Welcome

The Allure Letter: a Love Letter For Her…

Hi, This Isn’t How I Wanted Us To Meet But…

“Okay, so tell me if you’ve ever felt this… You spent years chasing a version of life you swore would make you happy, only to get there and realize—wait, this isn’t it. It’s like planning the perfect trip, packing all the right outfits, getting there, and suddenly realizing you don’t even like the destination. And now? You’re here, standing in the wreckage of what you thought you wanted, feeling a little sad, maybe even guilty for wanting something else. But beneath all of that? There’s this quiet, electric feeling of what if? What if this isn’t the end, but the beginning of something even better?”

“That’s where I am. In the in-between. Unraveling. Exploring. Laughing at the absurdity of it all while still wiping away the occasional tear. And if you’re here too—curious, questioning, wondering what happens next—then stay. Let’s figure it out together. Not with a five-step plan or some perfect roadmap, but with honesty, adventure, and maybe a little bit of recklessness. Because if the life we thought we wanted wasn’t it… then what happens when we stop chasing and just become?” Oh…My name is Tia btw.

  • Redefining Success: Why Losing It All Set Me Free

    She used to think success meant being the one everyone was proud of.

    The good girl.
    The hard worker.
    The one who made it out, made it happen, made it make sense.

    She had the title, the income, the clean resume, the apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a curated bookshelf full of books she never had time to read.
    She was booked, busy, and bored out of her damn mind.

    But let me be honest…
    I didn’t know I was in a prison until the walls started crumbling. And when they did? Baby, I didn’t run.
    I sat right there in the rubble and exhaled for the first time in years.

    The Trap of “Making It”

    I thought if I just kept checking the boxes, I’d feel whole.
    Get the degree.
    Get the job.
    Get the man.
    Get the life that looks good on Instagram.

    But I was performing a version of me that didn’t even turn me on.
    I was clapping for achievements that didn’t light me up, collecting gold stars while secretly fantasizing about burning it all down and disappearing somewhere no one could find me.

    (And not in a “I need a break” kind of way…
    I’m talking full-on new name, new number, start a jewelry shop in a small town in Portugal type of escape.)

    It wasn’t the success itself that hurt — it was who I had to become to keep it.
    Polished. Palatable. Predictable.

    Until one day, I couldn’t pretend anymore.

    The Fall That Freed Me

    I didn’t spiral.
    I didn’t crash and burn.
    I quit.

    Quietly. Boldly.
    On a random Tuesday that started like any other — until it wasn’t.

    I had been carrying the thought for months, like a secret I wasn’t ready to say out loud.
    I kept showing up, doing the work, smiling through the tension in my chest.
    But my spirit had already left the building long before I did.

    And then one day… it just came out of my mouth.

    I was standing in my studio, the one I built from scratch.
    The space that held so many dreams — but none of mine anymore.

    I looked at the person I was renting it from and said,

    “I think I’m done. Like… really done.”

    And that was it.
    No big announcement. No grand farewell.
    Just a quiet decision that felt louder than any applause I’d ever gotten.

    I started packing up my things.
    Each box felt like a chapter closing — and not a sad one. A necessary one.
    I wasn’t walking away. I was walking toward something. Even if I didn’t know what yet.

    It wasn’t a fall. It was a release.

    The kind that happens when your soul stops asking and starts moving.

    Finding My Footing

    I wish I could tell you that walking away felt like freedom and flowers right away.
    That the next morning I woke up glowing and grateful, fully aligned and sipping matcha in peace.

    But the truth?
    It got dark.

    At first, I felt powerful.
    Like I had finally chosen me.
    But then came the silence.

    The calls slowed.
    The invitations stopped.
    Some of the friendships I thought were real? Turns out they were only real as long as I held a certain status — as long as I was “somebody.”

    People had opinions.
    Ohhh, did they have opinions.

    They called me brave… with a side of concern.
    They asked what my “next move” was like my life was a chessboard.
    Some straight up thought I lost my damn mind.

    And maybe, for a while, I did.

