Tiny Buddha

Category: Blog

  • When Unhappiness Is the Soul Crying Out for Nourishment

    When Unhappiness Is the Soul Crying Out for Nourishment

    “Happiness is not something ready-made. It comes from your own actions.” ~Dalai Lama

    I had been caught in a web of unhappiness for several months some time ago.

    During those months, each morning looked the same. I would open my eyes, sigh in misery, and sit at the edge of the bed for a few minutes to mentally prepare myself for yet another day. It took all the energy within me, which was little, to stand up and go about the day.

    Although I was unhappy for many months, I had come a long way in healing from severe anxiety. I experienced mild anxiety here and there, but severe anxiety was a distant memory and feeling.

    About a few months into feeling unhappy, thoughts began to multiply and scatter, my jaw tightened, my breaths shallower and more shortened, my hands shaky, and my body heavy.

    One morning, I felt a bit different than usual. I still sat at the edge of the bed for a few minutes, but this time, I felt dizzy and nauseous. I knew I wasn’t well. I felt like I really needed a day to simply be and do nothing, so I called in sick to work. However, that day, the distant memory and feeling of severe anxiety felt closer than ever.

    The first half of the day, I found myself all over the house—upstairs, downstairs, and on the front patio, trying to escape the anxiousness by cleaning, doing laundry, cooking, and scrolling through social media.

    I went from needing to do nothing to doing anything that would distract me from the mental and physical pain anxiety brought about.

    Then, halfway through the day, I went upstairs to put away clean laundry. As I walked back downstairs, I felt the urge to sit down on one of the steps in the middle of the staircase. There it was. The severe anxiety attack creeping up to the surface to finally release itself. My heart rate increased. My lips quivered. I dropped a tear, then two, and then countless. I cried in agony.

    I reached my arms out, lifted my hands up, and said with a stutter, “Please,” begging the universe to spare me from the mental anguish.

    About fifteen minutes later, the anxiety dissipated, but I stayed put for an additional thirty minutes, staring down the steps with a blank mind, before I went about the rest of the day with a blank mind, too.

    For the next few days, I felt more hopeless than unhappy. I dragged myself through the days. The only time I looked forward to was the evenings, when I could lie in bed, not having to do anything. It was the highlight of my days because I felt safe hiding in bed, where the silence and darkness were comforting.

    After a few days, one late afternoon, as I was unloading the dishwasher, my husband came into the kitchen and said, “Something isn’t right in the universe.”

    This is our way of trying to figure out why the other is out of balance when we can’t quite put a finger on what the other is feeling and why.

    I replied, “I’m okay,” as I continued to unload the dishwasher.

    He turned me around to face him, but I kept looking down, and he further said, “You haven’t been okay for a while now.”

    I stayed quiet for a minute before I looked up at him and replied, “Yeah, I’ve been unhappy for a while now…I don’t know why.”

    He instantly hugged me.

    At first, still feeling hopeless, I didn’t hug him back. But after a few minutes, I began to feel more unhappy again. My eyes heavily watered before I broke down crying and hugged my husband back as tight as I could.

    He said, “It’s okay; let it out.”

    I collected myself and leaned against the dishwasher.

    My husband held my hands and asked, “Why are you unhappy?”

    It was the first time in several months that I thought about it rather than only feeling it.

    I said, “I’m just tired. I feel drained. I go to work, cook, clean, and repeat. Is this it? Is this life?”

    He replied, “It seems like you aren’t nourishing your soul.”

    I was quiet.

    We looked at each other for a few moments as he continued to hold my hands.

    I said, “Thank you, honey,” as I hugged him once more as tight as I could.

    What he said was all I needed to hear to realize I was in survival mode. I wasn’t prioritizing what sparks my happiness, what helps me thrive, and what nourishes my soul. I was letting surviving take precedence over thriving.

    I enjoy looking for and trying new dessert recipes. I enjoy browsing around in bookstores and reading. I enjoy writing and sharing personal reflections, fictional stories, and uplifting advice. I enjoy spending time outdoors, especially surrounded by nature. I enjoy taking a road trip to visit my family, who are a six-hour drive up North from where I live. I enjoy hanging out with my husband and dog.

    But, for several months, I did none of the above.

    I was consumed by the day-to-day routine of working, cooking, and cleaning, which took up all my time. I was stuck in a cycle of only being and doing what helped me survive.

    My unhappiness was simply the soul, home to the light, joy, love, and peace within, crying for nourishment.

    ___

    The feeling of unhappiness is common for many of us.

    Often, when we talk to other people about our unhappiness, it’s difficult to pinpoint the cause, and the typical responses don’t help us figure it out. People say things like, “You should be happy that you have a roof over your head and food on your table.” Or, “You should be happy that you’re better off than some others in the world.”

    The responses only reflect that we’re meeting our survival needs.

    But just because we’re surviving doesn’t mean it should make us happy.

    Survival mode nourishes our physical body, but if we don’t nourish our soul, we can end up feeling lifeless.

    It’s important that, despite needing to do things that help us survive, like working full-time for a paycheck and cooking meals to fuel our bodies, we create time and space to do things that nourish our souls and help us thrive, too.

    Here are three simple practices that have helped me do just that.

    1. Start with joy.

    I reflected on what truly sparked joy within me. Even if I must dig a little, deep down, I know what I enjoy doing. I thought about when I’m most present, what makes me smile and laugh, and when I feel light and at ease. It’s what checks off all of those boxes that nourish my soul, igniting the light, joy, love, and peace within me.

    2. Write it down.

    I found an old journal I received as a birthday gift years ago. On top of the first blank page, I wrote “Accomplishments” as the title instead of “To-Do” because I wanted to manifest what nourishes my soul and write it into existence.

    I listed five things—write every day (i.e. newsletter or journal), practice self-care every day (i.e. stretch or apply a face mask), read twice a week, take a nature walk twice a week, and have fun once a week (i.e. try a new dessert recipe, sew, or make a DIY candle). I focused on what I knew I could create time and space for. I check in with myself periodically to add to or subtract from the list as I heal, learn, and grow to remain in alignment with my soul’s calling.

    3. Take action and remain consistent.

    I try my best to intentionally create time and space in the week for everything I’ve listed down, and every Sunday, I read over my Accomplishments to note what I could or couldn’t and do. If for any reason I couldn’t do one or more of what I’ve listed, I prioritize it for the next week.

    If there’s a regular pattern of missing one or more things, I simply subtract it from the list to not get down on myself for not accomplishing it and focus on what I did and can continue to accomplish instead. This check-in helps me create time and space to nourish my soul and remain consistent.

    While we must do things that help us survive, we don’t have to lose ourselves in survival mode. We can work, clean, cook, and do any other daily task alongside nourishing our soul.

    Surviving always finds a way to take precedence over thriving, so it’s important to intentionally create time and space for what nourishes our soul, as it often gets pushed to the back burner. When we nourish our soul, we wake up with an uplifted spirit and energy to go about the day and feel happier as a result.

  • 4 Reasons to Appreciate Hard Times and How to Cultivate Gratitude

    4 Reasons to Appreciate Hard Times and How to Cultivate Gratitude

    “Thank you for all the challenges that built my character. Thank you for all the hard times that made me appreciate the good times.” ~Unknown

    Gratitude is often associated with joy, blessings, and moments that bring us happiness. But what about the times when life feels hard? Can we still find gratitude in the pain and struggles that challenge us?

    A good friend went through a difficult experience this year, and she taught me that the answer is yes. Her story left a profound impact on me.

    Last month, my friend finished her final round of chemotherapy, and as we sat together, she surprised me by saying, “I’m grateful for this experience.” She explained how cancer, as grueling as it was, gave her a new perspective on life. She now cherished every moment, every connection, and every small joy in a way she never had before.

    It wasn’t about the illness itself but the lessons it brought her: resilience, appreciation for the present, and a sense of gratitude for simply being alive.

    Her words stayed with me after that conversation. Gratitude for chemo? Gratitude for suffering? At first, it felt impossible to reconcile. But as I reflected on her journey, I began to think about my hard moments and wondered if I, too, could feel grateful for them. To my surprise, the answer was yes.

    Reflecting on My Journey

    I immediately thought about my struggles with an eating disorder in my younger years. At the time, it felt like I was trapped in a cycle of shame, self-criticism, and unattainable standards. My worth was tied to my weight and how I looked in the mirror. It was a dark period, one I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And yet, as I look back now, I realize how much I’ve learned and grown because of it.

    That painful journey taught me self-love and self-acceptance.

    I began to understand that my value extended far beyond my physical appearance.

    I healed my relationship with food, learning to nourish my body out of care instead of control.

    The process wasn’t easy—it involved patience and a willingness to confront the deepest parts of myself. But coming out on the other side, I felt stronger, more compassionate, and more connected to my true self. And for that, I am deeply grateful.

    Finding Gratitude in the Hard Lessons

    My friend’s journey with chemo and my struggles with an eating disorder are vastly different, but they share a common thread: both experiences brought profound growth and perspective. Life’s hardest lessons often carry hidden gifts.

    Here are a few reasons why I believe gratitude for life’s challenges is possible:

    1. They teach us resilience.

    Hard moments push us to our limits, but they also show us how strong we can be.

    Overcoming a challenge, no matter how big or small, builds a sense of resilience that stays with us. We learn to trust ourselves, knowing that we faced adversity before and can do it again.

    2. They shift our perspective.

    When life feels easy, it’s tempting to take things for granted. Struggles remind us to appreciate what we have—the people who love us, the simple joys, or even the privilege of good health. Gratitude for these things often grows after we’ve faced hardship.

    3. They help us grow.

    Painful experiences force us to confront parts of ourselves we might otherwise avoid.

    Whether it’s learning self-acceptance, setting boundaries, or discovering what truly matters, the lessons from life’s challenges are the ones that shape us.

    4. They deepen our empathy.

    Walking through a difficult season gives us a unique perspective and compassion for others who are struggling too. Gratitude for our hard lessons can open the door to supporting others with greater understanding, compassion, and empathy.

    Gratitude Doesn’t Mean Denying Pain

    It’s important to note that being grateful for hard lessons doesn’t mean denying or downplaying the pain or pretending everything is fine. Gratitude and pain can coexist. You can acknowledge the difficulty of what you’ve been through while still finding value in the lesson of the experience. It’s not about minimizing suffering but about honoring the strength and wisdom that came from it.

    How to Cultivate Gratitude for Life’s Challenges

    If you’re struggling to feel grateful for a difficult experience, know that it’s okay. Gratitude often comes with time and reflection. The healing process is long and hard, but gratitude can make it easier. Here are a few ways to begin cultivating it.

    1. Reflect on what you’ve learned.

    Take some time to think about how you’ve grown from the experience. What strengths or insights have you gained? How has it shaped who you are today?

    2. Focus on the present moment.

    Challenges often remind us to live in the present. Journaling, breathing, coloring, being in nature, or meditating can help the process. Focus on the small joys in your day—like a kind word from a friend, a good song on the radio, or the warmth of the sun—can help you cultivate gratitude.

    3. Share your story.

    Talking about your journey with someone you trust can be incredibly healing.

    Sharing what you’ve been through and how you’ve grown can help you see the value in your experience.

    4. Practice self-compassion.

    Be kind to yourself as you reflect on difficult times. Gratitude doesn’t mean you have to feel happy about what happened—it simply means recognizing the good that came from it.

    Gratitude as a Way Forward

    As strange as it sounds, I am now grateful for the hard lessons of my life. They have taught me resilience, self-love, and the importance of living authentically. My friend’s gratitude for her journey reminded me that even in the darkest moments, there is light, there is a lesson to be learned, and there is spiritual growth.

    Life’s challenges will always come, but with gratitude, we can face them with a sense of hope and purpose. So, here’s to finding gratitude—even for the hard lessons. They might just be the ones that change us for the better.

  • Tai Chi: A Strange and Powerful Dance of Freedom

    Tai Chi: A Strange and Powerful Dance of Freedom

    “The key is to be in a state of permanent connectedness with your inner body—to feel it at all times. This will rapidly deepen and transform your life.” ~Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now

    “Relax your shoulders, keep your head high, stay grounded,” I cue myself as I walk through my morning Tai Chi. It’s still dark, but I know my moves, and my arms and legs move with confidence and ease.

    Most of my life, I was a person with anxiety. I didn’t know I had anxiety, even though it was trying to speak to me as tension in my body, shallow breathing, chaotic thoughts, and extreme emotions. To me, it was just my normal, baseline state of living. Until one day, when anxiety finally got my attention. On that afternoon, I collapsed on the floor with severe lower back pain and had to spend time in bed, unable to move my legs.

    The pain was excruciating and debilitating. The doctor said I had a herniated disc and suggested surgery. Surgery didn’t feel like the right thing to do, so I started researching other options.

    Miraculously, I came across Thomas Hanna’s book Somatics or Reawakening the Mind’s Control of Movement, Flexibility, and Health. In black and white, the book explained the root of my problem. I had chronically contracted muscles in my lower back.

    The book states that when, due to chronic stress, our muscles contract repeatedly over a long period of time, the tension can become so severe that the muscles can’t relax themselves anymore. The tension squeezes and presses the nerves, and we feel pain.

    I began an exercise program described in the book, which helps relax the muscles in the body. The exercises are based on developing somatic awareness. I also continued practicing yoga and deep breathing and finally decided that I needed therapy to address the root of my stress, which was living with emotional abandonment and neglect as a child.

    In therapy, I did family-of-origin work and forgiveness work. I also worked on my confidence and self-esteem by taking on challenging professional tasks, learning public speaking, and traveling the world for my job. Anxiety was still always there, but now I felt it and knew its signals and was able to respond with somatic awareness exercises and deep breathing.

    In 2016, I walked into a Tai Chi class. Not knowing what I was doing and just moving to the cues of the kind instructor, I experienced something amazing. I felt like I walked into myself. The unusual movements connected my body and my brain, and I felt the freedom of movement, which I didn’t remember experiencing before. Right there and then, I knew I would do this strange and powerful dance of freedom forever.

