I Wanted To Be Honey Boo Boo... Until I Grew Up

I Wanted To Be Honey Boo Boo... Until I Grew Up

Let’s rewind to the early 2010s. TLC had just dropped one of the wildest, most chaotic, most entertaining reality shows on Earth: Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. And there I was—just a wide-eyed primary school kid, in my uniform, sitting on the floor with my legs crossed, absolutely glued to the TV. You couldn’t tell me anything. I was convinced I was meant to be a pageant queen.

From the second that pink glitter hit the screen, I was like, “Yes, that’s me. That’s the life I want. Hair spray, fake lashes, sassy poses, and all.” Meanwhile, Alana “Honey Boo Boo” Thompson was about the same age as me, doing exactly what I dreamed of—except on national TV.

But here’s where it gets real...

As I kept watching, something shifted. What started as glitter and giggles turned into yelling, drama, chaos, and tears. I saw problems. I saw addiction. Mama and Sugar Bear were fighting. Mama June was making one questionable decision after another. And somewhere in all that mess was Honey Boo Boo, trying to stay sweet and funny while holding her whole family’s emotional and financial weight on her tiny little shoulders.

Then came the baby—Kaitlyn. Her sister Anna gave birth, and for a moment, peace peeked in. It felt like the family started thinking straighter. But of course, as soon as Kaitlyn left, the whole house went back to WrestleMania.

Let’s not even talk about the weight-loss show phase, the surgeries, the bullying from pageant moms, and Mama June eating fast food straight after a tummy tuck like nothing happened. I mean—if that’s not reality TV gold, I don’t know what is.

But here’s my honest truth: I was jealous of Honey Boo Boo. I’ll admit it. I wanted that glittery stage life. But now, after watching the trailer of her 2025 reality docu-drama I Was Honey Boo Boo, I realized something big:

My life was actually better than hers.

I wasn’t under the pressure of being famous. I wasn’t bullied on TV. I didn’t have to watch my family fall apart on national television while the world laughed. I had the simple life—and for once, I’m proud of it.

Looking back now, I get it: fame isn’t always fabulous. Sometimes the people we envy are carrying burdens we could never imagine. And sometimes, the life you didn’t get is the life that saved you.

So yeah, part of me still loves the sparkle of a good pageant. But a bigger part of me is rooting for Alana—hoping she finishes that nursing degree, finds peace, and finally gets to be the kid she never got to be.

And me? I’m just out here, laying on my bed, blogging my truth, and realizing… maybe I never needed the crown. I already had the wisdom.✨

Disclaimer: Images used on this blog are for illustrative purposes only and remain the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Tragic Comedy of Sharing: Why My Shoes Deserve Therapy

The Tragic Comedy of Sharing: Why My Shoes Deserve Therapy

Let’s be real. Somewhere deep in the rulebook of life (you know, the one nobody gave us), it says sharing is caring. But what they don’t tell you is that sometimes—and I mean this with all due respect to the human race—sharing is suffering.

Allow me to unpack this.

In my house, sharing isn’t just a suggestion; it’s a daily sport. It’s like living in a rental shop where nothing stays where it belongs. Today it’s a phone charger gone AWOL. Tomorrow, it’s my sneakers mysteriously walking out the door on someone else’s feet.

Let me paint you a picture.

It’s 7:03 a.m. Dad is yelling, “Where’s my cable?” As if I’m the official keeper of lost cords. Then he spots mine. His eyes light up like a thief at a gadget expo. The next thing I know, my precious, untangled cable has joined his mysterious world of “I’ll bring it back later.” Spoiler alert: “later” is usually a decade, and it comes back looking like it survived a war.

Then there’s my mom. We wear the same shoe size—yes, that dangerous blessing. One moment I’m vibing, planning a killer outfit with my favorite boots. The next, they’re on her feet, heading to a women’s meeting. She returns, but the boots come back... tired. Limp. Betrayed. And heaven forbid I question it.

“You mean the shoes I bought for you?”

Touché. End of argument. Silence falls. I retreat.

And don’t even get me started on siblings or cousins or “just for now” friends. You lend them a hoodie, and suddenly it has a new scent, a stretched sleeve, or worse, a mysterious stain that wasn’t part of the original fabric deal.

Here’s the problem with sharing:

Things leave, but they don’t always return.

If they return, they’ve been through things.

If you complain, you get the look. You know the one: “After all we’ve done for you…”

At this point, I think some of my belongings are experiencing a personal identity crisis. They go out as themselves and come back... different. Older. Weaker. Sometimes they don't come back at all. RIP to my good scissors, the black hoodie, and that one earring that went out and never came home.

So, is sharing bad?

Not always. Sharing pizza? Great. Sharing memes? Even better.

But sharing your charger, your shoes, your soul—okay maybe not your soul, but still—that can be risky.

My solution?

Hide things like you're guarding national treasure.

Label everything with invisible ink (or just a note that says "Do Not Touch or Perish").

Or, if you're feeling bold—say no. Just once. For the drama. For the peace. For the survival of your belongings.

Because sometimes, just sometimes…

Sharing is not good.

Just Be Consistent

Just Be Consistent

Let me be real with you. After three whole days of radio silence, I finally posted something today on TheDreamersPause. Yay me, right? But guess what? Now I’m sitting here like, “Okay, and then what?” Brain: empty. Ideas: none. Vibes? Confused.

But just when I was about to wrap myself in a blanket of self-pity and binge-watch people who do have content, someone reminded me about this magical little word: consistency.

