ALEXANDRIA'S ALCHEMY
ALEXANDRIA'S ALCHEMY
“You don’t earn favor by denying your desires. You just rob yourself of what you truly want.”
Recently, I wrote about the archetypes of insufferability—the types of people who stay stuck in life. They say they want a specific outcome but avoid the karmic actions needed to get there. Instead, they adopt a moral superiority complex, sitting on a high horse while doing nothing. And in that inaction, they orchestrate their own suffering.
To avoid accountability, they condemn or deny the very things they desire—creating an identity out of resistance. They become martyrs of their own making.
This has been on my mind again because I recently watched a mini-documentary about Nikola Tesla. Tesla was brilliant. He was humble enough to start as the underdog, to help others, and eventually outshine some of the greatest minds of his time. But he also faced sabotage, envy, and political resistance because his inventions threatened the industries of the day. Had his work not been suppressed, we may have had free green energy generations ago.
But what struck me most about Tesla wasn’t just his genius—it was his rigidity. He had an all-or-nothing mindset. If I’m not mistaken, even a bit of a gambler’s spirit. A martyr to his vision. He funneled every cent he had into his inventions, as if self-sacrifice alone would earn him legacy. As if the universe rewards neglecting your own needs with a badge of honor.
Now, I’m married to an Aries, so I know this archetype well. That fiery belief in “doing it all for the cause,” even if it breaks you. But here’s the thing—gamblers and martyrs become insufferable because they never stop. Their suffering becomes their identity. Their tunnel vision becomes their downfall.
Tesla saw millions—maybe billions—of dollars pass through his hands. Yet he held onto the belief that he didn’t need to care for himself, as long as his work lived on. And while that may sound noble on paper, the reality is sobering: he died in his 80s, broke, visibly malnourished, and completely alone.
When it comes to manifestation—alchemy, even—you can’t bypass the concrete. The concrete is your needs. Tesla had the skills, the insight, the calling. But he neglected himself. I’m sure people warned him. I’m sure there were moments he could’ve pivoted. But like many men conditioned to equate struggle with virtue, he didn’t listen. So he suffered. And he died that way—not because he had to, but because he chose a timeline where suffering was the currency.
“Denying your needs in pursuit of an ideal isn't noble—it's self-sabotage in disguise. True power comes from balancing both your vision and your well-being.”
Now let me pivot slightly—same core lesson, different expression. Lately, I’ve been triggering people with my weight loss. Why? Because when they see me, they immediately start talking about their weight. They complain. I tell them exactly what I’m doing. They say they don’t want to do that, or they don’t want to lose weight, and then—without missing a beat—go back to complaining.
What I’ve learned is this: people say they want change, but most aren’t willing to become someone new to get it. They’d rather keep the familiar discomfort than step into unfamiliar growth. Me? I’m never too proud to try something new. I’m never too rigid to shift. That’s why I’m never stuck.
If you know me, you’ve seen me transform—physically, spiritually, financially. And my life reflects that with beauty, access, wisdom, assets, and experiences. If I want something, I do what it takes. If I don’t have it, it either means I didn’t want it bad enough, or the consequences weren’t worth the outcome. Either way, I own it. That’s power.
Most people avoid that level of accountability. They say they don’t want love, marriage, wealth, kids, visibility. But they talk about it all the time. You’ll see it online—women who claim men are horrible, that marriage is a scam, that they love being single and childfree… and yet, they constantly return to that narrative, circling it like a wound they can’t stop touching. Why? Because it’s what they actually desire, but they don’t believe it’s possible for them—so they condemn it instead.
Here’s the truth: what someone talks about the most is what they want the most. Me? I talk about mysticism, solitude, being untouched by control, living beautifully, inspiring through glamour—because that’s what I want. I want to be a hot mystic goddess, cloaked in mystery, healing and mesmerizing through my presence. Period.
People suffer not because they can’t have what they want—but because they’ve convinced themselves they’re above needing it. That’s the real trap. They demonize their desires, wear detachment like a badge, and craft identities rooted in denial. That’s how suffering becomes self-inflicted. And worse—performative.
Don’t be that person. Be fluid. Be bold. Be willing to bend, to try, to become. But please—for the love of God—do not martyr your well-being in the process.
Remember that old parable? A man stranded at sea prays for God to save him. A boat comes—he says no. A helicopter comes—he says no. A ship comes—he says no. Eventually, he dies, meets God, and asks, “Why didn’t you save me?” And God says, “I sent everything. You just kept saying no.”
Never forget that story when you’re tempted to reject help, wisdom, or opportunities—because they don’t look the way you expected. Or because you’re trying to earn your blessings through unnecessary suffering.
Tesla was sent the money, the support, the recognition—but he chose martyrdom. He believed that suffering for the vision was the only honorable path. And so, he died with brilliance in his mind but emptiness in his hands.