    It takes time to learn Tai Chi forms, and I began learning, little by little, watching Florinda, our instructor, in class like a hawk and practicing the movements I remembered at home. I also asked a few women from my group if they wanted to practice together outside of the class. We danced together the ancient Tai Chi moves under the ancient oaks near Lake Pontchartrain in southern Louisiana.

    Over time, I began feeling freer and more connected to myself and the world, the way I did as a very young child in my early childhood memories. On an average day, I started feeling less anxious.

    Tai Chi originated from Asian traditions of martial arts and is translated from Mandarin Chinese as Supreme Ultimate, Cosmic Mind, or the Universe. It’s over 2000 years old. Tai Chi movement is beautiful and unusual, asymmetric and rhythmic, centered and grounded. Practicing TC, we move left and right, forward and back, sometimes in a circle, rarely standing on both feet, mostly balancing on one foot or the other.

    The best way I can describe TC is that within all that movement, somehow, we are able to relax and move and breathe in sync with the breath and rhythm of Life. Or, perhaps, when we relax, we become one with life, and life holds us, moves us, and rocks us like a baby to the rhythm of her breath.

    Tai Chi is based on the principles of yin and yang, which represent the opposite yet inseparable qualities of life, such as darkness and light, joy and sorrow, material and spiritual. Practicing Tai Chi, we learn that the opposites of life are inherently connected and that we have to try and accept it in its wholeness. We may even relax our resistance to adverse situations in life.

    Tai Chi is a powerful self-care tool, and the phenomenon called Sung, or internal tension release, is at the heart of it. Peter Wayne, in his book The Harvard Medical School Guide to Tai Chi, calls it “rocking the baby.” Because of the gentle, rhythmic, flowing movement and deep breathing, we literally rock our body like a baby, soothing and comforting every system—nervous, muscular, digestive, respiratory, endocrine, etc.

    The internal dialogue turns off, the thoughts slow down, and emotions subside. Suddenly, we are in a calm inner space, relaxed, alert, confident, and true, moving like a “stealthy cat,” as a TC practitioner in one of my groups said.

    Another amazing thing about Tai Chi is that a group of practitioners move together, synchronically. Each person’s movements are uniquely individual, yet invisibly connected. There is a sense of belonging and support, and for the duration of the form, the group becomes interconnected in a calm, shared space, like a cohort of cranes, flying together in a beautiful configuration.

    What about my anxiety? It is still with me often, but now I think of it as a friend who came to remind me to take a break, breathe, do Tai Chi, and relax.

  • Releasing Self-Sabotage: 3 Simple Ways to Catch Yourself and Redirect

    Releasing Self-Sabotage: 3 Simple Ways to Catch Yourself and Redirect

    “The greater part of human pain is unnecessary. It is self-created as long as the unobserved mind runs your life.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    “Holy shirtballs!” I yelped and leapt out of the ice-cold water stream, gasping for air.

    There I was in an Argentina hotel at 5:30 a.m., bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, with no chances of hot water and a back that felt like the surface of the sun.

    I had gotten the worst sunburn of my LIFE the day before from laying on my belly, deeply absorbed in my first self-help book. I couldn’t believe that other people out there were like me, had huge ambitions, and wanted to develop themselves beyond societal boxes, too.

    I was so absorbed, in fact, that I forgot to put on ANY sunscreen. (Lesson learned!)

    When I packed my bags and left Argentina with a newfound sense of confidence and thrill—plus a killer tan—I vowed that I would use what I learned from that first book to change my life into exactly what I wanted. An epic relationship with a man who cherished me, freedom to start my own business, and finally getting in shape.

    And then, I touched down in my hometown, Buffalo.

    I was in college at the time, studying to be a Spanish teacher.

    Giving my family a squeeze, answering the good-natured questions they peppered, and looking out at the cold winter scene, I thought, “What was I thinking? Only uber-successful people can live that kind of life and set those kinds of goals. I’m just a girl from a small town with a successful future as a Spanish teacher. I already have so much. I can’t ask for more.”

    And thus began my years of self-torment, in which I lived a good life on paper but sabotaged the crap out of myself when I dared to dream bigger. When brave action was required to get in shape, push forward my career, or meet someone new, I found myself watching endless TV, shying away from the job posting, or saying no to a second date with a perfectly reasonable guy—all while my confidence and self-trust swirled down the drain.

    If you’ve also been there, shopping more after setting a goal to spend less money or ordering a pizza in week two of your new fitness plan, then you know that self-sabotage can be a frustrating habit that we may feel we’ll never kick.

    But there’s good news!

    Self-sabotage is actually the last action in a chain of predictable events. And these events happen to everyone. We can easily catch these precursors to self-sabotage ahead of time and deepen the richness of our pursuit towards our goals with the following three steps.

    1. See imposter syndrome as EXCITING!

    Before we begin to dive into self-sabotage, we need to change our mindset around its precursors—the predictable events that lead up to self-sabotage.

    These precursors include:

    • imposter syndrome
    • overwhelm
    • self-doubt
    • analysis paralysis
    • worry
    • believing we’re not good enough

    These precursory experiences drive the behavior we take when we are acting from a place of “I can’t.” The new fitness plan, the next step in the relationship, or the promotion seem outside of our realm of control, and our brains immediately default to “I can’t handle this, so I can’t do this.”

    When we’re on the precipice of taking inspired action to lead our most fulfilling lives, we are taking a huge step outside of our comfort zones.

    Our brains, which have no evidence of success in this new arena and thus can’t adjust their blueprint to encompass it, will purposefully create these precursory thought patterns in order to get us to stop moving ahead. It sees anything outside of the comfort zone—including growth and fulfillment beyond where we are—as a psychological danger that it can’t account for.

    While we can’t stop our brains from trying to implement these safety measures, we can stop ourselves from buying into them.

    The change in mindset comes when we stop seeing the presence of these precursors as a bad sign or something to fix and instead see them as something EXCITING.

    I know you may be thinking, I HATE feeling overwhelmed or like I’m not good enough. It sucks!

    I don’t disagree that these are uncomfortable experiences. But I will say that these feelings are also evidence that you’re moving in the right direction.

    If you’re experiencing overwhelm, imposter syndrome, or self-doubt, it’s because the thing you’re considering doing is outside of your brain’s comfort zone. And because our purpose in life is to grow and evolve, and all growth and evolution takes place outside of our comfort zone…

    These behaviors only crop up when you’re about to do something BRAVE!

    Feeling like you’re not good enough is no longer evidence that you’re not good enough. It’s just evidence that you’re making a bold decision for yourself to truly live and grow instead of letting your brain stop you.

    You will likely always feel some precursor like overwhelm, self-doubt, feelings of not being good enough, comparisonitis, or imposter syndrome when you’re about to make a brave decision.

    When you can detach from the volatility of these precursors and come to understand that they are natural markers of exciting progress—not the end of the road but just a stop sign along the way—you can pivot from nervous self-sabotage to determined advancement.

    2. Feel your feelings.

    All of us are guilty of modulating our emotions in ways we know don’t serve us. Maybe for you it’s scrolling through social media or going out with friends. It could be a glass of wine or an extra piece of chocolate cake.

    I always find myself drawn toward a Netflix comedy special when I’m overwhelmed. Or I just watch TV in general to take my mind off of what’s coming up.

    I want to stress that there’s nothing wrong with these behaviors in moderation. In fact, these pleasures are meant for us to enjoy in our time here on earth. But if we’re constantly procrastinating with these behaviors, they become a warning sign of self-sabotage about to occur.

    This is because the root of all self-sabotage is avoiding an uncomfortable emotion.

    When we convince ourselves not to follow an inspired idea, we may believe that we are “protecting” ourselves from more concrete things, like our friends and family judging us, loss of money, or loss of time. But these are just neutral circumstances that don’t have an emotion inherently attached to them.

    What we are actually protecting ourselves against is the uncomfortable emotion our brain produces from these circumstances, like disappointment, shame, or guilt if we fail.

    A mentor once shared with me a hypothetical story—that if aliens came down to earth and asked humans about the emotion of shame, the humans would shudder and describe it as the absolute worst feeling in the world. The curious aliens would be intrigued by this bold claim and ask the humans, “Wow, what happens when you feel shame? Does your face melt off? Do you break out in hives? Do you start bleeding profusely and die!?”

    The humans would probably turn sheepish and say, “Um, no, actually. My tummy just hurts.”

    I share this anecdote to illustrate that feeling emotions doesn’t cause us bodily harm. It’s just uncomfortable.

    But given all that we’ve overcome in our lives, all the adversity we face each day, and the strength of the human spirit that unites us, a little discomfort is nothing we can’t handle. It’s so worth it for the exciting life waiting on the other side of our bravery.

    To stop ourselves from self-sabotaging and move forward, we need to learn how to face and feel those emotions. (I promise your face won’t melt off when you do!) When we feel the shame, embarrassment, and disappointment fully, their potency will dissipate, and we’ll be able to access objective clarity.

    The simplest way to feel your emotions is to sit down somewhere quiet and identify the emotion that you’re feeling. What is the name of it? (Fear, disappointment, panic, and worry are common examples.

    Then, set a timer for one minute and feel the emotion. I don’t mean think about the emotion. I mean FEEL the sensation in your body that this emotion creates.

    Where is the emotion in your body—your chest, your hands, your throat, your stomach? Does it have a color or a shape? Does it have a weight?

    Touch your hand to where you feel it most in your body and allow yourself to fully experience the sensation over the course of one minute. Chances are high that just directing your attention to this emotion for one full minute will allow its potency to dissipate and give you back your sense of higher thinking.

    3. Take ownership of your story.

    Once our emotions have been fully felt and respected, we can start to think critically to address the root of our self-sabotage.

    A favorite question of mine is, “What is the story here?”

    Remember that your brain is initiating self-sabotage to keep you from feeling an uncomfortable emotion. But it had to get evidence from somewhere that this action you’re about to take would result in disaster. So… where in the past did a similar situation play out that ended in an uncomfortable emotion?

    Let’s say you come across a flyer announcing open auditions for a local musical. It piques your interest, and you get excited to audition, picturing yourself on stage and all the fun you’d have as a performer. But then you start to hear the precursors of, “I’m not good enough, I don’t have the time, I could never do that,” which dampens your spirits and causes internal conflict.

    If the last time you auditioned for a musical, your voice broke on the high note, and you didn’t get the part, we can’t fault your brain for sending you those precursors! It wants to pump the brakes and protect you at all costs from that previous feeling of embarrassment. And those thoughts of “not good enough” have always been effective at stopping you in your tracks.

    But with clarity and compassion, we can see this experience for what it is—just a story in the past. A story that doesn’t have anything to do with our future, unless we continue to bring it into the present by calling it to mind.

    When you ask yourself, “What is the story here?” quietly observe how your brain automatically floats a memory or long-held belief to the surface. Once you’ve identified the source, you can now ask yourself one last powerful question:

    “Do I want to be the steward of this story anymore?”

    We all have a choice, each moment of every day, to hold onto stories from our past or let them go.

    The stories we hold onto provided us safety at a time. The story of the musical audition protected us from more embarrassment of daring to believe in ourselves again and possibly failing. If we trusted someone before, and they broke that trust, our story of “I can’t trust others or open up to them” protects us from that pain of unreciprocated vulnerability.

    It’s important to honor and recognize that these stories did serve a purpose and did protect you for a time. But to stop self-sabotage and move forward in brave action, we can let the stories that hold us back go. We can start to recognize and get excited about all that is waiting for us on the other side of releasing this story, allowing us to write new stories and access our truest inspired life.

    –

    Sometimes it’s difficult to see the forest for the trees. It’s important to find compassion for yourself when you notice self-sabotaging behavior and realize that it’s just your brain playing a fun trick to keep you safe from the unknown. Luckily, these tricks are predictable, and once we learn to see them as a good sign, feel our feelings, and release old stories, we can continue to grow into our bravest, boldest selves.

  • Stop Chasing: Finding What You Need in the Here and Now

    Stop Chasing: Finding What You Need in the Here and Now

    “Life is what happens while we’re busy worrying about everything we need to change or accomplish. Slow down, get mindful, and try to enjoy the moment. This moment is your life.” ~Lori Deschene

    Are you living life in a constant pursuit—chasing happiness, freedom, comfort, or success? What if the thing you’re so desperately looking for isn’t at the finish line? What if life isn’t a race to be won? These were the questions I asked myself not long ago.

    I won’t lie; answering them didn’t completely change my life overnight. I didn’t have any major breakthrough when realizing what I’m about to tell you, but it was a starting point.

    The starting point was realizing I had spent most of my life waiting. Chasing the things I believed I lacked.

    In the pursuit of happiness, I was waiting for that moment in which all my dreams coming true would finally bring me everlasting joy.

    Aspiring to be a free spirit—as free as the wind—I created mental cages and rules that made me feel stuck and hopeless, like a bird that knows how liberating it is to fly but cannot spread its wings.

    Chasing comfort, I let possibilities for growth slip through my fingers and run away from me.

    Trying to reach success, I forgot to take care of what truly deserved my attention: my health, my relationships, and my spark.

    The major problem?

    When you chase something, you’re placing it far away from you. You’re increasing the distance between what you desire and what you believe you lack.

    But what you desire is already at your fingertips.

    I didn’t have to wait for happiness because happiness wasn’t a destination to reach. Achieving my goals and making my dreams come true wouldn’t have made me any happier unless I was ready to fully embrace happiness in the here and now.

    Happiness was already inside of me and all around. I just wasn’t looking.

    The freedom I was so desperately chasing could have never touched me if I first didn’t get rid of the mental blocks I’d created myself. If I first didn’t destroy the walls my own mind had built.

    I quickly realized that comfort wasn’t my friend—it just wanted to keep me safe, but not necessarily feeling alive.

    Chasing success had me run, run, and run without actually going anywhere, like a hamster on a wheel.

