Thea's Truths & Thresholds

Tag: spirituality

  • Beyond False Humility: Naming the Pattern Is Not Shaming

    Beyond False Humility: Naming the Pattern Is Not Shaming

    This is the second reflection in a series on the practice of discernment and the reclamation of self-trust.

    • Part 1: Discernment, Again – The orientation: Learning to stand with the triggered self and refusing the spiritual bypass of “just letting go.”
    • Part 2: Beyond False Humility: Naming the Pattern is Not Shaming – The identity: Moving from a Victim Identity to a Healing Identity by naming the patterns that violate the Sacred Hearth.
    • Part 3: (Upcoming) The Thin Slice: How Discernment Becomes Reflex – The mechanics: How self-loyalty becomes an automatic orientation through the Core Value Bank.

    I’ve been sitting with what happened after I named Rohitash—the wellness blogger-journalist.

    That old jitter’s been creeping in again—the one that whispers, Are you being too loud? Too harsh? Failing at some “holiness” you left behind decades ago? In the Philippines, where we’re steeped in this specific brand of Catholic humility, we’re taught that “good” means staying quiet. That naming harm makes you the one causing disharmony.

    But this “false humility”? It’s just another way to betray myself. To abandon who I’ve become just to please the ghost of who I was told to be.

    What’s hit me hardest in all this—in a good way—is that I found my clarity before I had a guide for it. I’d already felt the misalignment, already walked away from him without waiting for anyone’s okay—then I came across Dr. Steven Stosny’s Living & Loving After Betrayal.

    Reading his book was like looking at a photo of a place I’d already been. He talks about the “Adult Brain,” moving from “Core Hurt” to “Core Value,” that “Thin Slice” of choice between trigger and reaction. I knew those places because I’d just found my way through them. I didn’t read it to learn how to heal—I read it and saw my own healing staring back at me.

    There’s such quiet power in that—knowing my growth didn’t come from following a rulebook—it came from finally listening to myself. From trusting what I knew deep down.

    Now, if I were to keep that growth to myself, if I were to pretend I’m still just “struggling” when I’m actually succeeding—that would be self-silencing. It would twist kababaang-loob (true humility) into something it’s not—shrinking myself so I don’t rattle people who mix up “authority” with “integrity.”

    Real kababaang-loob is inner strength. It doesn’t need to shout—but it also doesn’t need to lie about how tall it stands.

    *****

    Naming Rohitash wasn’t about shaming him. It was public discernment. It was me saying: Oh, I see the pattern here.

    The line wasn’t just crossed when he misinterpreted my words—it was the entitlement behind it all. He walked into my private space uninvited, rearranged the metaphorical furniture, then left a piece of his own work I never asked for. No courtesy, no permission—he just acted like he’d earned the right to be there.

    When I called it out, his response was like a masterclass in performative compliance—or spiritual narcissism, take your pick.

    He parroted my own words back to me—trying to make me feel “seen” so I’d lower my guard. He complimented my “calm presence” and “thoughtful naming”—like patting a lion on the head while it’s trying to protect its den. Then he signed off with “With Respectful Heart”—the ultimate palusot (excuse), wrapping entitlement in sacred-sounding language to cover up the fact he’d already squatted in my space with a self-promotional link.

    He knew he’d been caught. He just refused to humble himself enough to admit it or say sorry. He offered the “respectful heart” of a brand—not the honest kababaang-loob of a real person.

    *****

    I saw it clearly: this wasn’t a one-time mistake. It was a habit—a strategy to turn every interaction into a door for his own gain.

    *****

    Let me be straight: what he does on his own site is his business. What he does on mine is a violation of my “Sacred Hearth.” My space isn’t a marketplace, and I’m not a “milking cow” for someone else’s ego-driven lead generation.

