Tiny Buddha

Author: Hailey Magee

  • Why Curiosity Is My Love Language and How It Makes Me Feel Seen

    Why Curiosity Is My Love Language and How It Makes Me Feel Seen

    “Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person, they are almost indistinguishable.” ⁠~David W. Augsburger

    The five love languages—a framework for how we give and receive affection created by psychologist Gary Chapman in 1992⁠—include quality time, gifts, acts of service, words of affirmation, and physical touch.

    As much as I love receiving all five demonstrations of care, I’ve always felt that my truest love language was missing from this list.

    My love language is curiosity. I show others I care for them by asking questions, learning their experiences, and being hungry for the essence of them beneath the small talk and the pleasantries. I want to see them for who they are and know what makes them tick. And I, too, want to be loved this way.

    Like many recovering people-pleasers, I spent most of my life over-attuned to others’ moods and needs, accustomed to relationships in which I did all of the seeing but rarely felt seen.

    While I know that people-pleasing is usually an outdated coping mechanism from childhood, I also know that my ability to get curious about others is my superpower. Regardless of its origin, it is just as much a part of me as my eye color or my heritage.

    This desire to deeply understand others is a quality about myself that I love, something that I do just as much in service to myself as in service to others.

    For years, my curiosity often led me to play the role of confidante and cheerleader in my relationships. Friends, partners, and acquaintances said I was an “exceptional listener.” And while I appreciated their praise, I often felt that folks cherished my companionship the way they would cherish a finely polished mirror—a smooth surface in which they could admire their own reflection.

    As I’ve gotten older, I’ve determined that I’m no longer willing to be a part of one-sided relationships in which I know others inside and out, but they regard me as a foreign language. I want a person who can put their ego aside and get curious. I want someone who maps my terrain eagerly, who crests the peaks and sprints into the jagged valleys of my tales, who overturns stones for what lies hidden beneath.

    As someone who spent much of her life feeling unseen, I notice when someone really makes an effort to see me.

    I notice when people look directly into my eyes and ask, “But really⁠—how are you feeling today?”

    I notice when people share a story and then pause to ask, “Have you ever experienced anything like that before?”

    I notice when others seem just as comfortable holding space as they do taking up space.

    I notice when folks treat conversations like opportunities for co-creation instead of pedestals from which to preach.

    I also notice when people ask perfunctory questions and, moments later, check their phones or stare off into space.

    I notice when others use my stories as springboards to leap into their own experiences.

    I notice when I’m interrupted repeatedly by someone who is so eager to speak that they can’t fathom making room for anyone else.

    I notice when people use me as a sounding board or a therapist with no reciprocity in sight.

    With time, I have learned to leave these relationships behind. They drain me energetically and, by participating in them, I teach myself that I am not worthy of more.

    I distinctly remember a friendship where, after every afternoon spent together, my body craved a two-hour nap. I remember other connections that left me feeling hallowed out and sunken, like a withered plant that hadn’t seen a glimpse of sun in weeks.

    Ultimately, it was my responsibility to shift this pattern and make space in my life for healthier connections. I could continue to feel victimized by one-sided relationships, or I could leave them behind and trust that I deserved better⁠—and that better existed.

    We co-create these healthier, reciprocal connections by communicating, clearly, what we need in order to feel seen. The love language framework is so valuable because it gives us a simple, casual way to do so. After all, we can’t expect others to read our minds and know automatically what’s best for us.

    This is why I’ve learned to say to friends and prospective partners early on, “My love language is curiosity. I feel most loved when others ask questions and want to understand me.” By offering this simple truth, we give others the information they need to love us well. Whether they choose to act on that information is up to them.

    If we find ourselves in relationships that are one-sided, we need to be willing to let them go, and embrace the initial loneliness that comes from leaving the old while awaiting the new. We need to learn to trust that we are interesting, that our experiences are valuable, and that our words are just as worthy of space as anyone else’s.

    With every new relationship that makes space for the essence of us, the more believable these truths become.

  • How to Set Difficult Boundaries in a Compassionate Way

    How to Set Difficult Boundaries in a Compassionate Way

    “We can say what we need to say. We can gently, but assertively, speak our mind. We do not need to be judgmental, tactless, blaming, or cruel when we speak our thoughts.” ~Melody Beattie

    When I first learned about the concept of boundaries, I imagined how freeing it would feel to finally be able to say an empowered “no” at every turn. I imagined myself turning down drinks from leering strangers at bars, denying eager clipboard-carriers’ requests for money, and rejecting requests to do more than my fair share of work projects.

    “‘No’ is a complete sentence” would be my anthem.

    Eventually, though, I began to understand that boundaries are more complicated than simply saying no to strangers. Sometimes setting boundaries meant having awkward, painful conversations with loved ones about dynamics in our relationship that no longer served me.

    For example: I needed to ask a friend to leave more space for me in our conversations. I needed to ask a family member to please stop complaining to me about another family member. And I needed to have a talk with my partner about my dissatisfaction with the division of emotional labor in our relationship.

    And the thought of having these conversations filled me with discomfort.

    Intellectually, I knew that I had every right to set healthy boundaries with my loved ones. Emotionally, though, the thought of actually having these conversations elicited anxiety—and a great deal more of fear than I originally imagined.

    Within the past decade, conversations about boundary-setting have taken center stage in mental health discourse. Being able to set boundaries around our time, space, and bodies is a critical skill for maintaining mental health, recovering from addiction, and building healthy relationships with others. But boundary-setting can also prompt very real, very intense discomfort for both the boundary-setter and boundary receiver.

    As I contemplated my discomfort, I wondered: How can I set boundaries authentically when I’m afraid of hurting someone I care about? How can I simultaneously set boundaries while letting the recipient know that I really, truly care about their feelings? 

    These questions inspired me to consider an approach to boundary-setting that made these difficult conversations a little less… difficult.

    —

    In my experience, most boundaries can be divided into two distinct categories: Shield boundaries and sandbox boundaries.

    Sometimes boundaries are like shields: moments of verbal self-defense that protect us from others’ unwanted behavior. Shield boundaries ward off unwanted physical touch, defend against others’ anger or cruelty, or protect our time, belongings, and material goods.

    Shield boundaries might take the form of “Don’t touch me like that,” or “I’m sorry, but you can’t borrow $20,” or “I can’t volunteer at the phone bank next week.” Generally, they’re simple, short, and clear-cut—variations on saying “no.”

    Some boundaries feel less like self-defense and more like letting go: detaching from old patterns, feelings, and relationships that no longer serve us.

    Imagine a sandbox that is filled with various things belonging to various people. You reach down and pick up only the items that belong to you. You avoid picking up your mother’s guilt, your partner’s debt, your boss’s anxiety, and your friend’s insecurity. They are not yours to carry.

    Having healthy sandbox boundaries means that you only carry your “stuff” out of the sandbox—nobody else’s. They distinguish your emotions and responsibilities from others’ emotions and responsibilities.

    Of the two, sandbox boundaries are especially challenging for recovering people-pleasers because we are accustomed to carrying everyone’s stuff out of the sandbox—not just our own. Historically, we’ve assumed responsibility for others’ happiness, health, finances, relationships, addictions, and so on. (By the same token, many of us have probably under-assumed responsibility for our own health, happiness, and beyond.)

    When we set sandbox boundaries and break these patterns of over-giving, we literally rewrite the status quo. We let go of the roles we’ve played in our relationships for years or even decades. We may have become so accustomed to acting like others’ caretakers, fixers, or de facto therapists that letting go of these roles can bring a great deal of fear.

    We may wonder, “Will he still love me if I’m no longer willing to caretake?” or “Will she think I’m selfish if I ask for more attention?” We might think, “What will she like about me when I’m not fixing her problems?” or “What if they don’t care what I have to say?”

    In order to set boundaries that allow our relationships to continue in new and healthy ways, we need to face these fears head-on. In fact, these fears can be gateways to authentic and meaningful boundary-setting. Here’s how:

    Radically Transparent Boundary-Setting

    Radically transparent boundary-setting gives you permission to honor your feelings in the moment, fear and all, and invites the boundary-recipient in instead of pushing them away.

    You don’t have to pretend to be cold, stoic, or flawlessly confident in order to set a successful boundary. In fact, by acknowledging that boundary-setting is unfamiliar or even scary, you can create a vulnerable container that invites the boundary-receiver in for a meaningful, compassionate conversation.

    Radically transparent boundary-setting includes three key ingredients:

    1. Acknowledge your fear or discomfort around setting the boundary
    2. Express the “why” behind the boundary
    3. Set a clear, direct boundary

    Imagine, for example, that you have a dear friend who regularly consults you to process her family drama. You’re beginning to feel frustrated that your conversations revolve entirely around her, and you realize you’re no longer willing to assume the role of her therapist. In this case, you might use the Radical Transparency approach like this:

    Example 1: “It’s hard for me to say this, but I want to be honest with you: I feel upset that so many of our conversations revolve around your family trouble because it makes me feel less like a friend and more like a therapist. Can we practice making our conversations closer to 50/50?”

    Example 2: “I know that in the past I’ve offered advice and support around your family issues, but I’m trying to take better care of myself now, so I can’t continue to be the person you come to with your family trouble. I need our friendship to be more balanced.”

    Example 3: “I’m afraid of hurting you, but the health of our friendship is important to me, so I want you to know that I can’t continue to be the only person you come to with your family trouble. Our friendship has begun to feel imbalanced, and it’s important for me to have friendships in which I feel seen and valued.”

    Example 4: “I’m nervous to say this, but I’m making an effort to communicate more authentically with those close to me, so I need to tell you that I’m feeling sad about how imbalanced our conversations have been. I feel like you don’t make an effort to ask me about my life. Can we discuss how to fix this?”

    Radical transparency has two key benefits.

    First, by naming your fear or discomfort around setting the boundary, you acknowledge that you’re initiating a difficult conversation that can elicit mixed feelings⁠—for both of you. This also helps the recipient understand that you’ve taken into account the impact this boundary could have on their feelings.

    Second, by expressing the “why” behind your boundary, you remind the recipient that your boundary isn’t an attempt to control their behavior, but rather an attempt to protect yourself, be it your body, integrity, mental health, time, resources, or material goods. You might also emphasize your desire for honesty, authenticity, or openness in the relationship, each of which conveys a genuine intention to keep your relationship healthy.

    Radically transparent boundary-setting gives me permission to be fully authentic while helping my loved ones feel considered.

    Of course, this approach isn’t appropriate for all scenarios. I use this method to set difficult boundaries with close friends, family, and partners⁠—individuals with whom I generally feel safe, have a certain degree of emotional intimacy, and have a vested interest in continuing our relationship. (I don’t use this approach when I’m setting boundaries with casual acquaintances, with folks who make me feel emotionally unsafe, or when I’m enforcing a previously established boundary that the recipient has ignored.)

    Ultimately, we can’t control how others respond to our boundaries. Even if we state them with the utmost compassion, the recipient may still feel hurt, insulted, or confused—and that’s okay. If we avoid these critical conversations, we create conditions in which resentment, anger, and frustration seethe and boil over, unaddressed⁠—which is almost always more devastating to the relationship than the boundary conversation would have been.

    It is not only our right, but our responsibility to set healthy boundaries in our relationships with loved ones. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it’s scary. It’s our responsibility to communicate our needs and limitations in our relationships because, if we don’t, we leave others with the burden of mind-reading our needs⁠—a burden no person should have to bear.

    Like marriage and family therapist Vienna Pharaon writes: “You cannot stay quiet and expect people to show up the way you need them to. Your words are the gateway to your needs getting met.”

  • How to Tell If Your Relationship is Codependent (and What to Do About It)

    How to Tell If Your Relationship is Codependent (and What to Do About It)

    “Love rests on two pillars: surrender and autonomy. Our need for togetherness exists alongside our need for separateness.” ~ Esther Perel

    Healthy relationships require a delicate balance of intimacy and autonomy, giving and receiving, self and other.

    As we struggle to walk this delicate tightrope, we might feel less like graceful acrobats and more like pendulums swaying recklessly from side to side. As I reflect on my own romantic journey, I notice a trend: I got very close to past partners, losing myself in them entirely, and then emerged from the codependent haze terrified and self-abandoned.

    “Never again!” I would vow. “I’d rather be alone than lose myself in a relationship!” So I’d spend a few months embracing utter independence —dating sporadically, not getting attached, heart under lock and key—until my loneliness sent me into the arms of another partner.

    So wherein lies the balance? The answer can be found in the idea of interdependence: relationships that rely on mutual intimacy and mutual separateness.

    Licensed professional counselor Jodi Clark explains that “an interdependent person recognizes the value of vulnerability, being able to turn to their partner in meaningful ways to create emotional intimacy. They also value a sense of self that allows them and their partner to be themselves without any need to compromise who they are or their values system” (emphasis added).

    In contrast, codependent relationships exist between partners who rely predominantly on each other for their sense of value or purpose. People in codependent relationships tend to neglect themselves while over-prioritizing their partners’ values, needs, and dreams. The result? A painful and tangible loss of self.

    So how can we walk the tightrope of togetherness and separateness gracefully? After all, attachment to others isn’t wrong—it’s natural and necessary. But how much is too much? How can you tell if your relationship is codependent or interdependent?

    Here are 7 key points that differentiate codependent from interdependent relationships:

    1. Codependent relationships: I use my partner’s love to fill a void of self-love.
    Interdependent relationships: I love myself and my partner at the same time.

    In codependent relationships, it may feel like there’s not enough love to go around —because there’s not. A codependent partner may make up for her own lack of self-love by attempting to fill her empty well strictly with her partner’s love. She may be hyper-vigilant, scouring for scraps of love the way a vulture might.

    That’s how I felt before I entered codependency recovery. My love for myself was so scarce that I felt like a starving castaway, desperate for anything that resembled sustenance. My desperation made me more likely to accept meager substitutes for love. I craved attention—even if it was of the negative variety.

    In interdependent relationships, we replace that scarcity mentality with an abundance mentality. There is plenty of love to go around. We have a wellspring of self-love and—icing on the cake!—love from a partner who cares for us deeply.

    2. Codependent relationships: I under-communicate my own needs in order to prioritize my partner’s needs.
    Interdependent relationships: I’m free to express my needs and I am receptive to my partner’s needs.

    Healthy interdependent relationships do not require partners to shrink, minimize, or subjugate themselves. They allow for free expression by both parties.

    This isn’t to say that everyone’s needs are met 100% of the time. However, both partners understand that they are complex, unique beings with a diverse array of needs and preferences. A difference in opinion doesn’t have to threaten the safety of the relationship.

    As the saying goes: “Any relationship you have that could be ruined by having a conversation about your feelings, standards, or expectations wasn’t really stable enough to begin with.”

    3. Codependent relationships: I use time with my partner to avoid being alone.
    Interdependent relationships: I enjoy alone time and time spent with my partner.

    If we can’t find peace or pleasure in our own company, we’ll place unrealistic burdens on our relationships to be our sole providers of happiness.

    Years ago, the stretch of hours that separated the end of the workday from seeing my partner stretched on like an infinite desert. I felt terribly anxious in my own company and used any numbing agent I could to pass the time: shots of vodka at 4pm, binge-watching Girls, whatever. When I could see my partner, my night finally began in earnest. My then-partner could sense this, of course, and felt justifiably burdened by my absence of a private life.

    Enjoying our own company allows us to enjoy time with our partners without using that time to escape from our own anxiety. It also allows our partners to feel valued for who they are⁠—not for the negative emotions they prevent us from feeling.

    4. Codependent relationships: My relationship is responsible for making me happy.
    Interdependent relationships: I am responsible for my own happiness and love co-creating joy with my partner.

    Can romantic partnerships make us happy? Absolutely.

    Will we be happy if our romantic relationships are our sole source of happiness? Absolutely not.

    Where our happiness or mental health is concerned, we can’t put all of our eggs in one basket. The risks are too great.

    I still remember the days when having a disagreement with my then-partner felt like the end of the world. When we were arguing, everything was wrong. The single spout that distributed my happiness was broken! This was not the recipe for a grounded or balanced life.

    My tunnel-vision meant that I was more likely to be reactive in arguments, less likely to give my partner space when he needed it, and more likely to respond to small differences of opinion as if they were catastrophes —which leads me to Point 5…

    5. Codependent relationships: I cannot tolerate intense emotions. In order to calm down, I need my partner to soothe me.
    Interdependent relationships: I can soothe myself when I’m distressed, and I ask for help when I’d like support.

    Learning how to self-soothe when distressed provides us a powerful foundation of resilience, inner strength, and self-trust.

    When I’m distressed, I follow a personal blueprint. Depending on my mood, I might rest in bed and wait for my nervous system to calm, go for a run to release my energy, or journal. I also have a shortlist of folks I feel comfortable calling that includes a few dear friends, my sponsor, my family, and my partner. My partner is one ofmy sources of self-soothing; he is not the only source.

    If my partner doesn’t have the capacity to soothe me in a given moment, he knows that I can meet that need in other ways. He doesn’t feel like he must neglect his own needs in order to protect my mental or emotional health. When one partner must neglect their own well-being to soothe another, resentment inevitably follows.

    6. Codependent relationships: I prioritize my partner or my partnership at the expense of my own goals and dreams.
    Interdependent relationships: I feel free to pursue my own goals and dreams and can build a life with my partner.

    All relationships require some degree of compromise. However, we can only compromise so much before our sense of self begins to erode. If you find yourself sacrificing the bulk of your dreams and desires to benefit your partnership, you’re probably not truly meeting in the middle.

    Sacrificing our goals can have unintended and disastrous consequences on the very relationships we sacrificed them for. Separated from our dreams, we are divorced from a core component of who we are. We lose the lifeblood, the motivation, and the energy that propel us forward in the world. The unique skills and gifts we possess rust and decay from underuse. Like clockwork, our sense of purpose, value, and self-worth decline.

    If your partnership is totally at odds with your own vision for the future, think carefully. Your partner can simultaneously be a fantastic person and completely misaligned with your goals.

    7. Codependent relationships: I can’t imagine leaving my partner under any circumstances.
    Interdependent relationships: I am deeply invested in my partnership and I know that I can walk away if it becomes toxic or unhealthy.

    Both partners must be willing to leave a relationship should it ever become toxic or unhealthy.

    “But wait,” you might be thinking, “doesn’t that mean that they’re just not really committed to each other?”

    Not at all. Being able to persevere through a period of disagreement, tension, or stagnancy is essentially a prerequisite for a long-term relationship. Subjecting yourself to an unhealthy or toxic dynamic, though, is another thing entirely. Unwillingness to leave a toxic partnership (when otherwise able to do so financially and logistically) demonstrates a profound lack of self-love and self-advocacy.