    If life isn’t a race, why are we always running?

    We jump from one goal to another, from one’s arms to another’s, from one dream to another. We’re always running, chasing something that ends up turning into nothing.

    If we allowed ourselves to take a moment, slow down, and hit the brake pedal, we’d soon realize that the chasing is what’s making us unhappy.

    It’s pushing all we ever wanted far away from us—within our eyesight, but out of our reach.

    How do you stop chasing the next big thing when you’ve spent your whole life in pursuit of something—anything?

    All You Want Is Already Within You

    The major change you must make is shifting your perspective about what you want.

    I wanted freedom, but I wasn’t allowing myself to feel it because I had created unbreakable rules for my life. Then, it hit me: How could I expect to experience freedom in other areas of my life (career, money, etc.) if I wasn’t even free from my own mind?

    Whether you want love, connection, happiness, or purpose, are you sure you’re not the one standing in your way?

    If you want love and connection, are you loving yourself and genuinely getting interested in others?

    If you want to be happier, are you filling your days with small things that can bring you more joy?

    If you want purpose, are you actively seeking and engaging in activities that can bring you a greater sense of purpose?

    Shift your perspective and start believing that everything you seek is already within you. Because it is.

    Live in the Here and Now

    Being more mindful means learning to be where your feet are. Embracing the here and now can put an end to what feels like an endless race.

    Because there can be no race if you learn not to place any expectations or hopes in the future.

    There’s just this moment—right here, right now. Nothing else matters. Nothing else really exists.

    If this moment is all that’s true and all that exists, it means you already hold in your hands what you’re chasing.

    Becoming more mindful means giving yourself the space to be, to exist—still, frozen, standing.

    Mindfulness is not an end state but a way of living.

    You don’t have to meditate for one hour every day to start being more mindful.

    There are practices other than meditation you can adopt to bring more mindfulness into your day.

    For example, you could start by changing how you do mundane tasks.

    It could be as simple as sipping your coffee slowly, noticing its warmth and flavor instead of chugging it down.

    Or listening to what your friend has to say instead of thinking how you’re going to respond.

    Or, why don’t you start doing one thing at a time instead of falling for the trap of multitasking?

    If your body is here, why do you let your mind be anywhere else?

    Celebrate the Journey

    Finally, if you want to stop chasing the next goal, mental state, or fleeting desire, you must recognize how far you’ve gone before you start looking at what’s ahead.

    Instead of not giving yourself the time to reflect and look at the progress you’ve made, why don’t you try to slow down for once?

    Celebrate your achievements, big or small. Praise yourself for the path you’ve walked before you start searching for the next finish line. Your results deserve recognition.

    What’s the purpose of setting big goals and milestones to reach if, once you get there, you don’t even allow yourself to feel it, to enjoy the experience?

    The pursuit of anything loses its meaning if it’s not celebrated.

    What’s the point of reaching the top of the mountain if you keep looking for the next one to hike instead of enjoying the view from above?

    Chasing everything—or anything—won’t give you what you hope to get until you start giving it to yourself. Reflect on what you’re chasing and ask yourself, “How can I embrace it in the here and now?”

    Stop wandering in life, on a never-ending pursuit of something that’s already within you. If you only started looking…

  • The Monumental Trap of Overworking Yourself for Recognition

    The Monumental Trap of Overworking Yourself for Recognition

    “Expectations are premeditated resentments.” ~Unknown

    Yesterday, I found myself sitting across from my boss, fighting back tears as I voiced something that had been eating away at me for three years: “I don’t feel valued enough.”

    The words felt heavy in my throat. As a law professor, I’d always prided myself on being composed and professional. But in that moment, all my carefully constructed walls came crumbling down.

    “I put in extra hours. I mentor people. I’m always available when someone needs help,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “But it feels like nobody really appreciates it. Like all this effort goes unnoticed.”

    Anyone who’s ever poured their heart into their work might recognize this feeling.

    Maybe you’re the colleague who always stays late to help others meet deadlines. Perhaps you’re the team member who takes on extra projects without being asked. Or the person who remembers everyone’s birthdays and organizes office celebrations.

    You give and give, hoping that somehow, this dedication will translate into the recognition and respect you crave.

    My boss listened quietly, his expression thoughtful. Then he shared two insights that shook my understanding of professional relationships.

    “First,” he said, leaning forward, “mastery in any field takes time. But here’s what most people miss—it’s not just about mastering your technical skills. It’s about mastering your relationship with the work itself.”

    I sat with that for a moment, letting it sink in. How much of my frustration came from actually doing my job versus my expectations of how others should respond to my efforts?

    “Second,” he continued, “when we tie our confidence to others’ reactions, we’re building our professional house on shifting sand.”

    That hit home hard. I realized I had created an elaborate scorecard in my head: Each extra hour should equal a certain amount of appreciation; each additional task should translate to a specific level of respect. When reality didn’t match these expectations, my confidence crumbled.

    It’s a trap many of us fall into. We believe that if we just work hard enough, stay late enough, and help enough people, recognition will naturally follow. When it doesn’t, we feel betrayed and undervalued and begin to question our worth.

    Ultimately, we need to learn to validate ourselves, but here’s where things get nuanced—and important. This doesn’t mean we should accept environments that consistently undervalue or exploit our dedication. There’s a delicate balance between developing intrinsic motivation and recognizing when a situation is genuinely unhealthy.

    Let me share what this balance looks like in practice. A few months ago, I noticed I was staying three hours late every day, answering work messages at midnight, and constantly taking on others’ responsibilities. At first, I told myself I was just being dedicated. But then I asked myself three crucial questions:

    1. Is this a pattern of working hard without any recognition, or am I overextending myself because I’m seeking validation?

    2. Are my extra efforts occasionally acknowledged, even if not always?

    3. Do I feel safe expressing concerns about workload and boundaries?

    The answers helped me distinguish between my desire for constant validation and my legitimate need for basic professional respect. I realized that while I needed to work on my own relationship with external validation, I also needed to set clearer boundaries about my time and energy.

    That evening, I opened my laptop and started a different kind of work journal. Instead of tracking others’ reactions, I wrote down what I felt proud of that day: explaining a complex concept clearly, helping someone understand a difficult topic, and making progress on a challenging project. But I also noted when my boundaries were crossed and when additional effort went beyond reasonable expectations.

    This dual awareness—of both internal validation and external respect—changed everything.

    I learned to appreciate my own efforts while also advocating for myself when necessary. I started leaving work at a reasonable hour most days, saving those extra hours for truly important projects. I began setting boundaries around my availability, and surprisingly, this earned me more respect, not less.

    Here’s what I’ve learned about finding this balance:

    1. Question your expectations. Distinguish between needing constant praise and deserving basic respect.

    2. Look for impact, not appreciation. When I did this, I noticed small moments I’d previously overlooked: a quiet nod of understanding during a presentation and a subtle shift in someone’s confidence after our interaction.

    3. Build internal metrics. Define success on your own terms, but don’t ignore red flags in your environment.

    4. Set healthy boundaries. Your dedication shouldn’t come at the cost of your well-being.

    5. Recognize the difference. Know when you’re seeking validation versus when you’re being undervalued.

    Most importantly, I’ve learned that true professional satisfaction comes from a combination of internal confidence and external respect. It’s about knowing your worth while ensuring you’re in an environment that, at least fundamentally, recognizes it too.

    Now, when I catch myself slipping into old patterns—checking for signs of appreciation or feeling resentful about unacknowledged efforts—I pause and ask two questions: “Am I doing this because it matters to me, or am I doing it for recognition?” And equally important: “Is this a reasonable expectation of my time and energy?”

    Some days are still challenging. There are still moments when I wish for more recognition. But I’ve found peace in knowing that while I don’t need constant validation, it’s okay to expect basic respect and appreciation in my professional life. The key is building enough self-worth to know when you’re seeking excess validation and when you’re simply asking to be valued appropriately.

    This morning, I walked into my workplace with a different energy. I felt confident in my worth, clear about my boundaries, and secure in knowing that while I don’t need endless praise, I deserve to be in an environment that recognizes my contributions. Because true professional growth isn’t about learning to accept less than you deserve—it’s about finding that sweet spot between internal validation and healthy external recognition.

  • If You’re Afraid of Making a Big Life Change

    If You’re Afraid of Making a Big Life Change

    “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” ~Alan Watts

    I used to think that stability was the key to happiness. Stay in one place, build a career, nurture long-term relationships—these were the pillars of a successful life, or so I believed.

    My life was a carefully constructed fortress of routine and familiarity. Wake up at 6 a.m., commute to the same office I’d worked at for a decade, come home to the same apartment I’d lived in since college, rinse and repeat. It was safe. It was predictable. It was slowly suffocating me.

    As I approached my fortieth birthday, I found myself increasingly restless. The walls of my comfortable life felt more like a prison than a sanctuary. I’d scroll through social media, seeing friends and acquaintances embarking on new adventures, changing careers, and moving to new cities, and I’d feel a pang of envy mixed with fear.

    “I wish I could do that,” I’d think, quickly followed by, “But what if it all goes wrong?”

    It was during one of these late-night scrolling sessions that I came across a quote from Alan Watts that would change everything: “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.”

    I stared at those words, feeling as if they were speaking directly to my soul. What if, instead of fearing change, I embraced it?

    The next morning, I woke up with a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt in years. I decided to make a change—not a small one, but a seismic shift that would challenge everything I thought I knew about myself and my life. I was going to quit my job, sell most of my possessions, and travel the world for a year.

    The moment I made this decision, I felt a mix of exhilaration and sheer terror. What about my career? My apartment? My relationships? The questions swirled in my mind, threatening to overwhelm me. But beneath the fear, there was a spark of excitement that I couldn’t ignore.

    I gave myself six months to prepare. Those months were a whirlwind of planning, saving, and facing the reactions of friends and family. Some were supportive; others thought I was having a midlife crisis.

    My parents were particularly worried. “But what about your future?” they asked, echoing the same concerns they’d had when I switched majors in college.

    As the departure date drew closer, my anxiety grew. There were moments when I seriously considered calling the whole thing off. What if I was making a horrible mistake? What if I couldn’t handle the uncertainty?

    It was during one of these moments of doubt that I realized something important: The fear I was feeling wasn’t just about this trip. It was the same fear that had kept me trapped in a life that no longer fulfilled me. If I gave in to it now, I might never break free.

    So, I pushed forward. I boarded that plane with a backpack, a one-way ticket, and a heart full of both terror and hope. The first few weeks were challenging. I felt lost, not just geographically but existentially. Who was I without my job title, my routine, my familiar surroundings?

    But slowly, something magical began to happen. As I navigated new cities, tried new foods, and met people from all walks of life, I felt layers of my old self peeling away. I discovered a resilience I never knew I had. Problems that would have sent me into a tailspin back home became adventures and challenges to solve. I learned to trust my instincts, to find joy in the unexpected, and to embrace the unknown.

    One particularly transformative moment came three months into my journey. I was hiking in the mountains of Peru, struggling with altitude sickness and questioning my decision to attempt this trek.

    As I sat on a rock, catching my breath and fighting back tears, an elderly local woman passed by. She smiled at me and said something in Quechua that I didn’t understand. But her smile and the gentle pat she gave my shoulder spoke volumes.

    In that moment, I realized that kindness and human connection transcend language and culture. I also realized that I was stronger than I ever gave myself credit for.

    As the months passed, I found myself changing in ways I never expected. I became more open, more curious, more willing to try new things. I learned to live with less and appreciate more. The constant movement and change became not just tolerable but exhilarating. I was, as Alan Watts had said, joining the dance of change.

    But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. There were days of loneliness, moments of doubt, and times when I missed the comfort of my old life. I learned that embracing change doesn’t mean you never feel fear or uncertainty. It means you feel those things and move forward anyway.

    As my year of travel neared its end, I faced a new challenge: what next? The thought of returning to my old life felt impossible. I was no longer the person who had left a year ago. But the idea of continuing to travel indefinitely didn’t feel right either. I realized I was craving a new kind of stability—one built on the foundation of flexibility and growth I’d cultivated during my travels.

    I decided to move to a new city, one I’d fallen in love with during my travels. I found a job that allowed me to use my old skills in new ways, with the flexibility to continue exploring the world. I made new friends who shared my love of adventure and personal growth. I created a life that embraced change rather than feared it.

    Looking back on this journey, I’m amazed at how far I’ve come. The person who was once paralyzed by the idea of change now seeks it out as a source of growth and excitement. Here are some of the most important lessons I’ve learned.

    1. Fear is not a stop sign.

    Fear is a natural part of change, but it doesn’t have to control you. Acknowledge it, understand it, but don’t let it make your decisions for you.

    2. Discomfort is where growth happen.

    The moments that challenged me the most were also the ones that taught me the most about myself and the world.

    3. Flexibility is strength.

    Being able to adapt to new situations is far more valuable than trying to control everything around you because often, the only thing you can control is how well you adapt.

    4. Less is often more.

    Living out of a backpack for a year taught me how little I actually need to be happy.

    5. Change is constant.

    Instead of resisting change, learning to flow with it brings a sense of peace and excitement to life.

    6. It’s never too late.

    At forty, I thought I was too old to radically change my life. I was wrong. It’s never too late to start a new chapter.

    If you find yourself feeling stuck, yearning for something more but afraid to make a change, I encourage you to take that first step.

    It doesn’t have to be as dramatic as selling everything and traveling the world (though I highly recommend it if you can!). Start small. Take a different route to work. Try a new hobby. Have a conversation with someone you wouldn’t normally talk to. Each small change builds your resilience and opens you up to new possibilities.

    Embracing change doesn’t mean your life will always be easy or that you’ll never face challenges. But it does mean that you’ll be living fully, growing constantly, and experiencing the rich tapestry of what life has to offer.

    Your life is not a fixed path but a journey of constant evolution. Embrace the changes, learn from the challenges, and celebrate the growth. The world is vast, life is short, and the greatest adventures often begin with a single step into the unknown. So take that step. Join the dance of change. You might be amazed at where it leads you.

