There's a Tea Bag in My Handbag
"Control doesn't always look like shouting. Sometimes, it's a used teabag in your handbag."
The moment I realised something wasn’t right—even though it seemed small
I’ll never forget the day I went shopping, reached into my handbag to grab my purse… and pulled out a used teabag.
A squashed, damp, cold little teabag, right there hanging from my purse.
I just stood there staring at it—confused, embarrassed, and honestly… feeling a little bit crazy. The woman behind the cash register was looking a bit confused as well. "Would you like to put that in the bin?" she asked. I sheepishly gave some lame excuse to explain it's existence in my bag, as I put it in the small plastic bin she held up for me.
When I got home, I asked my partner about it.
His response?
“You left it on the sink, so I put it in your bag.”
Like it was normal. Like it made perfect sense. Like I was the one in the wrong.
Honestly, I didn’t even know how to respond.
And before you judge me—yes, it was a used teabag.
And yes, I do reuse my teabags a couple of times. I drink my tea black, and I’m a practical woman.
But even I don’t tuck them into my own handbag for later.
That wasn’t thriftiness.
That was a message.
A petty, quiet punishment meant to shame me—without ever having to say a word.
And as ridiculous as it sounds…
it wasn’t the last teabag I’d find in my handbag.
For a while, I even started checking before I left the house—just in case.
Eventually, I bought myself some pottery from the Fremantle markets.
It actually said “Used Teabags” on the front.
And in the smallest, most satisfying way, it felt like reclaiming something.
A tiny rebellion. A quiet boundary. A signal to myself:
I get to decide where things go now.
It seems small… but it wasn’t.
At the time, I didn’t have the language to explain what that was.
But I remember how it felt.
I felt blamed. Shamed. Humiliated.
Like I was being punished, but in a way that no one else would ever notice or understand.
It wasn’t about the teabag.
It was about control.
A subtle, calculated way to say:
“You made a mistake. You’re careless. You don’t deserve kindness.”
And worse—“You won’t call me out on it, because you’ll sound ridiculous if you do.”
And he was right. I didn’t call it out. Not properly.
Because how do you explain to someone that you’re upset over a used teabag?
But that’s the thing about emotional abuse.
It often isn’t obvious.
It’s petty. It’s twisted. It’s so subtle that you start questioning yourself instead of the person who’s hurting you.
That was just one moment. There were hundreds.
Moments where I was made to feel small. Or foolish. Or crazy.
Moments where the blame was always shifted.
Moments where I kept the peace, stayed quiet, and carried the emotional load—because it was easier than the fight that would follow.
It took me a long time to realise those moments weren’t isolated.
They were a pattern.
And they were designed to keep me stuck.
But I’m not stuck anymore.
That was the beginning of the end.
The moment I started paying attention to the way he chipped away at me—one little jab, one “joke,” one petty punishment at a time.
It’s wild to think a soggy little teabag helped wake me up.
But sometimes the tiniest things hold the biggest truths.
I didn’t leave right away.
But I started seeing what I’d been trying so hard not to see.
And eventually, I chose to stop surviving and start building a life that felt like mine again.
If any of this feels familiar to you…
If you’ve ever questioned whether something that felt wrong was “just in your head”—
It’s not just you. And it’s not nothing.
It’s time to stop shrinking.
To stop excusing.
To start living free by design.
The title of this blog post was actually going to be the title of my book.
🧡 Narina (aka Rene)
PS I still have that 'used tea bag' holder today.
#FreeByDesign #EmotionalAbuseAwareness #WomenWhoRise #HealingJourney #ReclaimYourVoice #LivingUnapologetically #TeaBagInMyHandbag
