The EnlightenTea: My Personal Stories of Growth & ​Transformation

The Unexpected Lessons from Letting Go

When I posted on Facebook, I thought I was done. A relationship that had run its course, a chapter I was ready to close without any more drama. But the reactions from friends and family came flooding in—texts, calls, messages—each one filled with shock and disbelief.

They couldn’t understand why it had ended, why it had gotten so bad. But me? I was calm. Almost eerily calm. In my mind, once I decided something was over, it was done. There was no turning back.

What they didn’t know was that I wasn’t open about what was going on—not because I didn’t want to share, but because I wasn’t going being honest with myself. I had already made up my mind, but I hadn’t fully admitted it yet. The truth was, I was hiding from my own feelings, burying them beneath what I thought was a strong decision.

One of my closest friends, called, upset and heartbroken for me. Within 30 minutes, she was there, grabbing trash bags and boxes, ready to help me pack up his things. And let me tell you—this was a friend, not just in words, but in action. She will always have a special place in my heart for that.

As we packed, I felt lighter. Like a weight was being lifted. This chapter was officially closed, and I was moving on.

I called him, told him his things were packed and ready to go. No drama. No fighting. But when he showed up to pick them up, he bypassed the neatly packed boxes and bags at the door, charging right through the house, rummaging through drawers.

He wanted to know why I was doing this. “After everything I’ve done for you?” His questions were laced with disbelief, like I was the one being irrational. But I sat there, laughing and unfazed.

“The only thing you’ve given me is heartbreak and pain. Get your stuff and get out. And if you try to just pop up, I will call the police.”

The door closed behind him, and I could breathe again. But the silence that followed was deafening.

The Car, the Dog, the Refund, and the Final Goodbye

Along with the relationship, I had to walk away from the possessions and financial ties that had once bound us together. The car we shared was in my name, but we had both been making payments on it. The accident deemed it totaled, and the refund came after the loan was paid off. He tried to use the refund as a guilt trip, claiming I owed him because we had shared the car. But as much as I was angry, I wanted to be fair. I split the refund right down the middle.

He offered to take the dog, and I gladly agreed because I didn’t want the responsibility anymore. He said he’d get him once he got established, but it all sounded good until his actions told a different story. The dog we had together became another point of tension. He wasn’t consistent with visiting, often lying about when he’d come over, only to cancel or try to call when I was out.

I had no patience left for the emotional manipulation, so I ended that connection too. He played the victim, acting like I was keeping his “best friend” from him. But in the end, I made the dog mine, just so I could be done with him and all the games.

With that, I walked away from everything—no more ties, no more emotional manipulation, just me choosing to be free. I was done, and I made sure there was no turning back.

Therapy: The Unseen Process of Healing

Once I decided I was done, therapy became my lifeline. I had already had sessions scheduled, but this time, walking into that room felt different. I wasn’t the same person anymore. I hoped my therapist wouldn’t see through my facade, but I couldn’t hide from her. She gently guided me to a realization I wasn’t ready for.

“You need time to grieve this relationship,” she said, and I rolled my eyes, brushing it off with a dramatic sigh.

“Grieve? For what? I don’t even want to date again. The low quality of men out here—”

Before I could finish, she cut me off, her tone calm but strong.

“Then stop choosing so low ma’am.”

That hit me like a ton of bricks. I froze. I was speechless. The simplicity of her words made me stop in my tracks. Why had I never considered that before?

That day started a deeper journey into my self-worth. Why was it so hard to choose better? To choose higher? It wasn’t just about cutting off the toxic relationships; it was about understanding why I had ever accepted less in the first place.

A False Sense of Healing

After a few months of therapy, I had this false sense of hope. I thought, “Now I know my worth. I won’t settle for less anymore.” I believed I was ready to start over.

I was dating intentionally this time, being clear about what I wanted and needed. But the dating pool? It left me worse than where I started.

I told myself I was doing it right this time, dating them all and being intentional. I vowed to ask the right questions and be honest from the start. But in truth, it was a fleeting sense of liberation that would ultimately lead to the inevitable death of my ego.

But as I prepared to step into my Saturn return, I was unknowingly stepping into yet another cycle of trauma. What I thought was a deep connection rooted in mutual understanding would eventually reveal itself to be another painful bond that would test my growth and challenge everything I thought I had learned.

I downloaded this app called BLK, a black dating app where I matched with 2 people.

First, it was The Pisces. He was good on paper and okay in looks, but our conversations were so thorough I felt seen in a way I hadn’t before. He was a great planner, had just bought a condo, and knew how to curate the perfect playlist. We’d spend days working from home together, and he was an amazing listener. But for all the depth I thought we had, he was constantly defensive. I couldn’t even joke without him taking it the wrong way. It started great but ended in four months of toxic back-and-forth, filled with paragraphs belittling each other and revealing how unhealed we both truly were.

Then came the Leo, sweet and affectionate. He was always rubbing my feet, playing in my hair, and checking in on me. But the lies? They were constant. Little things he’d say didn’t align with his actions. He had a son and was heading to basic training, and while I loved his attention and affection, I couldn’t see myself taking him seriously.