  • Free New Year Meditation & Writing Challenge

    Free New Year Meditation & Writing Challenge

    Hi friend! As you might recall, last fall I shared an empowering five-day meditation and writing challenge from Tiny Buddha contributor Nadia Colburn. This month, she’s back with another free meditation and writing challenge, designed for the new year, focused on transformation, and I can’t recommend it enough!

    Founder of the online creative writing school Align Your Story, Nadia is a poet, memoirist, and yogi who has a talent for helping people create inner calm and access their most authentic voice.

    That’s what I love about her challenges—they allow us to turn down the mental noise that creates stress and confusion and tune into the gold of our intuition and creative genius.

    Each day’s fifteen-minute recording includes a short meditation, an evocative poem, and a prompt-based writing exercise inspired by that day’s piece.

    Though the meditation practices all vary, they all gave me quick access to increased calm and focus. And the poems and prompts are all perfect for this season of transformation, when so many of us are looking to get unstuck and create positive change.

    Like last time, I recognized common themes in my writing—blocks I need to address, fears I need to face, beliefs I need to challenge, and truths I need to accept.

    Life has been particularly overwhelming in recent months, due to significant challenges in every area of my life, and I’ve often felt lost in the haze of my own mind. Each day’s challenge elicited a new aha moment for me, giving me hope that greater clarity is coming.

    You don’t need to even think of yourself as a writer to enjoy and get something out of this challenge. It’s for anyone who wants to connect with themselves more deeply and perhaps find some of the answers they’ve been seeking externally within the quiet of their own mind.

    Some of Nadia’s past participants have noted how easily their writing flowed after meditation and how the prompts brought them unexpected insights.

    If you decide to give this challenge a try, I have a feeling it could do the same for you. You can access it for free here.

    Happy writing!

  • 5 Hidden Ways Codependency Is Sabotaging Your Relationships

    5 Hidden Ways Codependency Is Sabotaging Your Relationships

    “We rescue people from their responsibilities. We take care of people’s responsibilities for them. Later we get mad at them for what we’ve done. Then we feel used and sorry for ourselves. That is the pattern, the triangle.” ~ Melody Beattie

    I first uncovered codependency and how it was ruining my relationships back in 2019 after ending my relationship of four years.

    At the time, I didn’t know the first thing about myself—except that I didn’t know myself at all. I had no idea what I needed or desired. All I knew was that I hated being alone and longed for someone to come in and save me from myself. Little did I know, I was deep in the grip of my codependency patterns.

    Without anyone to validate or console me, I was forced to confront the uncomfortable truth about my role in the relationship’s dysfunction.

    For so long, I had blamed my partner for everything that was “wrong”—the lack of connection, the emotional exhaustion, and the resentment that weighed me down. I felt drained, unappreciated, and frustrated, but in my mind, they were the problem. I believed that if they just changed, everything would be better.

    It wasn’t until I started looking inward that the truth began to unfold. I saw how my codependent behaviors were fueling the very issues I was complaining about. I had been pouring so much of myself into trying to fix them and the relationship that I had neglected my own needs, boundaries, and well-being.

    Once I became aware of these patterns, everything started to shift. I began showing up differently—not just for them, but for myself. That awareness was the key to turning the relationship around.

    When we got back together, everything was like night and day. The dynamics had completely shifted. Instead of feeling drained and frustrated, we were both able to show up more fully and authentically in the relationship. I created a unique framework that bridges shadow work and inner child healing, and I now use it in my relationship whenever I’m triggered or blaming my partner.

    After recently celebrating ten-plus years together, our relationship is now based on mutual respect, healthy boundaries, and emotional safety—creating something stronger and more fulfilling than we ever had before.

    But here’s the thing—before I could create that shift, I first had to become aware of the hidden ways codependency was sabotaging my relationship. These behaviors are sneaky and often disguised as care or concern, but they can have a destructive impact on how we show up in our relationships.

    If you’re wondering how codependency might be negatively impacting your relationship, here are some of the ways it can show up.

    1. You need to be needed.

    I learned that my sense of worthiness was dependent on how much other people needed me.

    When we’re codependent, our purpose, self-worth, and good feelings about ourselves become dependent on how much another person needs us. This makes sense, since many of us watched mothers who were self-sacrificing, as though the sacrifice equated to love.

    This pattern satisfies the person with codependency because it can soothe their fear of abandonment and rejection. If the other person in the relationship becomes dependent on me to take care of their needs, they think, then they won’t leave me. (Spoiler alert: This often leads to resentment in the long run.)

    2. You struggle with identifying your own needs and feelings.

    I realized that I had a difficult time recognizing and identifying my own needs and feelings because I was constantly perceiving the needs and feelings of others and making choices based on my desire to be liked.

    This behavior can show up as people-pleasing and doing what you think other people want you to do. It stems from a lack of safety, likely originating in childhood, that tells you that perceiving the needs and feelings of others will protect you from pain. Unfortunately, this can leave you with a lost sense of self, leading to an inability to name your own needs and feelings, which contributes to them feeling unmet in your adult relationships.

    3. You have constant anxiety.

    For months, I was waking up in the middle of the night with extreme pain in my chest. My anxiety had gotten so bad that I was waking with painful panic attacks that felt like heart attacks, so much so that I ended up in the ER.

    I had constant anxiety because I was always trying to make other people happy, but I didn’t realize that it was at the expense of my own well-being.

    The fear of betrayal or abandonment can be so debilitating, and the anxiety from that can leave you self-sacrificing in hopes of making others happy so that they don’t leave. Consequently, those of us who experience codependency will stay in relationships even if we are aware that our partners are doing harmful things because we have attached our safety and security to this person rather than sourcing that safety for ourselves.

    4. You feel disrespected or not valued. 

    After years of being everything to my partner, I reached a point of deep resentment. I realized that I overextended myself because I had this unconscious agenda, or desire, that they would do the same for me. And every time they didn’t, I felt unappreciated, invisible, and not cared for.

    For people in codependent relationships, resentment often bubbles up later on, when the patterns of constantly over-giving and self-sacrificing build up. This tendency to over-give and become resentful can stem from low self-worth and self-esteem and our fears of abandonment.

    I learned that I was really just afraid to set healthy boundaries and ask for what I needed because I believed that they would think I was too much or selfish and then leave me. So, instead of speaking up, I continually hoped they would guess my needs and continued to be disappointed and let down.

    5. You feel selfish when you take time to be with yourself (or you avoid self-care).

    Many people, especially mothers, feel guilty and selfish when taking time for themselves. But why should other people be more important than you? I know I struggled with this deep fear of being negatively perceived until I realized that I have no control over what people think about me, and quite frankly, what other people think about me is none of my business!

    Those of us who struggle with codependency may feel like we are asking for too much, or that we are too much, so we make ourselves small and avoid taking up space due to fear of how we will be perceived.

    —

    Healing from codependency starts with awareness. Once you recognize the subtle patterns and behaviors that are sabotaging your relationships, you can begin to shift the dynamic.

    It’s not about fixing the other person; it’s about healing yourself—understanding your needs, setting healthy boundaries, and showing up authentically. By taking responsibility for your role in the relationship and committing to your own healing, you create space for deep, meaningful connection and more joy.

    Remember, healing is not about never experiencing these patterns or triggers again; it’s about how you hold yourself when they come up.

  • Live a Life You Love: The Magic of Following Joy

    Live a Life You Love: The Magic of Following Joy

    “Some people are empowered by travel and some are inspired by the warmth of home. Some thrive in the spotlight and some feel called to support those who are on stage. Some people are comfortable half-dressed and cussing like sailors and others prefer modesty and gentleness. The thing is: we are all empowered and inspired in different ways, and it’s not our job to decide what that looks like for anyone else.” ~Brooke Hampton

    In 1992, the Olympic Games were on, and my dad was glued to the screen. He called me over to watch with him, and though I didn’t know it at the time, that moment would change my life.

    I remember seeing a woman in the pool, dancing in sync with music, her movements flowing effortlessly in and out of the water. It was called synchronized swimming, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I couldn’t look away. Something about her presence, the grace and joy in her movements, stirred something deep inside of me. At that moment, I knew I had to try it for myself.

    Swimming became my world. It brought me a joy I hadn’t known before—a feeling of connection to something outside of myself that felt complete inside. I found a piece of myself in that water, and for years, it became a constant source of fulfillment.

    Yet, as I reached a certain level of skill, I found myself at a crossroads. I was eighteen, faced with a choice: Should I keep swimming at an elite level, or follow a “normal” path, going to college and pursuing a “real” career like everyone else? Society made it clear which path was practical and expected, and I felt an unspoken pressure to comply.

    Ultimately, I chose the “safe” option. I quit swimming and studied to become a registered nurse. For a while, I felt proud of my decision. Nursing is fulfilling work, and I was recognized by others as someone with purpose, even as a “hero.” I had stability, respect, and everything I thought I was supposed to want.

    But there was something else there, too—a quiet emptiness that I couldn’t ignore. It was a gnawing feeling, like I’d left a piece of myself behind, a piece I couldn’t get back. Despite the appreciation I received as a nurse, I felt a deep, lingering question: Is this all there is?

    In the hopes of filling that gap, I decided to try something completely different. I began training in aerial arts, just for fun. But soon enough, “just for fun” grew into something more. Aerial arts opened up a part of me I had shut away—the part of me that felt fully alive. And the more I trained, the more I realized that I wanted this for real. My passion was strong enough that, in my thirties, I received a contract as a professional circus performer.

    For the first time since my swimming days, I felt whole. But with this new identity came new judgments and doubts. I was no longer seen as a nurse with a “real” career but as a dreamer. People couldn’t understand why I’d left a stable job with a retirement plan to fly high on silks. I began to question my purpose… again!

    Then, one day, I noticed something powerful. I’d grown used to seeing the delight on children’s faces in the audience, but as I looked closer, I saw the same spark of joy in the eyes of adults. I realized that I was offering something important, something they didn’t get to experience often. I was giving them a moment to feel wonder, to escape the weight of their daily routines.

    In that moment, I saw my purpose clearly—I was there to bring joy, not just to children, but to everyone watching.

    Years later, I married and had two beautiful children, a joy unlike any other. But as I adjusted to my new life, I found myself struggling again with that same emptiness, though now it was tinged with guilt. I had so much to be grateful for—a loving family, two amazing kids. How could I feel this way? I was thousands of miles away from my family and community, exhausted and trying to survive the challenges of motherhood. I knew I was losing myself again. I could feel it.

    My husband noticed the heaviness in me, and one day, he brought me a gift: a set of paintbrushes and a blank canvas. He encouraged me to try something new, to see if it might help me reconnect with myself. I hadn’t painted since childhood, and I had no idea if it would help, but I picked up the brush. That one small act rekindled something in me that I thought was gone. For the first time in years, I felt excited, inspired, and awake.

    Painting became my new way of following joy, and as I created art, I felt my purpose deepening. I was bringing beauty into the world, creating pieces that I could share that might spark joy in someone else. Art allowed me to process my own emotions and express my inner world, which made me feel whole again.

    Reflecting on this journey, I realize that joy has been my compass all along. Life can take us on unexpected paths, and sometimes, society’s expectations steer us away from our true calling. But when we listen to that inner voice, when we follow what brings us joy, we find a direction that feels right—even if it doesn’t make sense to everyone else.

    Here are a few insights I’ve gathered along the way:

    Joy can be a powerful guide.

    If we let it, joy can show us where we need to go, even when the path isn’t clear. It’s worth listening to that pull and letting it be our compass.

    Embracing change can lead to fulfillment.

    Choosing joy often means stepping into the unknown. It can mean letting go of what’s “practical” and taking a risk on something uncertain. But each change brought me closer to who I am meant to be.

    Life’s journey sometimes brings us full circle.

    I started with swimming, returned to performance in a new way, and finally found a place in art. Sometimes, joy leads us back to things we once loved but left behind. When we accept that, we open ourselves up to growth and fulfillment.

    Looking back, I’m grateful for the courage it took to keep listening to my intuition. It led me through nursing, aerial performance, and eventually, to the canvas, each step revealing more of who I am. I’ve learned that when we allow ourselves to pursue joy—whatever that looks like—we move closer to the life we’re meant to live.

  • 4 Lessons I Learned from Leaving a Toxic Relationship

    4 Lessons I Learned from Leaving a Toxic Relationship

    “It takes strength and self-love to say goodbye to what no longer serves you.” ~Rumi

    I promised myself at a young age that when I got married, I was not going to get divorced, no matter what! My parents had divorced when I was five, and I knew that I didn’t want to put my kids through what I’d experienced as a child who grew up in a “broken” family. I wanted my kids to know what it was like to live in a house with both their parents present and involved in their lives.

    So, when I found myself seven years into my marriage, sitting in a therapist’s office wondering if my husband and I were going to make it, I had no idea what I would be facing if I had to navigate life, let alone parenthood, without my husband. How does one break free from emotional and verbal abuse without it permanently affecting who they are as a person?!

    All I could think about at the time was my three beautiful girls, who deserved to have happy parents in a happy home living a happy life!

    From the outside, our lives looked that way, but our reality was nothing of the sort. The yelling, the name-calling, the threatening, the withholding, and the verbal and emotional abuse were taking their toll on all of us until one day, after five years of trying to make it work, I had had enough.

    The night I will never forget, almost twelve years into my marriage, we were all sitting at the dinner table, and like every time before, with no warning, a switch flipped, and the yelling began. But this time, I packed up my things and I left. And this would be the last time I would leave; after the three attempts prior, I was lured back with promises that everything would be okay and we would make it work, but this time was different. I didn’t go back.

    Okay, I was out; now what?! Little did I know that leaving would be the easy part. Some of the most trying and challenging times of my life happened after I was able to finally break free. But I didn’t know that learning how to love myself again and believe that I was worthy of good things was going to be the real challenge, especially after what I’d faced.

