Why My Door Isn’t Just Locked, It’s Deadbolted

Hey guys, it’s Tina. Grab a coffee—or a glass of wine, I’m not judging—because we need to have a little “state of the union” meeting about my personal space.

You know that feeling when you finally clean out that one junk drawer in your kitchen? The one filled with dead batteries, mystery keys, and soy sauce packets from 2019? You feel lighter, right? Well, I’ve spent the last few months doing that, but with my life. And let me tell you, the “reorganization” is officially complete.

I recently shared a sentiment that I think a lot of us feel but are too “polite” to say out loud: Respectfully, please do not attempt to rekindle anything with me. It’s not beef, it’s closed. The door is closed. 💯

I think there’s this huge misconception that if you aren’t talking to someone, you must be “mad” or “holding a grudge.” People love drama. They want the tea. They want to know who said what and why I’m “beefing” with so-and-so.

But here’s the honest, human truth: I’m too tired for beef. Beef takes energy. Beef requires me to remember why I was annoyed in the first place. Keeping a grudge is like carrying a backpack full of bricks—it’s heavy, it makes your back hurt, and honestly? It’s just not a good look with my outfit.

When I say the door is closed, I’m not slamming it in a fit of rage. I’m closing it gently, turning the deadbolt, and walking away to go take a nap. It’s not about hate; it’s about finality.

We’ve all been there. You get that “Hey, thinking of you!” text at 11:00 PM on a Tuesday from someone you haven’t spoken to in two years. Or the “I saw this and thought of you” meme from the person who treated you like an option instead of a priority.

In the past, I was the Queen of the “Second (and Third, and Fourth) Chance.” I’d think, “Maybe they’ve changed!” or “It’s better to be nice than to be distant.” alert: They usually haven’t changed, and being “nice” to people who drain your battery is just a slow way to go into low-power mode.

Closing the door isn’t mean. It’s maintenance.

• Space is Limited: My life is a VIP lounge now, not a public park. I only have so much emotional bandwidth. If I’m spending time wondering if a “rekindled” friendship is going to blow up in my face again, I’m not spending that time on the people who have been standing by me all along.

• The Peace is Addictive: Once you experience a month of zero drama because you stopped letting “rekindlers” back in, you can’t go back. It’s like switching from dial-up internet to fiber optic. Why would I go back to the lagging and the noise?

• No Hard Feelings, Just No Feelings: This is the part people find hardest to understand. You can forgive someone and still not want to grab lunch with them. I wish everyone the best! I hope they win the lottery. I hope they find their soulmate. I just hope they do it on the other side of that closed door.

If you’re reading this and feeling a little guilty about someone you’ve phased out—don’t. You are allowed to outgrow people. You are allowed to decide that a chapter is finished. You don’t owe anyone an “update” or a “re-entry” just because you used to be close.

Growth is messy, and sometimes growth means realizing that some people were meant to be a season, not a series.

So, to anyone wondering where I’ve been or why I’m not “circling back”: I’m busy enjoying the quiet. The door isn’t just closed; I’ve actually moved the furniture in front of it and decorated the hallway. It looks great in here.

Stay peaceful, stay picky, and keep those doors locked.

Love,

Tina

Why My Friends Need to Stay Alive (Literally)

Hey everyone, Tina here.

I was scrolling through my phone the other day and came across a quote that hit me right in the soul—and my bank account. It said: “Please don’t die if you owe me money, I would hate to go through your pockets at the funeral.”

Now, before you call me heartless, let’s be real for a second. We all have that one friend. You know the one. They’re the light of the party, the person who gives the best hugs, the one who is always “just five minutes away” (which actually means they haven’t left their house yet). But they are also the friend who, whenever the check comes at dinner, suddenly discovers their banking app is “glitching” or they “left their wallet in their other jeans.”

I love my friends. I really do. I’d take a bullet for them. But I’m starting to realize I’d also like my $45 back for that bottomless brunch in 2022.

Think about the logistics of that quote for a second. Can you imagine the scene? There I am, Tina, dressed in my most respectful black dress, dabbing my eyes with a silk handkerchief. I lean over the casket for one final, tearful goodbye. The family is watching, moved by my clear devotion.

But instead of a whisper of “Rest in peace,” I’m actually feeling for the outline of a leather billfold. Is that a twenty? No, that’s just a lining. Wait, is that a Chase sapphire card? I’d be the first person in history to get kicked out of a funeral not for making a scene, but for trying to Venmo request a corpse. “Listen, Steve, I know you’re busy being eternal right now, but we talked about the Coachella tickets, man!”

Being the “Tina” of the group usually means I’m the one with the working credit card and the slightly-too-forgiving nature. I’ve become a reluctant micro-lender. My Venmo history looks like a charity foundation that specifically funds iced lattes and “emergency” Uber Rides for people who live three blocks away.

The problem is, when you lend money to friends, you enter a weird social limbo. You don’t want to be that person who brings it up every time you see them.

• Them: “I’m having such a hard week.”

• Me (Internal Monologue): “I know what would make you feel better… settling your debts.”

But instead, I just nod and say, “That sounds so tough, babe,” while mentally calculating how many tacos I could have bought with the money they owe me.

So, this is my official PSA to all my friends: Please, for the love of everything holy, stay hydrated. Eat your vegetables. Look both ways before crossing the street. Wear a helmet. Not just because I love your personality and your chaotic energy, but because I’ve worked too hard for my savings to have them buried six feet under in your back pocket.

I don’t want to have to do “funeral math.” I don’t want to be standing at a memorial service wondering if your estate covers the $12.50 you owe me for that shared appetizer that you ate 80% of anyway.

If you’re reading this and you feel a slight itch of guilt—don’t panic. I’m not coming for your pockets yet. But maybe, just maybe, check your Venmo requests today? Let’s keep our friendship (and your life) in good standing.

Because let’s be honest: I look terrible in a mugshot, and “robbing a casket for gas money” is a really hard thing to explain to a judge.

Stay safe, stay alive, and stay paid up.

Love always,

Tina

People raised on love see things differently than those raised on survival.

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