    I slipped into a fog that I couldn’t shake.
    I questioned everything.
    I cried… a lot.
    I deleted the apps, ignored the messages, stopped posting.
    I disappeared into my own life and let the shame do what it does best — isolate.

    Maybe I made a mistake.
    Maybe I wasn’t built for this kind of boldness.
    Maybe I really did throw away everything for nothing.

    The guilt was loud.
    The self-hate louder.
    I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself — not because of how I looked, but because of how I felt.
    Ashamed.
    Heavy.
    Haunted by the version of me I left behind.

    But in that stillness — that brutal, breathless stillness — a silver lining started to hum underneath it all:

    I didn’t leave my old life to be perfect. I left it to be real.

    That was the whisper I held onto.

    I realized that even if I didn’t have a plan, even if I felt lost, even if it made no damn sense to anyone else — I had to live for me.
    And living for me?
    Might be hella messy.
    Might be embarrassing.
    Might scare the shit out of me.
    But at least it’s mine.

    So now?
    I’m figuring my own shit out.
    One thought, one breath, one decision at a time.

    Rebuilding myself.
    On my terms.
    Without the mask. Without the performance.
    Just me — raw, real, and slowly rising.

    Rebuilding, But This Time — It’s for Me

    I’m not trying to be the “old me” again.
    She was surviving. She was trying. She was tired.

    This version of me?
    She’s asking different questions.
    She’s learning to sit with the unknown, to let things unfold without needing to control the outcome.

    I’m not chasing a polished version of success anymore.
    I’m chasing alignment. Peace. The kind of joy that doesn’t need to be posted to be felt.

    I’ve started redefining what winning looks like.
    Sometimes it’s getting out of bed.
    Sometimes it’s saying no to things that look good but feel wrong.
    Sometimes it’s sitting in silence and realizing — I’m okay. I’m really okay.

    I’m not rushing this rebuild.
    I want the foundation to be real. I want it to feel like me.
    Because this time, I’m not building a brand.
    I’m building a life.

    And if it’s slower, quieter, or messier than what they expected?
    So be it.

    This time, I’m not creating a life to impress anyone.
    I’m creating one that actually fits me.

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  • The Life I Thought I Wanted Is Gone…Thank God

    Let’s Recap..

    “If you’ve been keeping up, you know I’ve been in the trenches of questioning every single thing about my life—who I’ve been, what I’ve accepted, and most importantly, what I’m no longer available for. First, it was my dating life (because whew, the situationship crisis). But now? It’s everything.*

    Because I had a moment—one of those gut-wrenching, sit-in-the-dark, stare-at-the-ceiling moments—where I realized:

    The life I thought I wanted is gone.

    And for a while, that felt like the biggest L of my life.

    But now?

    I see it for what it really is—a f*cking gift.

    The “Oh Sh*t, I Failed” Phase

    Let me be real with you. When I first realized that nothing I had built still fit me, I did not handle it gracefully.

    No, I didn’t have some peaceful, enlightened epiphany.

    I had a full-on existential crisis.

    I was sitting there like:

    • Wait… if I don’t want this anymore… then what do I want?
    • Did I just waste years of my life chasing the wrong thing??
    • What if I never figure it out?
    • What if I’m just lost forever?
    • Should I just… settle? Go back? Pretend I still want it?

    And for a brief second, I thought about it.

    I thought about shrinking back down into the version of me that was easier to understand. The version that checked all the right boxes. The version that made other people comfortable.

    But that version of me?

    She wasn’t happy.

    She was people-pleasing her way through life. She was playing it safe. She was more concerned with being chosen than actually choosing herself.

    And once I realized that?

    There was no going back.

    The Fear of Being Seen

    Let’s talk about one of the biggest reasons we hold onto old versions of ourselves—because we’re scared of being seen in our transformation.

    Because listen… being perceived is violent.

    The moment you start changing, people notice.

    And people love to have opinions about sh*t that isn’t their business.

    • “Oh, you’re different now.”
    • “You’ve changed.”
    • “You don’t act the same anymore.”

    And it’s like… YES, KAREN. THAT’S THE POINT.

    But even knowing that, I still found myself hesitating.