    On the surface, it looked like he was acknowledging my boundary—maybe even apologizing without saying the words. But in my body? I felt the friction. It was a palusot through and through. An attempt to keep his “Sanctuary of Peace” image shiny while ignoring he’d already digital-squatted in my home. I didn’t approve his last comment—I don’t owe anyone a platform for their “polite” entitlement. My sacred space isn’t a funnel for a Marketing Bot, no matter how many flower emojis they use.

    By refusing to approve his ‘polite’ comment, I wasn’t being harsh; I was just being a faithful steward of my own house.

    *****

    In an earlier post, No One Puts Baby in the Corner: Discernment & Boundaries in Blogging Spaces, I spoke about the logistics: the link, the lack of permission, the blocked access. But here? I want to talk about how hollow words feel in your bones.

    Even as he echoed my language about “adult discernment” in that unapproved reply, my body knew something was off. It was the same empty frequency I felt from people like Neale Donald Walsch or Carolyn Myss decades ago. The sound of an ego trying to “nice” its way back into a room it was told to leave.

    By recognizing that “messenger who is not the message”—the same pattern I saw in those bigger names—I could shift from “personal hurt” to “conduct analysis.” If I can name the shadows in international figures, I can name the one in my own backyard, too.

    *****

    This is exactly what Dr. Steven Stosny means by moving from a Victim Identity to a Healing Identity.

    A Victim Identity focuses on the offender. It waits for them to change, to apologize, to “get it” before it can find peace. If I’d kept his behavior secret, or tried to “manage” it quietly behind the scenes with false humility—I’d still be tied to him. Still a victim of his uninvited “furniture rearranging,” waiting for him to realize and acknowledge he was wrong.

    A Healing Identity takes power back by focusing on one’s environment. It doesn’t ask the offender for permission to feel steady—it just changes the space one is in.

    Naming the behavior—and yes, the person—was how I cleaned out my house.

    By saying his name and calling out the “Marketing Bot” pattern, I wasn’t just “managing” the discomfort of an uninvited guest. I was putting a lock on the door.

    Naming is what healers do when they say: This goes against my values. And because I see it clearly, I don’t have to engage with it anymore. I’m not waiting for people like Rohitash to live the peace they preach. I’m just living my own truth, in my own rhythm.

    The work isn’t about him changing—it’s about me no longer making space for manipulation.

    Not every door deserves to stay open. Some thresholds are sealed to protect what’s sacred.

    That unapproved performative comment was the final palusot. A man whose “About” page says he “embodies wellness in every word”—yet acts like a digital squatter, riding on my authenticity to plant his own flag.

    When someone claims to be a “Sanctuary of Peace” but behaves like a Marketing Bot—the gap creates what I call “somatic dissonance” for anyone who’s paying attention.

    My body felt that friction long before my mind could name the manipulation. My body knew the truth before my brain could look up a chapter and verse. It was that familiar hollow spot where integrity should have been.

    And that is the biggest growth of all: I don’t need to justify walking away. I don’t need to soften what I see clearly. I don’t need a book to tell me that my “resounding No” is the holiest thing I’ve ever said.

    When the light shifts and the door appears—sovereignty isn’t escape. It’s coming home.

    This is what true integrity looks like: the strength to see clearly, name honestly, and walk away without apology or false humility.

    In the next reflection, I’ll dive deeper into Dr. Stosny’s ideas—how discernment is intuitive more than intentional, what that “thin slice” between trigger and response really looks like, and how to tell the difference between boundaries you can bend and those you never should.

    If any part of this speaks to you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comment section below.

    Peace and Blessings,
    — Thea 💙 theasjournal25@gmail.com

  • My Ritual Practices for Healing Deep Wounds

    My Ritual Practices for Healing Deep Wounds

    The first day of the year is not just a threshold; it is also an invitation to practice.

    In my earlier reflection, I spoke of choosing compassion over bypassing—honoring wounds rather than dismissing them as “small stuff.” This companion piece offers the practices and techniques I have used, and will continue to use, to help heal and integrate the deeper wounds that surfaced: betrayal, love bombing, financial exploitation, and even maternal deception.