    Even when deeply unhappy in their partnerships, many codependent folks feel incapable of leaving —or of setting effective boundaries with their partners. This paralysis is often driven by beliefs such as “Life would be meaningless without them,” “I could never find anyone else,” “I’ll be alone forever,” or “It’s better to be unhappily married than single and alone.”

    It’s easy to see how a lack of self-love contributes to this scarcity mentality.

    If you recognize yourself in the above depictions of codependent relationships, don’t be discouraged. I have been in deeply codependent partnerships before and now find myself agreeing with every interdependent statement on this list. With effort and practice, it is possible to outgrow our codependent conditioning and find healthy, interdependent relationships.

    At its core, codependency is a dysfunctional relationship with the self that stems from a lack of self-worth—and is generally the result of being raised in a neglectful or dysfunctional family. When we rediscover our own sense of purpose, value, and self-compassion, we no longer need to rely on our partners for our sole sense of self-worth. We can engage in our relationships in balanced, grounded, other-loving, and self-loving ways.

  • How To Set Boundaries With Your Racist Relatives

    How To Set Boundaries With Your Racist Relatives

    As the Black Lives Matter movement gains traction across the nation and the world, many of us are being called to use the skills we’ve learned to improve ourselves⁠—such as speaking our truth, setting boundaries, and breaking the people-pleasing pattern⁠—to improve our communities, our countries, and our world.

    Those of us who are allies are conveniently positioned to have conversations about racial justice with our family members, friends, and coworkers. However, historically, many of us have balked at these conversations out of fear of our own awkwardness, others’ anger, or the possibility of creating rifts in relationships.

    In the past, I’ve done a subpar job of asserting my boundaries with racist relatives. Instead of saying, “Hey, that thing you just said was really racist,” I usually opted to stay silent. I justified my silence with one or all of the following excuses:

    • “I can’t change their mind.”
    • “They won’t listen to me anyway.”
    • “It’ll just start an argument.”
    • “If this becomes a debate, I don’t know enough facts to justify my side.”

    Now, I’ve come to understand that silence is violence⁠—and that complicity in racism is racism.
    Some activists assert that allies are most useful when we advocate for racial justice with our racist relatives. Others caution that getting into embittered arguments with racist relatives is a waste of energy⁠—energy that could be better-devoted to creating real change for black folks.

    Whether you choose to take an offensive stance (proactively engaging your racist relatives in conversations about race) or defensive stance (speaking out against racist relatives who make racist comments), knowing how to set boundaries with racist family members is critically important. When conversations become ineffective or toxic, we need to know how to stand in our power and create safety for ourselves.

    These four tools can help you set empowered boundaries with your racist relatives and maintain the emotional energy you need to avoid burnout and continue engaging in anti-racist work.

    1. Clarify the values that empower you to speak up.

    When planning to have a difficult conversation, we can find motivation and strength in our values. Our values are our basic, fundamental beliefs that help us determine what is important to us.

    For example, my core values include integrity and authenticity. I’m passionate about speaking from the heart, being honest, and acting in a moral manner.

    When it comes to having difficult conversations with family members about race, I ask myself: What would it look like to act in integrity here? What would it mean to be fully authentic in this conversation? For me, this means not going silent in difficult conversations, addressing racist jokes and comments the moment they’re spoken, and holding firm to my beliefs, even in the face of others’ anger.

    What are your core values? Honesty? Loyalty? Generosity? Compassion? Consider how those values align with your intention to speak out against racial injustice. When those conversations get difficult, find solace in the truth that you’re living in alignment with your fundamental beliefs.

    (If you want to discover your most deeply-held values but aren’t sure where to begin, Scott Jeffrey’s Core Value List of over 200 personal values is a great place to start.)

    2. Come prepared with specific language.

    Boundary-setting discussions, especially with relatives, are among the most challenging conversations we can have. To reduce the pressure we may feel to summon the perfect words at the perfect time, it’s helpful to come prepared with a few key phrases we can use to set, and re-assert, our boundaries.

    In a recent Instagram post, trauma and relationship therapist Jordan Pickell offered some excellent suggestions for how to tell someone you love that they’re being racist. It included suggestions like:

    • In the moment, you can say “That is really racist/offensive/ignorant.”
    • Set a boundary that you will not accept racist comments: “Don’t make racist jokes around me. If you do, I’m leaving.”
    • Focus on the feelings/impact of their words: “When you say that, it makes me feel angry/disgusted/confused.”
    • You can also go back to it after the fact: “What you said the other day isn’t sitting well with me.”

    Remember that boundaries are statements of what we will or will not accept. The goal of a boundary isn’t necessarily to change another’s behavior, but to create safety and integrity for ourselves. The most perfectly crafted boundary might not stop Uncle Joe from making racist jokes, but it can protect you, your children, your mental energy, or your home.Examples of simple boundaries in this vein include:

    • “I will not speak to you when you make racist comments.”
    • “If you make racist comments, I will hang up the phone.”
    • “If you continue to make racist comments, I will not bring my children to your home.”
    • “I cannot tolerate your racism and I no longer want to be in touch with you.”

    3. Use the broken record technique.

    When our boundaries are met with defensiveness, we may find ourselves drawn into circular and long-winded arguments. Your relatives may say,

    • “You can’t tell me what to do!”
    • “You’re taking this too seriously. Lighten up.”
    • “Show me the numbers. Prove it.”

    Remember: you don’t need to justify your boundary. You don’t need to explain yourself, to recite the most recent statistics on police brutality, or to appeal to this person’s heart of hearts that racism is actually really, really bad. Instead, try the broken record technique.

    Created by Richard Lavoie, a national expert on classroom management, the broken record technique is a simple yet effective way to reassert your boundary without getting mired in distracting arguments. To deploy this technique, simply repeat the same message three times, calmly yet assertively—regardless of how the recipient responds.

    Here’s an example:

    You: “Bob, I will not participate in conversations with you when you’re being racist.”

    Bob: “Oh come on, lighten up! You’re taking this too seriously.”

    You: “I will not participate in conversations with you when you’re being racist.”

    Bob: “Racist? That’s ridiculous. You know what’s really racist? Affirmative action.”

    You: “I will not participate in conversations with you when you’re being racist.”

    Bob: “Alright, whatever. I’m outta here.”

    As you can see, when you repeat the same message calmly and assertively, you simultaneously limit Bob’s power while preserving your own mental and emotional energy.

    4. Practice post-boundary self-care.

    Especially if this is your first time addressing racism in your family, setting these boundaries may feel particularly difficult. It may feel like an enormous emotional upheaval⁠—and it is! You’re breaking a silence that you’ve held for months, years, or even decades, and that is serious emotional work.

    After setting your boundary, you may feel fear, guilt, or shame, even though, intellectually, you know that setting this boundary was important and righteous. If you grew up in an environment where you were punished, harmed, or neglected when you disagreed with a family member, learning the art of honest expression in the family is a radical act.

    Post-boundary self-care helps you avoid burnout and replenish your resources so that you can continue engaging in anti-racist activism in your family and community.

    Personally, I really need rest after a conversation like this. My nervous system gets overloaded and frayed, and a nap or cozy evening at home is an important way to come home to myself. If I’m feeling guilty, I contact a trusted friend who can reaffirm the righteousness of my boundary and keep me on the course.

    When we set boundaries with our racist relatives, we create personal, zero-tolerance zones where we are no longer complicit in our relatives’ racism. It is difficult and demanding work, but it is absolutely necessary if we are to claim true allyship with the black folks who are fighting for their right to exist safely in this world.

  • How to Stop Agreeing to Things That Aren’t Good for You

    How to Stop Agreeing to Things That Aren’t Good for You

    “Agreeing to things just to keep the peace is actually a trauma response. When you do this you’re disrespecting your boundaries.” ~DJ Love Light

    Two years ago, I moved from New England to the Pacific Northwest. It was time for a change, and though I was excited to begin a new chapter of my life, I was sorry to leave my old friends behind.

    The first year in my new home was hectic. I hopped from hostel to hostel on the hunt for an apartment to call my own. Eager to make friends, I spent my evenings attending meetups of all varieties. My business grew as I welcomed a new influx of clients. Atop these external pressures sat my anxiety, a presence whose intensity ebbed and flowed like an unpredictable tide.

    I struggled to maintain consistent contact with my New England friends during this time of transition. One day, I needed to reschedule a phone call with a friend because I felt utterly overwhelmed. I apologized and rescheduled for the following weekend, despite the fact that it would be my first free weekend in months, and I would need time to recuperate. “I’ll make it work,” I told myself.

    Lo and behold, when the next weekend arrived, I was anxious and exhausted from yet another stressful week. The thought of a phone call felt utterly overwhelming, and so I cancelled. Again.

    This time, my friend was rightfully upset with me. He viewed my persistent rescheduling as lack of investment in our friendship, and we slowly lost touch.

    Even now, months later, I feel deep shame for how I handled that interaction. It was a painful loss, one that taught me an incredibly valuable lesson: making promises you can’t keep is a surefire way to erode relationships⁠—relationships with others and your own relationship with yourself.

    Since then, I’ve learned how to break the overpromising pattern and trust myself again. Here’s how.

    Why Do We Overpromise and Under-Deliver?

    Generally, overpromising stems from our desire to be liked or accepted. We believe that we are most valuable to others when we give 110%, and so we overpromise —we make a commitment that is unrealistic given our present circumstances.

    Overpromising might look like:

    • Agreeing to complete a work project by an unrealistic deadline
    • Promising to call a friend even though your schedule is totally bonkers
    • Agreeing to attend multiple parties in one weekend even though you have social anxiety

    Overpromising is a specific form of people-pleasing, a phenomenon in which we act against our natural impulses in order to garner another’s approval, acceptance, or love.

    When we overpromise, we attempt to become an idealized version of ourselves—a version who does these things, effortlessly, on a certain timeline. By doing so, we deny our natural limitations and prioritize what we believe others want from us instead of what we need from ourselves.

    Somewhere along the way, most people-pleasers learned that their authentic selves were not lovable enough, so they believe —consciously or subconsciously⁠—that the only way to secure the love they crave is to be different. They may put great effort into seeming more sociable, more productive, more accommodating, or happier than they really are. In the case of overpromising, they put great effort into giving more than they comfortably can.

    As a result, those of us who overpromise either do the agreed-upon task—albeit resentfully⁠—or back out altogether. Either way, it causes serious damage because we learn that we cannot trust ourselves. We’re left with a nagging sense of shame and a conviction that we must do better next time, and so the cycle repeats itself.

    The secret to breaking this guilt-filled cycle is to communicate our needs, limitations, and desires from the outset with proactive boundaries.

    The Power of Proactive Boundaries

    When we think about boundaries, we generally think of what I refer to as retroactive boundaries: responding to someone else’s behavior with a clear assertion of what is, or is not, acceptable to us. We might feel threatened, angry, unsafe, overwhelmed, or triggered, and we respond accordingly. For example:

    On a first date, your companion puts his arm around your shoulders. You feel uncomfortable. You remove his hand and say, “I’m not ready for public displays of affection yet.”

    Your father asks you who you’re voting for in the election. You say, “Dad, I’d like to keep who I’m voting for private.”

    Your friend Barb asks if she can borrow $100. You reply, “I’m sorry Barb, but as a rule, I don’t lend money.”

    Retroactive boundaries are a form of verbal self-defense. They’re powerful and effective, but many find them horribly difficult to set. It can be challenging to speak up for ourselves when we already feel threatened, bullied, or pressured. If we were raised in an environment where we were harmed when we spoke up for ourselves, we may find the very idea of setting boundaries impossible.

    To circumvent the awkward process of setting retroactive boundaries, I have learned the art of proactive boundary-setting. Proactive boundaries require us to consider, in advance, what our needs, limitations, and desires will be. We then communicate those needs in the early phase of the relationship, effectively incorporating our needs into the relationship’s very foundation.

    A few examples:

    • You exchange numbers with someone you meet at an event. You’re hopeful that this could turn into a friendship. When she texts you the following day, you reply with enthusiasm and let her know that you tend to take a few hours or days to reply to texts.
    • You have a history of trauma. Before your romantic relationship gets physical, you tell your partner that you prefer to take physical intimacy slow. You explain that you wait to have sex until you feel safe and comfortable.
    • You’ve been offered a new job. You also have a toddler in childcare. You tell your new employer that, should your toddler get sick and need to be picked up from childcare, you will need to leave work early to do so.

    Setting proactive boundaries requires self-acceptance. We need to be able to acknowledge and accept our own needs in order to convey them to others. In doing so, we create an opportunity for others to be authentic and share their needs with us.

    Sometimes, both parties will be willing to meet the other’s needs or find a manageable compromise. Sometimes, after we share our proactive boundaries, we may learn that our needs are not compatible with the needs of our new partner, friend, or colleague. And that’s perfectly okay. Wouldn’t you rather learn that from the outset instead of six months—or six years—down the road?

    How to Set Proactive Boundaries

    Scenarios like this might make a good fit for proactive boundaries:

    • Negotiating how quickly you reply to texts, calls, and emails
    • Discussing the rate of intimacy in a physical relationship
    • Limiting how many extra responsibilities you take on in the office
    • Negotiating dating as a single parent
    • Determining how you will manage money when you move in with your partner

    Finding the right language can be the most challenging part of boundary-setting. In my experience, opening a two-way conversation where both parties can express their needs without judgment is the simplest way to create a healthy conversation. You might try the following:

    When setting proactive boundaries in new friendships or new romantic relationships:

    “I’m excited about this connection we’re building. I’d like to have a conversation with you about what we each want this relationship to look like. I’d love to hear a bit about your needs and share some of my own.”

    When setting proactive boundaries in existing relationships going through a transition:

    “I know we’re about to enter a new phase of our friendship/romantic relationship/working relationship. To make the transition easier for both of us, I’d like to have a conversation with you about what we each want this new phase to look like. I’d love to hear a bit about your needs and share some of my own.”

    When setting proactive boundaries at work:

    “I’m really looking forward to working with you. Before we get started, I’d love to schedule a conversation to discuss how I can best meet your needs, and vice versa.”

    Setting proactive boundaries doesn’t eliminate the possibility that your friends, colleagues, or loved ones will overstep your boundaries in the future. However, in those circumstances, it’s far easier to reference a previously agreed-upon boundary than to set a fresh boundary from scratch.

    Proactive Boundaries Have Changed My Life

    I used to carry a heavy burden of shame for the trail of broken promises I left behind me. Now, I understand that accepting my own needs is the key to keeping my word.

    I use proactive boundaries daily. My friends know that I am slow to respond to texts, emails, and Facebook messages. My partner knows that I have a trauma history and need to set the tone of our physical interactions. My clients know that I work four days a week, 10am – 5pm, and do not reply to emails outside of that time frame. My immediate family knows that I will not discuss politics at home.

    Setting these boundaries has allowed me to love myself. Before, I hated the fact that my anxiety prevented me from keeping in better touch. I hated the way my trauma surfaced at the least opportune moments. I felt guilty and lazy when I didn’t reply to my client’s emails on the weekends. Now, I accept that these are my needs, and I give others the opportunity to accept them, too.

    Those who know my boundaries and choose to connect with me anyway are a powerful reminder that my needs do not make me unworthy of other’s affections. They remind me that I am lovable and enough, just as I am.

  • 9 Powerful Lessons from People-Pleasers Around the World

    9 Powerful Lessons from People-Pleasers Around the World

    A woman struggles to tell her boss that no, she won’t work overtime for the third day this week.

    A man feels resentful in his relationship because he always gives, and his partner always takes.

    A woman wants to stop faking pleasure in the bedroom but doesn’t know how.

    Though their stories differ, these folks share a painful secret. They worry that if they are truly and authentically themselves, they will not be loved or accepted. They have spent their lives morphing into smaller, more “acceptable” versions of who they are, sacrificing their authenticity along the way.

    I, too, am a recovering people-pleaser. In my teens and early twenties, I listened in envy as my friends splattered their unfiltered truths across our conversations like fistfuls of finger paint. Meanwhile, every time I needed to turn down an invitation to a party, World War III raged in my chest as I was racked with nerves and guilt. The thought of disappointing others terrified me.

    I used to feel terribly alone in my predicament. Specifically, I was convinced that 1) I was the only one who struggled with this degree of people-pleasing, 2) there was something dreadfully wrong with me, and 3) I would be that way forever.

    In the years since, my work has led me to speak with recovering people-pleasers, recovering codependent folks, highly sensitive people, empaths, and chronic caregivers around the world. From Ireland to Yemen, India to Malaysia, France to South Africa and more, I’ve spoken with folks who are conquering the people-pleasing pattern, setting empowered boundaries, and mastering the art of speaking their truth.

    Their stories taught me that people-pleasing is a very common—and entirely breakable—pattern. From hundreds of conversations, here are the nine most valuable lessons I learned:

    1. If you don’t speak your truth, your truth will speak through you.

    At first, staying silent to keep the peace sounds like a good idea. Why speak our truth and deal with others’ negative reactions when we could stomach our own discomfort like champs? Those of us who played the role of peacekeeper in our families of origin will find this approach familiar, maybe even comfortable.

    But people-pleasers around the world agree: external peace does necessitate inner peace. When you stay silent, the folks around you might be blissfully ignorant, but you feel the repercussions emotionally and physically. Debilitating anxiety, depression, jaw tension, and stomach aches, for example, are common symptoms folks report when they stifle their voice over an extended period of time.

    Recovering people-pleasers around the world recommend: Recognize that speaking your truth isn’t some corny self-help mantra: it’s a necessary prescription for a psychologically and physically healthy life.

    2. If it’s hard for you to access your wants and needs, a great first step is to tune into your body’s simple physical desires.

    Even those of us who have long histories of people-pleasing can access the sacred whispers of our inner selves through our bodies. As Martha Graham famously wrote, “The body never lies.” We can begin living our truth by listening for our bodies’ cues for food, sleep, movement, sex, dance, and play.

    Recovering people-pleasers around the world recommend: Sleep when you’re tired. Don’t eat food you don’t like. Don’t have sex if you’re not in the mood. Dance when you want to dance. The more you practice listening for these simple wants, the more complex desires will arise.

    3. Expecting others to mind-read your needs is a recipe for resentment.

    In the past, I spent undue time and energy analyzing others for cues of their likes and dislikes. I was a bonafide chameleon, tailoring my colors in whatever way I believed would please others most.

    Given my hyper-vigilance to others’ preferences, I believed that if people really knew me and really loved me, they would predict my needs, too. Unfortunately, you can’t love your way into being a mind reader, and I was regularly disappointed when folks didn’t show me care in the way I wanted.