    I still had moments of wanting to disappear instead of stepping into my full self. I still worried about how people would react. I still caught myself thinking smaller, dreaming smaller, wanting smaller—because it felt safer.

    But you know what?

    Screw. That.

    Because if there’s one thing I refuse to do, it’s live a life that feels too tight for me just because it makes other people comfortable.

    The Turning Point (aka The Moment I Said F*ck It)

    One day, I woke up and just couldn’t do it anymore.

    I couldn’t force myself to keep fitting into a version of my life that I had outgrown.

    I couldn’t pretend that I still wanted the same things.

    I couldn’t keep betraying myself just to maintain an identity that wasn’t even mine anymore.

    And that’s when it hit me:

    I didn’t fail. I evolved.

    And the life I thought I wanted?

    It wasn’t mine to begin with.

    I had inherited it—absorbed it from expectations, from conditioning, from what I thought I was supposed to want.

    But deep down?

    I was always meant for something different.

    And if I didn’t let go of that old life, I was never going to step into the one that was actually meant for me.

    The Rebirth: Fully Embodying Who I Am Now

    So here’s the truth:

    I don’t have it all figured out.

    But I know I’m not settling anymore.

    I know I’m done asking for permission to live how I want to live.

    I know I’m done contorting myself to be more likable, more digestible, more acceptable.

    And most of all?

    I know I refuse to let another day go by where I’m not fully embodying the version of me that’s been waiting to be born.

    Because that version?

    She’s bold. She’s loud. She’s unapologetic as f*ck.

    She is not shrinking anymore.

    And if you’re reading this and feeling it, if you’re realizing you’ve been tiptoeing around your own life, if you’ve been afraid to fully step into your truth—

    Let this be your permission slip.

    You do not have to wait anymore.

    Step into it.
    Own it.
    Become it.

    Because the life you were meant to live?

    It’s waiting for you to claim it.

    Final Thoughts (aka Let’s Do This Sh*t)

    So yeah. The life I thought I wanted?

    It’s gone.

    And thank God.

    Because now?

    I finally get to create one that’s mine.

    And if you’re on this path too—if you’re out here letting go of the old, stepping into the unknown, figuring it out as you go—then you’re in the right place.

    Let’s burn the rulebook.
    Let’s stop waiting for permission.
    Let’s stop making ourselves small.

    We are not looking back.

    We are not apologizing.

    We are walking straight into our power.

    And I don’t know about you…

    But I’ve never felt more free.

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  • Single, Sexy, and Questioning My Own Damn Choices

    In my last post, we had a moment. We honored her—the woman I used to be, the one who tried so hard to fit into a life that never truly fit her back. We talked about how I was finally stepping into my real self, reclaiming my desires, my voice, my power.

    And one of the ways I’m honoring her?

    By reestablishing my dating choices—or, let’s be real, questioning my own damn choices because somebody explain to me why I let this last situation drag on for as long as it did.

    I mean, you ever block a man so fast, you damn near sprain your thumb? Like, it’s a knee-jerk reaction—muscle memory at this point?

    Because that’s exactly what happened when this man, five whole days after my birthday, had the audacity, the gall, the absolute nerve to text me:

    “You up?”

    Sir, I’m up. I’m up and realizing you are the reason I need therapy.

    And you know what? I’d been playing so dumb for so long. Ignoring red flags like they were suggestions instead of warnings. But something snapped in me that day.

    And by snapped, I mean I blocked him so hard, I swear I heard a sound effect.

    But let’s rewind, because the sex was good, and unfortunately, that’s part of the story.

    Let’s Discuss My Bad Decisions

    I knew I was settling. I knew this man had the emotional depth of a soggy paper towel. But did I leave? No. I signed up for extra credit.

    Because the sex? The sex had me delusional.

    Like, walking around my apartment smiling at my phone for no reason delusional.

    Like, standing in the mirror hyping myself up after he left, thinking I had just unlocked some kind of goddess-level femininity delusional.

    Like, fully composing a breakup text and then deleting it because the thought of not hearing him say ‘come here’ in that low voice made my knees weak delusional.

    This man knew his strengths and STUCK to them.