    These practices are not prescriptions. They are lived ceremonies and reflections that help me reclaim sovereignty and soften toward the parts of myself that still carry scars.

    Ceremonial Exercises

    I mark Dec. 27–Jan. 1 as a ceremonial arc. I light a candle, name the intrusion, the trigger, and the revelation, then extinguish it as a symbol of release. Before extinguishing, I write each heavy feeling on a small piece of paper and burn it with the candle flame — letting the smoke carry away what no longer serves me.

    I speak aloud: “I forgive the betrayed part of me. She was trusting, uninformed, and open. She gave me discernment.” I follow this with: “I honor the wise part of me who now sees clearly. She holds the map for my way forward.”

    I send the old roles (rescuer, self-doubter, validation seeker) off with their one-way tickets to Pluto. I laugh as I exile them, and I leave a small “welcome mat” for their healthier replacements — the advocate, the self-truster, the meaning-maker — to take root in my life.

    I create a small altar with items that represent safety and strength to me — a smooth stone, a sprig of local foliage, and a photo of Mother Mary, from whom I have received a mother’s unconditional love. (You may choose someone else who has shown you genuine care.) I tend to it each day of the arc as a reminder of my foundation.

    Journaling Practices

    I write dialogues with the betrayed self. I ask her what she needs now, and I respond with compassion. Sometimes I draw her, too — giving visual form to her pain and her resilience.

    Each time irritation arises, I journal: “This is not small stuff. This is a doorway to integration.” I then add: “What part of me is calling for attention here? What does it need to feel safe?”

    I track moments when I spot performative behavior and choose not to engage. I celebrate each as proof of growth, and I note what cues helped me recognize it — tone of voice, empty flattery, requests that feel out of alignment.

    I write a letter to my future self, dated one year from now, describing what I hope she has learned about trust, boundaries, and self-compassion. I seal it to open when the next New Year arrives.

    Boundary Rehearsals

    I practice short, sovereign responses: “I don’t resonate with this. I choose not to engage.” I also prepare variations for different contexts — from firm but polite to clear and direct for when boundaries are being pushed.

    I visualize myself in boundary-poor environments, then rehearse my shields (humor, discernment, silence). I practice physically grounding myself in these visualizations — planting my feet, taking a deep breath, or placing a hand over my heart.

    I use symbolic gestures (closing a book, walking through a doorway) to mark my exit from misaligned energy. I’ve also added wearing a specific piece of jewelry, like black tourmaline, or carrying a small token as a tangible reminder of my boundaries when I’m out in the world.

    I wish I had a trusted friend nearby with whom I could role-play. In the absence, I speak aloud to an empty room, practicing how to say “no” to requests that feel draining or how to address someone who is crossing my lines.

    Integration Mindset

    I affirm: “Boundary violations and betrayal echoes are not small stuff. They deserve compassion.” I repeat this aloud each morning when I wake and each night before I sleep.

    I remind myself: healing isn’t linear. Each resurfacing is another layer of integration, not failure. I keep a small “growth log” noting when old wounds surface and what I did to care for myself — seeing the pattern of how I’m handling things differently each time.

    I anchor in the truth: I cannot control others’ conduct, their readers’ or followers’ cozying up, or anyone else’s behavior. I can only control my response — and that is enough. I add: “My response is powerful. It shapes my world and protects my peace.”

    I practice “radical acceptance” — acknowledging that while I cannot change what happened to me, I can change how I relate to those experiences and how they influence my life moving forward.

    Expanded Insight

    I recognize that triggers often connect to deeper layers: betrayal, financial exploitation, rejection and abandonment, maternal deception and manipulation. I see how these experiences wired me to look for safety in certain ways — and how I can rewire those patterns with care.

    I see that my reaction is about protecting my sense of safety and trust, not just irritation at one person. It is a sign that my inner system is working to keep me whole.

    I extend compassion to the part of me that still carries the scar, instead of berating myself for “not getting over it.” I remind myself that scars are not just marks of pain — they are proof that I survived and continue to heal.

