I’m Not Everyone’s Cup of Tea — I’m the Spark
- TJ DeLoatch
- Dec 27, 2025
- 3 min read
There’s a quote that’s been sitting with me lately:
“You don’t have to be everyone’s cup of tea. Be gasoline. Set shit on fire.”
At first glance, it sounds aggressive. Loud. Maybe even a little reckless. But the more I sit with it, the more I realize it isn’t about destruction at all. It’s about permission.
Permission to stop trying to be palatable (thank you Webster).
Permission to stop shrinking.
Permission to stop softening your edges so other people can stay comfortable.
For a long time, I thought my job in rooms—professional, personal, spiritual—was to be the bridge. The translator. The peacemaker. The one who made things smoother, easier, lighter. I learned how to read energy quickly. How to adjust. How to be just enough without being too much. And if I’m honest, I was really good at it.
But being good at something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.
Somewhere along the way, I realized I was spending more energy being liked than being aligned. I was working overtime to be digestible while quietly resenting how often my fullness made people uneasy. I wasn’t “too much” because I was wrong. I was “too much” because I was catalytic—and catalysts disrupt comfort.
Gasoline isn’t chaotic. It’s powerful.
It doesn’t chase fire—it activates it.
And that’s the part we don’t talk about enough.
Not everyone is meant to soothe a space. Some people are meant to expose what’s already flammable. To bring clarity. To force truth to the surface. To speed up what’s been pretending to stay dormant. Gasoline doesn’t apologize for what it is. It understands its nature.
I used to think being misunderstood meant I needed to explain myself better. Speak slower. Choose softer words. Offer more context. But experience has taught me something different: some people aren’t confused—they’re committed. Committed to misunderstanding me because clarity would require them to shift their perspective, release their comfort, or confront their own resistance. And that’s work they’ve already decided they’re not willing to do.
There’s a difference between misunderstanding and willful misinterpretation. One invites conversation. The other survives on distortion. And once I realized that some people needed me to be wrong, dramatic, or “too much” in order to stay where they were, I stopped trying to correct the narrative. You can’t convince someone who benefits from not seeing you clearly.
That realization changes everything.
Because when you stop trying to be everyone’s cup of tea, you also stop negotiating your voice. Your pace. Your boundaries. Your convictions. You stop asking for permission to take up space. You stop editing your honesty so it lands gently. You stop waiting for consensus to move forward.
You start trusting your presence.
Being gasoline doesn’t mean you’re reckless with people’s feelings. It means you’re honest about your impact. It means you recognize that growth often feels like disruption before it feels like relief. It means you accept that not everyone will stay once the fire starts—and that’s not a failure.
Some people were only comfortable with the version of you that kept things cool.
I’m learning that my fire doesn’t need to be announced. It doesn’t need to be explained. It just needs to be contained with intention. Controlled burn. Clear purpose. No apology.
There’s a difference between burning things down and lighting the way forward.
Here comes the accountability part ( I am talking to myself)-
Here’s where I hold myself accountable: it’s not enough to name this truth and then retreat into old patterns. I can’t say I’m done shrinking and then keep negotiating my boundaries. I can’t call myself gasoline and then keep trying to make everyone comfortable around the spark.
Following through means letting my decisions match my clarity.
It means choosing alignment even when it costs familiarity.
It means not re-entering rooms that require me to be smaller to stay welcome.
It also means owning my impact without backpedaling—standing in my truth without over-explaining, and allowing people to take responsibility for how they receive me.
This season of my life isn’t about being louder. It’s about being truer. About choosing alignment over approval. About trusting that the right rooms won’t require me to dim myself to stay welcome.
So no—I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.
And I’m done trying to be.
Be gasoline. Set shit on fire.
Not to destroy.
But to reveal.
To refine.
To make space for what was always meant to rise.
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