    When we assume that others should automatically know how to take care of us, we assume that we all share the same definition of being cared for. You might need your partner to say, “I love you,” but your partner might show her love by rewiring your toaster.

    Gary Chapman’s book The 5 Love Languages depicts five distinct ways folks show love, including words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service, or physical touch. Avoid the guessing game and explicitly communicate your needs often.

    Recovering people-pleasers around the world recommend: Explain your needs to loved ones to avoid mixed messages that could lead to painful miscommunications.

    4. Caregiving can be selfish when we don’t have a strong foundation of self-love.

    Many people-pleasers take care of others because it gives us a sense of value. We structure our identities around being reliable, generous, good listeners, and maybe even sacrificial. However, if we give care to others without taking care of ourselves—without developing our own interests—we may find that we need to be needed to feel a sense of purpose. This means that we may insist on caregiving even when our efforts are no longer required, requested, or welcome, which can violate someone else’s boundaries and autonomy.⠀

    Recovering people-pleasers around the world recommend: Give yourself the degree of love and care you’d regularly give to others. Pay your bills. Go to the doctor. Take quiet time. Treat yourself to a nice dinner. This way, when you do make the decision to take care of others, you can do so with no strings attached.

    5. Just because it feels awkward to state your needs and take up space doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It means it’s new.

    Many of the folks I spoke with remembered how scary it felt to state their needs and take up space at first. To them, it felt “impossible,” “terrifying,” and “overwhelming.” Can you relate?

    That discomfort is a natural growing pain. After all, breaking the people-pleasing pattern means rewriting the scripts you’ve followed since childhood. Maybe as a kid you were told that speaking your truth made you unlovable. Perhaps you were bullied in school for being different and made fierce efforts to blend in as a result. Regardless, you are breaking a years- or decades-long pattern of making yourself small. It will feel less challenging with practice.

    Recovering people-pleasers around the world recommend: Instead of interpreting anxiety as a sign that you’re doing something wrong, reframe it as an affirmation that you’re doing something new—and growing as a result.

    6. It’s totally normal to feel mean, guilty, or overwhelmed after setting a healthy boundary.

    If you grew up in an environment where you were punished or neglected when you expressed your true feelings, learning the art of honest expression is a radical act. The simple act of setting a boundary may feel like an enormous emotional upheaval. You are learning how to stand up for yourself, and like any new skill, it takes practice. 

    After setting a boundary, you might wonder if you’re a bad friend/mother/colleague/[insert role here]. You’re not, of course, but your nervous system needs to learn that with time.

    Recovering people-pleasers around the world recommend: Acknowledge that by setting a boundary, you’ve just done some serious emotional work. Hold yourself with compassion and give yourself permission to rest and recuperate.

    7. If you struggle to set boundaries, you might have a tendency to cut people out when resentments arise. Learning to set boundaries will help you maintain your relationships through moments of conflict.

    For much of my life, I was unable to maintain a single close friendship for more than a year. It seemed that every friendship eventually withered away—not with a bang, but a whimper.

    When I sat down and reflected on this pattern, I realized that when conflicts arose—and conflicts will naturally arise in all meaningful relationships—I had chosen to let the friendships fade instead of addressing, and resolving, my grievances.

    People-pleasers might cut folks out when we don’t have the tools to communicate how we really feel. When we break the people-pleasing habit, we develop the ability to have difficult conversations with friends and loved ones—which enables us to nurture and strengthen those relationships.

    Recovering people-pleasers around the world recommend: Contrary to popular belief, boundaries are an invitation to connect. Remember to consider the many ways that setting boundaries will benefit, instead of threatening, your relationships.

    8. Sometimes extroversion is just people-pleasing at a social scale. For some of us, breaking the people-pleasing pattern means learning to embrace our own introversion.

    As people-pleasers, we regularly act against our instincts to become a version of ourselves we believe is lovable. For many of us, the bubbly extrovert we present in social settings is really just an unconscious performance. In my conversations with many people-pleasers, I was shocked to hear gregarious, fast-talking folks share that all they wanted was permission to be quiet. “I want to trust that I’m worthy of love even when I’m not entertaining others,” they would say.

    As children, we may have received love only when we actively acted in an outgoing, cheerful manner. If our parents were addicts or suffered from mental illness, we may have acted as their de facto caretakers, providing sunshine, reassurance, and good spirits. As a result, we feel that in order to be loved, we must be constantly happy or outgoing—and we are exhausted by it. In adulthood, we’re tired of performing and we crave inner peace.

    Recovering people-pleasers around the world recommend: Practice giving yourself permission to not always be “on” around others.

    9. There is no “right” way to feel after leaving a toxic relationship.

    I had to leave a platonic relationship recently. It was a friendship that had many beautiful parts and many toxic parts, and my decision to leave was fraught with indecision.

    In the aftermath, I felt a hundred ways about it. I felt grief at the loss. I felt empowered for advocating for myself. I felt anger at the circumstances that led to our dissolution. I felt compassion for my friend’s limitations, as well as my own. I felt self-doubt and found myself second-guessing whether I handled the conflict properly. I felt hopeful for friendships yet to come. And I really missed my friend.

    There is no right way to feel after leaving a toxic relationship. Relationships are never one-dimensional, and so our emotions when they end will rarely be one-dimensional, either. You can simultaneously be certain you had to leave and miss the person terribly.

    Recovering people-pleasers around the world recommend: When you leave a toxic relationship, recognize that all of your feelings are legitimate. You don’t need to pick just one.

    ⁠—-

    Years and hundreds of conversations later, my initial understanding of people-pleasing has shifted entirely:

    The myth: “I am the only one who struggles with this degree of people-pleasing.”

    The truth: If you are a recovering people-pleaser, you are far from alone. Millions of folks worldwide are doing the challenging and rewarding work of learning to speak their truth. There are even Facebook support groups like this one designed specifically for folks who are working to conquer the people-pleasing pattern.

    The myth: “There is something dreadfully wrong with me.”

    The truth: As a kid, people-pleasing was likely how you secured love and affection from distant, neglectful, or self-centered caregivers. It was a survival strategy. Now, you can give yourself permission to let it go.

    The myth: “I will be this way forever.”

    The truth: People-pleasing is not a life sentence; it is a pattern that you can break with practice and intention. You can seek support from friends, therapists, and coaches as your practice the art of radical self-expression.

    As hundreds of folks around the world made clear: With time and intention, you can master the art of speaking your truth and find the strength, authenticity, and inner peace you’ve been waiting for.

  • You Are Not “Too Much” to Be Loved

    You Are Not “Too Much” to Be Loved

    “If you always feel like you’re too much or too little, maybe you’re adding yourself to the wrong recipe.” ⁠~Sophia Joan Short

    There is an art to shrinking yourself.

    As a young girl, I was painfully earnest. I hadn’t learned the craft of nonchalance that was as much a requirement for being liked as name-brand clothes and Livestrong wristbands. One day, as I chattered excitedly on the school bus home, my seat-mate scolded me: “Hailey. Calm down. You’re so annoying.”

    This is how I learned that my enthusiasm made me unlikable.

    At home, short tempers led to angry arguments. After conflicts, my dad would withdraw his love in a stormy silent treatment⁠ until I cleared the air—or until we both agreed to pretend that nothing ever happened. I learned the art of walking on eggshells. When I was fifteen, Dad and I got into an argument and didn’t speak for days. We orbited around each other like silent planets in a lonely solar system.

    This is how I learned that my anger made me unlovable.

    Years later, my first adult relationship began to unravel. I felt the pain of our withering love acutely. My then-partner withdrew further into himself with every argument, every tear, every dissonance. The more I tried to repair our broken love, the more distant he became.

    This is how I learned that my needs would push away the people I loved the most.

    Where did you learn that you were too much?

    Were you bullied at school? Mistreated at home?

    Did your caregivers say you were too loud, too energetic, too difficult? Did they neglect your interests, deny your feelings, or punish your anger?

    Did your lovers withdraw their affection when you expressed your true feelings? Did they balk at your trauma? Did they hold you at arms’ length?

    These experiences leave us with a resounding mantra:

    I am too much. 
    I am too much. 
    I am too much.

    But you are not. Here’s why.

    The Beauty of “Too Much”

    Those of us who give ourselves permission to feel deeply give ourselves the gift of fully participating in this world.

    We embrace the vast palette of emotion that living demands. We experience the valleys of loss, the black pain of grief, and the jagged edges of trauma. We also experience the searing catharsis of inspiration, the rich colors of joy, and the deep, calm ocean of love.

    Because we feel so richly, our hearts are calm harbors where others’ pain can seek refuge. We are empathetic and expansive, and when we say, “I hear you, I’ve been there,” we really mean it.

    We do the hard labor of living, of feeling, every day. We have built within ourselves a powerful infrastructure for empathizing, connecting, and relating. This gives us a profound capacity to connect with others —others who are capable of meeting us there.

    It’s Not About You

    Every time someone implies that you are “too much,” they express their own limitations.

    Emotional intensity scares those who have never learned to access their own emotions. If they don’t know how to feel their own pain, sadness, or joy, they will be incapable of handling it in others.

    What they say is:

    • “You’re being too dramatic.”
    • “Do we always need to talk about our feelings?”
    • “Everything’s fine. Why are you so upset?”
    • “I can’t do this.”

    What they are really saying is:

    • “I am afraid of your pain because I do not allow myself to feel my own.”
    • “I am afraid of your vulnerability because I never learned how to be vulnerable.”
    • “I do not have the tools to handle conflict, so I will avoid it.”
    • “I am afraid of failing because I don’t know how to take care of you.”

    These folks have spent a lifetime erecting and fortifying walls to keep intense emotions out. They may have learned to do this as a coping skill. They may have been taught to by their caregivers. Regardless, as a result, they may push you away, withdraw, retreat, shame, criticize, or blame—anything to keep their walls intact.

    Their judgments are a reflection of their own limitations, not a reflection of you. This does not justify the ways they’ve shamed you, but it may help you feel compassion for the fearful manner in which they’ve lived.

    Alongside this compassion, you also have a choice.

    Will you choose to shrink yourself to fit behind their stifling walls?

    Or will you seek relationships with folks who embrace your capacity for feeling widely—ugly cries and happiness and all?

    A Gateway to Wholeness

    Despite my many efforts to become invisible, there was a woman within me who had fierce truths to speak, whose heart felt crushing pain and wild joy in equal measure. Repressing my true self was like trying to outrun the morning sun.

    I wanted to be seen in all my wholeness, but I was terrified of being abandoned as I’d been before. I needed to learn—not through affirmations and visioning, but through action and supportive relationships with others—that I could be loved for who I was.

    And so, I began to practice. I noticed which friends listened when I spoke. I noticed who validated my feelings and who glossed over them en route to their own stories. I noticed who welcomed me with open arms, even if I was feeling blue, tired, or anxious.

    Romantically, I sought partners who acknowledged my needs instead of scoffing at them. Words like “dramatic” and “hysterical” became red flags I heeded without exception.

    I sought partners who were forthright about their feelings for me—who matched my desire for verbal affirmations, physical touch, and time spent together. I still remember the shock I felt when I realized that there were lovers who wanted more time with me, more intimacy, more depth, instead of less.

    Over time, my relationships became the safe containers within which I practiced wholeness. Qualities I forgot I’d had, like humor, confidence, and expertise, blossomed in these new, safe ecosystems.

    Now that I’ve experienced the freedom of others’ acceptance, I have zero interest in pursuing relationships with folks who would deem me “too much.” As the saying goes: “You will be too much for some people. Those are not your people.” 

    —

    Learning to embrace my wholeness is a daily practice. Some days are harder than others.

    When I’m feeling anxious and seek comfort from my partner, sometimes a niggling voice whispers that he will leave me.

    When I speak at length about a new endeavor, I occasionally fear that I’m boring my audience.

    When I express grievances in my relationships, I cringe at the prospect that the recipient could throw up her hands and declare me “too much work.”

    Every time I feel these fears and act anyway, I honor my innermost self. I am teaching myself—slowly, diligently, patiently—that I am worthy of expression and worthy of love. It gets a little bit easier every day.

  • How to Reduce Holiday Stress by Setting Strong Boundaries

    How to Reduce Holiday Stress by Setting Strong Boundaries

    I love the holidays. I eagerly anticipate the first snowfall, adore the scent of pine, and watch It’s A Wonderful Life every year without fail.

    That said, even the merriest among us know that the holidays can be emotionally, physically, and psychologically taxing. In addition to buying gifts, negotiating travel plans, and shuttling from gathering to gathering, many of us spend extended time with our families—and every family, no matter how loving, has its fair share of challenges.

    When these difficult family dynamics combine with holiday-season stress, we may find ourselves at a crossroads. Do we burn out, freak out, and spend the holidays in a state of discomfort? Or do we set boundaries around our time, space, and energy?

    Setting Boundaries With Family Members

    For many of us, breaking the people-pleasing pattern and setting boundaries poses a unique challenge. Personally, I was taught that my value lay in how much I gave, and so speaking up for myself—or setting limits on my giving—at first felt mean and inconsiderate.

    Setting boundaries among family members can be doubly challenging. For years, we may have felt burdened by unspoken expectations that have made it hard to put our own needs first.

    For most of my life, I struggled to set boundaries with my parents because they raised me, fed me, clothed me, and supported me financially until I reached adulthood. At first, it was hard to instate boundaries because I felt I owed them everything.

    Likewise, many parents would leap out in front of a train for their kids, and many siblings would go to great lengths to keep one another safe and happy. As a parent or sibling, you may feel obligated to offer your time, money, space, or energy without limitation.

    Boundaries illuminate and challenge these unspoken expectations. Whereas before you may have been the resident people-pleaser or over-giver, setting boundaries changes your role in your family system. They enable you to prioritize your own needs and give at a sustainable rate.

    Boundaries can protect your material possessions, your emotions, your physical space, or your spiritual beliefs. They are not “mean.” They simply draw a line between what belongs to you and what belongs to others.

    As I prepare to have difficult conversations about boundaries, I like to keep these four key principles in mind:

    When we refuse to set a boundary, we prioritize other people’s comfort over our own needs. Setting boundaries is a courageous act of putting ourselves first. It’s a great way to break the people-pleasing habit and practice the art of self-care and verbal self-defense.

    Difficult honesty is not unkindness. It’s not mean to stand up for yourself. It’s actually the most truthful and authentic way to interact with others.

    You can manage your boundaries or manage other people’s feelings, but you can’t do both. The bottom line is, your boundaries might make people feel frustrated or resentful. That burden is not yours to bear.

    Other people are not mind-readers. Don’t expect them to be. There is no shame in directly asking for your feelings to be acknowledged or your needs to be met. Even our loved ones need ongoing instruction in how to care for us because we are always changing—as are our needs and boundaries.

    This holiday season, practice setting boundaries in your family to give yourself the gift of feeling joyful, peaceful, and empowered. Here are some common holiday scenarios in which boundaries might come in handy:

    Example #1: It’s okay not to go home for the holidays.

    Maybe your adult children have finally fled the nest and you want to spend the holiday in Cancun with your spouse. Maybe you want to visit your fiancé’s family instead of your own. Maybe home is a toxic environment and you’d prefer to stay home and enjoy the company of your dog, Bobo.

    You are not selfish for wanting to spend the holidays in the way you’d like. You are allowed to have desires that differ from your parents’ or siblings’. You are allowed to have a different understanding of what makes the “perfect” holiday.

    It can be tough to buck traditions that have been in your family for decades. Sometimes, finding the right language is the hardest part.

    My favorite way to communicate a boundary is the “I-statement” approach developed by clinical psychologist Thomas Gordon in 1970. It centers your feelings and experiences, reduces the likelihood of defensiveness in the listener, and offers concrete suggestions for change.

    Here’s how it works:

    • I feel _________________________________________.
    • When you _____________________________________.
    • Because _______________________________________.
    • I need ________________________________________.

    In the case offered above, you might try this: “I feel sad and overwhelmed when I come home for Christmas because there’s a lot of unresolved tension in our family. I need to spend a peaceful Christmas on my own this year.”

    Example #2: It’s okay to need a break if you’re hosting.

    Holiday hosting is no small feat. In my extended family, Christmas Eve was always a bonanza, complete with platters of hors d’oeuvres, mountains of gifts, and screaming kiddos hopped up on Neapolitan cookies. My grandma, our gracious hostess, would start preparing the moment summer vacation was over. It was a big deal.

    Whether you’re hosting the extended family for one evening or hosting your kids for two weeks, you are offering your time, space, and energy in a big way. It’s taxing for your nervous system and your body, and it’s okay to take a break. “Taking a break” might mean spending a day by yourself, enjoying an afternoon nap, or outsourcing host responsibilities for an hour in the midst of the party.

    Try this: I feel stressed when I host the family for Christmas Eve because it’s a ton of work to cook the food, mingle with guests, and clean up afterwards. I need someone to help me clean up when the guests start to leave.

    Example #3: It’s okay to need alone time if you’re visiting.

    Visiting entails fewer responsibilities than hosting, but it’s not always a walk in the park. As a visitor, you’re out of your comfort zone. You’re in a new environment, away from your routines and creature comforts. Even if you haven’t seen the folks you’re mingling with in months or years, it’s perfectly normal to take some time to be alone.

    Try this: I feel overwhelmed by the non-stop festivities when I visit for Christmas because I’m used to having a lot of time to myself at home. I need one day where I can be alone so I can rest and recharge.

    Example #4: It’s okay to disengage in controversial conversations.

    Despite the litany of horror stories that illustrate the dangers of talking politics/religion/etc. around the dinner table, some of our loved ones can’t seem to help themselves. I know from personal experience: Some family members get a kick out of instigating uncomfortable conversations.

    This year, you don’t have to choose between entering a heated conversation or forcing a chuckle on the sidelines. You can set a boundary that simultaneously protects your values and limits your involvement.

    Try this: I feel uncomfortable when you talk about politics over Thanksgiving dinner because it creates an atmosphere of tension. Let’s change the conversation to something less controversial so we can enjoy one another’s company.

    Example #5: It’s okay not to be okay with your family’s dynamics.

    Every member of every family changes over time. Habits or routines that you loved as a child might not feel comfortable as you get older. Certain family tensions may have worsened as the years have passed.

    Bottom line? Just because you accepted these behaviors and dynamics before does not mean you need to accept them now.

    Maybe your brother always comments on your weight, and you’d really like him to stop. Maybe your grandmother constantly asks you why you’re going to school for music instead of medicine. Maybe certain family members get really drunk at your annual Christmas party and, this year, you’re not comfortable with them attending.