Don’t be a Tesla.
“You don’t earn favor by denying your desires. You just rob yourself of what you truly want.”
Recently, I wrote about the archetypes of insufferability—the types of people who stay stuck in life. They say they want a specific outcome but avoid the karmic actions needed to get there. Instead, they adopt a moral superiority complex, sitting on a high horse while doing nothing. And in that inaction, they orchestrate their own suffering.
To avoid accountability, they condemn or deny the very things they desire—creating an identity out of resistance. They become martyrs of their own making.
This has been on my mind again because I recently watched a mini-documentary about Nikola Tesla. Tesla was brilliant. He was humble enough to start as the underdog, to help others, and eventually outshine some of the greatest minds of his time. But he also faced sabotage, envy, and political resistance because his inventions threatened the industries of the day. Had his work not been suppressed, we may have had free green energy generations ago.
But what struck me most about Tesla wasn’t just his genius—it was his rigidity. He had an all-or-nothing mindset. If I’m not mistaken, even a bit of a gambler’s spirit. A martyr to his vision. He funneled every cent he had into his inventions, as if self-sacrifice alone would earn him legacy. As if the universe rewards neglecting your own needs with a badge of honor.
Now, I’m married to an Aries, so I know this archetype well. That fiery belief in “doing it all for the cause,” even if it breaks you. But here’s the thing—gamblers and martyrs become insufferable because they never stop. Their suffering becomes their identity. Their tunnel vision becomes their downfall.
Tesla saw millions—maybe billions—of dollars pass through his hands. Yet he held onto the belief that he didn’t need to care for himself, as long as his work lived on. And while that may sound noble on paper, the reality is sobering: he died in his 80s, broke, visibly malnourished, and completely alone.
When it comes to manifestation—alchemy, even—you can’t bypass the concrete. The concrete is your needs. Tesla had the skills, the insight, the calling. But he neglected himself. I’m sure people warned him. I’m sure there were moments he could’ve pivoted. But like many men conditioned to equate struggle with virtue, he didn’t listen. So he suffered. And he died that way—not because he had to, but because he chose a timeline where suffering was the currency.
“Denying your needs in pursuit of an ideal isn't noble—it's self-sabotage in disguise. True power comes from balancing both your vision and your well-being.”
Now let me pivot slightly—same core lesson, different expression. Lately, I’ve been triggering people with my weight loss. Why? Because when they see me, they immediately start talking about their weight. They complain. I tell them exactly what I’m doing. They say they don’t want to do that, or they don’t want to lose weight, and then—without missing a beat—go back to complaining.
What I’ve learned is this: people say they want change, but most aren’t willing to become someone new to get it. They’d rather keep the familiar discomfort than step into unfamiliar growth. Me? I’m never too proud to try something new. I’m never too rigid to shift. That’s why I’m never stuck.
If you know me, you’ve seen me transform—physically, spiritually, financially. And my life reflects that with beauty, access, wisdom, assets, and experiences. If I want something, I do what it takes. If I don’t have it, it either means I didn’t want it bad enough, or the consequences weren’t worth the outcome. Either way, I own it. That’s power.
Most people avoid that level of accountability. They say they don’t want love, marriage, wealth, kids, visibility. But they talk about it all the time. You’ll see it online—women who claim men are horrible, that marriage is a scam, that they love being single and childfree… and yet, they constantly return to that narrative, circling it like a wound they can’t stop touching. Why? Because it’s what they actually desire, but they don’t believe it’s possible for them—so they condemn it instead.
Here’s the truth: what someone talks about the most is what they want the most. Me? I talk about mysticism, solitude, being untouched by control, living beautifully, inspiring through glamour—because that’s what I want. I want to be a hot mystic goddess, cloaked in mystery, healing and mesmerizing through my presence. Period.
People suffer not because they can’t have what they want—but because they’ve convinced themselves they’re above needing it. That’s the real trap. They demonize their desires, wear detachment like a badge, and craft identities rooted in denial. That’s how suffering becomes self-inflicted. And worse—performative.
Don’t be that person. Be fluid. Be bold. Be willing to bend, to try, to become. But please—for the love of God—do not martyr your well-being in the process.
Remember that old parable? A man stranded at sea prays for God to save him. A boat comes—he says no. A helicopter comes—he says no. A ship comes—he says no. Eventually, he dies, meets God, and asks, “Why didn’t you save me?” And God says, “I sent everything. You just kept saying no.”
Never forget that story when you’re tempted to reject help, wisdom, or opportunities—because they don’t look the way you expected. Or because you’re trying to earn your blessings through unnecessary suffering.
Tesla was sent the money, the support, the recognition—but he chose martyrdom. He believed that suffering for the vision was the only honorable path. And so, he died with brilliance in his mind but emptiness in his hands.
Don’t be a Tesla.