I felt the sting. Her later text about “peace of mind” landed tone‑deaf, and I caught myself bracing. But when we spoke again, the conversation was supportive and real. Because Claire consistently meets my clarity, I can choose to let go of her misstep. There are more substantial gifts her friendship brings, and I won’t make a big deal out of a missed call. That’s small stuff.

    With my family of origin, it was never small.

    There was a pattern of abuse and dysfunction. The time came when I no longer felt compelled to play the rescuer or victim in the drama triangle. I embraced my role as the truth‑teller, and that clarity cost me, but it was structural truth.

    *****

    Neighbors and Community

    The same with the condo community: entitlement and disrespect weren’t lapses, they were patterns. Patterns of abuse. That required fire.

    And yet, not every neighbor is the same.

    Jean has shown she can meet me at depth, even if my family estrangement story is foreign to her. Fatima, on the other hand, cannot meet me there. She is not malicious, and she cares in her own way, but her bandwidth is limited. I accept what she can offer without overextending myself. That’s discernment too.

    *****

    Cultural Terrain

    Even in cultural exchanges here in the Philippines, I’ve seen how politeness can mask avoidance. Hiya (shame), indirectness, palusot (excuses) — they surface daily. Naming them doesn’t mean it needs to be met, addressed, responded to, or even apologized for. Sometimes the truth lands in silence, sometimes in discomfort. Either way, I no longer carry the weight of how it is received.

    *****

    From One Extreme to Another

    In the corporate world, I wore the armor of title and leverage. I was often labeled mataray (feisty) or masungit (grumpy) — sharp, exacting, unbending.

    When I left that world, I overcorrected. Without positional power, I softened too much. I tried to become endlessly accommodating, mistaking self‑abandonment for humility. I lowered my voice, my expectations, my edges. At the time, I thought that was peace. Later I understood: it was erasure. Self-abandonment. Self-betrayal.

    Now I stand differently. I am no longer a boss, but I am still sovereign. I don’t need the armor, and I don’t need the overcorrection. What remains is discernment: fire for patterns, release for noise, acceptance for limits.


    The Reclaiming

    So I no longer confuse peace with silence, or anger with truth, or tolerance with wisdom.
    It keeps me from saying yes when I really mean no.
    It protects me from doing what isn’t mine to do — a reflex of my deeply ingrained rescuing pattern.
    A pattern that, thankfully, I was able to finally overcome only recently.
    My fire is ethical, not emotional.

    This is not numbness. It is grounded strength. Quiet authority. And for the first time, it feels like peace that does not ask me to shrink myself in order to exist.

    Not sweating the small stuff is a call for discernment — a practice of peace with integrity. It means I don’t shrink. I discern, and I choose.

    In the next entry, Everyday Discernment, I’ll share more examples of how this practice shows up in daily interactions — from service lapses to community exchanges — and how cultural values shape the terrain I navigate.

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

    Peace and Blessings,
    Thea 💙