    By addressing these discomforts in a straightforward manner, you can give yourself the gift of prioritizing your own feelings and needs.

    But What If They Don’t Like My Boundaries?

    The question I get most often is, “Okay, so I set a boundary. But what if they don’t like it? What if they don’t do what I ask?”

    Your family members might not like your boundaries. Your boundaries may activate their deepest fears and insecurities, and they might wonder, “Does she still love me? Is he angry? What does this mean for our relationship?”

    Your family members may get angry or upset. They may need time to adjust. They may even use guilt in an attempt to make you change your mind.

    It’s important to enter these challenging conversations with realistic expectations for how your loved ones may react. Preparing for surprise, anger, or sadness will make it easier to hold firm to your boundary when faced with resistance.

    During the conversation, acknowledge that your boundary may be difficult to hear. This helps your loved one feel seen and included in the process.

    I also like to offer positive alternatives to the behaviors I’m trying to quelch. I want to make clear to my loved ones that I care about our relationship and I’m willing to work to find ways of interacting that feel good for both of us. For example:

    • “I will be staying at a hotel when I come home for Christmas this year. I would love to carve out a day to spend together, just the two of us.”
    • “Talking about this topic is difficult for me. Can we change the conversation? I’d love to hear how work’s been going for you.”
    • “It’s really important to me that I meet my need for alone time. That said, time with you is really important to me. Can we work together to find a balance that works for both of us?”

    Sometimes, no matter how firmly you hold to your boundary, others will be unwilling to change. Perhaps you express that your brother’s toxic behavior is no longer acceptable to you, but he carries on anyhow. Perhaps you explain that you’re no longer willing to host the annual holiday party, but nobody else steps up to volunteer.

    You cannot change other people. You only have control over your own reactions and behavior. Sometimes, you may have to choose between tolerating the unacceptable behavior or evacuating the environment (e.g., not attending the family’s holiday gathering, ceasing contact with a family member altogether, etc.)

    Though deeply challenging, making the bold decision to evacuate a toxic environment is a phenomenal act of self-care. Organizations like Stand Alone offer support and community to individuals who have had to make that difficult decision, and can be a wonderful resource this time of year.

    —

    Remember: you can simultaneously set boundaries and be loving, compassionate, and kind. You can sit with your loved one’s pain, hold space for their reaction, and reiterate how much they mean to you—all while making clear that your boundary is non-negotiable.

    It takes a great deal of courage to speak up and alter old ways of relating to others, especially in your family. Every time you set a boundary, you bring your outer world into alignment with your inner needs. It is a gift that only you can give yourself—and a gift unlike any other.

  • When It’s Hard To Be True To Yourself, Remember These 7 Things

    When It’s Hard To Be True To Yourself, Remember These 7 Things

    “Sometimes when you’re in a dark place, you think you’ve been buried, but you’ve actually been planted.” ~Christine Caine

    The phrase “personal growth” has always felt counterintuitive to me. Personal growth feels less like growth and more like stripping away—of peeling back the expectations, fears, and shame that we’ve been conditioned with since birth. Beneath these layers lies our truest nature—our inner divinity—our most aligned selves. I view my work on this Earth as getting as close to that aligned self as I can.

    Despite the barrage of positive affirmations and uplifting memes encouraging us to “live our truth,” learning to live in alignment can be deeply uncomfortable. Hundreds of requisite growing pains accompany the process. We shed skins that no longer serve us, which at first leaves us raw and exposed.

    Over the years, I’ve worked to break addictive patterns and speak my truth against enormous inner resistance. When I began to live in alignment, I experienced seismic discomforts. This new territory was entirely uncharted, and with it came bouts of newfound anxiety, fear, and hyper-sensitivity.

    I worried that these unpleasant emotions were signs of “doing it wrong.” Of course, judging my reactions only exacerbated my discomfort—which eventually passed, on its own, in time.

    At first, living in alignment is tough. It gets harder before it gets easier. Here are eight reminders to help you trust your gut and keep going.

    1. It’s normal to break up with partners, friends, and acquaintances.

    Living in alignment looks different for everyone. For me, it largely meant quitting drinking, changing careers, and setting firmer boundaries around my time, space, and body. The first thing I noticed was how many of my relationships—relationships that fit like puzzle pieces with the old me—now felt inauthentic, empty, or downright wrong.

    One of the most important parts of my journey was leaving relationships that no longer served me. This meant  “breaking up” with four to five friends over the course of a few months, a process that left me feeling guilty and lonesome at first.

    The flipside? Now, relationships formed on the basis of people-pleasing, codependency, obligation, and guilt are not a part of my life. These “breakups” leave room for authentic, nourishing, reciprocal relationships to blossom. Be patient as they form.

    2. It’s normal to feel a boatload of guilt.

    For me, living in alignment meant giving up old people-pleasing behaviors. Suddenly, I wasn’t the person who others could count on to go along with the flow. I spoke up. I set boundaries. I stayed in when I wanted to stay in, cancelled plans when I needed to, and set non-negotiable expectations for my relationships.

    In other words, I no longer prioritized other people’s comfort over my own feelings.

    If you’re not used to putting your own needs first, doing so can spark an avalanche of guilt. You might feel unforgivably selfish. You might wonder if you’re a bad friend/mother/colleague/[insert role here].

    Guilt in the early stage of living in alignment is totally normal. Understanding this helps you to notice and accept the guilt instead of reacting to it. Talk through it with trusted friends, a coach, or a therapist. Learn what it feels like in your body. Write about it in your journal. Over time, meeting your own needs will feel second-nature.

    3. It’s normal to feel hyper-sensitive and/or need more solitude.

    Giving credence to my feelings, emotions, and needs was like breaking a dam. Once they started flooding, they keptflooding. And flooding. And flooding.

    By honoring my anger, I began to realize how painful certain relationships felt. By honoring my need for time and space, I began to realize how energetically draining some environments were. By honoring the ebbs and flows of my body, I began to notice when I needed more sleep or a change to my diet.

    As a result of these sensitivities, I needed more time to myself, more naps, fewer plans, and more space to process my emotions via journaling and meditation. At first, this baffled me. I thought living in alignment with my inner self would make me feel more resilient…. not less!

    Keep in mind that what feels like “hyper-sensitivity” may just be “sensitivity,” and it is a completely normal reaction. You are giving your feelings and needs space to surface, maybe for the first time ever. You might be surprised by how many feelings you have—or by how forcefully they arise—when they’re no longer under lock and key.

    4. It’s normal to freak out after setting a boundary or speaking a difficult truth.

    Once, shortly after I’d made the decision to quit drinking, a housemate of mine made a rude, taunting comment about my sobriety. Instead of brushing it off, I turned to him and said forcefully, “That was really inappropriate. I don’t appreciate it.”

    I had never stood up for myself so confidently. I went upstairs to my bedroom with a grin, feeling righteous and strong. Five minutes later found me hunched over in a sobbing fit. Everything in my body screamed, “You are mean! You’re an *sshole! Take it back!”

    In a frenzy, I ran down the stairs, threw open my housemate’s bedroom door, and gasped “I’m-so-sorry-I-said-that-I-got-out-of-hand-Please-forgive-me.” He accepted my apology, bewildered, and thirty minutes later, back in my bedroom, I threw up my hands in frustration.

    Yes, I redacted an appropriate boundary. Yes, I confused the hell out of my housemate. And yes —it was progress.Baby steps, baby.

    It’s totally normal to freak out after setting a boundary. If you grew up in an environment where you were punished or neglected when you expressed your true feelings, learning the art of honest expression is a radical act. In adulthood, your heart, mind, and nervous system is learning how to process, hold, and express difficult emotions. Fear may accompany this process,  especially fear of retaliation or fear of abandonment.

    Remember: the simple act of setting a boundary may feel like an enormous emotional upheaval. You’ve just done some serious emotional work. After setting a challenging boundary, hold yourself with compassion in those moments and give yourself permission to rest and recuperate. With time, your muscle of authentic expression will strengthen.

    5. It’s normal to experience previously unaddressed trauma.

    When I lived out of alignment, I drank too much, slept around, and chased the reckless highs of my compulsions. In hindsight, it’s easy to understand that, because my reality was so painful, I used any means possible to escape it. Unfortunately, when I began to live in alignment, I realized that the means I had used to numb my pain were painful, too.

    My body and heart carried the scars of my compulsions gone awry. Living in alignment meant giving those buried pains and traumas voice. I was bewildered when my healing journey became home to unexpected triggers, panic attacks, and hypersensitivities. At first, I felt more broken than I’d felt before.

    Little did I know that part of healing it was feeling it in the first place—something I’d never let myself do. As they say: it gets dark before the dawn.

    Especially if you find yourself experiencing previously unaddressed trauma, seek support from your partner, friends, or a therapist. Letting your trauma surface and heal allows you to integrate the many parts of your story that may have been disparate and disconnected before. This is part of your journey to wholeness.

    6. It’s normal to get angry AF.

    For years, I shrunk myself for the sake of others’ comfort. I hid my voice. I settled for less. I participated in imbalanced relationships. I stomached unkindness.

    When I began to live in alignment, I started to see with new eyes all the s%&# I’d settled for over the years. I became resentful and enraged. I felt white-hot anger toward the individuals who had taken advantage of me.

    Like a captive animal released from her cage, I pounced with a vengeance. I vented to my friends. I shook my fist. I wrote searing poetry and wrathful songs. I let it out.

    That anger was holy. It was the righteous indignation of my innermost self coming alive. Over time, feeling it and expressing it led me to an equilibrium: I could hold my anger while also understanding the part I’d played in subjecting myself to these toxic patterns.

    Honor your anger. It will not annihilate you. The more familiar you become with your resentment, the more you can use it as a signpost to set boundaries in the future.

     7. It’s normal for your dreams to shift rapidly.

    As we strip away our conditioning and get in touch with our innermost selves, dreams that others have for us lose their glossy appeal. We may find ourselves bucking opportunities for fame, fortune, and legacy in favor of dreams that illuminate us from within. Our intrinsic desires become paramount.

    That sounds awesome—in theory. But when it happened to me, I had a major identity crisis. I had spent countless hours, thousands of dollars, and a college education following a very specific dream of a career in politics. For years, I’d told anyone who would listen that my dream job was a seat in the Senate. Without this societally sanctioned goal, who would I become?

    Especially for those of us who live out of touch with our innermost selves, we rely heavily on external roles and rewards to feel a sense of purpose and identity. As we begin to live in alignment, those external rewards begin to matter less. Sometimes, we realize we never really wanted them at all.

    It’s normal if your dreams, desires, career, or values shift rapidly. It’s normal if your work suddenly feels deflating, boring, or downright awful. It’s normal if you suddenly feel the need to quit your venture or back out on your business plan. It’s normal to cease your involvement in organizations, boards, or volunteer roles that no longer resonate with you.

    You’re not being impulsive. You’re not “wasting” anything. You’re not crazy. You are adjusting your external world to align with your newfound inner world — and that is an act of self-love and self-respect.

    —

    Despite my work as a life coach and my proclivity for collecting self-help books, the best piece of advice I’ve ever gotten is, simply: You’re right where you’re supposed to be.

    So often, we get in our own way by judging our (very valid) reactions to unfamiliar circumstances. In a culture that lauds the shiny, happy, green-smoothie version of personal growth, we forget that self-care can be fearful, anxious, and downright painful.

    Keep going. That fear, anxiety, and pain is all part of your process. Hold it with compassion and watch who you become when you reach the other side.

  • How to Set Boundaries in Awkward Situations with Strangers

    How to Set Boundaries in Awkward Situations with Strangers

    “Boundaries aren’t about punishing. Boundaries are about creating safety for yourself.” ~Sheri Keffer

    The person sitting beside you at the bar keeps talking to you despite your obvious disinterest. The flirty Uber driver mentions—three times—how beautiful you are. Your cousin’s new boyfriend gives you a too-long hug with wandering hands.

    In awkward situations with strangers, we tend to hope that non-verbal cues will be sufficient to set a boundary. We use silence, crossed arms, uncomfortable laughter, and glares to communicate discomfort. But some folks cannot—or will not—take the hint.

    Here, we find ourselves at a crossroads: We can either set clear verbal boundaries or tolerate the uncomfortable behavior indefinitely.

    For the longest time, I struggled to set boundaries in awkward situations with strangers. Throughout childhood, I was taught how to be kind, nice, and open-minded—but never how to have difficult conversations and advocate for myself. I worried that setting firm boundaries was mean, so I tolerated uncomfortable behavior in silence, which allowed the awkward situations to escalate even further.

    Eventually, I realized that setting firm boundaries is a form of verbal self-defense. It is our responsibility to advocate for, and protect, our time and space.

    My goal for this article is to demystify the process of boundary-setting and offer concrete suggestions of language you can use to be clear and direct. These are phrases I’ve crafted, edited, and re-crafted over years of boundary-setting practice. My hope is to help you make awkward situations as not awkward as possible.

    Before we dive in, let’s get clear on five key principles for boundary-setting:

    1. When we refuse to set a boundary, we prioritize other people’s comfort over our own needs. Setting boundaries is a courageous act of putting ourselves first. It’s a great way to break the people-pleasing habit and practice the art of self-care and verbal self-defense.

    2. Difficult honesty is not unkindness. It’s not mean to stand up for yourself. It’s actually the most truthful and authentic way to interact with others.

    3. You can manage your boundaries or manage other people’s feelings, but you can’t do both. The bottom line is, your boundaries might make people feel frustrated or resentful. That burden is not yours to bear. As the saying goes, “The only people who get upset about you setting boundaries are the ones who benefited from you having none.”

    4. It’s not your job to protect people from feeling uncomfortable. Remember: the folks imposing on your space aren’t giving your comfort a second thought—so don’t twist yourself into knots trying to protect their feelings. As Registered Clinical Counselor Jordan Pickell says, “It makes sense for people to feel bad and weird when they have crossed a line.”

    5. Safety first. If you ever feel unsafe or threatened, do whatever you need to do to get to safety. Don’t be a boundary-setting hero.

    For consistency, the examples below use “Bob” as the generic name of our boundary-violator. However, folks of all genders, ages, races, etc., violate boundaries.

    Certain suggested phrases are direct and firm. Others are lighter and playful. Experiment with the language to find the tone that works best for you.

    Case #1: The Handsy Hugger

    Maybe it’s an eager fan who approaches you after an open mic performance. Maybe it’s your step brother’s uncle who you see twice a year at family barbecues.

    Handsy Huggers comes in many shapes and forms, but they all have one thing in common: they hug you for an uncomfortably long time with wandering hands.

    My recommendation: In a scenario that runs the risk of uncomfortable physical contact, it’s better to avoid a hug altogether. Next time a Handsy Hugger approaches you, give yourself permission not to enter his outstretched arms. Hang back, offer a smile (or not), and when he looks at you quizzically, say, “I’m not in the mood for a hug today, Bob.” In the next breath, redirect the conversation to literally any other topic.

    Case #2: The Flirty Uber Driver

    I have been asked, by two separate Uber drivers, if I would consider marrying them. I’ve sat in the backseat as Uber drivers have commented on how much they liked my clothing and eyed me from the rearview.

    When you’re in someone’s Uber, you can’t exactly escape to the ladies room. Some drivers will continue bantering with you even if you put headphones on and stare blankly out the window.

    My recommendation: Depending on your mood, you can use a casual or direct approach.

    • Casual: “It’s been nice talking with you, but I’ve had a long day and don’t really feel like talking right now.”

    • Direct: “To be honest, your comments are making me uncomfortable. I’d prefer not to talk right now.”

    (Note: If your rideshare driver makes you feel unsafe or threatened, report them through the app immediately.)

    Case #3: The Non-Stop Texter

    You meet a nice man named Bob at the bar or on a hike. You exchange numbers. Within hours, your phone begins buzzing. Bob asks you a litany of questions. He sends a greeting every morning. Throughout the day, your phone erupts with Bob’s favorite Youtube videos of tap-dancing cats.

    You don’t reply, but your silence doesn’t deter Bob from sending text after text after text. You consider ignoring his messages wholesale, but you’re concerned that if you run into Bob in public, you’ll feel guilty and awkward.

    My recommendation: Despite the rising popularity of cell phone boundaries, some folks seem to feel entitled to your time and space via your inbox. They’re not. You’ve got two options:

    • If you hope to keep this person as a friend but adjust how often you text, try this: “Bob, I like to have healthy boundaries with my phone and I’m not interested in texting this often. Next time we meet up, let’s have a conversation about our expectations for communicating when we’re not together.”

    • If you feel overwhelmed and want to cut the cord entirely, try this: “Bob, I’m not open to a friendship with you at this time. You’ve been reaching out a lot recently and I feel overwhelmed by it. I have no hard feelings toward you and I wish you the best.”

    Case #4: The Person At the Bar Who Won’t Stop Talking To You Despite Your Obvious Disinterest

    I like to write in my journal at bars. I’m a sober lady and I don’t drink, but I love feeling comfortably anonymous in a social atmosphere.

    Despite my hunched posture, downcast eyes, and scribbling hand, many a barstool neighbor attempts to strike up a conversation with me. The first one or two questions are fine—a pleasantry, really—but often, my bar neighbor will continue on, chatting at me despite my obvious disinterest.

    I can’t count the number of times I have diverted my eyes and offered muttered “uh huhs” and “yeahs” before throwing a twenty onto the bar and escaping into the night, feeling resentful.

    My recommendation: Especially when alcohol might be involved, it’s best to set a firm boundary as clearly and directly as possible. Turn to your barstool neighbor and say, “I appreciate the chance to chat, but I don’t feel like talking right now.”

    Case #5: The “Harmless Older Person”

    Ah, yes. The older lady or gentleman who uses your age difference to justify being “harmlessly flirty” with you. Any of this sound familiar?

    • “If I was your age, I’d have swept you off your feet by now!”

    • “You’re a real beauty, you know that?”

    • “I just love the sight of a spry young man.”

    • “As my father used to say: Just ‘cuz you’re married doesn’t mean you stop lookin’.”

    It doesn’t matter if the speaker is 20 or 200—if someone’s flirtation makes you uncomfortable, you have every right to shut that commentary down.

    My recommendation: Keep it simple. Try this: “I know you’re trying to be kind, but please don’t make comments like that. They make me feel uncomfortable.”

    Case #6: The Uninvited Mansplainer

    There’s nothing quite like the particular fury of having a man 1) assume you know nothing about a certain topic because you’re a woman, 2) explain said topic authoritatively, indefinitely.