Next was the Scorpio. I met him while selling edibles, and there was something about the intensity in his eyes that drew me in. He enjoyed the drinks and asked to take me out where I agreed. He had just moved to Hyde Park so most dates were in that area, worked for a nonprofit, and loved to cook. We’d smoke and chill, and for a while, it felt easy. But there was no emotional depth. He lived on the surface. I would ask questions and somehow it would go back to a story of who he was in college as an RA and I found myself craving a connection he just couldn’t give.

When I told him I didn’t want to date him seriously anymore and suggested we keep things casual, he seemed surprised and asked why. I explained the lack of depth in our connection and reminded him that he’d said he wasn’t looking for anything serious, so this should make things simpler. He reluctantly agreed.

The next time we hung out, everything felt off, like the dynamic between us had shifted in a way I couldn’t quite place. It started casually enough, but when we got into it, things quickly took a turn. From behind, he asked if he could go in my butt, and I said no. Instead of respecting that, he decided to do whatever he wanted anyway, insisting it would be okay and he would go slow while pinning me down. I froze, already uncomfortable, but when he put his hand on my hair—holding down my knotless braids—I screamed, telling him he was pulling on my hair. He ignored me, kept going, and as I’m trying to move away, his hand shifted as well yanking my braid right from my scalp. I was numb.

I brought up my hair afterward, and he responded with, “Oh, did I do that? I didn’t mean to,” but he never actually apologized—because he wasn’t sorry. I lay there, stunned and numb, feeling foolish for thinking things could stay simple or casual. That moment was it for me. I cut him off after that.

Lastly, there was the Virgo—someone I knew from college who had always been kind and actively engaged in thought-provoking debates on Facebook. I posted something about a boyfriend application, and he replied by jokingly volunteering as tribute. We exchanged numbers and started texting regularly. His communication was thorough, thoughtful, and respectful. He made it clear that he wanted to take his time and get to know each other before moving forward, which I truly appreciated.

At first, things felt different with him. Our intellectual banter covered a wide range of topics, our conversations were captivating, and his music recommendations had the soulful vibe of 90s R&B. It was rare to meet someone who could match me mentally and emotionally, and I genuinely enjoyed our exchanges. But soon, his so-called “transparency” began to reveal itself.

We eventually planned to go on an official date. I remember him repeatedly asking if I had listened to his podcast, and I kept saying, “Not yet, but I’ll get to it.” He brought it up again one day on our date, and I decided to finally check it out.

I couldn’t let it slide, so I asked him directly if he was seeing someone else. That’s when it all came out—he was not only dating someone but also expecting a baby. And here he was, telling me all of this in the name of “transparency.”

Once I got home, I opened the podcast, scrolled to Episode 2, and the title stopped me in my tracks: Polygamy: The Juice and the Journey. I felt a lump rise in my throat as confusion and disbelief settled in.

I was baffled, hurt, and furious all at once. This wasn’t just about him; it was about me finally realizing that I was still tolerating situations that didn’t align with what I truly wanted.

Reflections in the Murky Waters

The Virgo ended up being the catalyst for real change within myself. In reality, it brought real shame to myself. His revelations were the slap in the face I didn’t know I needed. They forced me to pause, reflect, and take an honest look at why I kept attracting and entertaining these mismatched connections. I wasn’t just dating these men—I was settling for less than I deserved while convincing myself I was “doing the work.” In reality, I was avoiding the deeper healing I needed to finally break these cycles for good. I cut off every guy I was still texting or entertaining and went into isolation. Except for an old high school friend—and I couldn’t understand why.

He had been there throughout all my dating experiences, offering a listening ear and reflecting on his own. From the moment we reconnected, we were inseparable. He was taking HVAC classes near my home, so we started hanging out regularly. I truly enjoyed our intellectual banter, especially when we discussed the “ain’t shit” men and women in society. I’d defend the good women, and he would defend the good men. Our conversations became a safe space, where I could be vulnerable without feeling judged.

I loved how he thought about things and handled business as a man. He cared deeply for his family and took it upon himself to get a skill that would enhance their lives—like fixing their furnace when it went out. A real stand-up guy when it mattered most. I thought it was honorable, especially how he always referenced his Navy motto: Honor. Loyalty. Respect. He was rough in speech, but I really appreciated the honesty. There was a sincerity in his words that always felt grounded, even when his delivery was blunt.

We often talked about our parents and how we were raised, which made me feel seen. We had very similar situations and even knew the same people, just on different paths. Our honesty was top tier, and we could talk for hours that felt like minutes. There was a natural flow between us that made every conversation feel effortless and meaningful.

Through all of this, that old high school friend had remained by my side. He never judged, only offered insight, and his honesty made me feel truly heard and understood.

Little did I know, this friend—who had always been there through my dating ups and downs—would eventually become my child’s father, changing both of our lives forever.

As you reflect on this chapter, consider: Who in your life has been a steady presence, even if their purpose wasn’t clear at first? Are there relationships or moments in your journey that, in hindsight, feel divinely orchestrated?

My hope is that this chapter helps you see how every connection—no matter how mysterious at the time—has its reason and serves a higher purpose in your story. Trust the unfolding; it’s all part of a spiritual experience shaping who we are meant to become.