    I understand that my ability to feel deeply and care fiercely is the same part of me that was hurt. Instead of closing off, I’m learning to direct that warmth and openness toward myself first, then toward those who have earned it.

    *****

    Beginning the year with compassion means refusing to bypass the echoes of betrayal, manipulation, or dismissal. It means honoring the scarred parts of myself with ceremony, humor, and sovereignty. It also means celebrating the strength that has carried me through and the wisdom that continues to emerge from these experiences.

    *****

    If any of these practices resonate with you, may they serve as gentle companions on your own healing arc. May you find that in tending to your wounds with care, you discover a wellspring of resilience you didn’t know you held.

    Peace and Blessings,
    — Thea 💙

  • Why I’m Not Launching a Dedicated Sigma Woman Site

    Why I’m Not Launching a Dedicated Sigma Woman Site

    I recently realized that my impulse to create a dedicated blog site for the Sigma Woman archetype wasn’t as neutral as I initially thought.

    On the surface, it looked like contribution. I wanted to offer something more grounded and substantive than the shallow, misleading content I keep seeing online. I imagined writing academically sound material, properly researched, carefully articulated—something that could counter misinformation.

    But when I sat with it more honestly, I saw the familiar pattern underneath.

    This wasn’t just creativity. It was rescuing. Again.

    There was an unspoken assumption driving the idea: If I don’t step in, people will continue to be misled. That assumption quietly positioned me as a corrective force—someone responsible for educating, clarifying, and raising the bar for others.

    And that’s where it stopped being aligned.

    Launching a dedicated Sigma Woman site would require significant time, energy, and attention—far more than my Thea journal entries. Academic-style writing isn’t casual sharing. It requires structure, coherence, ongoing upkeep, and a kind of stewardship that extends well beyond the act of writing itself.

    That’s not a small commitment. And it isn’t a neutral one.

    More importantly, I had to ask myself a harder question:
    Why am I assuming responsibility for other people’s discernment?

    I’m noticing the same pattern now across multiple domains—Jungian psychology, trauma healing, Stoicism. Complex frameworks are simplified to make them accessible and relatable, often in ways that generate likes and subscriptions. In the process, nuance gets lost. Information becomes distorted. Viewers and readers are misled and misguided.

    I’ve seen this cycle before. The oversimplification of the Law of Attraction is a clear example—especially after The Secret, which promised control over life while bypassing grief, limits, and reality. It narrowed a complex philosophy and spiritual principle into a formula for manifesting material outcomes.

    This pattern of information distortion is dangerous, regardless of whether it’s deliberate or unintentional. And I’m making the same choice here as I did with the Sigma Woman material—not to intervene, correct, or counter it.

    Content creators are responsible for what they publish. Readers are responsible for what they consume.

    I do my own research. I question what doesn’t sit right. I fact-check and think critically. Others are capable of doing the same. If they choose not to, that isn’t a gap I’m obligated to fill.

    So I’m choosing not to build that site dedicated for the Sigma Woman archetype.

    This isn’t about withholding knowledge or shrinking myself. It’s about removing myself from a role I never consciously agreed to—the role of educator, corrector, or safeguard for an online ecosystem.

    I may still write about the Sigma archetype within Thea’s Truths & Thresholds when it naturally intersects with my own experience. But those entries are not meant to instruct, correct, teach, or persuade. They are simply records of my thoughts, of how I make sense of what I’m noticing and integrating.

    My role is not to educate or rescue, but to write truthfully and let it stand on its own. What resonates will resonate. What doesn’t, won’t. Whether it resonates or not doesn’t diminish or amplify the value of my writing. And it most certainly doesn’t define my worth.

    This feels like another quiet but important boundary — clarity without obligation, sharing without responsibility for outcomes, and expression without rescuing.

    And for now, that feels like the right place to let the words stand.

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

    Peace and Blessings,
    — Thea 💙