    Merriam Webster defines mansplaining as “when a man talks condescendingly to someone (especially a woman) about something he has incomplete knowledge of, with the mistaken assumption that he knows more about it than the person he’s talking to does.”

    Ladies, you might be familiar with mansplaining if you’ve ever bought strings at a guitar store, watched a sporting match, or discussed anything related to cars, electronics, or grilling. Opportunities for mansplaining abound.

    My recommendation: Make it clear that not only do you know this information already, but you’d really like them to stop. Try this: “I’m really familiar with (insert topic here) and I don’t need any more information. Thanks anyway.”

    Case #7: The Personal Space Invader

    You’re standing on the subway, or in the check-out line, or at the club, and someone’s body is too close for comfort. Maybe it’s intentional, which is creepy. Perhaps they aren’t aware of the space they’re occupying. Regardless, you’re not enjoying their front near your back / the smell of their breath / their odor.

    It’s time to set a boundary.

    My recommendation: “Excuse me, could you please move back and give me some space? Thanks.”

    Case #8: “Can I Have Your Number?”

    You’ve been chatting with a stranger, Bob, for a few minutes. As he gets up to leave, he asks for your number. You’re not into it.

    This circumstance tends to elicit boundary-white-lies, such as “Sorry, but I have a partner,” or “Oh, I don’t give out my phone number to strangers.”

    I understand that white lies might be your most comfortable entry point into boundary-setting. I am, at heart, a boundary-setting pragmatist. That said, when you’re ready, experiment with a firmer approach. It might be scary, but it will certainly be empowering.

    My recommendation: “I’ve enjoyed chatting with you, but I’m not going to give you my number. Have a nice rest of your day!”

    Bringing Boundaries To Life

    By now you’ve probably realized that, in each of the cases above, the words you can use to set boundaries are pretty straightforward. It’s actually saying them that’s the hard part.

    With this toolbox of phrases in hand, you can bring these boundaries to life using three simple steps:

    Step 1: Practice boundary-setting aloud.

    Many of us have never fathomed speaking up this directly. Our ability to boundary-set is just like any other skill: it takes time, effort, and practice.

    In the comfort of your own home, practice stating your boundaries aloud. Get used to wrapping your tongue around the words. Consider standing in front of a mirror and using a firm, confident tone.

    At first, it will be uncomfortable and strange—guaranteed. You may find yourself worrying about being “mean,” “rude,” or “harsh.”

    These reactions are totally normal and totally surmountable. Practicing your boundaries alone makes them easier to retrieve when you’re feeling burdened by the tension of an uncomfortable situation.

    Step 2: Role play with your friends. (Yes, really.)

    Once you’ve developed an arsenal of failsafe boundary phrases, practice with a friend or two.

    Give each other feedback. Tell your friend when she sounds overly apologetic. (“Stand in your power, girlfriend!”) Tell your friend when she’s sounding like a huge, mean jerk (“Okay, maybe take that down a notch.”) Have fun with it.

    If you want to uplevel your boundary-setting game, ask your friends to push back against your boundary. (Psychologist Harriet Lerner refers to this as a countermove: a “change back!” reaction.) Practice re-asserting yourself in the face of annoyed reactions. This way, when you begin setting these boundaries out and about, it will feel natural and familiar.

    Step 3: Practice

    As with all new skills, don’t expect perfection immediately. Your first few boundaries in the real world might be clunky, awkward, or embarrassing. Maybe you’ll speak too quietly and the offender won’t be able to hear you. Maybe you’ll boil over in rage and feel terribly guilty afterwards.

    All of this is normal. Be patient with yourself as you strengthen your boundary-setting muscle.

    P.S.: What About Silence?

    Is silence ever an effective form of boundary-setting? To answer this question I like to refer to writer Courtnery J Burg’s take, which she published on Instagram this year. She writes,

    “I’m all about boundary work. But sometimes the healthiest, best way to keep your sanity is to just walk away. To not respond. To not answer that text or that call. Sometimes the answer is no answer at all. This isn’t the same as avoiding. It’s acknowledging what is yours to carry + what isn’t. It’s remembering that not all situations must be handled with delicate gloves and deep, heartfelt energy. That occasionally, no response CAN BE your response and that you have nothing to feel guilty for and no one to explain yourself to for it.”

    Generally, I advocate verbal boundaries because 1) they’re most effective, 2) I spent many years trying to be “good” and “quiet” and I’m rebelling, and 3) they’re a great way to practice your boundary-setting muscle. However, certain awkward situations with strangers are most effectively curtailed with silence.

    As a rule of thumb, I use silence as a boundary with:

    • Catcallers. Silence or the middle finger tends to do the trick.

    • Strangers who message me insistently through social media. Most folks with public social media profiles will occasionally receive a deluge of creepy messages from strangers. Don’t engage. Block the account.

    • Arguers. Suppose I set a firm boundary and the stranger argues my point — asking me “Why?”, urging me to reconsider, etc. You do not owe a stranger any justifications or explanations. Your work is done.

    With time, boundaries that once felt impossible or too-awkward to assert will be second-nature. By practicing this skill of verbal self-defense, you will give yourself the gift of moving confidently and powerfully through the world. You deserve it!

  • How Letting Go of the Need to be Special Changed My Life

    How Letting Go of the Need to be Special Changed My Life

    “Our society has become a conspiracy against joy. It has put too much emphasis on the individuating part of our consciousness—individual reason—and too little emphasis on the bounding parts of our consciousness, the heart and soul.” ~David Brooks

    When I was in elementary school, I avoided group projects like the plague. When given the choice to work alone or as part of a team, I always chose to work alone.

    When I joined a new class, club, or sport, my parents inquired how I measured up against the rest.

    “So what do you think, Hail?” Dad would ask me. “Are you the fastest on the team? Did you get the highest grade?”

    In the years that followed I formed clubs, climbed to leadership roles, and sought only the most competitive opportunities.

    Later, I became fully self-employed as a coach. I had no colleagues—only clients. In my mid-twenties I moved to the Pacific Northwest in the name of novelty and exploration, leaving behind a thriving, New Jersey-bound network of extended family.

    I received a great deal of positive feedback for these decisions. I was succeeding, bucking social convention in favor of self-discovery, and family and friends described me as “brave,” “inspiring,” and “motivated.” I operated by a set of values that included fierce individualism and self-expression.

    This tale is as old as time among members of my generation. We’re the generation of digital nomad-hood, “Van Life,” and working from home. We value mobility. Wellness blogs laud alone time as the pinnacle of self-care. We spend hours each day on social media, seeking validation of our uniqueness and our worth.

    In The Second Mountain, NYTimes Bestselling Author David Brooks posits that this individualistic ethos is a backlash against the moral ecology of the 1950s, which emphasized group conformity, humility, and self-effacement. Since the 1960s, our culture has increasingly pushed back against collective identities, labels, and experiences, opting instead for boundless self-actualization.

    On one hand, I’m viscerally grateful for our culture’s modern emphasis on individualism. Women, especially, have waited centuries to receive cultural support to pursue our dreams and self-actualize. Likewise, as someone in recovery from codependency, I understand the critical importance of honoring my needs, my desires, and my choices. After all, it took years to break free from the shackles of people-pleasing and self-censorship.

    However, at a certain point, hyper-individualism stopped serving me and began hindering me. When my own specialness became the orienting principle for how I saw and interacted with the world, I lost touch with the belonging, trust, and community that culminate to form a rich and meaningful life.

    Individualism Gone Too Far

    As children, our caregivers and teachers celebrate us when we win awards, place first, and stand out. These celebrations become proxies for love—a love we have to work hard to earn.

    In adulthood, I hoarded my specialness, terrified that being “one among many”—in my career, in my lifestyle, in my heart—would leave me purposeless. I vested great effort into my hyper-individualism because I subconsciously believed it was the only way to feel seen and valued.

    I rarely fathomed the benefits of being a contributor, a member of a group, or a vessel for a greater moral or spiritual cause. I balked at “teamwork” and “service” because they threatened to rob me of my self-assigned elevated status. In fact, I judged those who advocated such ideals. These people have no identity, I scoffed. No dreams of their own. 

    Though my hyper-individualistic life had many socially sanctioned perks—I developed powerful leadership skills, special occasions found me swollen with pride, and my Instagram following climbed—I grappled with:

    Isolation. When I singularly prioritized my personal goals, personal time, and personal life, I didn’t have any allies. I was a lonely team of one. Though I made commitments to people and causes, I could be unreliable, self-centered, and flighty when better opportunities arose. I assumed that others would be the same. This left me with a sense of loneliness and skepticism that underscored even my most treasured connections.

    Detachment. A life dictated by hyper-individualism is a life detached from true connection. I often felt like a free-floating satellite, certain that no community—geographical, political, artistic, you name it—could give me as much joy as the pursuit of my goals.

    Anxiety. When our identities are based on being special, life is a relentless uphill climb. We will never be enough; we must constantly strive to be better, try harder, and achieve more. Under such circumstances, self-compassion is a distant possibility. Instead, anxiety becomes our daily companion, the soft whisper that erodes opportunities for peace and contentment.

    Finding Balance

    Throughout my years of hyper-individualistic thinking, I never realized that when we devote parts of ourselves to others, we benefit—really benefit—in return. The benefits of service and community aren’t just fluffy incentives for inspirational posters. Purpose, belonging, and a deep sense of trust arise when we willingly commit ourselves to other people, other causes, and other definitions of a meaningful life.

    I began to understand this truth when I befriended members of a group whose guiding principles espoused service, humility, and community. Upon first exposure to these ideals, my entire being revolted. These were the contrived, sing-song “values” that I’d spent my life trying to avoid.

    I spent months in a state of schism. On the one hand, I didn’t see how an other-centered life could serve me; I wasn’t taught to. I could only imagine how it would crush my identity and distract from my dreams. My ego was terrified. I wanted to hightail it out of there.

    But something kept me there, bearing silent witness to my discomfort, eyeing this community with curiosity. My new friends seemed anything but identity-less. In fact, they seemed embodied, peaceful, and genuinely happy. Their lives were not dictated by the ever-changing highs and lows of daily successes. They emanated groundedness and seemed to lack the existential woes that plagued most members of my generation.

    In retrospect, I believe I stayed because a part of me—a deeply hidden and deeply human part—was lonely, tired of the narrowness of my world, and craving something more.

    One night, something happened. My desperate, exhausted ego relinquished its grasp on my hyper-individualism. It was as if a switch had flipped within me. I felt a sudden, fierce desire to entrench myself in commitments to communities, to people, to a moral philosophy I could call my own. I felt like a wide-eyed, open-hearted child asking, “What now?”

    I don’t know exactly what happened that night— but since then, my values and philosophy have shifted with no effort on my part. Here’s what I’ve noticed:

    I feel more deeply connected to the people around me.

    Before, I spent most interactions with others noticing our differences. Disparities in age, experience, privilege, and values felt as palpable and prohibitive as walls. Now, I find myself noting similarities and relating more deeply to others’ experiences. Their stories penetrate the walls of my heart because I’m not hyper-focused on myself. My eyes well with tears at narratives of tragedy and stories of joy. Rich wells of empathy have taken up residence in me.

    My anxiety decreased dramatically.

    I no longer spend my days driven by the compulsion to overachieve or “prove” my value. My worth no longer depends on being special—and it’s liberating! Instead of being swallowed by a self-referential whirlwind, plagued by decision fatigue and perfectionism, I’m able to slow down, interact deeply and meaningfully with others, and relax into the comfort of my communities.

    I’m more curious.

    When specialness was my orienting principle, the only information I wanted to consume was related to my personal growth and my goals. Letting go of hyper-individualism allowed me to feel more a part of the human race and more a part of this Earth.

    Now, information of all kinds fascinates me. I get a kick out of watching Blue Planet, going to lectures on helicopter parenting, and reading memoirs by Midwestern farmers. None of this information is directly relevant to my experience, but it doesn’t matter. I’m intrigued by what the world has to offer.

    I know that everything’s going to be okay.

    Relinquishing my hyper-individualism helped me understand that I’ll never be truly alone. Now that I’m willing to commit myself deeply to others, I experience newfound depths of intimacy, trust, and safety. Even if I suffer a tragedy or loss, I will have a thick web of people to support me. I know this to be true because I would do the same for others.

    When I began this journey, I was certain that if I let go of my fierce individualism, I’d become amorphous and mundane. Instead, I became more deeply entrenched in the world around me. It has been an incredible gift.

    We tend to understand self-actualization as learning how to feel our feelings, comprehend our values, pursue our dreams, and express our highest selves. I believe that that’s true—and I believe that there’s more. Once we feel embodied in our own identities, I believe that the utmost manifestation of self-actualization is commitment to something greater: love for other people, overarching values, or warm communities.

    Letting go of the need to be special allowed me to see, with clear eyes, the abundance of connection, compassion, intimacy, and community all around me. It helped me begin to experience the world in its fullness—not as a leader, a facilitator, or a director, but as a member, participant, and recipient of its daily miracles.

  • Why Speaking My Truth Is the Cornerstone of My Recovery

    Why Speaking My Truth Is the Cornerstone of My Recovery

    “When I loved myself enough, I began leaving whatever wasn’t healthy. This meant people, jobs, my own beliefs and habits—anything that kept me small. My judgment called it disloyal. Now I see it as self-loving.” ~Kim McMillen

    I like to think of my inner self as a curly-haired stick figure who lives inside my chest cavity. Like most inner selves, mine has a simple, childlike quality. She smiles when she’s happy and cries when she’s sad. She has an intuitive sense of what is right and wrong. She speaks her needs simply, the way a young girl might.

    My inner self and I are on good terms nowadays, but it hasn’t always been this way. When I was addicted to booze, food, and relationships, I treated my inner self like a prisoner.

    For years, I dazed her with whiskey and wine and snuck away to make rash decisions under the light of the moon. Through a groggy haze she would slur warnings: “Don’t drive! Don’t sleep with him! It’s dangerous!” But I had abandoned her, lost in the sweet abyss of another blackout, and left her alone to handle the consequences that met the body I’d left behind.

    As I got older, I sought love in the way the women of my family had for generations: by getting thin. I fed my inner self rations and scraps, barely enough to get by. Her hungry cries were met with six almonds, a tall glass of water, one slice of bread.

    As my eating disorder progressed, I purged after most meals, eyes watery and kneecaps bruising against the linoleum floor. I monitored my inner self with scornful eyes. She shrunk under my gaze.

    As you might imagine, playing captor to my inner self got very tiring. I felt a wave of relief when I became romantically involved with a partner and could focus my attention on him instead.

    Finally, a respite! I was no longer trapped alone with my inner self and her incessant whining, her needs, her uncontrollable feelings! By contrast, he seemed uncomplicated. Unbroken. Better than I could ever be.

    Over the next two years, my visits to my inner self became more and more infrequent. She gathered dust like a china doll.

    Sometimes—after particularly debilitating hangovers, tortured binges, or grueling arguments with my partner—I would recognize, with a sharp burst of clarity, the unmanageability of my predicament.

    Remorsefully, I would vow to do better. I would rush back to my inner self and pant, out of breath, “This is the last time. I won’t treat you so badly again.” But those promises quickly collapsed under the weight of my shame.

    To alleviate my self-loathing, I cracked the whip above my inner self, desperate to improve. “Work harder!” I shouted. ”Do more!” “Be better!” “Fix yourself!”

    Around the addiction carousel I went, stumbling from drinking to eating disorder to codependency to perfectionism. My inner self bore the brunt of my cruelty. Eventually, she stopped trusting me entirely.

    Years of therapy and self-reflection later, I reached an impasse.

    By most definitions of the word, I was utterly free; I made my own work schedule, enjoyed financial security, and could travel any time, anywhere. In the presence of friends, I radiated enthusiasm and laughed straight from my belly. But in my own company, when the afternoon sunlight cast shadows across my carpet and the muted sounds of the city came through my open window, I felt utterly alone.

    I couldn’t deny the truth: I was trapped in a life dictated by vicious, anxious cycles. The life I wanted—the liberated, peaceful, inspired life—would be unattainable until I confronted my addictions. Not just one of them, but all of them. I had to tug the weed from the soil at the very root.

    And so I took a deep breath and stepped off of the addiction carousel. Squinting and dizzied beneath the carnival lights, I took a hard and honest look at my inner self—the first I’d taken in years.

    She had become unrecognizable. Emaciated, exhausted, fearful. Anxiety ran through her veins, rich and red as blood. She was afraid of me. And her voice—the voice that had called out:

    “I’m overwhelmed. Can we slow down for a second?”
    “I’m tired. Can we go home and sleep?”
    “I’m so fucking sad today.”
    “Don’t sleep with him! You don’t even know him!”
    “I’m doing the best that I can.”
    “Can you hear me?”

    That voice had disappeared entirely. Like newborn babies whose cries go unanswered, my inner self’s voice had died. My heart broke as I reflected on the years of neglect I’d shown her.

    I realized then that my newfound sobriety was much more than a refusal to pick up the bottle. It was an uncompromising commitment to rebuild trust with my inner self. After years of neglect, I had to show her, with my words and actions, that I would care for her

    Since then, I’ve come to learn that each of us enters recovery with a traumatized inner self. Every time we acted addictively by taking that drink, or eating all three pints, or spending our savings, or losing ourselves entirely in our lovers, we neglected that quiet voice that was always there, that knew we were harming ourselves, that begged to be treated with love.

    I have been untangling my myriad addictions for almost three years, and this conception of my inner self has been my greatest tool in my recovery. Every time my inner self speaks up, I am presented with a choice. I can listen and act accordingly. Or I can disregard her wishes and begin another cycle of neglect.

    In recovery, my work is to rebuild trust with my inner self by feeling and speaking her truth by:

    • Naming and feeling my feelings instead of numbing them
    • Prioritizing my reality over others’ perceptions
    • Setting boundaries with others

    Naming and Feeling My Feelings

    During my addictions, I became an expert at self-medicating my anxiety, shame, fear, and sadness. A hearty glass of cabernet, I believed, was the respite I deserved after a long, weary day of trying not to feel my feelings.

    When I woke up the next morning with a headache and drinker’s remorse, anxiety was the only emotion accessible to me. Grief, loss, anger, and sadness were buried under layers of shame that hardened over time. I effectively exiled my full spectrum of human emotion.

    Recovery, especially early recovery, has been a process of reclaiming the sensitivities that make me human. Without the vices that numbed my heart like Novocain, my feelings arise swiftly, uncensored and colorful. Not just the painful ones, but the happy and beautiful ones, too. I cry most days with equal parts sadness and joy.

    At times, I feel like there must be something wrong with me, as if someone cranked the volume dial on my emotions to the max and left it there.

