Tequila and Tea

Because sometimes the most romantic thing you can do is ghost your dating apps and sage your phone.

There comes a moment in every conscious woman’s love life when the texts stop lighting you up, the swipes feel hollow, and the question “What are you looking for on here?” makes you want to throw your phone into a bowl of sea salt and moon water.

It’s the moment you realize: You’re not tired of love. You’re tired of the bullsh*t.

Tired of pretending.
Tired of the half-effort messages.
Tired of shaving your legs for someone who doesn’t even ask how your day was.
Tired of performing your softness for men who haven’t earned your vulnerability.

So you do the most radical, revolutionary thing a woman can do in this culture of instant gratification and digital delusion:
You pause.
You delete the apps.
You light a candle.
You stop outsourcing your magic.

You choose a dating detox.

Not because you’re bitter.
Not because you’re broken.
But because your soul whispered, Baby, it’s time to come home to yourself.

A dating detox isn’t about swearing off connection. It’s about reclaiming coherency with your own heart. It’s about re-rooting into your worth, your rhythm, your rituals. It’s choosing quiet instead of confusion, clarity instead of chaos.

It’s the moment you remember: I’d rather be alone in peace than entangled in someone else’s projections.
That being alone doesn’t mean being unloved—it means being unshaken.
That the most erotic thing might just be waking up without emotional noise in your field.

During my own detox, I took myself on dates that ended in bath soaks, not disappointment. I pulled cards instead of waiting for texts. I wrote love notes to myself. I re-tuned my nervous system, poured myself tea, tequila, truth—and realized: I feel good here.

When you detox from dating, you start to notice where you were settling for half-love just to fill a space that was meant for devotion. You realize how many times you’ve cracked your heart open for someone who only brought a spoon. You remember your wild, your boundaries, your inner beloved.

This is spiritual self-care.

It’s not a punishment. It’s a homecoming. A remembering. A soft but fierce refusal to contort yourself just to receive affection. It’s the kind of sacred defiance that says:

“I’m not here to chase love. I am love. And when I date again, it will be from overflow—not from ache.”

So if you’re feeling called to log off, to delete, to stop answering “wyd” texts from people who don’t know your middle name—do it.
Ghost the apps.
Sage the phone.
Return to the altar of your own wholeness.

Because sometimes, the most romantic thing you can do…
is light a candle, pour a drink, and not wait for anyone.