    The storms that happened once my marriage was over would shake me to my core. One particular time was when my middle daughter, only thirteen at the time, was able to find her way down to Tennessee from central Wisconsin without anyone knowing where she was or if we’d be able to find her.

    My daughter despised me for breaking up her family and wanted to get as far away from me as she possibly could, even if it meant entrusting strangers to drive her in a car for fifteen hours while they made their way to Tennessee. Waking up the next morning after she vanished and reading the “goodbye” note she’d left on her bed, I honestly did not know if I would ever see her again.

    To say I was in panic mode would be an understatement for how I felt during the next twenty-four-plus hours while we—my parents, my friends, my siblings, the police, and even strangers—attempted to find my daughter. I can think of no worse feeling in the world than that of a mother who is on the verge of or has just lost her son or daughter. I wondered, “How can this be happening? Haven’t we already been through enough?”

    Exactly twenty-six hours after my daughter had found her way into that stranger’s vehicle, I received a phone call from a deputy in a county in Tennessee saying they had found her. Thank you, Lord, was all I could think—someone is watching over us!

    I realized then it was time to figure out how to love myself again and heal from my divorce so I could be more present for my daughters.

    Are there things I would have done differently? Absolutely! But you can’t go back and change the past; the only thing you can do is learn from it and do your best not to make the same mistakes going forward.

    The best thing I did for myself was sign up for a subscription that gave me access to hundreds of workout programs I could do from home (since I was the sole provider of my daughters at the time). As I completed the programs, I saw improvements in not only my body but also my frame of mind, which pushed me to want to be better and do better with each one after that—not just for me but for my girls also!

    Being able to push through tough workouts and seeing that I could do hard things that produced positive results helped build my confidence at a time when I needed it most! This newfound confidence boost encouraged me to keep pushing forward, even in the eye of the multitude of storms I was facing, which allowed me to start to heal.

    The workouts were just the beginning for me. Ultimately, they led me on a path that would help me discover how to love myself again.

    When I left my now ex-husband, I had no idea what I would be faced with until I was finally able to break free for good. But now that I have been out and have been able to transform my mind and love my life again, I realize just how incredibly powerful some of these lessons that I’ve learned truly are.

    1. Forgiving is the first step to healing. 

    A lot of people believe that forgiveness means you are condoning someone’s behavior, but that is not at all what you are doing when you forgive. Forgiveness is intentionally letting go of negative feelings, like resentment or anger, toward someone who has done you wrong.

    Choosing to forgive when you’re ready means that you are making a conscious and deliberate choice to release the feeling of resentment and/or vengeance toward the person who has harmed you, regardless of whether or not you believe that person deserves your forgiveness.

    You forgive to allow yourself to move on from the event, which also allows you to fully heal from it.

    2. Mindset matters.

    Your thoughts shape your reality, so if you think you don’t deserve good things, you won’t be able to attract them into your life.

    When in a toxic environment, negativity has a way of clouding your judgment, which makes breaking free more difficult. But once you leave and start focusing on a growth mindset and optimism, everything changes. When you focus on the good, the good gets better. This is the foundation of how I rebuilt my life after breaking free from the toxicity of my marriage.

    3. It’s crucial to listen to your gut.

    Ignoring your intuition leads to situations you regret more times than not. Learning to trust my inner voice, the one that whispers to me when something isn’t right, has been my greatest guide to making better choices.

    4. Positive change starts with self-love.

    Self-love is not just a buzzword. It’s the armor you wear against people who try to break you down. It’s telling yourself that you deserve better, even if you don’t fully believe it yet, and taking action to create better, even if it’s just one tiny step.

    For me, self-love started when I left my abusive ex-husband and then grew when I started taking care of my body. Sometimes even the smallest act of self-care can help us feel more confident in our worth.

    If you’ve been in an abusive relationship too, remember—you can rebuild and thrive in a life you love!

  • The Real Cost of Living Through a Screen: Breaking Free from Social Media Addiction

    The Real Cost of Living Through a Screen: Breaking Free from Social Media Addiction

    “Never hold yourself back from trying something new just because you’re afraid you won’t be good enough. You’ll never get the opportunity to do your best work if you’re not willing to first do your worst and then let yourself learn and grow.” ~Lori Deschene

    “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked my mother for the third time during our lunch together.

    She sighed, put down her fork, and said something that still haunts me: “I’ve gotten used to competing with your phone for your attention.”

    I looked down at my phone, Instagram still glowing on the screen, and saw myself through her eyes: a twenty-nine-year-old man more invested in strangers’ lives than his own mother’s stories.

    I’m not alone in this struggle.

    Studies show the average person spends two and a half hours daily on social media, with 210 million people worldwide believed to suffer from social media addiction.

    But statistics didn’t matter to me until I saw how my own addiction was unraveling the fabric of my life.

    How My Freelance Dreams Almost Died in My Social Media Feed

    My freelance business was crumbling, one scroll at a time. What started as “just checking Twitter for networking” turned into a daily nightmare of missed deadlines and disappointed clients.

    One morning, I opened my inbox to find three separate messages from clients asking about overdue projects. Was it that I was overpromising or improperly managing my time?

    The truth was painful: I’d spent too much time consuming other freelancers’ “success stories” on LinkedIn, taking away from doing the work to create my own.

    My portfolio website sat untouched for months while I obsessed over others’ perfectly curated project showcases.

    A long-term client who’d promised to refer me to his network quietly stopped responding to my emails after I delivered their project a week late.

    Projects that should have taken three focused hours stretched into two distracted days, filled with anxiety and self-doubt.

    Facing the Real Person Behind the Screen

    After losing an important client for “not meeting expectations,” I was forced to face an uncomfortable truth: Social media wasn’t my problem—it was my symptom.

    I was using other freelancers’ highlight reels as a form of self-sabotage.

    Every “hustle harder” and “how I made $10,741 last month” post became an excuse to stay paralyzed in comparison mode.

    Rather than pitching new clients, I’d spend hours studying other freelancers’ portfolios. Instead of improving my skills, I’d scroll through Twitter threads promising “Ten secrets to six-figure freelancing.”

    The harder truth?

    My social media addiction was masking a deeper fear: the fear of actually putting myself out there and risking real failure. It was easier to live vicariously through others’ success stories than write my own.

    Every time I felt the anxiety of an approaching deadline or the uncertainty of reaching out to new clients, I’d reach for my phone. The temporary escape of scrolling had become my security blanket.

    My wake-up call came through numbers I couldn’t ignore: I had spent 458 hours on social media in the past three months—enough time to have completed a skills boot camp, started writing a book, or acquired several new professional certifications.

    Instead, I had nothing to show for those hours except an intimate knowledge of strangers’ business journeys.

    Building a New Foundation

    My initial changes were small but significant:

    • I moved my phone to another room during work hours.
    • I created a “fear list” documenting what I was really avoiding when I reached for social media.
    • I set up website blockers during my designated deep work hours.
    • I established a morning routine that began with action, not consumption.

    The most powerful change was implementing what I call the “Create Before Consume” rule: I wasn’t allowed to look at any social media until I’d created something of value that day—whether that was client work, improving my skills, or building my own business.

    Each time I felt the urge to check social media, I asked myself, “Am I using this as a tool, or am I using it as an escape?” The answer was uncomfortable but transformative.

    Nine times out of ten, I was avoiding something important—a challenging project, a difficult client conversation, or the nagging feeling that I wasn’t living up to my potential.

    The shift from passive consumer to active creator wasn’t just about productivity—it was about reclaiming my identity as a professional.

    Each focused hour became a small victory, each completed project a testament to what I could achieve when I stopped hiding behind my screen.

    The Thirty-Day Journey That Changed Everything

    I decided to change my relationship with social media rather than avoiding it. First, I had to rewire my brain to stop associating every free moment with reaching for my phone.

    Instead of mindlessly scrolling, I trained myself to pause and reflect on why I was opening an app in the first place. Was it out of boredom, habit, or genuine intention?

    Here’s what happened during my thirty-day detox.

    Week 1: The Withdrawal Was Physical

    I started keeping a journal of the moments I reached for my phone.

    One entry reads: “Reached for phone forty-seven times before noon. Feel empty, anxious. Why is sitting with my own thoughts so terrifying?”

    Week 2: Rediscovering Lost Connections

    I called my mother—actually called her, not just liked her Facebook posts. We talked for two hours. She told me stories about her childhood I’d never heard before. “This is the first real conversation we’ve had in years,” she said.

    Week 3: The Productivity Breakthrough

    After being unmotivated for a couple of weeks, I discovered I could complete work in three hours that previously took all day.

    My clients noticed the change. One of them even told me, “Great work! It’s clear whatever you’re doing is working—keep it up!”

    Hearing that feedback reaffirmed just how powerful it can be to take control of your digital habits.

    Week 4: Finding Real Joy in Self-Development

    The most profound change came when I replaced mindless scrolling with intentional learning.

    I committed to reading “Deep Work” by Cal Newport. The irony wasn’t lost on me—I’d saved that book to my “to read” list months ago, right between watching productivity TikToks and Instagram tutorials.

    For the first time in years, I experienced what true focus felt like.

    I started each morning with two hours of uninterrupted learning. Instead of scrolling through LinkedIn success stories, I was creating content and completing projects of my own.

    Breaking Free: What Actually Works

    Through my journey, I discovered some counterintuitive truths about breaking social media addiction:

    1. Cold turkey doesn’t work long-term. Instead, create “social media hours,” designated times when you allow yourself to check platforms.

    2. Replace virtual connections with real ones. I now have “coffee dates” with friends instead of messenger chats.

    3. Practice mindful usage: Before opening any social media app, I ask myself, “What am I seeking right now?” Usually, it’s connection, validation, or escape from uncomfortable emotions.

    4. Create before consuming. I spend my mornings writing or creating rather than scrolling through others’ creations.

    The Ongoing Journey

    Six months later, I still use social media but differently.

    I’ve rebuilt relationships I nearly lost.

    Most importantly, I’m present in my own life.

    The real revelation wasn’t about social media being inherently bad—it was about how easily we can lose ourselves in the virtual world while the real one passes us by.

  • How I’ve Become My Own Source of Love and Reassurance

    How I’ve Become My Own Source of Love and Reassurance

    “Create a safe space within yourself that no one will ever find, somewhere the madness of this world can never touch.” ~Christy Ann Martine

    Losing my grandmother was like losing the one person who had always been my anchor. She was my steady rock, my quiet cheerleader, and the only person who truly made me feel that I was perfectly fine, just as I was. I never had to pretend around her or hide my mistakes or messiness.

    She had this way of being present and calm, even when life around us wasn’t, and that gave me a sense of security that, looking back, I had leaned on more than I ever realized.

    Her gentle spirit taught me what unconditional love looked and felt like, and without fully realizing it, I relied on her presence to keep me grounded and to make sense of things when everything else felt uncertain.

    In my eulogy to her at her funeral, I called her “The Mary Poppins of Grandmas, practically perfect in every way.” And she was perfect in my eyes; she always will be.

    When she passed, I felt an incredible emptiness; upon receiving the news, I fell to the floor. I was alone, I couldn’t muster up the strength to lift myself from the floor, and I was crying so hard I started choking. I crawled to the bathroom, thinking I was going to throw up. I was leaning up against the bathtub, sobbing, when a strange sense of peace came over me.

    I started to calm down, and the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” popped into my head, creating an earworm repeatedly playing the song. I got up from the bathroom floor, grabbed my phone, and posted a video of the song on my social media profile. I found out later that day that that song was my grandma’s favorite.

    It felt like I’d lost not just her but a part of myself—something I had unknowingly depended on for so long. Her love was a mirror that allowed me to see my worth; I wasn’t sure how to recognize it without her. The grief of her loss was profound, but underneath that grief, I knew something else was stirring. I needed to find the consistency she had provided, but this time, it had to come from within.

    My journey toward healing began with the understanding that if I wanted to feel whole, I had to become that steady, loving presence for myself.

    For so long, I had looked to others for validation, believing that if I gave enough, worked hard, and stayed flexible, I’d finally receive the desperately desired acceptance. But when she was gone, something clicked—I realized no one else could fill that space in my life. It was up to me to find that security within.

    In the beginning, it felt like too much to take on. I faced layers of emotions and beliefs that had been there for as long as I could remember, and the thought of working through all of it was intimidating.

    I saw how often I had tied my sense of worth to what I could offer others, how I felt I needed to prove myself through giving, and how I had relied on external reassurance instead of my inner validation. I had learned to take on the role of the fixer, the supporter, and the giver, often without realizing that I had neglected to support and care for myself.

    With time, I began to understand that, like my grandmother, I needed to cultivate a constant, gentle presence within me that I could turn to, no matter what. I needed to become my safe place, someone I could rely on for kindness and encouragement.

    One of the first steps was creating rituals that mirrored the warmth and steadiness she had always provided me. I would sit quietly each morning, meditating on gratitude and journaling about my worth before I began my day. These small, intentional acts became a way to ground myself, check in, and create a sense of stability in my life.

    I wasn’t naturally good at setting boundaries—I would get an anxious feeling in my stomach when it came to saying no. I was always worried that if I said no, the other person would stop coming around, or I would hurt their feelings, and I would guilt myself.

    Eventually, I reached a point where I knew I had to change things. I was allowing myself to be taken advantage of repeatedly. It went into a pattern of me giving too much, then resenting the other person or people involved and not realizing that the problem was me.

    If I didn’t start respecting my limits, I’d have nothing left to give. Little by little, I practiced saying no without offering a reason or apologizing. It wasn’t easy. It felt foreign at first, like I was somehow selfish for doing it. But with each boundary, I began to feel a new sense of inner strength that I hadn’t felt before. It was like I was finally treating myself with the same kindness I tried to give everyone else.

    Learning to sit with my emotions instead of running from them was the most challenging part. I understood that grief wasn’t something you just “get over.” It’s something you learn to live with. I stopped pushing away the sadness and let myself fully feel it, allowing it to come and go without judgment.