Now listen — whether you're a blogger, vlogger, writer, singer, painter, dancer, professional overthinker, or just someone trying to make money with your talents (and maybe a sprinkle of hope), let me say this: consistency is your bestie. Even when your followers ghost you. Even when no one likes your stuff. Even when your own dog skips your content. Just. Be. Consistent.

I remember when I switched my Pinterest to professional mode for TheDreamersPause. Y’all. I had four whole followers. Four. I was feeling like the CEO of Something Small. Then I dropped a spicy post called Selective Outrage (you should really read it, by the way), and boom — someone unfollowed me. Maybe I was too real. Maybe they hated it. Maybe they sneezed and accidentally hit unfollow. We’ll never know.

I was down to three followers. Three. But did I quit? Nope. I kept posting like I had a million fans and a TED Talk next week.

Fast forward to today — the 20th of May at exactly 11:53 AM — I posted something new on my blog and BAM, I got two new followers! I was like, “Okay, we’re going up!” But of course, plot twist — someone else unfollowed me. Not even because of the new post, but probably because of a past one. Maybe they just didn’t like my font. Who knows?

But here’s the point: I felt discouraged… but I kept going. And I’m telling you — you better keep going too. You never know what’s gonna pop off. You might be one post, one video, one weird idea away from your big moment. Keep posting. Keep writing. Keep dreaming. Just. Be. Consistent.

Also — while I have your attention — if you have some free time (or just pretending to be busy while scrolling), please check out my Pinterest: TheDreamersPause. If you decide to follow, like, save, download, bless me with your attention in any way — THANK YOU SO MUCH. You're a real one.

And if you ever see TheDreamersPause or Lilo Phedra pop up on any social media platform — TikTok, Instagram, Mars radio signals, whatever — don’t hesitate to follow. I’ll be there, posting through the chaos.

Until then, remember: don’t stress, don’t guess — just be consistent.

Miss Shirley and the Curious Case of Viral Fame, Cowboy Boots, and an OnlyFans Scandal That Should've Never Been

Miss Shirley and the Curious Case of Viral Fame, Cowboy Boots, and an OnlyFans Scandal That Should've Never Been

Yoh. Let me just start by saying this: I am so glad I'm not the only one who felt some type of way about this situation. Just go check the comments. Over 765 people losing their minds in disbelief, because honestly? Same. I was supposed to write about this three days ago, but you know, NSC rewrites had me in a chokehold. Priorities. But now that I’ve breathed, hydrated, and ranted to enough people in private, it’s time I said it publicly.

Who Is Miss Shirley?

Miss Shirley, whose real name is LaR’iyah Jesireé (I know, stunning), is a 4-year-old dancing superstar from the U.S. of A. This girl’s got rhythm, moves, and a smile that could melt the hardest heart. Her uncle—Mike Clark Jr.—is a musician from Macon, Georgia, and he’s the man behind the catchy line dance track “Keep On Stepping.” And who stepped into fame along with that track? You guessed it—our girl Miss Shirley.

(Mike Clark Jr, 😬)

Her videos blew up. TikTok, Instagram, Facebook—you name it. She even showed up on The Jennifer Hudson Show, twirling and stepping alongside Niecy Nash-Betts like she owned the stage. People couldn’t get enough. It was all fun, dancing, and adorable cowboy boots. Until...

Then the Internet Broke. Why? Because... OnlyFans.

A post started floating around—one that I personally caught and saved because I couldn’t believe my eyeballs. It suggested Miss Shirley had an OnlyFans account. Now, let me clarify: she doesn’t actually have one (thank goodness), but the idea was being suggested. SUGGESTED. For a 4-year-old. My brain short-circuited.

Let me just say it loud and clear: OnlyFans is a platform that is known—like obviously known—for adult content. Sure, you can post other things on there (so they say), but we all know what it’s really used for. The fact that this child’s name is even being mentioned in the same sentence as OnlyFans is disturbing. Disgusting. Dystopian.

Where Are the Adults?

Now here's my next question: where is this child's father? I’m not assuming things—but come on, if he were around, wouldn’t we have heard something? This whole vibe feels like she's being raised by a mom who might just be chasing clout over common sense. No hate, but we need to talk about it.

And Uncle Mike—hellooo? Your song made her viral. Your music is the reason she’s on stage at all. And now that her name is being thrown around like this? Not even a Facebook post from you? An Insta story? A press release? Anything? If he said something, I would’ve seen it by now. We all would’ve. Silence speaks volumes.

My Honest Opinion? This Ain’t It.

There are so many safer, better, more appropriate platforms where kids can be celebrated: YouTube Kids, a managed Instagram account, even a family-friendly TikTok. But OnlyFans? I’m sorry—what mother wakes up and thinks, “Hmm, I think I’ll float the idea of an adult-content site for my preschooler today.”

That’s not parenting. That’s not even marketing. That’s straight-up grooming. Whether intentionally or not, it’s a huge red flag, and we should all be paying attention before this ends up on the news in a tragic headline.

(GROOMING TO BE AN ADULT, REDD FLAG 🚩)

Closing Thoughts Before I Comb My Edges from Frustration

Miss Shirley is beautiful. A rising star. A little girl who’s just really good at dancing. But fame without protection is a setup. The internet can be a playground, but it’s also a battlefield—and kids shouldn’t be sent into it without armor, guidance, and serious boundaries.

To the fans, the followers, the supporters: let’s hype up her talent, not tolerate mess. And to her guardians, I beg you, don’t let clout cloud your judgment. Protect the baby.

Anyway, this has been your internet big sister, angry-typing through the Wi-Fi. Peace, humor, and prayers for Miss Shirley. Because the world is watching, and so are we.❤️

Disclaimer: Images used on this blog are for illustrative purposes only and remain the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.