Tequila and Tea

Modern dating for the woman who does breathwork before brunch and pulls oracle cards before texting back

There’s something wildly humbling about being a spiritually awakened woman on a dating app. One minute you’re meditating under the full moon with rose quartz on your womb, whispering mantras about sacred union. The next, you’re swiping right on a man named Chad who owns three kettlebells, lives with two roommates, and describes himself as “sapiosexual” and “crypto-curious.”

It’s enough to make you laugh, cry, and stage a full moon cord-cutting ceremony all in the same evening.

I’ll admit it: I’m spiritual AF. I believe in synchronicity, I’ve done enough inner child work to write her a memoir, and I can tell you the current moon phase without even opening an app. I burn incense. I set intentions. I pull tarot before texting back. And yes—I still swipe right.

Because spiritual doesn’t mean shut down. It doesn’t mean I’m above the desire for connection, for affection, for a strong pair of arms and someone who understands my astrology chart and respects my boundaries. But the dating pool? Let’s just say it’s not always overflowing with aligned, emotionally available, fully-integrated divine masculine types. Sometimes it’s overflowing with men who list ayahuasca as a personality trait and think “shadow work” means wearing black on a Tuesday.

And yet, we try. We open. We flirt. We follow our intuition and occasionally ignore it because the chemistry feels like lightning and his voice sounds like safety. And that’s where the karmic curriculum begins.

You know the ones. The whirlwind connections that feel like destiny but unfold like a slow-motion collapse. You think you’ve met a soulmate; the universe whispers, “This is a syllabus.” Karmic relationships aren’t about the long game. They’re about the deep game—the triggering, cracking-open, ego-burning, truth-revealing kind of love that leaves you simultaneously more alive and more disoriented than you’ve ever been.

They show up fast. You lock eyes. You skip small talk. You feel like you’ve known them in another lifetime (and you probably have). But soon enough, the patterns emerge. You start noticing the parts of yourself you’re hiding to keep the peace. The way you shrink your magic to seem more “normal.” The way you hold space for their growth while abandoning your own.

And suddenly, your healing journey isn’t about journaling in a bubble bath. It’s about realizing you’ve fallen for someone who can’t meet you—and the part of you that still thought you could love them into readiness.

Shadow work doesn’t always come wrapped in rituals and palo santo. Sometimes it comes in the form of a man who mirrors back the very lesson you swore you already learned. He texts less. He shows up inconsistently. You start questioning your worth, re-reading your last message like it’s a spell you cast wrong. But deep down, you know. This isn’t alignment. It’s a loop.

Still, we stay longer than we should because our hearts are hopeful and our egos are sneaky. Maybe this time, we think. Maybe I just need to hold the vision a little longer. Maybe he’s my twin flame in disguise. (He’s not. He’s probably just a Gemini with commitment issues.)

Eventually, we wake up. Again. We call our power back. Again. We cry, sage the sheets, pour a shot of tequila, and laugh at the cosmic absurdity of it all. Because even when love doesn’t last, it always leaves a message. And if you’re listening, you’ll hear your soul whispering, “Thank you for not settling.”

Being spiritual and dating in the modern world isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s knowing that just because someone touches your body doesn’t mean they deserve access to your soul. It’s learning to discern between a sacred connection and a beautifully wrapped distraction. And most of all, it’s realizing that you are not here to chase love—you’re here to be love. To embody it. To call it in with clarity and confidence.

So yes, I still swipe. But now, I swipe with sacred discernment. I trust the process. I laugh at the chaos. And I honor every karmic lesson for what it is: a stepping stone toward something real, rooted, and whole.

And until then? I’ll be here with my tarot cards, my nervous system intact, and a perfectly chilled glass of tequila in hand.