The Phone Call, the Frenzy, and the Weight of a Glass of Water

When I published my last blog about betrayal, honey, and how mindfulness helped me through it, I didn’t expect it to cause a stir. I certainly didn’t expect the phone call.

Let me take you behind the scenes.

A couple of days after the blog went live, my phone rang. It was, (we'll call him) Bob. The man I’d built the original smoked chilli honey concept with. The man I trusted. The man who, in my mind (and in the minds of quite a few others, apparently), had run off with an idea we were meant to build together.

He wasn’t angry. He was frantic. Hurt. Confused.

He opened with, "Why didn’t you just call me? I had no idea you hated me so much."

And the truth? I don’t. I didn’t write the blog out of hate. I wrote it because I was carrying something around for over a year. Like holding a glass of water out in front of me. At first, no big deal. But the longer I held it, the heavier it became. Until eventually, I couldn’t carry it anymore. I had to set it down. And the blog was me putting that glass on the table.

But why didn’t I just call him?

It’s a good question. One I’ve asked myself.

Here’s the honest answer: I didn’t even realise how heavy that glass had become.

You know when something gnaws at you, but you keep brushing it off? "No big deal." "Not worth it." "Just move on." That’s what I did, again and again. But it wasn’t going away. Every time someone mentioned how I’d been "swindled" or "copied," it added weight. And eventually, the silence became louder than any words we’d ever spoken.

By the time I wrote the blog, I didn’t see it as a confrontation. I saw it as catharsis. Therapy, almost. And in some strange way, I thought maybe Bob would read it and think, Yeah, I probably should’ve handled that differently.

Instead, I got a shaken voice on the end of the phone, caught completely off guard.

And honestly? I felt awful.

So I apologised, not for telling my reality, but for the stress I caused him.

Because despite everything, I never wanted to cause harm. I wanted to heal my own. But in doing that, I triggered his. That’s never a win.

He never actually denied the story. He didn’t argue about the origins or the process. What hit him was the surprise. The fact that I never called. That he thought we were still okay.

That part? I take responsibility for.

So, why haven’t I taken the blog down?

Because this follow-up wouldn’t make sense without it. The first blog was the release. This one is the reflection.

The story didn’t end when I hit “publish.” It evolved.

And this is what mindfulness really teaches us, not just how to sit with your feelings, but how to respond to them, learn from them, and repair what you can. Even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy.

To delete the blog would be to delete the reality I experienced. It would be pretending the weight was never there. And that’s not authentic. That’s not mindful. That’s not me.

Instead, I’m choosing to keep it up and move the conversation forward. To acknowledge my part in the miscommunication. To recognise the pain on both sides. To show that even in the world of artisan honey and mindfulness, people mess up, emotions run high, and healing isn’t always linear.

And maybe, just maybe, if I hadn’t felt that weight so intensely, I wouldn’t have looked at myself as deeply as I did. I wouldn’t have questioned what mattered, or reconnected with what truly drives me. That emotional heaviness, as uncomfortable as it was, ended up being the catalyst that pushed me to expand The Mindful Baker. To pour even more energy, creativity, and integrity into what I do. It reminded me that discomfort isn’t the enemy, it’s often the thing that shakes us awake, shows us what we care about, and lights the fire to grow.

What happens next?

Honestly, I don’t know. Bob and I had a proper chat. We cleared the air. We might not go into business together again, but we both walked away from that call with a little more understanding and hopefully a friendship that is no longer in tatters.

And maybe, just maybe, a little less weight to carry.

I’m grateful for the people who read the first blog and saw themselves in it. Who messaged me saying, "You put words to something I’ve felt for years." This is why I write. Not to stir things. But to stir something real.

So here it is: the continuation. The correction. The connection.

Because mindfulness isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present, honest, and willing to keep showing up, even when things get uncomfortable. The fact that Bob called me after reading my blog instead of holding up his own glass of water shows a mindful resilience far greater than mine.

If this resonates with you, then I hope you’ll stick around for the next chapter, and maybe even pick up a jar of my smoked chilli honey while you're at it. Because one thing’s for sure: I’m still here. I’m still creating. And I’m doing it with an open heart.

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