    My work in recovery is learning to sit with, and work with, those feelings. What makes this challenging work possible—enjoyable, even—is the relief my inner self feels when, for the first time in ages, her simple truth travels from her heart to my lips without interruption. With every potent emotion comes an opportunity to make her feel seen and heard.

    Prioritizing My Reality Over Others’ Perceptions

    When I was in the throes of my addictions, I became an expert at keeping up appearances. Nightly, my inner monologue went something like this:

    Can I get away with sneaking another drink? I wonder if Joe saw me pour the last two… Probably better to put this one in my water bottle…

    I wonder if this bathroom has a fan to hide the sounds of my purging… I better turn the water on. And fake a sneeze or two to explain my watery eyes…

    Did they notice that I blacked out at the party last night? God, I hope not… How can I find out what I said without seeming suspicious?

    Managing appearances became my part-time job. I cared more about others’ perceptions of my reality than my own reality. White lies and half-truths flooded my conversations, even when I had nobody to impress and nothing to prove. Every time I distorted my story, I became more distant from my inner self.

    In recovery, I uncompromisingly follow my inner self’s judgment. I am accountable to her first and foremost. My friends’, family, and colleagues’ opinions of me are secondary because, at 1AM when I’m sleeplessly staring at the ceiling, my inner self is the one I’m stuck with.

    In recovery, when I’m swept away by the cacophony of others’ needs and wishes –

    “Will you sign up for this?”
    “Want to go back to my place?”
    “Can you help?”
    “Call me back”
    “I need—”
    “Will you—”
    “I want—”

    I get quiet. I listen. And I whisper, “What do you really need right now?”

    And this time, I really listen.

    Setting Boundaries With Others

    As a recovering people-pleaser, I hate disappointing others. I spent most of my life avoiding it as much as possible. As a result, my calendar was packed with tedious obligations and my relationships were all give and no take. I left social interactions to massage the corners of my mouth, which ached from forcing a smile. I hooked up with people I didn’t even like. Basically, I felt like a shadow of myself.

    In recovery, the reason why I say no to that beer is the same reason I don’t go to the party, or don’t sleep with that stranger, or don’t call during my lunch break. The same reason I say “No thanks, I don’t drink” is the same reason why I say “I felt hurt when you said that” or “No, I won’t.”

    Boundaries are honesty in action. Every time I set one, I teach my inner self that she can trust me.

    When I get nervous to set a particular boundary, I remember that my inner self is gaining strength under my protection and care. In this delicate stage of early recovery, she is fragile, like a seedling. She requires a safe, secure, reliable environment in which to grow. If I’m committed to bringing her to life, it’s my responsibility to shape that environment—even if that means erecting a fence to keep the pests out.

    —

    My addiction was characterized by living out of alignment with my inner self. My recovery, by extension, must be characterized by the opposite. For me, recovery and speaking my truth are inseparable.

    I’ve heard folks describe addiction as one’s isolation from others. I think that first and foremost, addiction is one’s isolation from one’s self.

    The more we treat our inner selves with compassion, the less important it becomes to please others and manage appearances. Our emotions thicken, arise, and depart. When we break the cycle of abusing our inner selves, our own company becomes bearable. And when our own company becomes bearable, sobriety becomes possible.

  • A Surprising but Effective Way to Get Out Of A Shame Spiral

    A Surprising but Effective Way to Get Out Of A Shame Spiral

    “I have found that, among its other benefits, giving liberates the soul of the giver.” ~Maya Angelou

    As an aspiring daily meditator, I’ve been instructed by many a spiritual sage to think of my emotions as clouds drifting across my internal landscape. The idea here is that clouds come and go, so clinging to any one cloud is an exercise in futility.

    I like this metaphor. It overlaps quite nicely with the cloud-classification skills I learned in third grade and haven’t since put to use.

    The more time I spend on the cushion, the more I realize that some of my emotions are cirrus clouds: feathery wisps of humor, annoyance, or connection that drift away as quickly as they came.

    Others are cumulus clouds: hearty puffs of joy, nostalgia, or anger that make themselves known by casting shadows on the ground.

    In my experience, only one emotion is a cumulonimbus cloud: an angry, heaping, blackened pile that trudges sluggishly across the sky. That emotion is shame.

    Shame plants himself down in front of the sun with no intentions of leaving. He makes a god-awful racket with ceaseless thunderstorms and doesn’t move until he’s good and ready.

    Recently, I found myself in the thick of a shame spiral. I had made a series of oversights that were impacting my very new and, as such, very delicate, romantic relationship.

    The mistakes I’d made were honest, but I should have known better, and this became the mantra that fueled hours of self-blame and judgment. My mental movie was like a 1500s tragicomedy, and I was the snarling, callous villain.

    I was feeling like sh*t, and I certainly wasn’t making it any better for myself, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I couldn’t focus on my work, my social life, or even the simple task of taking out my recycling.

    As a person in recovery, I knew that a shame spiral was my one-way ticket to a first drink. So I rang up a trusted mentor for guidance. Over steaming coffee in the hidden back booth of a nondescript coffeehouse, I bemoaned my vivid ruminations.

    What’s Shame?

    Research professor and best-selling author Brené Brown is all over the shame game. She makes clear that guilt is the feeling that you’ve done something bad, while shame is the feeling that you are bad, and as such, “unworthy of love and belonging.”

    As a recovering perfectionist, I get hit with red-hot shame when I do something “wrong.” (As my mom loves to remind me, I sobbed inconsolably when I got an A- instead of an A on my fifth-grade report card.)

    As a recovering codependent person, I get hit with extra shame when I do something “wrong” in the context of relationships. Here cometh the fear of abandonment and the cold sweat of unworthiness!

    Because shame is the feeling that we are intrinsically bad, it’s particularly conducive to spirals—cycles of self-fueling negative energy that perpetuate ad infinitum.

    I know I’m in a shame spiral when I seek reassurance from my friends compulsively; don’t want to leave the house or interact with anyone; don’t feel the need to wear decent clothes, do my dishes, or other acts of self-care; and feel totally uninspired to do the things that generally give me joy.

    In reality, these actions are ways of subconsciously punishing myself. We accept the behavior we think we deserve, and when I’m in a shame spiral, I don’t feel like I deserve much of anything.

    The Solution

    So anyway, back to my conversation with my mentor. I was talking a mile a minute, running my hands through my frizzy (unwashed) hair, and articulating, in great detail, all the ways I’d done my partner wrong.

    It was not a pretty scene. But, as mentors are wont to do, she listened without judgment. When I’d conveyed the whole story, visibly deflated like a sad balloon, I turned to my mentor with wide eyes.

    “How can I fix this?” I asked her.

    She paused, digesting, and replied firmly, “Call someone and ask how they’re doing. Go to the food bank. Volunteer. Be of service somehow.”

    Her suggestion seemed so out-of-left-field that it stopped me in my tracks.

    Call someone and ask how they’re doing? I thought. But that has absolutely nothing to do with my problem or me! (Shame is a very self-referential emotion.)

    I wanted to ruminate, stew, fix! I wanted to call my best friends just one more time and unpack this whole thing, top to bottom. Also, if my intentions for service were self-serving, was it even service anymore? Shouldn’t I only “serve” if I’m really jonesing for some Good Samaritanism?

    I relayed all of this to her. She listened patiently; she’d heard it all before.

    “Hailey, you need to get out of yourself,” she said. “You are driving yourself crazy, cooped up in your mind this way. Give yourself a break.”

    So I did. And it worked. Here’s why:

    1. Shame traps us in our thoughts; service puts us into action.

    In an appearance on Oprah, Brené Brown offers three ways to stop a shame spiral:

    1. Talk to yourself the way you’d talk to someone you love when they feel unworthy.

    2. Reach out to someone you trust.

    3. Tell your story.

    Brené Brown is an absolute sage, and her research on shame and vulnerability has profoundly changed my life. But when I’m in my darkest shame spirals, these three tactics aren’t quite enough for me.

    Because my shame is so self-referential and all-consuming, I cannot think or talk myself out of a shame spiral.

    Every thought—no matter how brilliantly it rationalizes my actions or how warmly it reassures me of my own goodness—is coated with the persistent, underlying certitude that I am bad.

    My shame is like an advanced-stage, resilient bacteria; the first course of antibiotics doesn’t make a dent. I need to prove to myself, with not only my words but my actions, that there is more to me than what I’m so ashamed of. Service is an easy road out of my frazzled mind and into the world around me.

    2. Shame isolates; service connects.

    When I’m ashamed, the idea of being social sounds like torture. I’m normally quite extroverted, but when I’m spiraling, I don’t want to hang out with my closest friends, let alone strangers. In the thick of a spiral, it’s not unusual for me for cancel plans, be unresponsive to friends’ messages, and go dark on social media.

    Isolation enables my shame to fester. It keeps the scope of my world small. Service, on the other hand, does the opposite.

    Service is intrinsically connective. First, I’m connected in real time with the person I’m serving. The newcomer to the twelve-step program I call to check in on, the man whose bowl I fill with soup, the kid I read aloud to.

    Second, I’m connected to my community. Few acts of service exist in a vacuum; typically, I’m at least peripherally involved with a community organization, a church, or a grassroots group of do-gooders determined to make the world a better place. And though the unbridled optimism and rah-rah mentality of service groups can get on my nerves, there’s something heartwarming about being part of something bigger than myself.

    Finally, there’s that universal connectedness; the sensation of being human, of being one of seven billion people dancing their way through this complicated and confusing thing called life. When I’m in service, I’m helping other people with other problems who have baggage of their own. With this perspective in hand, ruminating about my shame suddenly feels far less important.

    3. Shame exhausts; service awakens.

    Self-flagellation takes a lot of emotional energy. It’s exhausting to rewind, fast-forward, and rewind the movie reel of your mistakes. Because it’s our human tendency to defend against threat, a part of us—no matter how small—will fight against the shame. This is the part that will rationalize our behavior, craft a narrative for our actions, and pepper us with positive self-talk.

    These two forces—“I am good!” vs. “I am bad!”—are at odds with each other. The result is an internal Civil War, one that rages as we try to fall asleep, as we stare at the tile wall in the shower, as we drink our coffee on the patio. It can become the soundtrack to our days.

    Service provides a respite from this turmoil. By getting us out of our own minds and into the world around us, it gives the shame soundtrack a much-needed pause. In that silence, we can gain new perspective and peace.

    4. Shame breeds shame; service breeds hope.

    Shame is self-perpetuating; it cycles ‘round and ‘round the same tired litany of self-criticisms and judgments. In such a state, there is little room for anything novel to enter our consciousness. If we respond to our shame by self-isolating and hibernating, we just make the echo chamber smaller. Shame breeds shame.

    Service, on the other hand, connects us with the newness of other people’s stories and challenges.

    Studies have shown that novelty makes us happier whether we’re shame-spiraling or not. Gretchen Rubin, author of The Happiness Project, writes, “Often we’re happier, we feel more energetic, more productive, more creative when we try something new, when we challenge ourselves a little bit, when we kind of go out of that comfort zone. That atmosphere of growth can really boost our happiness.”

    Service gets us out of our own way and offers a new palette of emotions and values to choose from: togetherness, community, connection, service, altruism, and more. It puts our personal challenges into perspective and simultaneously offers us tangible, actionable proof of our own goodness that stands in contrast to our negative self-judgments.

    It was hard for me to realize that my darkest shame spirals were also my most intensely self-indulgent moments. Even though I may have felt totally miserable, at the end of the day, it was still all about me: my wrongness, my badness, my words, my actions, my self-perceptions.

    When I mustered up the will to be of service, I was astounded by the serenity that came from relenquishing my role as the star of the show.

    Becoming a vessel for acts of goodwill opened my eyes to a greater, simpler reality, one I didn’t need to control or micromanage. From that vantage point, I was able to look back on my actions from a distance, and with that distance came the self-compassion, acceptance, and self-forgiveness I’d been hoping for all along.

  • 9 Easy Ways You Can Speak Your Truth Today

    9 Easy Ways You Can Speak Your Truth Today

    “We are constantly invited to be who we are.” ~Henry David Thoreau

    When your circumstances invite you to present your true self to others, do you accept the invitation?

    I think of authentic communication as sharing the unfiltered essence of ourselves with others, including our identities, feelings, needs, boundaries, and desires.

    It’s taken me many years to learn how to communicate this way. I’ve written in prior posts that speaking my truth once felt like an insurmountable challenge, like rolling an elephant up a hill or finding another living being who actually likes Nickelback. (Anyone? No?)

    I was plagued by inauthenticity.

    I would leave conflicts wishing I’d spoken up for myself; leave social settings feeling totally drained; over-commit to obligations and under-commit to activities that brought me joy; agree to be intimate with people, only to later regret my decision; and give more than I received in the majority of my relationships.

    Somewhere beneath the layers of people-pleasing, white lies, and insecurity, I knew there was a bold, confident, self-actualized woman. I wanted, more than anything, to become her.

    On the journey to becoming that woman, I have learned that authentic communication is like working a muscle: hard at first, but ever easier with exercise.

    As with all exercises, you don’t run the 400 meter dash right out the of gates. You stretch; you jog a lap; you warm up.

    Here are nine easy ways you can warm up your authenticity muscle today to prepare for a lifetime of authentic communication.

    1. Name how you feel, right now, as you read this.

    “There is something wonderfully bold and liberating about saying yes to our entire imperfect and messy life.” ~Tara Brach

    Let’s start off on the right foot. Take thirty seconds to reflect on how you feel right now. Notice what’s going on in your heart; notice what type of tension you might be carrying in your neck and shoulders; notice how it feels to let a deep breath land in your chest.

    Perhaps you’ve been operating on autopilot since the moment you woke up and reached for your phone. Perhaps you’ve stumbled down an Internet wormhole, and this is the first time in hours you’ve remembered you have a body. In order to communicate your feelings authentically, you first must know how you feel.

    2. When a friend/family member/barista asks how you are, tell them the truth.

    “The speaking will get easier and easier. And you will find you have fallen in love with your own vision, which you may never had realized you had… And at last you’ll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.” ~Audre Lorde

    Social convention tells us that there are only two acceptable answers to the question “How are you?” “Good” and “Fine.” This is a microcosmic example of our cultural disdain for sharing our authentic feelings. Nonetheless, the habit persists.

    Remember: Inauthenticity breeds inauthenticity. Authenticity breeds authenticity. Give yourself permission to say “I’m a little sad today, but I’m hanging in there” or “I’m fantastic; today’s been an inspiring day” or “I’m so stressed I can’t even feel my face.”

    Whatever’s going on for you, give yourself permission to share it. These small moments of authenticity replace the loneliness of emotional isolation with the belonging of vulnerability, and allow you to receive others’ gifts in the form of compassion and empathy.

    3. If you have nothing to say, embrace the silence.

    “To become authentic, we require a thirst for freedom.” ~Don Mateo Sol

    As a recovering people-pleaser, I spent much of my life believing it was my responsibility to facilitate, or ease the tension in, conversations. For many years, I feared “awkward silences” the way someone else might fear spiders or clowns.

    First dates, group gatherings, work parties, and girls’ nights found me paving endless roads of conversation. For every answer, I had a follow-up question, and in every second-long pause, I rushed to find a story to tell.

    Eventually, I realized that my silence-avoidance only led to 1) complete emotional exhaustion, and 2) many moments where I looked back and wondered, “Why did I even say that? I don’t think cybernetics are interesting at all…”

    Free yourself from the pressure to perform. Embrace the silence. Sometimes, the most authentic response is to say nothing at all.

    4. When someone makes reference to a show, movie, or news story you haven’t seen, tell them you haven’t seen it.

    “I have the right to say ‘I don’t know.’” ~Edmund Bourne

    I warn every new friend that I am pop-culture illiterate. If you name a TV series, movie, actor, actress, or rising pop star, the odds are I have no idea who she/he/they are. (I’m pleased to report that last week, I watched The Godfather, and on my list for next week is Breaking Bad. I’m making progress in this department.)

    Anyhow, in the past, when friends made reference to such icons in conversation, I often feigned familiarity to help the conversation flow more easily. These were totally inconsequential white lies, right?

    I’m not so sure. White lies add up, like small bricks laying the foundation for a falsified persona. I hyperbolized my knowledge because I wanted to feel a sense of belonging. (Nothing malicious about that: we all want to belong!) But presenting a false self in order to feel a sense of belonging doesn’t generate a real sense of belonging. It simply makes our authentic selves feel less acceptable.

    Tell your friends you haven’t seen the most recent episode of Game of Thrones. Liberate yourself from the impossible responsibility of being all-knowing.

    5. When someone asks your preference on a simple matter, tell them the truth.

    “You denying your heart’s desires is not noble. It’s a waste of some damn good desires.” ~Jen Sincero

    If you really pay attention, you’ll find that your daily life is chock full o’ simple, tiny choices, like:

    Where do you want to go for dinner?

    What do you want to watch on Netflix?

    Where should we meet?

    What are you in the mood for?

    In the past, my de facto response was: “I don’t care.” (Can you relate?) But by “I don’t care,” what I really meant was: “I really want a burrito, but what matters more to me is that you’re happy with where we get dinner. I would rather sacrifice that burrito and deal with less-than-satisfying pizza than bear the burden of your disappointment. So can you pick?”

    The truth is, I did have a preference. It was just buried under layers of people-pleasing.

    Get in the habit of honoring your preferences, even if they’re seemingly inconsequential. After all, today it’s what to watch on Netflix, but a year from now, it might be what city to move to, or whether or not to have a second kid, or what to do with your lottery winnings.

    6. Tell someone you care for that you care for them.

    “Courage is like a muscle. We strengthen it by use.” ~Ruth Gordon

    A lot of literature around authenticity and truth-telling centralizes around saying no, boundary-setting, and self-care. That’s all well and good, but true authentic communication addresses both sides of the vulnerability coin: speaking truths that are hard, painful, or have the potential to distance others, and speaking truths that are intimate, loving, and have the potential to bring people closer. Such truths are equally courageous.

    When we communicate care for others, we expose the soft underbelly of our hearts. We acquiesce omnipotence over our own emotional state and give another person the power to affect us, sometimes deeply.

    Today, take a moment to tell someone you care for them. It could be your mom, your coworker, or your mailman. Let that sweet heart of yours peek out from its shell.

    7. Acknowledge one thing you really want.

    “A lot of people are afraid to say what they want. That’s why they don’t get what they want.” ~Madonna

    There are a lot of things I want. I want a new blender. I want to enjoy my own company more. I want more friends. I want to make six figures. I want to spend less time working—on my business and on myself—and more time having fun.