    There were times when it felt overwhelming, but it was also healing. In those moments, I felt almost as if she was still with me, her presence comforting me as if saying, “It’s okay to feel this. It’s okay to let yourself grieve.”

    Through this, I began rediscovering parts of myself I had set aside. I allowed myself to get creative again, expressing things I’d bottled up without worrying about how it would come across. I started journaling daily, writing about my dreams, fears, and memories. These weren’t just words on a page—they were my way of healing, piece by piece, as I found my way back to feeling whole again.

    As time went on, I began to notice a shift. I felt a growing sense of worth that wasn’t based on anyone’s approval. I didn’t feel the same need to prove myself. I slowly accepted my flaws, realizing self-love doesn’t mean perfection. It means patience and the willingness to keep showing up for myself, especially on the tough days.

    My grandmother’s passing taught me one of the biggest lessons of my life: I could be my safe place. I could build a life where I feel valued and loved from within without relying on anyone else to create that for me.

    Of course, there are still days when I slip back into old habits, looking for validation outside myself, but now I know I have everything I need inside. Her memory stays with me as a reminder of strength and love—two things she taught me through how she lived.

    For anyone struggling to find that sense of inner peace, I hope sharing my story shows you it’s within reach. It’s a journey; it takes time, patience, consistency, and commitment, but it’s worth it. Otherwise, you will never gain the sense of peace you deserve. In doing this, I’ve found a calm and self-assurance I never imagined. And I believe that’s something my grandmother would be proud of.

  • To the Parent Who’s Stressing About Being Imperfect

    To the Parent Who’s Stressing About Being Imperfect

    “Your greatest contribution to the universe may not be something you do, but someone you raise.” ~Unknown

    Have you ever heard the saying, “Mama knows best” or “If mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy”? Honestly, who decided that moms should know everything and that the entire emotional balance of the home rests solely on their shoulders? Isn’t Mom a human too? A beautiful soul navigating this life, trying to figure things out just like everyone else? How is it fair that we pile all the pressure onto this one person—the keeper of the schedules, the task doer, the tender space for everyone to fall?

    It’s no wonder the pressure on moms today is sky-high. We carry expectations that are impossible to meet—being nurturing yet productive, selfless yet balanced. And let’s not forget about dads, who often get a bad rap for not doing things “as well as mom.”

    We need to take a step back. Both parents are human. They come into parenting with their own limiting beliefs, inner critics, and childhood wounds. Being a parent doesn’t mean you automatically know what you’re doing.

    I’ll never forget the drive home from the hospital with my first son. I was in the backseat, staring at this tiny human, thinking, “They’re really letting us take him home?”

    It hit me, sitting in that glider in his nursery a few weeks later, that I had no idea what I was doing. I tried reading all the books, hoping the answers were tucked in there somewhere. But even after reading the same chapter of Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child at least thirty times, I still felt lost.

    So, I did what felt natural—I called my mom. Surely, she had the answers. But all she said was, “This too shall pass.” At the time, her words made me angry. I didn’t have time for things to pass; I needed solutions. Yet, over the years, I’ve come to realize that she didn’t have all the answers either. None of us do.

    This journey of figuring it out—of reading books, blogs, and consulting my mom—lasted for many years. I wanted so badly to be a good mom. I was a good mom. I loved my kids deeply, left little notes in their lunch boxes, tucked them in at night, and kept them safe with helmets and seatbelts. But as he grew, so did the struggles, and often, so did my fear.

    When my son was in elementary school, he began struggling terribly. At first, I thought maybe he just needed a little extra encouragement. But when he would cry at homework or tear up on our way to school, I knew it was deeper. He would rush through his work just so he could turn in his tests at the same time as the other “smarter” kids. School was overwhelming for him, and it was crushing me to watch.

    Eventually, he was diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. I was relieved to know he had support now, but the meetings, the individualized education programs, the tutoring—all of it weighed on me.

    Sitting in those meetings with teachers and specialists, I’d feel a tightness in my chest and tears spilling over. I wanted him to have an easier path, but I was realizing that I couldn’t just “fix” it. I was the mother, the one who was supposed to protect him, but I was helpless in the face of these challenges he would have to navigate on his own. My heart ached for him, and I often felt ashamed of my own emotional unraveling.

    Reflecting back, I see how much of those tears were for him—and for me. I was spread too thin. Work was overwhelming, my marriage was strained, and I had little left to give. My life felt like a juggling act, and each new challenge threatened to tip the balance. The layers of fear, responsibility, and love were always there, piling up, and I felt the weight of every single one.

    And then came the teenage years. Those years where the stakes felt higher, where choices carried more weight, and where my fear around his decisions—who he spent time with, the roads he might choose—grew even stronger.

    I remember one day, standing in the garage in an argument with him. The tension was thick, and we were both yelling—my fear bursting out as anger. I don’t even remember what we were arguing about; it’s a blur. But the shame and guilt afterward were so clear.

    The truth is, every stage of my son’s life brought forward a new version of myself—a woman, a mother, learning as she went, trying her best to balance it all. My own fear of failure, of not being enough, would surface in unexpected ways. But somewhere along the journey, I realized that my fears and my need for control were driving a wedge between us. And the more I tried to grip tightly, the more I lost sight of the tender love and wonder I wanted to bring into our relationship.

    So, I started working on myself. I went to therapy and hired a coach—not because I was broken, but because I knew I wasn’t showing up as the parent, or the person, I wanted to be.

    Through my healing journey, I learned that my desire to control was rooted in fear—a fear that if I didn’t do everything perfectly, he would somehow slip through the cracks. I feared for his future, that he’d face pain or hardship. But as I began to peel back those layers, I started to see that my fear wasn’t protecting him; it was keeping me from fully loving and trusting him.

    As I did this inner work, something shifted. My approach softened. I wasn’t as reactive or rigid. I found that I could set boundaries from a place of love instead of fear, listen without rushing to fix, and let him make his own choices.

    I became less focused on making sure everything was perfect and more focused on simply being there. I was less afraid, more open—and, truth be told, I began to enjoy life more. I found joy in the little things again, the mundane moments I used to take for granted. And he noticed.

    My children began to see me differently. They told me I was more patient, kinder, and even more fun. This loop of healing—me working on myself, allowing my own growth to ripple into how I showed up for them—created a connection that only grew stronger. The more I invested in myself, the more balanced I felt, and the deeper my love for them became.

    So, what about that old saying, “If mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy”? Perhaps instead we should say, “No one is happy all the time, but if mom is struggling, she needs time and space to address her own issues, and everyone in the house will benefit.” The same goes for Dad. If he’s checked out, he needs to come back to this one life we’re given. Both parents need to heal, grow, and show up for themselves so they can be there fully for their kids.

    Just like the thermostat in your home, if things are too hot or too cold, you adjust it to find comfort. The same goes for parenting. When we take the time to work on ourselves, we create the right environment—not perfect, but balanced and loving—for our children to thrive.

    It’s never too late to start. Let’s embark on this healing journey together so we can show up as the best parents we can be—not because we have all the answers, but because we’re willing to do the work, grow, and love along the way.

  • What I Do Now Instead of Trying to Rescue People

    What I Do Now Instead of Trying to Rescue People

    “A leader leads by example whether he intends to or not.” ~Unknown

    This past year has been a journey—one that cracked me open in ways I never expected.

    It began with life-changing news: I was pregnant with my third child. In August, I welcomed my baby, and as I held that tiny, precious life in my arms, the weight of reality crashed over me. Something had to give. I could not keep moving at the same relentless pace, endlessly pouring myself into others, holding their pain as if it were my own, and giving until there was nothing left. If I continued like this, I would become a shell of myself—a zombie mom, moving through life on vibrate mode, disconnected, exhausted, and lost.

    For years, I had been the person everyone leaned on. The healer, the fixer, the one who never said no. As a therapist, it felt natural to care deeply, to hold space, and to offer whatever I had to those in need. I became so adept at giving that I forgot how to hold anything back for myself.

    I thought that was love. I thought that was worthiness—being the person who could carry it all. But with another baby on the way, I finally saw the truth: If I didn’t change, I would be consumed. I couldn’t keep running on empty, sacrificing myself at every turn, and still be the mother my children deserved. I couldn’t be lost to burnout and depletion.

    So, I made a promise to myself. I would protect my energy. I would honor my own needs. I would stop trying to be a savior.

    “I am not a savior; I am a leader.” This became my mantra, my anchor in moments of doubt and old patterns.

    It reminded me that my worth wasn’t tied to how much I gave or how many burdens I carried. Real healing wasn’t about sacrificing myself; it was about guiding and empowering others—without losing who I was in the process.

    But breaking free of old habits isn’t easy. The reflex to jump in, to rescue, to absorb others’ pain is deeply ingrained. It’s part of who I’ve been for so long that choosing differently feels unnatural, even selfish at times.

    Recently, a friend reached out in distress. Every instinct screamed at me to drop everything and save her. That’s what I always did—rush in, fix it, try to make everything better, even if it meant leaving myself drained and overwhelmed.

    But this time, I paused. I took a breath. I reminded myself: “I am not a savior.” So, instead of absorbing her crisis, I encouraged her to lean on other supports and tap into her own resources. I stayed present, but I didn’t make myself the solution.

    And let me tell you, it was hard. Guilt clawed at me. Doubt whispered that I was abandoning her, that I was failing her. I felt my inner child—the one who learned love was earned through fixing—screaming that I was making a mistake.

    There were moments when it felt like I might break. Watching her struggle triggered every fear and insecurity I carried. But then something remarkable happened—she found her way. She leaned on others, drew on her own resilience, and overcame the challenge.

    By stepping back, I hadn’t let her down—I had lifted her up. I had given her the space to find her strength, to be her own hero. And in doing so, I had freed myself from carrying a burden that was never truly mine to hold.

    The realization left me breathless. By not being the rescuer, I had broken a cycle—a cycle that kept me drained and others dependent. I had shown up in a different way, and it felt terrifyingly unfamiliar but profoundly right.

    I felt pride, relief, and a deep, aching grief. I grieved for all the times I had sacrificed myself, believing it was the only way to be worthy. I grieved for the younger me who thought love could only be earned through self-sacrifice. But I also felt hope—hope that I could lead with compassion and strength without losing myself.

    This journey isn’t easy. The pull to rescue, to absorb, to fix is always there, whispering that I need to be more, to do more. But I’m learning to listen to a different voice—the one that tells me my needs matter too. That I am worthy of care and boundaries. That I can lead without sacrificing myself.

    As I hold my new baby and navigate life with three children, I know there will be times when I slip. Times when I fall back into old patterns, when guilt gnaws at me, and when I feel the weight of everyone else’s needs pressing down. But I’m committed to choosing differently. I refuse to become the zombie mom, lost in everyone else’s expectations and needs. I deserve more. My children deserve more.

    When I protect my energy and honor my needs, I become the mother I want to be. I show up with love, patience, and presence. I am not a savior. I am a leader. And when I choose to break these cycles, I give others permission to do the same. I create space for those around me to find their strength. I lead by example—not by sacrificing myself, but by showing what it means to love deeply without losing who you are.

    So, I keep going. I choose myself, even when it feels hard. I break old patterns, even when it hurts. Because I deserve to be whole. I deserve to be honored. And those I care for deserve a version of me who leads with strength, compassion, and presence—not a shadow of who I used to be. I am not a savior. I am a leader. And that, for the first time in a long time, feels like more than enough.

  • The One Hidden Belief That Was Sabotaging My Business

    The One Hidden Belief That Was Sabotaging My Business

    “If you accept a limiting belief, then it will become a truth for you.” ~Louise Hay

    When I first set out to create my business, I poured all my hopes and energy into it working tirelessly, learning, refining, and investing. Since childhood, I knew I wanted to do my own thing. Something that felt meaningful to me. But despite all my best efforts, the success and sense of support and steadiness I longed for always felt out of reach.

    I chalked it to timing, or not doing enough, or missing something others had that I couldn’t put my finger on. But all along, what was behind the stuckness was a force I’d never considered—conditioning.

    Conditioning is the learned behaviors and beliefs we adopt as children to feel safe, loved, and accepted. These patterns become so ingrained that we don’t realize they follow us into adulthood. But do they ever, shaping how we approach everything, including our ambitions and relationships.

    My own deconditioning journey has spanned years and, my goodness, the layers… but one of the densest and most sabotaging was this: I was raised to believe that being misunderstood was unsafe.

    My childhood experiences taught me that expressing myself with honesty or assertiveness could come at a mega cost, and I carried this lesson into my life and business (like nobody’s business), without even realizing it.

    As I began to share my work with the world, I felt an anxious compulsion to prove myself and my approach exhaustively. I couldn’t shake the picture of a hostile audience judging every word I wrote or spoke, so instead of focusing on how my work could solve a problem for potential clients, I was caught up in an endless loop of over-explaining, justifying, and defending my ideas—before anyone even questioned them.

    I wasn’t marketing my work as much as I was making a case in a courtroom of my own projection. It was the worst. It drained my energy, sabotaged my business, and made showing up for it feel like a rerun of a past I thought I’d outgrown.

    Seeing this and other aspects of my conditioning for what it was (distinct from me and a coping mechanism from the past) took a lot work. My unique path included estranging from toxic family dynamics, moving from Brooklyn to a very calm corner of Italy, quitting alcohol and cigarettes, and hiring a coach who understood where I came from and where I wanted to go and could go as deep with me as I knew was required.

    I don’t believe it’s a fair ask to release aspects of our conditioning (regardless of how limiting they are) when our lives and relationships don’t feel safe, and it took creating safety, cogency, and self-trust to start seeing all at the ways coping had kept me from thriving.

    The first step toward breaking free of the anxious over-explaining pattern was noticing how it felt in my body. I’d feel the anxiety rise, and then survival mode would take over whenever I tried to communicate my work with directness.

