Mynx Writes

A Decade. A Bar. A Breakdown. A Beginning. At the end of June, a milestone passed. Ten years. Ten years of pouring pieces of myself into a dream that never quite took shape the way I’d hoped. Ten years of running a bar with my sister, fighting to make something sustainable, creative, and community-rooted in a system that rewards burnout and punishes softness. For most of those ten years, I was also in a relationship that drained me in quieter, more insidious ways. The kind of relationship where you wake up one day and realize you don’t recognize your voice anymore. That ended two years ago. But the echoes of it? The collateral damage? Still here. Still haunting the house I rented thinking it could become a home. 🏚️ The Haunted House I moved into this place with hope. It had space. It had charm. I thought, “Maybe this is where I rebuild.” Instead, it became a graveyard for all the things I tried to salvage: The relationship The business My sanity My self-wor...

Ever been told you’re too sensitive or too reactive —when all you did was name the thing no one else wanted to look at? That’s not drama. That’s clarity. But clarity makes cowards squirm. And when they flinch, they frame you as the threat. Let’s talk about the witch wound that hides behind “being nice” and “keeping the peace.” It’s not actually peace if you have to disappear to keep it. They didn’t teach you safety. They taught you to be agreeable enough to survive discomfort you didn’t cause. You weren’t loud—you were clear . You weren’t sabotaging—you were surviving . You weren’t broken—you were bending around other people’s fear . But here’s the truth, beloved wild thing: 🧨 You’re not the threat. You’re the spark. The flare. The damn signal fire. And they didn’t like what that light revealed—so they told you to dim it. And you? You internalized it. You learned to shrink. To soften. To pre-apologize. This week’s Ko-fi prompts are for the version of yo...

Ever been called too much ? Too loud. Too sensitive. Too angry. Too “weird,” “intense,” “dramatic,” or some other shapeshifting label meant to shrink you down to something more manageable? That wasn’t ever really about you . That was about someone staring into the mirror of your presence and recoiling at the reflection they weren’t ready to see. Not the distortion you’ve been accused of being—but the truth they buried and hoped would stay dead. Welcome to the first Witch Wound: Projection & Triggers. This one cuts deep and early. It shows up when your very existence becomes a mirror—reflecting back the shame, rage, ambition, wildness, or grief others were taught to suppress. And instead of owning it? They throw it at you. Wrap it in judgment. Call it dangerous. Call you dangerous. You ask too many questions. You feel too much. You want too much. You see too clearly. And they flinch. And blame. And project. But the mirror isn’t broken, witch. 🪞 You’...