    Our desires are a critical part of who we are. They reflect our values and our identities. When we’re not in touch with our own desires, we’re susceptible to putting others’ needs before our own.

    If you’ve been out of touch with your own desires for a long time, saying even one thing you want—something as life-altering as a new job or as contrived as a new blender—can be scary and revolutionary. For now, give yourself permission not to worry about how you might get it. Just notice how it feels, to really want this thing you want.

    8. For fifteen minutes, be without technology. Bonus points if you’re in nature.

    “If you want more time, freedom, and energy, start saying no.” ~Unknown

    At our core, we humans are intrinsically creative and innovative. However, it’s challenging to summon our deepest, truest, most authentic selves when we’re bombarded with stimuli from every direction. Many of us spend hours every day merely skimming the surface of life, hopping from app to screen to notification.

    In such a state, we’re not thinking deeply. We’re hardly here at all. If we’re constantly in response-mode, how can our inner selves emerge?

    For fifteen minutes, sequester yourself. No phone, no screen, no TV. You can drink your coffee while staring out the window. You can sit on the carpet and stretch your legs. You can go sniff your flowers, or dive nose-first into the green, green grass. Give your mind the space to explore uncharted territory, and watch with curiosity what arises.

    9. If you feel uncomfortable, scared, resentful, sad, angry, or guilty, name it.

    “Don’t light yourself on fire trying to brighten someone else’s existence.” ~Charlotte Erickson

    Make your way to any water cooler or happy hour and you’ll find plenty of folks complaining, comparing, and airing their grievances. But genuine expressions of hurt, discomfort, and sadness are far rarer.

    Growing up, I made it my mission to brighten my loved ones’ days and hold space for their unhappiness. With time (and therapy), I realized that “The bubbly one” was a role I had assigned myself—not my God-given duty.

    After so many years of tampering down my sadnesses as if they were pests, I needed to retrain my brain and body to notice my own discomfort.

    Today, give yourself permission to acknowledge when you feel off. You can write how you’re feeling on a post-it note or simply whisper the words “I feel sad.”

    The inner liberation that comes as a result of this simple acknowledgement can feel enormous. It removes the conflict between what you feel and what you portray to the world around you, which is what authentic communication is all about.

    —

    Authentic communication has made my life simpler. No longer do I spend precious moments juggling my false personas and my little white lies. Working this muscle has been worth every growing pain because it’s enabled me to live in alignment with my inner truth and find freedom, self-respect, and confidence along the way.

  • My Needs Matter Too: How I Started Speaking Up and Setting Boundaries

    My Needs Matter Too: How I Started Speaking Up and Setting Boundaries

    “Setting boundaries is a way of caring for myself. It doesn’t make me mean, selfish, or uncaring just because I don’t do things your way. I care about me, too.” ~Christine Morgan

    In my early twenties, I could shout into a megaphone at a political rally of thousands, but I couldn’t decline drinks from strangers at the bar. I could perform original music for an attentive audience, but I couldn’t tell my friends when I felt hurt by something they’d said. I could start a business, advocate for new laws at City Hall, and share deeply personal poetry on Facebook, but I simply couldn’t speak up for myself in moments of conflict.

    At the time, I had no idea that boundary setting and speaking up were systemic issues millions of people struggled with. I didn’t understand that my inability to set boundaries probably originated in my childhood as the cumulative result of my untended emotional needs.

    I just thought I wasn’t trying hard enough.

    I judged myself mercilessly for being unable set boundaries. I spent many mornings scribbling viciously in my journal, unpacking the previous day’s events. These are unedited excerpts:

    “She asked to reschedule our meeting, and even though I promised myself I’d never schedule an early-morning phone call again, I did—for 7:00am. Ugh. Why didn’t I just ask her to reschedule?”

    “I resent him so deeply for how he treated me, but when I saw him in the coffee shop yesterday, I acted like everything was peachy keen. What the hell? I’m so frustrated. How do I get better at standing up for myself??”

    Woven tightly around my self-judgment was a thick mesh of confusion. I was the type of person who looked forward to therapy, hoarded self-improvement books, and spent evenings with girlfriends unraveling the scrappy tangles of our psyches. I liked understanding myself. You can imagine, then, that I was totally and completely flummoxed by my inability to understand—never mind remedy—my people-pleasing habit.

    Most of the time, the thought of saying no—to friends, family, lovers, and colleagues—simply didn’t enter my mind space. No matter how uncomfortable or unsafe I felt, the only future that felt available to me was one in which I pleased the offending person and later felt victimized and resentful.

    Other times, when I felt brave enough to simply entertain the notion of saying no, I felt a heaviness in my chest and a closing in my throat. The words literally couldn’t escape my mouth.

    My friends who had no issues setting boundaries were wary of my explanations. To them, setting a boundary was like swatting an annoying gnat. But to me, it was like battling a saber-toothed tiger.

    I wish I’d known then what I know now: that boundary setting isn’t a simple box to check off of your self-care to-do list. It represents a complicated matrix of issues related to one’s family of origin, socialization, limiting beliefs, and, most importantly, one’s relationship with oneself. Setting boundaries is the final step on an extensive journey of self-reflection and diligent practice. Had I understood this years ago, I would have been able to reassure myself:

    You are not weak.

    You are not stupid.

    You are doing the best that you can.

    We set boundaries to protect ourselves. In order to protect ourselves effectively, we need to know what we’re protecting. Developing a rich understanding of our own needs, desires, values, and vision gives us the firm sense of identity we need to keep from wavering in our commitment to speak our truth.

    When I didn’t have a clear sense of who I was or what I wanted, it was easy to let others define me; wait for others to speak up for me; resent people who didn’t proactively predict or meet my needs; prioritize others’ needs over my own; and seek value from external sources, like whether others liked me or found me attractive. Combined, these tendencies were painfully disempowering. I often felt like a shadow of myself.

    I first began to build a solid sense of identity after I went through a devastating breakup with a long-term partner. My codependency had been a contributing factor to our separation, and I was finally beginning to understand that I couldn’t expect others—lovers, parents, friends, or colleagues—to be my purpose for living.

    I also couldn’t allow external measures of success—like climbing the career ladder, losing weight, or winning awards—to be the driving forces behind my behavior.

    I had to go deeper. Here’s how I did it.

    Step 1: Meet your fundamental needs.

    At first, I wasn’t sure where to begin. I mean, how do you build an identity?

    In that fragile state of post-breakup unknowing, questions like “Where do you see yourself five years from now?” or “What direction do you want to take your business in?” were enough to reduce me to tears. I didn’t know what direction I wanted my career to go in. I didn’t even know how I would get through the weekend.

    What I did know was that I wanted Kava tea before bed, and that I couldn’t sleep without lavender oil in my diffuser, and that going on long walks around the park with my best friend made my heart feel lighter.

    As I explain in my previous post about discovering what you want when you’re a people-pleaser, these mild, uncomplicated wants were sacred whispers from my innermost self. By pursuing these small desires, I learned to trust myself.

    Maslow’s hierarchy of needs gave me a helpful roadmap as I became more accustomed to taking care of myself.

    Recovering people-pleasers like me rarely meet our own needs and/or prioritize others’ needs instead. Oftentimes, we neglect even our most elementary needs at the bottom of the hierarchy.

    In the past, for example, I regularly cancelled dentist appointments and annual physicals, though I fiercely encouraged others in my life to take good care of themselves. I didn’t get enough sleep and postponed trips to the grocery store.

    Only when I began to meet these primary needs did other, more complex desires arise. We must meet our own fundamental needs on a regular basis in order to construct the firm foundation upon which our sense of identity will be built.

    Step 2: Uncover your core identity.

    Over months, I slowly climbed Maslow’s hierarchy, continuing with basic self-care as more vibrant desires surfaced. I began to crave rich social connections, meaningful bonds with family members, travel, and dancing. My natural curiosity, which I hadn’t felt connected to in years, awakened.

    Ultimately, I found myself considering how I could make the most of my life—how I could self-actualize and “become the most that one can be.” I considered the following questions during my morning journaling sessions:

    • Vision: What do I want my future to look like?
    • Identity: Who am I and what roles do I play?
    • Values: Which principles or morals most resonate with me?
    • Skills: What abilities do I possess?
    • Desires: What do I crave?

    Exploring my identity across multiple planes gave me the chance to learn how expansive I actually was.

    For starters, I possessed far more skills that I’d ever given myself credit for! I was uniquely empathic, a good listener, organized, and great at designing systems.

    I learned that I valued personal freedom, self-expression, financial responsibility, and playfulness.

    As someone who was recovering from a codependent romantic relationship, I was stunned to remember that I was sister, a daughter, a coach, a community leader, a best friend, and more.

    Wide-eyed, I realized that I was so much more than the shadow-self I’d felt like months before.

    I’d spent so much time defining myself by others that this simple exercise—putting my pen to paper and exploring myself for thirty minutes—was a milestone: not only because of what I discovered, but because I took the time for myself to do it at all.

    Take some time to explore your own roles, values, morals, abilities, and desires. It’s easier to set boundaries to protect the things that matter to you most when you’re clear on what those things are.

    Step 3: Bring your authentic self to your relationships.

    In retrospect, that early period of self-discovery was the most profound period of my life to date. It was characterized by the uncompromising commitment to prioritize my innermost self. Most importantly, those months provided me the firm foundation I needed to bring my authentic self to my relationships with others.

    Boundary setting is like working a muscle—difficult and exhausting at first, but eventually, second nature. With this new understanding in hand, I began to tentatively set firm and healthy boundaries in my relationships.

    At first, simply saying no to a party invitation was a challenge. But I did it.

    Not long after, I set non-negotiable work hours and withdrew from a few extracurricular commitments that no longer served me. It was hard, but also felt totally righteous.

    As I pocketed these small successes, setting harder boundaries felt less impossible. Eventually, I told best friends when their actions upset me; terminated romantic partnerships that weren’t meeting my needs; and unpacked old childhood hurts with my parents. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t dance around my kitchen once or twice—okay, definitely twice!—totally overjoyed that boundary setting was coming more easily to me.

    After each difficult conversation, rocky though it may have been, a weight lifted from my chest. In the absence of that weight, I could navigate the world more freely. I noticed that I was more present for my clients, more playful with my friends, and more authentic with my family. Relationships that had once been a source of resentment finally felt nourishing because I was bringing my full self to the table.

    Notice when you’re being inauthentic in your relationships so can you start creating this same freedom for yourself. Practice communicating what you think, want, and need and sharing how you honestly feel. Once you start working this muscle, it becomes much easier to set boundaries in all areas of your life.

    It’s A Lifelong Journey

    Putting my truth into action is a lifelong journey because my truth is always changing. My relationships grow, my needs shift, and my identity—the very bedrock of who I am and what I’m protecting—transforms.

    Years later, I still occasionally find myself challenged by moments of confrontation. In those moments, I always harken back to the fiercely empowering truth that I set these boundaries to protect the vibrant inner self that I’ve come to know and respect.

    I like to remember that this journey may not be linear.

    I like to remember the progress I’ve made so far.

    Most importantly, I like to remember to have patience and compassion for this inner self of mine. She has become so brave. She exposes herself to the elements, and risks being seen, known, and loved by herself and by others.

  • How Recovering People-Pleasers Can Discover What They Really Want

    How Recovering People-Pleasers Can Discover What They Really Want

    “When you say ‘yes’ to others, make sure you’re not saying ‘no’ to yourself.” ~Paulo Coelho

    People-pleasers regularly subvert their own needs for the needs of others. We spend years saying “yes” when we mean “no,” signing up for commitments we’d rather avoid, and occupying our minds with others’ desires.

    When we finally clear out the clutter to put ourselves first, we look around at the empty space, bewildered, with endless questions. What do we want? What does true happiness look like for us? What would a life lived on our own terms be like?

    For me, these questions once provoked anxiety. I’d spent a lifetime catering to my parents, friends, colleagues, and lovers—anyone but myself. By asking what I really wanted, I was looking my fear straight in the eye: my fear of being responsible for my own happiness. My fear of not getting what I wish for.

    These fears are both potent and entirely surmountable—if we’re brave enough to connect with our innermost desires.

    When we’re strongly connected to our dreams and desires, we begin to set boundaries with other people so we can reach them, and we slowly start finding the confidence to speak our truth. Our dreams and desires remind us how communicating authentically will change our lives, and the lives of our loved ones, for the better.

    For this reason, we recovering people-pleasers need to reclaim our familiarity with our inner voice and innermost needs. We cannot communicate authentically with others if we can’t communicate authentically with our inner selves.

    In my journey to overcome people pleasing, I’ve learned a few helpful tricks to connect with my innermost self and uncover what I really want in all areas of my life. Perhaps one (or more) of these methods may help you do the same.

    1. Label your feelings.

    As I mention in my post on setting boundaries, many of us have become so attuned to the feelings of others that our own feelings are elusive strangers, entirely unrecognizable to us.

    Our feelings are critical guideposts as we learn to prioritize our own needs—if we’re able to identify and own them. We can rebuild our connection to our feelings by noticing their presence in our bodies and hearts.

    First, we must learn to give ourselves permission to be excited, inspired, and desirous. I often notice these feelings when they appear as fluttering in my chest or tingling down my spine. These feelings signal that I’m moving toward something that excites me.

    If, like me, you’ve spent a lifetime motivated by guilt and anxiety, your positive emotions can starkly illuminate the activities and relationships that bring you pure joy.

    We can also learn from feelings that are challenging or unpleasant, once we’re able to identify them. Instead of glossing over anxiety, overwhelm, and anger, we can notice these feelings as pits in our stomachs, pressure in our chests, and tightness in our throats. Those feelings might be signals that something isn’t right for us, or that we need to set boundaries with others.

    2. Leave the system.

    Sometimes our deepest desires are buried under layers of fear, particularly the fear of seeming selfish or the fear of disappointing others. One way to dig beneath the fear is to mentally remove ourselves from the systems of which we’re a part.

    Begin by considering one of your social systems: your romantic relationship, your workplace, your church, your family. Then, ask yourself: “What would I do differently if I weren’t a part of this system?”

    Previously unacknowledged desires emerge when you extricate yourself from the pressures and influences of your system.

    Years ago, when I first did this exercise, I wrote in my journal, “What would I do differently if I weren’t in a relationship with my partner?” I was amazed as my hand flew across the page, scribbling: “Sign up for a dance class! Go out with friends more! Sleep in on Sundays!”

    My answers helped me realize that I was suffocating my own desires out of fear of my partner’s reactions. What I really wanted was right there on the page. Having this list enabled me to consider how I might carve out more space for my own desires within my relationship.

    3. Make a wish.

    The first time I saw a life coach, she began our session with the simplest of questions: “If you were granted three wishes, what would you wish for?”

    At first I thought her question was contrived, but when I answered, two of my responses were illuminating: I wished for a healthier relationship with my family, and I wished to become fully self-employed in the career of my dreams.

    Then she looked me in the eye: “You want these two things very much?”

    I nodded.

    “More than anything else in the world?”

    I nodded again.

    She grinned. “Then what have you been waiting for?”

    I was speechless. I’d never given myself permission to suspend reality, if only for a moment, to dream big. Making a wish allowed me to dive into my dreams without stopping myself with “What if?”s  “How?”s and “I could never do that.” Once I spoke my desires aloud, I could no longer ignore their truth. I begin strategizing how to get there.

    Practice suspending reality to discover what you crave. Imagine that you could make a wish that would be instantly granted, or imagine that you could walk through a door and your ideal life waited on the other side. What do you notice about these dreams? What desires do they demonstrate?

    4. Weave a web of impact.

    One of people-pleasers’ greatest challenges is the fear of being perceived as selfish or uncaring. I know this was true for me. Many of us believe that our worth comes from meeting others’ needs. Sometimes we forget that speaking our truth positively impacts other people.

    Take a moment to ask yourself the question: “If I spoke my truth and set firm boundaries, who else would benefit, and how?” Consider your partner, your friends, your colleagues, your children, passersby on the street. Consider who you might serve as a role model. Who might benefit from witnessing your strength and independence?

    You will quickly realize that speaking your truth has far-reaching benefits. Keep your list visible to remind yourself of the web of impact your new habits will have.

    5. Start small.

    If you’ve been in a habit of people-pleasing for a long time, it may be challenging to immediately identify your own big dreams. You may feel that you truly don’t know what you want right now, and that is totally normal. Living your truth and communicating authentically are muscles; when you exercise them regularly, they become stronger over time.

    Give yourself permission to start small. For example, you might not yet know what you want out of your career, but you do know you love strolling around the lake in the morning and winding down your nights with chamomile tea. You may not yet know which city you want to relocate to, but you do know you’d like to take a mid-afternoon power nap and buy thermal socks.

    These wants are sacred whispers from your innermost self. Give your innermost self time to surface. By pursuing these small desires, you learn to trust yourself. You begin to realize that you are fully capable of being your own advocate and building the life you want.

    Pay special attention to how it feels to meet your needs. Be patient. With the passage of time, bigger dreams make themselves known in your heart.

    Authentic communication is a two-way street; we must speak truthfully to ourselves before we can speak truthfully to others. Once we become familiar with what we really want, we can imagine a world where we replace old habits, like people-pleasing, with new visions for a brighter future.

  • How to Set Better Boundaries: 9 Tips for People-Pleasers

    How to Set Better Boundaries: 9 Tips for People-Pleasers

    “Boundaries are a part of self-care. They are healthy, normal, and necessary.” ~Doreen Virtue

    I still have the journal entry that sparked my journey into boundary setting. It says, in striking black pen, “I wish I could speak my truth. If I can learn to speak my truth before I die, I will die a happy woman.”

    Dramatic? Maybe. But I was tired of being a pushover, a people-pleaser.

    I’d written it the day after I’d been the recipient of unwanted advances at a bar. For thirty minutes, a stranger had engaged me in aggressive conversation, peppered in flirtation, and slipped his bony hand around my waist. I’d tolerated his behavior with a fake smile before escaping to the bathroom.

    As often used to happen, I couldn’t speak up for myself. I’d waited in silence, hoping the man would mind-read my discomfort and give me space. The next morning, I took my pen and articulated what I saw as my Great Frontier in life: setting boundaries, communicating authentically, and heeding the needs of my inner self.

    This challenge presented in all areas of my life. My tendency to people-please led to a sense of imbalance in relationships with friends, lovers, and colleagues. Sometimes, it manifested as mildly as staying too long in a conversation that bored me, or offering to help a friend when I didn’t have the time. Sometimes it was as extreme as sleeping with someone I didn’t want to sleep with because I didn’t want to “hurt his feelings.”

    I was constantly betraying myself, constantly designing my life around others’ desires. The result was a life that felt mediocre, underwhelming, and not quite my own.