    More than once, my jaw would lock, my head would go fuzzy, and my throat would collapse if too much truth, confidence, or opinion came to the surface.

    This wasn’t a personality quirk; it was an echo of the past, manifesting in the present.

    Inner child work was the medicine for this—when those feelings welled up and the impulse to shut down or over-explain would come up, I’d picture little me sitting on my lap and I’d hold her through the fear, reminding her that she was feeling the past, not the present. That she wasn’t alone in this and wouldn’t be ever again. And then I’d lean in and say the thing.

    As I sat with those feelings, acknowledging them instead of letting them direct my actions, something shifted. I was re-parenting that vulnerable part of me that had once believed it was dangerous to be seen and heard and showing her that we could walk past those fear thresholds together. And so, we have, more and more every day.

    Letting go of this need to defend myself, I found both clarity and a sturdier sense of being safe in my own skin than when I only had the conditioning to protect me.

    And when it came to my work and business, my focus could center on what truly mattered: serving my clients and making my work clear and accessible, not to the critic within but to people, real people who are looking for change.

    The impact was immediate. Communicating with clients became smoother, and even tasks I’d once dreaded—like getting on sales calls—felt natural, grounded, and friendly. It opened the door to a new kind of productivity, one fueled by purpose rather than “headless chicken” survival. Thank heavens. Really.

    If you’re finding it difficult to make things happen as you envisioned them, it may not be about working harder or finding the perfect moment. It could be that unseen patterns of conditioning are guiding your actions, just as they were guiding mine.

    The beauty of recognizing these patterns is the freedom that opens up.

    When you let go of outdated beliefs and create space to move forward from a grounded, present, clear-eyed place, ambitions start to feel within reach because the truth is, they kind of are.

    What can feel impossible or out of reach or alignment becomes so much less charged and so much more achievable when we’re no longer fighting these unseen barriers.

    It isn’t always easy work, and it requires a commitment to challenge familiar beliefs, reach for support, and sometimes make some big changes. But if you’re willing to face your hidden patterns, you might just find that what you want is far closer than it once seemed.

  • Divorce: A Portal to Reclaiming My Authentic Self

    Divorce: A Portal to Reclaiming My Authentic Self

    “The only journey is the one within.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke

    Navigating life after divorce has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but divorce also contained the best gifts I have ever received. My whole world was shaken up and rearranged. The shake-up included a loss of career and becoming a mostly solo parent on top of the divorce.

    From the rubble of my old life, I got the chance to build something new, authentic, and fresh. Divorce was a painful portal to powerfully reclaiming myself and my life. Through the rebuilding process, I found strength and clarity in ways I never expected.

    Before my divorce, I felt anxious all the time, trapped in a constant cycle of wondering if I could be happier and if the problem was me, him, or us. I stayed in an agonizing limbo of “not bad enough to leave, not good enough to stay” for about five years.

    My husband at the time would ask, “Why can’t you just be happy with what you have?” The question hit me like a punch to the gut. Why couldn’t I? I was constantly questioning myself and my worth.

    Looking back on it now, I see that was the wrong question. My husband at the time was largely deflecting from the issues I was bringing to him and making it about me being perpetually unhappy as some kind of default. But it was true that I had inner work to do, and it was up to me to figure out what would make me happy.

    I tried everything to fix myself and the marriage—therapy, couples counseling, countless self-help books, and coaching. But the sense of loneliness persisted, especially around parenting, community, and spirituality.

    The key challenges that made my marriage deeply unsatisfying for me were money, sex, emotional connection, and identity. For the first three we didn’t share the same values and there was constant friction. Underneath all of that misalignment in the relationship, though, was the fact that my identity had been swallowed up.

    First in our company, which was his dream, but I worked tirelessly in it, and then in my role as a mom. But who was I, just for myself? That was the better question.

    Eventually, what gave me the strength to leave the marriage was simply giving myself permission to want what I wanted based on knowing who I truly was and believing that whatever was best for me was also best for everyone in my life. I believe all the models of self-help and self-care that I tried contributed to this realization.

    I had to believe that I could stand on my own, which was terrifying. But as I started taking small steps, each step, even the hardest ones, gave me the energy to keep going. I began to rebuild something real, authentic, and new.

    Of course, it’s impossible to distill the five-year-plus journey into easy steps or “hot” tips. But I want to attempt to narrow it down to the six key insights that got me through, in the hopes it can inspire others too.

    These are the six steps I took to use divorce as a portal to reclaim my authentic self.

    1. I gave myself permission to want what I wanted.

    For so long, I didn’t even know what I wanted. It was buried under years of trying to make everything work and thinking about what others wanted. It felt scary and uncomfortable to give myself permission to truly explore my desires, but once I did everything began to shift.

    I admitted to myself that I was ambitious in my own right, that I wanted my own business, and I wasn’t satisfied playing the key supporting role in the family business. I uncovered the secret longing I had for an exciting and equal romantic partnership where I felt seen and valued for the insights, fun, and hard work I bring to my relationships.

    Letting myself know what I wanted, taking those swirling locked-up longings from deep inside and forming them into solid words to be spoken out loud—that was the first step toward reclaiming my identity.

    2. I identified my core values.

    I took time to reflect on what truly mattered to me. Somewhere along the way I had merged values with my husband and his family. I needed to re-evaluate which ones were truly mine. This meant questioning everything from how I approached money to what emotional connection meant to me.

    My core personal values of wholeheartedness and adventurousness weren’t engrained in my career nor were they present in my day to day.  While there was nothing inherently dishonest about my life with my husband, our family wasn’t living in the deepest integrity that I longed for.

    When I was able to let go of the values that no longer represented me, there was room to discover my true values, which I had suppressed.

    3. I worked through old beliefs that were keeping me stuck.

    The old narratives that had kept me stuck in my marriage for so long didn’t go away overnight. It took time to unpack them and let go of the guilt, fear, and limiting beliefs that were holding me back.

    Particularly sticky was the belief that I was responsible for everyone’s feelings and coping abilities, even grown adults older than myself. Even after we separated, I felt responsible for how my ex was coping and the things he was choosing to do. But once I started working through these mental roadblocks, many of them newly emerging from my subconscious, I felt a sense of freedom I hadn’t experienced in years.

    4. I allowed myself dream big—even when it felt impossible.

    At the height of my separation, I was overwhelmed by tough decisions—parenting, finances, and the legal process. It felt ridiculous to even think about my dreams, but doing so gave me momentum. Dreaming big gave me a vision for a brighter future, one where I could live authentically. So my message for you is to allow yourself to dream, even when life feels heavy.

    5. I set boundaries—both internal and external.

    Learning to set boundaries, especially internal ones, helped me protect my energy and focus on rebuilding my life. Whether it was saying “no” to things that drained me or distancing myself from unhealthy dynamics, boundaries were crucial for me to maintain the new connection I had made with my authentic self. The new connection was tender and needed protection.

    6. I took small, empowering actions.

    Dreaming big was the most important step, but taking small actions was the only way to really feel like things were possible and manageable. Every little action created a ripple effect, surprising me with how much I could accomplish when I started small.

    For example, I wanted to become financially free, a multi-layered goal that would take years, so I started with a one-year goal to read six financial literacy books and make a budget. I committed to the small action of reading for five minutes a day and simply recording current expenses on a spreadsheet. I logged my progress in a daily habit tracker.

    For my big dream of finding an equal partner, I knew that I would need to be grounded and confident, so I committed to meditating ten minutes a day. There were other bigger leaps that had to be taken along the way of course, but those small daily habits really changed me. Now I read and meditate easily for hours a day, and I relish the time, but I remember when I first started how hard it felt to do even five minutes.

    —

    It took me years, close to a decade, to reflect on and finally see the steps I took to get to where I am today. I hope it doesn’t take that long for anyone reading this who is navigating divorce. Please use these and apply them to your own situation. I hope they serve as a reminder that even though the journey is hard, there’s immense strength, growth, and rebirth waiting on the other side. Go get it!

  • The Most Important Pieces of My Cancer Coping Plan

    The Most Important Pieces of My Cancer Coping Plan

    “Health is the greatest possession. Contentment is the greatest treasure. Confidence is the greatest friend.” ~Lao Tzu

    When dealing with a serious health issue or life challenge, we can choose to navigate through it to the light or bury ourselves in its darkness. While it’s not always easy to find the light, it’s a much easier place to survive in and, in the long run, is much healthier. This way of being has helped me on my recent health journeys.

    Twice in the past twenty-three years, I have received the news of a breast cancer diagnosis. Both incidences were completely different and unrelated. This is my story, and how looking for the light is so important in the face of adversity.

    My first cancer diagnosis was in 2001 when I was forty-seven, received days before the horrific events of 9/11.

    DCIS, an early form of breast cancer, was discovered through my annual mammogram. I was given the choice to have a lumpectomy and radiation or a mastectomy and reconstruction. I opted for the latter because I didn’t want to spend subsequent days, months, and years worrying about a possible recurrence. Plus, back then, radiation was more dangerous and not as refined and focused as it is today.

    At the time, I was living in a small town in Florida and decided to travel to California for the best doctor to treat this type of cancer. It wasn’t easy being separated from my three children under the age of eighteen. In the end, it was the right choice and eventually led to a subsequent move to California, the place of my dreams. So sometimes going through difficult challenges can lead to better things.

    After I had surgery, my husband Simon and I stayed in California for two weeks before returning home to Florida. I slowly got used to my new body’s landscape since my diagnosis and diligently continued to go for my annual mammograms, watching my only breast being squished between those two sheets of glass.

    Tears would trickle down my face, triggered by the loss of the breast that fed my three children. During my meditations, I expressed gratitude for my life and remaining breast.

    I tried to bring the light into my life whenever possible by engaging in self-care activities. I surrounded myself with loving and thoughtful people and tried to disconnect from those who had less hopeful attitudes.

    Five years later, during a routine blood test, I found out that I had multiple myeloma, a rare type of blood cancer affecting the plasma cells. In short, it turns healthy cells into unhealthy ones.

    I had no symptoms at the time, but was told that I’d need bloodwork every three months to make sure that the disease did not progress, and that down the road there was a chance I would need to undergo treatment for this incurable type of blood cancer.

    The fear of enduring another cancer overcame me, and I researched the best integrative physicians in Los Angeles to help me navigate this new terrain. For eighteen years my myeloma was what was called “smoldering” because I had no symptoms, but my blood test continued to show high protein levels—a sign that the disease was present.

    Each day I swallowed handfuls of vitamins to ward off any further disease progression. I met and consulted with the best doctors and researchers at the Mayo Clinic and Cedar Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles. I was told that everybody’s case was different, but at one point treatment would be unavoidable.

    My second breast cancer diagnosis came in 2024, not long before celebrating my seventieth birthday. I was feeling fine, and it was still a few months before my scheduled annual mammogram when I noticed that my right nipple had inverted.

    A mammogram, biopsy, and MRI revealed lobular breast cancer, which is more aggressive than DCIS. I ended up having another mastectomy and reconstruction. Much to my chagrin, I also needed radiation. Thankfully, because my Onco Type DX Score—a score given from 0 to 100 indicating the likelihood of breast cancer returning—was low at only 9, I did not need chemotherapy.

    I am not generally a fearful person, although I am prone to depression and holding feelings in. I continued to try to keep clear of those who were living more in the light than in the dark because it triggered feelings of depression. The entire experience triggered reminders of my first breast cancer experience, coupled with increasing fear and sadness.

    Once again, I had to get used to my new personal physical landscape of implants taking the place of my real breasts. Much had evolved surgically in the twenty-three years since my last surgery, and the recovery seemed easier.

    The radiation, however, took a lot out of me. In addition to shrink-wrapping my newly constructed breast, I encountered sheer exhaustion during the six weeks of radiation five days a week.

    Unfortunately, during my hospitalization for this second mastectomy and reconstruction, my hemoglobin dropped significantly. This signaled to my doctors that my myeloma might be becoming active.

    They scheduled a bone marrow biopsy and found that 90% of my marrow had cancer cells. This was shocking news. My oncologist had been suggesting treatment to ward off progression, but I declined and said that I would rather wait until I was symptomatic.

    He had been very patient with me wanting to do it my way, combining Eastern and Western medicine, mainly because he knew that each case was different, and he honored my intuition about my body. However, he did tell me that there would be a time when he would say that I had no choice but to begin treatment, and unfortunately, it had arrived. He suggested I heal from my surgery before beginning.

    The hemoglobin drop made me feel very uncharacteristically tired. I had been an active person, hiking and working out with a trainer, so having no energy was very difficult for me, plus being active is also a way to fend off depression.

    I’d always been an advocate of listening to my body, and now I felt that my body was telling me that it was time for treatment that involved weekly injections at the hospital and taking a handful of medications at home to fend off any side effects.

    I never really understood the concept of “chemo brain” until now, but I truly feel I cannot think clearly. It challenges my lifelong passion for writing and creating.

    I’ve decided to continue to listen to my body—to rest when it asks to rest and move when it’s time to move.

    During the course of my three cancers, I went from being mad at my body for putting me through all of this to respecting the temple that has kept me alive. I’ve accepted that I cannot be as productive, and that spending a day with one or all of my six grandchildren was more healing than writing any article or a book.

    All in all, my healing had many layers—emotional, psychological, and physical. Compounding that with the fact that I was to live with an incurable cancer that would probably need treatment for the rest of my life, I was left feeling quite depressed.

    I decided I could not manage alone without the assistance of an antidepressant, which would just keep my head above water. I wanted to thrive and just needed that little bit of support.

    I maintained my sanity by deferring to self-care modalities, many of which I used in my younger years and during challenging times in my life, such as writing, meditation, listening to music, exercising, and connecting with friends.

    There’s one song that inspired my way of being, and that was Gloria Gaynor’s song, “I Will Survive.” The lyrics became my mantra.

    Cancer survivors can wear many faces. We might have a public face, and we might have a private face. True healing and recovery depend on the support of loved ones and trusted medical professionals.