    Every time I was ready to walk away, he’d pull me back in with the absolute filthiest, most well-timed nonsense.

    The deep, intense eye contact. The way he’d pause right before going down on me, just to smirk like he knew I was about to lose my entire mind. The way he’d laugh when I was trying to pretend I wasn’t about to fold like a cheap lawn chair.

    It wasn’t fair.

    It was immoral.

    It was highly effective.

    And I kept going back, knowing I was starving for something real but convincing myself that at least my body was getting fed.

    My standards were negotiable and my spine was a rumor.

    Until my birthday.

    The Birthday That Broke the Spell

    Now, I spent all week talking about my birthday.

    How it was a big deal to me. How I was stepping into a new era, shedding the version of myself that settled. How I wanted to celebrate this transformation.

    And this man? Oh, he was right there. Nodding along. Acting like he understood the assignment.

    He even hinted at getting me a gift. A gift, girl.

    Like, I was over here thinking—Okay, maybe he’s trying. Maybe he actually cares.

    Narrator: He did not care.

    Because my birthday came… and this man was nowhere to be found.

    Not a text. Not a call. Not a single acknowledgment of the day I was literally born.

    Nothing.

    And you wanna know what makes it worse?

    My friends couldn’t hang out either.

    So there I was. Alone. On my birthday. Sitting in my apartment, eating my own birthday cake like I was the sad montage in a coming-of-age movie.

    Pitiful.

    And then?

    FIVE. DAYS. LATER.

    Like a damn jump scare in a horror movie—ding! My phone lights up.

    And this man, this walking red flag, this emotional criminal, texts me like he hadn’t just vanished off the face of the earth.

    No apology. No “Happy belated birthday.” No “I feel like trash, let me make it up to you.”

    Just a straight-up, shameless booty call.

    And when I didn’t respond? This man had the absolute audacity to hit me with:

    “Did I miss my chance?”

    Sir.

    YOU MISSED A WHOLE ERA.

    You missed character development. You missed growth. You missed the part where I finally woke up and realized I deserve more.

    And that’s when my thumb moved before my brain even processed it.

    BLOCKED.

    Late Bloomer Chronicles: I Finally Had Something to Say

    You wanna know the worst part?

    Before this, I had spent years feeling like I had nothing to add to the “So, how’s your love life?” brunch conversations.

    Because I was a late bloomer.

    And being a late bloomer is humbling as hell.

    You sit at brunch listening to your friends swap stories about romantic getaways, men paying their rent just for existing, full-blown relationship drama—and you’re just over here like:

    “Sooo… I recently discovered I like oat milk lattes?”

    It was like everyone had this secret formula for love and desire that I somehow never got access to.

    So when I finally had something—even if it was just physical, even if it was barely meeting my emotional needs—I felt like I finally had a seat at the table.

    I could sip my overpriced mimosa and say, “Well, there is this guy…” and suddenly, I was part of the club.

    Even if that club was full of red flags and regret.

    But looking back?

    I see it for what it was.

    I was settling for crumbs just to feel included.

    Reclaiming My Time, My Heart, and My Body

    So yeah, I blocked him.

    But more importantly?

    I blocked the version of me that tolerated this in the first place.

    The one who stayed because the sex was good but left every encounter feeling a little emptier.

    The one who let herself believe that bare minimum effort was better than nothing.

    She’s gone.

    Because I deserve more. And the fact that it took my own birthday gut-punching me into realizing that?

    Tragic. Hilarious. Transformative.

    So if you’ve ever found yourself settling, rationalizing, hoping someone would just care—

    🚨 This is your sign. Block him. Block the old you. And don’t look back. 🚨

    We are not doing this anymore.

    Final Thoughts (aka the Post-Block Glow-Up)

    Am I still questioning my own damn choices?

    Yes. Absolutely. I’m a work in progress.

    But you know what I do know?

    ✨ I’m choosing myself now.
    ✨ I’m not waiting for people to care anymore.
    ✨ I’m stepping out of the shadows, whether the world is ready or not.

    And THAT? That feels like the best damn birthday gift I could’ve given myself.

    Here’s to never begging for the bare minimum again.