    From an early age, women are taught to be people-pleasing, accommodating, and self-sacrificial. Over time, we can lose our connection to our authentic, empowered selves beneath the weight of our commitments, our imbalanced relationships, and our carefully constructed personas.

    Everything changed when I went through a challenging breakup and awoke to the reality that I’d always been the sole person responsible for my own happiness.

    I realized that this was my chance to develop a nurturing, supportive relationship with my inner self: the woman beneath the performing and the people-pleasing. For the first time, I made a commitment to become my own first priority, set firm boundaries, and communicate authentically with others. The rest is history.

    If you leave conflicts wishing you’d spoken up for yourself; if you feel drained in social situations because you feel like you’re performing; if you over-commit to obligations and under-commit to activities that bring you joy; if you agree to be intimate with people, but later regret your decision; if you feel like you give much more than you receive in your relationships: this can be the year you break the pattern and begin speaking—and living—your truth.

    Here are nine tips that break down the boundary-setting journey into simple, actionable habits.

    1. Name your feelings in interactions with others.

    Challenging emotions like overwhelm, anger, and frustration can be helpful guideposts as you uncover when, where, and with whom to set boundaries. These emotions signal that others might be impinging on your personal time or space. Developing literacy with your own emotions enables you to set impactful boundaries in the future.

    Instead of pushing the feelings away, ask yourself, “What am I feeling? Why am I feeling this way? What would need to change for me to feel safer?”

    2. Prepare your well-being disclaimer.

    Preface conversations about boundaries with a disclaimer to set the stage for a compassionate, permissive discussion. (This can be a particularly useful tool if you’re concerned about rocking the boat by changing entrenched patterns in existing long-term relationships with family or lovers).

    Break the ice by sharing your resolution to set boundaries. Explain why it’s important to you and how you believe it will benefit you. Centering your own well-being sparks a meaningful exchange around an indisputable value: your own wellness and health.

    3. Express gratitude when others set boundaries.

    Folks who have trouble setting boundaries usually have trouble responding to boundaries set by others.

    Before I began setting my own boundaries, I often felt dismissed, angry, or rejected when friends or lovers put limits on our interactions. As I began to understand that people set boundaries to protect their own well-being, I intentionally cultivated an attitude of gratitude by responding to others with “I value your honesty” or “I appreciate you sharing that with me”—even if the boundary was hard to hear.

    These friends and lovers became my role models and helped me envision what a healthily boundaried life could look like.

    4. Practice saying “no thanks” without giving a reason.

    It’s common to feel like you need to explain your boundaries to others. But you don’t—and sometimes the simplest, most honest response is “No, thanks.” (Giving an excuse or falsifying your reasoning can ultimately leave you feeling guilty or out of alignment with your inner self.)

    Practice saying “No, thanks” and nothing more. Start small; say “No, thanks” when your housemate asks if you want to watch a TV show, or “No, thanks” to the person who wants to buy you a drink at the bar.

    5. Craft a VIP-Only list.

    Without a clear sense of your own boundaries, you may regularly overshare personal information. Though truth-telling is a powerful exercise, sharing too much too quickly can make others feel uneasy, and may leave you feeling uncomfortably overexposed.

    If you have a history of TMI, create a VIP-Only list: a list of sensitive topics that you will only discuss with trusted people who make you feel safe and seen. Using this list as a guideline will help you develop a sense of self-trust as you maintain your privacy and build a community of dependable confidants.

    6. Take a break from a toxic friendship.

    Perhaps you have a friend who constantly uses you as a sounding board for his or her dilemmas, or asks for favors but never gives in return. Perhaps you have a friend whose personal struggles impose on your own sense of well-being.

    One of the most difficult, yet most rewarding forms of boundary setting is to take a break from the relationships that no longer serve you.

    If you have a one-sided friendship that leaves you feeling unseen, unheard, or disrespected, resolve to take a break from that relationship. And remember: It is not selfish or cruel to put your own well-being first. Healthy friendships are reciprocal and mutually nourishing, not one-sided and depleting.

    7. Create a post-boundary-setting mantra.

    If you have a history of people-pleasing, setting boundaries will be a major adjustment to old patterns, complete with the requisite growing pains. As such, it’s totally normal to feel guilty, selfish, or embarrassed after setting a (completely valid) boundary.

    Be gentle with yourself and acknowledge that your boundary-setting muscle takes time to develop. In the meantime, prepare a mantra to refer to after setting difficult boundaries with others. It can be as simple as: “I set boundaries to feel safe,” or “Setting boundaries is an act of self-love.”

    Your mantra can be your anchor, a permanent reminder that this journey, though difficult, has your best interests at heart.

    8. Designate a cheerleader.

    Throughout my boundary-setting process, I benefitted immensely by sharing my successes with a best friend who cheered me on at every turn. She bore witness to my journey and helped me acknowledge my progress when I was feeling self-critical.

    Set yourself up for success by designating a cherished friend, family member, or partner to be your boundary cheerleader. Explain your intention to set better boundaries and your desire for a supportive buddy throughout the process. When you set a new boundary, let your cheerleader know, and carve out the space—in person, over the phone, or with a high-five emoji—for the two of you to celebrate your success.

    9. Imagine how your life will be different.

    Instead of focusing on oversharing and people-pleasing less, imagine the many ways you will benefit from setting boundaries. Gently allow yourself to imagine how your life will be different when you begin to speak your truth. How will you change? How will your daily life become richer? How might you feel more authentic in your relationships? Keep your vision at the forefront as you make the decisions that are best for you, day by day.

    —

    Boundaries are tools that enable us to feel safe, strong, and empowered in our relationships. As your journey progresses, you’ll begin to feel more empowered by the truth that it’s not only your right, but your duty, to make the choices that are best for you.

  • You Have to Feel it to Heal It: The Only Way Out is Through

    You Have to Feel it to Heal It: The Only Way Out is Through

    “Emotional pain cannot kill you, but running from it can. Allow. Embrace. Let yourself feel. Let yourself heal.” ~Vironika Tugaleva

    I plodded up the half-mile hill that led to my house, my backpack weighing heavily on my shoulders in the insistent summer heat. The mild breeze that drifted off the Boston harbor was a cruel joke, hinting at coolness but offering no respite.

    Recently heartbroken, I felt tears streaming hotly down my cheeks for the third time that day as the pain of my ex-partner’s absence crashed swiftly on my heart.

    I reached out to a trusted friend seeking solace. “Sobbing again” I texted her, knowing she would decipher the pain behind my words. She hesitated for a moment before responding: “Duh.”

    I hiccupped mid-sob, surprised.

    She went on: “Feel it. It’s going to hurt. But every moment you’re sobbing, you’re doing the work. Every moment you’re hurting, you’re healing. The only way out is through.”

    I stared at the screen, digesting her words. That was the last thing I’d expected. I’d expected to be coddled or encouraged to look at the bright side. I’d expected to be force-fed an ice cream cone at J.P. Licks.

    This was different. For the first time in my grieving process, I wasn’t told to gloss over my feelings with a coat of rose-colored paint. Someone I trusted was encouraging me to feel my pain in its entirety. Through her eyes, my pain was valid and productive—a necessary step on my journey toward healing.

    Her direct acknowledgement of my suffering was the permission I needed to truly feel my pain instead of avoid it. Instead of worrying that I wasn’t trying hard enough to be happy—instead of worrying that I was taking “too long” to heal—I felt like I was doing everything properly.

    I could celebrate the work I was doing, even when that work was breaking into sobs, for the third time that day, on the half-mile walk home.

    My pain and grief had meaning.

    It could serve a purpose.

    It could serve me.

    Since then, I’ve developed a new way of looking at pain:

    When we allow ourselves to fully experience painful or uncomfortable feelings, we are doing work. Sitting with our feelings instead of disengaging or distracting ourselves is work.

    Once we accept that we are doing work, we can silence our internal critic that believes that feeling pain means we’re “doing something wrong.” Instead, we begin to understand that feeling our pain is important and productive.

    When we understand the true nature of our work, we can summon compassion for ourselves as we move through our uncomfortable feelings on the path to healing, peace, and wholeness.

    This framework has changed my life. I’ve applied it to my most acutely painful emotions, like heartbreak, as well as milder ones, like unease.

    Last month on a stormy Friday night, for example, a tide of anxiety rolled through me. Instead of texting my friends or sweethearts to organize an impromptu rendezvous—a surefire way to distract myself—I turned on my air conditioner, donned the biggest sweater I could find, and cuddled my pillow as I watched the rain streak down my window.

    It felt uncomfortable. I felt the familiar tightness in my chest and shortness in my breath.

    “You’re being anti-social!” nagged my inner critic. “You’re being boring. It’s Friday! You’re not trying hard enough.”

    I took a deep breath and put my hand over my heart. I am doing work, I said firmly into my heart. This is important. I kept my hand on my chest, repeating these mantras in time with the falling rain, until my inner critic’s voice was an echo of an echo.

    When I woke up the next morning to a clear blue sky and a bout of energy, I took pride in how I’d weathered the storm, so to speak. I learned that my anxiety was impermanent and, most importantly, manageable. 

    Then there are those darkest moments of sorrow, the moments when grief shakes even our sturdiest foundations. When we lose a loved one. When illness consumes us. When we experience a tragedy so emotionally excruciating that it redefines our very understanding of pain.

    In these moments, when we can’t find a single silver lining for miles, we can summon the courage to sit with our sorrow. We can find solace in the truth that there is simply nothing else to do.

    Experiencing our grief—if only for moments at a time—is work. This is the work of living on this Earth, of being human, and of surviving the universal rites of passage that mark our lives as we age.

    When I feel existentially lost, isolated, and convinced of the meaninglessness of my pain, I take a moment to witness the people around me. I watch people walking hand in hand at the park, or reading novels on the train, or sunbathing at the beach.

    Somehow, the vast majority of people around me have weathered similarly painful times. The mere fact of their existence, when I’m certain I will shatter into nothingness, is strength enough to soldier on.

    Before I learned the benefit of sitting with my feelings, doing work of this nature didn’t appeal to me. Why wallow in sorrow when you could just do something about it? I wondered. 

    When I felt uncomfortable, I would find a way to occupy my time and distract my heart. I’d burrow my nose in a screen until I was only dimly aware of the world around me; call one friend after another, repeating the same painful story, swimming concentric circles around my pain without ever diving in; grab a pen and scribble a to-do list to feel the rush of purposefulness at the expense of true catharsis.

    In retrospect, it’s easy to see that my “coping strategies” were no such thing.

    When we distract ourselves from our pain with a flurry of motion, we fool ourselves into thinking we’re being productive. We fall victim to the addictive high of the quick fix. But as any hard worker in any field will tell you, there is no substitute for good, hard work. Work that gives us a sense of our own intrinsic worth and yields desirable results. 

    Which begs the question: Given the undeniable difficulty of this brand of work, why do it at all? What is the reward for expending such mental and physical effort?

    Different folks will offer different answers. As for me, I’ve always believed that our purpose on this earth is to live our richest, most beautiful lives. Anything less seems like a terrible waste of the gift of conscious experience.

    I believe that in order to live such lives, we must live our essential truth. Living our essential truth means making the conscious effort to feel the spectrum of our pain, magnificent and minor. It means giving ourselves permission to feel emotions as they are, and rid our lives of the pressures to conform, perform, and self-delude.

    When we act in accordance with our deepest feelings, our lives become simpler. Instead of constantly choosing how to act or what to say—spurring waterfalls of anxiety and self-doubt –there is always one choice: the choice that is true for us. The choice that we feel in our hearts.

    The next time you are hurting, uncomfortable, or lonely, feel your pain. Feel as much of it as you can bear. Your pain is a necessary step on your journey towards healing. And remember:

    You are doing your best.

    You are healing at exactly the right pace.

    You are doing work.

    Your work has meaning.

    It can serve a purpose.

    It can serve you.

  • Everyone’s Doing The Best That They Can

    Everyone’s Doing The Best That They Can

    “All I know is that my life is better when I assume that people are doing their best. It keeps me out of judgment and lets me focus on what is, and not what should or could be.” ~Brené Brown

    My favorite principle is this simple truth: Everyone is doing the best that they can with the resources they have. Adopting this belief has radically changed my relationship to myself and to others.

    This idea has been explored by a constellation of religious, spiritual, and wellness practitioners. As Deepak Chopra said, “People are doing the best that they can from their own level of consciousness.”

    At first, it’s a hard concept for us to swallow. In a culture that constantly urges us to do more, to be better, and to excel,  “I’m doing the best that I can” sounds like complacency—like an excuse. But what if we took a step back from our culture’s infinite growth paradigm and considered, “What if, right now, there is a limit to what I can achieve? Can I be okay with that?”

    I first stumbled across this principle a few weeks after I quit drinking in 2016. It was a challenging time for me. In the absence of alcohol, I watched my anxiety soar.

    I stayed away from bars and clubs to avoid temptation, but then felt guilty and “boring” for spending Saturday nights at home. When I met up with friends who’d previously been drinking buddies, our interactions felt stilted. I knew sobriety was the healthiest choice for me, but I couldn’t accept the way it impacted my ability to be social. I felt like I wasn’t trying hard enough.

    I spent weeks in a frustrated mind space until I stumbled across that precious idea: “I’m doing the best I can with the resources at my disposal.”

    At first, I recoiled. The high achiever in me—the climber, the pusher—scoffed at the suggestion that I was doing my best. “But other people have healthy relationships with alcohol. Other people maintain active, thriving social lives.”

    But in that moment, I realized that my negative self-talk was an exercise in futility. It never boosted my inspiration or activated me toward progress. It just sparked a shame spiral that sunk me deeper into inaction and guilt.

    So over time, I began to internalize this idea as my own. And as I did, I felt like a blanket of comfort had been draped over me. For the first time in weeks, I could sit back on my couch and watch Vampire Diaries without hating myself. It enabled me to find peace in the present moment and accept—not even accept, but celebrate—that I was doing the absolute best that I could.

    I’ve found that this principle has been easiest for me to internalize when I’ve been going through deep stuff.

    After a painful breakup last August, it took all of my energy to drag myself from bed in the morning. My intense emotions were riding shotgun, which sometimes meant canceling plans last minute, postponing work calls, or calling a friend to cry it out.

    Because I was so obviously using all of my inner resources to get through each day, it was easy for me to accept that I was doing the best that I could. Throughout those months, I gave myself total permission not to do more, not to be “better.” For that very reason, those painful months were also some of the most peaceful months of my life.

    Here’s the thing, though: We don’t have to hit rock bottom in order to show ourselves compassion.

    We don’t need to be heartbroken, shattered, or at wit’s end. Maybe we’re just having a rough day. Maybe we’re feeling anxious. See, our abilities in any given moment depend entirely on our inner resources, and our inner resources are constantly in a state of flux depending on our emotions (pain, stress, anxiety, fear), our physicality (sickness, ailments, how much sleep we got), our histories (the habits we’ve adopted, the trauma we’ve experienced, the socialization we’ve internalized), and so much more.

    When we consider everything that affects our capacity to show up as we’d like to be, we realize how narrow-minded our negative self-talk is. We also begin to understand that everyone comes from a wildly complex, diverse array of experiences, and that comparisons among us are useless.

    Consider how this idea can be applied in some more challenging situations:

    The Friend Who Is Stuck In A Cycle of Stagnancy

    This goes for anyone who complains about a monotonous cycle in their life but can’t seem to break it: the friend who hates their job but doesn’t leave it, or the friend who complains about their partner but won’t end their relationship.

    Those of us on the receiving end of our friend’s complaints may get tired of hearing the same story every day. But our advice to “just leave your job” or “just break up” will fall on deaf ears because it’s not that simple. They are doing the best that they can in that moment because their current need for familiarity and security outweighs their desire for exploration.

    They are experiencing a tension within their desires, but don’t yet have the ability to act on that tension. The limitations of their emotional (or sometimes, financial) resources make it difficult for them to move on.

    By accepting that we’re doing the best we can, we give ourselves the gift of self-acceptance and self-love. Only from this place can positive, sustainable changes to actions or behaviors be made

    The Parents Who Hurt Us When We Were Kids

    It can be especially challenging to apply this principle to those who have wounded us most deeply. But oftentimes, those are the folks most deserving of our compassion.

    Parents have a responsibility to their children, and parents who hurt, neglect, shame, or otherwise harm their children are not doing their job as parents. But sometimes, our parents can’t do their jobs well because they don’t have the resources at their disposal. And even then, they are doing the best that they can.

    More than likely, our parents didn’t learn the necessary parenting skills from their own parents. Maybe they never got therapy to heal old wounds or never developed the coping skills necessary to handle intense emotions. This principle can be very challenging, yet very healing, when applied to parents and other family members.

    The Binge Eater (Or Other Addict)

    This used to be me, and it took me years to accept that even when I was in the thick of my eating disorders, I was doing the best that I could.

    From the outside, the solution seems simple: “Put down the cake.” “Don’t have a third serving.” But for folks with addiction issues—food, alcohol, sex, drugs, you name it—the anxiety or emptiness of not engaging with the addiction can be insurmountable.

    Resisting the impulse to fill an inner void requires extensive resources, including self-love, self-empowerment, and oftentimes, a web of support from friends and family. Folks in the throes of addiction are caught in a painful cycle of indulgence, shame, and self-judgment, which makes it all the more difficult to develop the emotional resources necessary to resist the tug of the addiction.

    But by accepting that they’re doing the best they can, they give themselves the gift of self-acceptance and self-love. Only from this place can we make positive, sustainable changes to our actions or behaviors.

    It’s worth noting: Our actions have consequences, and when we harm others, we should be held accountable. But simultaneously, we can acknowledge that we are doing the best that we can, even when we “fall short” in others’ eyes. Forgiving ourselves (and others) is an emotional experience that transcends logic or justice. We can make the conscious choice not to hold ourselves to a constant standard of absolute perfection.

    Believing that we are all doing the best that we can opens our hearts to kindness and compassion. It allows us to see one another as humans, flaws and all. Next time you feel frustrated with yourself, stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing the best that you can.

    Sit down with a piece of paper and divide it in half. On one side, write down the voices of your inner gremlins. What exactly are they saying? Are they calling you lazy, selfish, mean? On the second side, consider what inner and external factors affected your actions or decisions. Consider the emotional, physical, historical, and financial obstacles you face.

    As you review your list of obstacles in contrast with your negative self-talk, summon compassion and kindness for your inner self. If she is struggling, you can ease her burden by quieting the self-judgment and replacing those negative messages with an honest truth: That you’re doing the best you can with the resources at your disposal.