    My physicians were very caring and kind, and I’ll never forget the words of my first oncologist when he gave me my diagnosis: “If this experience doesn’t rivet you, nothing will. You’ll never look at life in the same way.” He was right.

    My oncologist’s words continue to echo in my mind. From a physical standpoint, I can acknowledge and accept that my body will never look and feel the same. My daily glances in the mirror are a constant reminder of my journey. In spite of looking a little better when I’m dressed, when I’m unclothed, there’s no escaping the fact that I’ve had breast cancer—I have the scars to prove it.

    I can hide under my clothing, my covers, or in my closet, but in the shower and during lovemaking, I cannot hide, so I’ve taught myself to accept my newly transformed body.

    People say that scars give us character, and I’ve worked hard to convince myself of this supposed truth. I tell myself that the scars don’t really matter because the important thing is that I’ve survived, even though the moment I heard my doctor’s words, all I wanted to do was hide.

    As survivors, we go through many mood changes, but in the end, I believe in the old adage, “From all bad comes good.” I’m cognizant of the importance of being mindful of life’s priorities.

    As mentioned earlier, I’ve come to realize that my writing grounds me, makes me happy, and helps me survive. I also know that I need to surround myself with people who make me feel good about myself and who provide healing energy.

    I suppose this is what intuitively happens when you come face-to-face with your own mortality—you try not to allow people into your life who drain you of the vital life force that is essential for your own healing. For me, doing so made me feel that I was shoring up my spirit’s natural defense mechanisms.

    I’d always been a productive person, and my first cancer diagnosis brought with it a new sense of urgency to continue my writing practice and to share my words and passions with the universe.

    While working on my latest memoir, I made a point of trying to relax and remind myself not to overdo it. I made sure to meditate and work out every day and get a massage and/or acupuncture when I was able to fit these forms of healing into my schedule.

    I decided to express gratitude for my life and all the things I’d taken for granted, such as my family, friends, home, and the time I was able to spend in nature. Given my lifelong commitment to the care of others (I was trained as a registered nurse), I decided to turn that compassion inward and indulge in more self-care. For years I’d put everyone else’s needs first, so it felt good to offer gratitude and kindness to myself.

    Of course, when we’re diagnosed with something like cancer, the possibility of a recurrence is always in the back of our minds—but we have no way to predict the future, so we can only do our best and be compassionate with ourselves and others.

    I have repeatedly told myself that cancer was no longer welcome in my life. I realized that I would thrive as long as I continued to love and, like what psychic Sonia Choquette says, “When you name it, you claim it.” And I am naming to be in the light. That’s my choice.

  • Lessons from Death and Awakening to an Authentic Life

    Lessons from Death and Awakening to an Authentic Life

    “Life doesn’t owe us anything. We only owe ourselves, to make the most of the life we are living, of the time we have left, and to live in gratitude.” ~Bronnie Ware

    Today, I’d like to tell a story about death.

    It’s a word that tends to shift the energy in a room, isn’t it? People tense up, lean back, or grow silent. Death is often seen as morbid, something to avoid or fear. But I’ve come to see it differently. The more we speak about death with openness and reverence, the less heavy and frightening it feels.

    My earliest experiences of death were when my grandparents passed away. I remember the moment my parents told us about one of my grandfather’s deaths. The atmosphere was so tense, so thick with unspoken grief. I was five or six and wanted to laugh. It wasn’t disrespect or indifference—I now realize it was my body’s way of releasing the unbearable tension in the room.

    But the most profound experience of death came when my mother passed away. I was twenty-six. Almost twenty years ago. She had cancer.

    I spent long, quiet days with her in that stark, clinical hospital room. I vividly remember the stairs—climbing them one at a time, deliberately slow, as if dragging my feet might delay the inevitable. Each step felt heavy, as though I could somehow resist the truth waiting on that floor.

    I remember not knowing what to say or do, especially as she told me, “It’s hard.”

    I think she held back her tears for my sake, just as I held back mine for hers.

    Part of us denied the truth. Part of us clung to hope. And part of us knew the inevitable was coming.

    Looking back, I wish we had cried together. I wish we had allowed ourselves to fully feel the grief, the sadness, the heaviness of it all. Instead, we put on brave faces, trying to protect each other. But what were we protecting? We were both struggling.

    If I knew then what I know now, I would have approached her final days differently. I would have offered her a soft space to breathe, to release, to let go of the grasping. I would have guided her into that transition with love, reminding her she was returning to the beautiful energy of the universe, back to the souls she loved.

    I would have told her I loved her. Many times over those last few weeks together.

    I carried the weight of guilt for years, particularly over not being with her in the exact moment she passed. She transitioned in the middle of the night while my sister and I were sleeping at home.

    But now, I choose to believe she wasn’t alone. Perhaps she was supported by the unseen forces in the soul field, her guides, and her loved ones on the other side. No one knows what happens after we die, but I find this thought comforting.

    I’ve come to believe we need to talk about death—not to dwell on it but to embrace its truth. Death is part of life. It’s a cycle—a beginning, a middle, and an end.

    When I returned to Florida after her passing, I was in shock. Everything felt different, small compared to the immensity of what I had just experienced. Parties and drinking no longer appealed to me. My relationship felt empty, and I couldn’t even remember why I was in it. My job felt meaningless.

    Death had brought to my attention a way deeper understanding of impermanence, driving a quiet urgency to reevaluate my life. Not a frantic urgency but a deep realization that life is short. Life is precious. That realization was life-affirming.

    Each breath matters. Each moment matters. It made me ask:

    • Where am I spending my energy?
    • With whom?
    • What am I serving?
    • What am I contributing to this world?

    This questioning was the beginning of my expansion. It wasn’t linear—there were steps forward and plenty backward—but it set me on a path toward alignment with my evolving truth.

    I believe we must live with an awareness of death. Not just intellectually but deeply, in our bones. When we truly embody the knowledge that we will die—perhaps even today—it reshapes how we live.

    Buddhist teachings encourage meditating on death, imagining one’s own passing. It’s not morbid; it’s clarifying. If you knew you might die today, how would you live?

    In The Top Five Regrets of the Dying, Bronnie Ware shares wisdom from her years as a palliative care nurse. These are the most common regrets she heard:

    1. “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”

    2. “I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.”

    3. “I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.”

    4. “I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.”

    5. “I wish I had let myself be happier.”

    These resonate deeply with me. When my mother passed, I unknowingly began a journey to align my life with these truths. I’ll admit I’m still working on the five of them. Life has a way of distracting us from what matters most.

    But this is my reminder to myself—and to you—as we near the end of the year:

    Slow down. Take a step back. Reflect on how far you’ve come and where you want to go next.

    My wish for you is to reflect on this. Let the thought of your mortality infuse your life with intention—not pressure, but clarity. Maybe you’ll realize that what matters most is spending time with loved ones. Maybe it’s pursuing a dream, letting go of a grudge, or simply savoring the gift of being alive.

  • Dry January: How It Creates Space for a Better Life

    Dry January: How It Creates Space for a Better Life

    “I think this is the start of something really big. Sometimes that first step is the hardest one, and we’ve just taken it.” ~Steve Jobs

    I’ve had a dysfunctional relationship with alcohol for almost as long as I’ve been drinking. I was mostly a binge drinker through college and into my twenties and thirties. I could drink “normally” sometimes, but I never really knew if I would stop at two or ten. Two felt okay, but ten would land me blacked out and barefoot on the bar, which was never a good look for me.

    It scares me now to think about all the things I did after too many Crown and cokes, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. Everyone was drinking heavily. It was part of the culture of the people I surrounded myself with. Hangovers were badges of honor, and blackouts, provided nothing horrible happened, became funny stories to tell the next day over greasy fast food eaten to soak up the vodka from the night before.

    It wasn’t until I got into my forties that I really started to question my relationship with alcohol. In 2016, shortly after turning forty, my drinking went off the rails. At the time I was raising four young children in a blended family, and I was trying to stay afloat in a job that expected more of me than I was capable of giving.

    Despite the stress, by all appearances, I had it all together. Good job, healthy family, a roof over our heads, and a minivan in the garage. But on the inside, I was deeply struggling with depression and anxiety, both worsened by the extent of my drinking.

    As the year went on, things got steadily worse.

    My weekend drinking morphed into drinking one, sometimes two, bottles of wine every night. The hangovers started to last days, taking me out of work and keeping me from showing up for my family. My blackouts got scarier and more frequent, once landing me walking down MacDill Avenue alone and barefoot in the middle of the night with no memory of it the next day. My depression and anxiety became completely unmanageable, to the point that I made attempts on my life twice that year, both times incredibly drunk.

    I tried multiple times over the course of 2016 to stop drinking. But each time, in the back of my mind, I was, as Laura McKowen talks about, looking for the third door. I was sure there was an option between drinking like I was and stopping completely. I wanted so badly to be able to drink “normally,” but every time I stopped and then tried drinking again, I went straight back off the rails.

    Interestingly, it was an ordinary night (or day, really) of drinking in early January 2017 that finally brought me to my knees.

    On January 1, 2017, my husband took the kids to the pool so I could recoup from a cold that I’d been fighting. Instead of resting, I sat on the back porch and drank two bottles of wine. Nothing terrible happened, but I woke up the next morning with a deep knowing that something had to change. I was, quite literally, sick of my own bullshit.

    I once heard John Mayer talk about getting sober, and he said that he asked himself, “Ok John, what percentage of your potential would you like to have?” He decided he wanted 100%, and that couldn’t happen if he kept drinking.

    That January morning, after an ordinary night of drinking, I asked myself the same thing, and it became clear that I was only living up to a fraction of my potential because I spent so much of my time drinking, thinking about drinking, and recovering from drinking.

    I lay in bed that morning for hours with tears of fear and relief streaming down my face. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to stay sober but so relieved that I was calling myself on my own shit. I was finally ready to be done for real.

    Because I was ready at that point, I threw the kitchen sink at it. I journaled, meditated, moved my body, stayed close to quit lit and podcasts on living alcohol-free, and so much more. I made it my number one priority.

    For a while, nothing got as much attention as my recovery. Not my husband. Not my kids. Not keeping up with housework. Nothing. I focused all of my energy on saving my life for several months. And there was guilt around focusing so hard on myself at the expense of giving attention to my family, but, as I look back now, I’d do it again the same way. My husband and my kids have so much more of me now than they did when I was drinking.

    Dry January doesn’t have to be just a month of not drinking; it can be the start of something bigger. It can be the start of building a life that you love. A life that doesn’t have room for alcohol because it is so much better and brighter without it.

    I was able to see this process of getting sober as additive (adding in the practices that support and nourish my whole being) rather than just a subtractive process of giving up alcohol. And this is how I encourage you to look at it. As an opportunity rather than a life sentence. As something joyful and meaningful rather than something punitive. As a chance to build a life you don’t need or want to numb out from.

    Choosing to stop drinking is one of the most courageous decisions you can make. But courage alone isn’t enough; it takes tools, support, and a willingness to try new things to truly thrive.

    If you’re reading this and thinking, “That’s me,” I want you to know you’re not alone. The road to living alcohol-free isn’t easy, but it is possible—and it’s worth every step.

    When I started my journey, these tools became my lifeline. They gave me the structure I needed to reclaim my life, and they can do the same for you.

    Find Connection

    Johann Hari famously said, “The opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety. It’s connection.” Go to meetings (and there are so many options other than AA these days, my favorite being an online meeting platform called The Luckiest Club founded by Laura McKowen).

    Find a sober friend to help you stay accountable.

    Search for sober Facebook groups in your area and post a query for anyone wanting to meet for coffee.

    Lean into the love of your family and friends who may not be sober but support your journey.

    Whatever connection looks like for you, find a place where you can talk about your decision to not drink. Find people who know what it’s like to navigate a world soaked in alcohol without drinking. Talk about the challenges and talk about the triumphs. Whatever you do, don’t keep it inside.

    Find Support

    There are so many avenues for support these days. You can reach out to a therapist or coach. You can engage the help of your primary care doctor. You can find medication-assisted therapy and talk therapy online.

    It’s important to reach out to professionals who can help guide you in the right direction. With so many ideas and recommendations out there for how to quit, it can be incredibly helpful to talk with someone who can help you sift through your options and figure out what will move the needle the quickest.

    Try New Things

    Dry January is the perfect time to try new things. If something sounds interesting, give it a go.

    I tried watercolors, knitting, pulling tarot cards, every type of meditation known to humans, and so much more. Not everything stuck, but trying out different things occupied my time, challenged my mind, and gave me some useful distractions for when cravings hit. The things that did stick (Muse Headband meditations, journaling, and pulling tarot cards) are still the things that I credit with keeping me sober today.

    Meditate

    Meditation has been a game-changer for so many in recovery, and there’s a good reason for that. The smart and rational part of our brain (our prefrontal cortex) largely goes offline when we’re drinking excessively. Meditation is the best way to regain access to this part of the brain that makes healthy decisions.

    There are so many techniques to try. Emotional Freedom Technique, binaural beats, biofeedback (MUSE headband or the like) meditations, guided meditations…just to name a few. It doesn’t matter how you do it, just that you do it. Aim for three to five minutes to start and build from there.

    Educate Yourself

    There are tons of amazing books on sobriety these days. Memoirs and “how to” guides abound. Two of my favorite books for early sobriety are This Naked Mind by Annie Grace and Quit Like a Woman by Holly Whitaker. There are also some great podcasts out there (a quick Google search will point you in the right direction).

    It’s important to hear stories of other people’s struggles and successes. It’s useful to learn about the effects of alcohol on the brain and body. We all know that knowledge is power, and knowing the truth about alcohol very often gives you the power you need to be done.

    As you move into January this year, remember, it’s not about what you’re giving up but what you’re making space for. This month could be the beginning of a deeper transformation, one that helps you uncover the best version of yourself. The tools, support, and determination you need are within reach—this is your moment to take a breath and leap.