    And if you’re in the same boat?

    Welcome aboard, sis. We’re thriving.

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  • For Her..

    For Her..

    (A Love Letter to the Woman I’m Becoming)

    She almost didn’t do it.

    She almost let another day pass, another week, another year—still waiting, still shrinking, still convincing herself that maybe she wasn’t ready yet.

    She almost let fear win. Again.

    But then, she remembered:

    She wasn’t doing this just for herself. She was doing this for her—the woman she used to be. The one who hesitated. The one who watered herself down so she wouldn’t be “too much.” The one who knew, deep down, that she was meant for more but was too afraid to become it.

    She wasn’t going to let her down again.

    To the Version of Me Who Was Too Scared to Choose Herself

    You tried, baby girl. You really did.

    You made yourself smaller, softer, easier to digest. You kept your voice at a polite volume. You didn’t ruffle feathers. You stayed when you should have left.

    You convinced yourself that as long as you were likable, as long as you didn’t step on any toes, life would eventually open up for you. That you’d be rewarded for being agreeable, for being easy to love, for never making anyone too uncomfortable.

    But here’s what they don’t tell you—playing it safe is the fastest way to lose yourself.

    I look back at you now, and I see all the times you held your tongue when you wanted to speak, all the times you said “I’m fine” when you weren’t, all the times you smiled and nodded when something inside you was screaming No. No. NO.

    I see the way you let yourself be overlooked. I see how you clapped for everyone else while secretly wondering when it would be your turn.

    I see how you thought that if you made yourself small enough, agreeable enough, accommodating enough—eventually, someone would choose you.

    But the real gag is, you were always supposed to choose yourself.

    I’m sorry it took me so long. But I’m here now.

    And I’m choosing you.

    I’m Still Scared… But Screw It

    Look. Let’s be honest. I wish I could say that realizing all of this magically made fear disappear overnight. That I woke up one day, Beyoncé playing in the background, fully transformed into the most confident, fearless, self-actualized version of myself.

    But that’s not how this works.

    Fear is still here. She’s still whispering in my ear, still showing up like an uninvited guest at a party I didn’t even plan. She’s still throwing out “What if you fail?” and “What if they don’t get it?” and “What if this is a mistake?”

    The difference now?

    I’m no longer treating fear like a damn authority figure.

    I’ve let her drive the car for way too long, and let me tell you—she sucks at directions. She’s always slamming the brakes, making U-turns, and pulling over on the side of the road like, “Wait, let’s think about this again.”

    So I’m putting her in the backseat.

    She can come along for the ride if she must, but she doesn’t get to touch the damn wheel anymore.

    Stepping Into This Shamelessly

    So here I am. Showing up. Writing this. Taking up space. Not waiting for permission.

    This is for the woman I was. The woman I am. The woman I am becoming.

    For the times I hesitated. For the times I shrank. For every version of me that needed to be reminded—

    You don’t have to wait anymore.

    For her, I’m doing it now.

    Okay, Your Turn

    And now, I want to talk to you.

    I know I’m not the only one who’s felt this way. I know I’m not the only one who has spent years playing small, waiting for the right moment, waiting for someone to give them permission to take up space.

    So tell me—how many times have you gone back on your word to yourself?

    How many times have you almost gone for it but let fear pull you back?

    How many times have you let other people climb over you like a damn stepping stone while you stood there, thinking, Maybe next time I’ll speak up?

    How many times have you stopped yourself from wearing the outfit, throwing the party, taking the damn risk—because you were afraid of being too seen?

    How many birthdays, milestones, wins—big or small—have you let pass by without celebrating yourself properly? How many times have you given credit to everyone but you?

    Enough.

    Enough waiting. Enough hesitating. Enough talking ourselves out of our own lives.

    I’m not doing that anymore. And if you’re tired of doing it too, then let’s do this together.

    Let’s come undone. Let’s take the leap. Let’s stop waiting for the version of us that’s “ready” and realize that this version—right here, right now—is enough.

    So if you’re in, buckle up, babe.

    We’re about to become unapologetically who we were always meant to be.

    For her. For me. For you.

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