Tiny Buddha

Tag: Fear

  • How to Calm Anxiety That’s Rooted in Childhood Wounds

    How to Calm Anxiety That’s Rooted in Childhood Wounds

    “Anxiety is a response to a nervous system that learned early on it had to protect itself.” ~Dr. Hilary Jacobs Hendel

    Anxiety shaped much of my life—how I showed up, how I held myself back, and how I connected with others. For years, I didn’t even know what it was. I just knew the pounding heart, the tight chest, the trembling hands. I knew the shame that followed every “failure,” big or small, and the fear I would never be enough.

    For a long time, I thought I was the problem. But anxiety isn’t a moral failing. It’s a part of me that learned to survive in environments where my emotional needs weren’t met, where fear and shame felt louder than safety.

    Where It Started

    The roots of my anxiety began in childhood.

    I was in first grade when I brought home my school report card and saw that I ranked seventh in my class. At that age, I didn’t know if that was good or bad. I was just excited to tell my dad.

    When he came to pick me up, I smiled and shared the news innocently. Instead of a hug or encouragement, his eyes glared at me. His sharp, aggressive tone cut through me as he shouted, “It’s bad!”

    Looking back, I can see his reaction came from fear—that my performance might limit my future and that shaming me would push me to improve. But as a child, I couldn’t see that. I felt shocked and humiliated. My small body trembled, and my younger brain concluded:

    “I’m only worthy of love if I perform better.”

    The next semester, I ranked third. My dad bragged about it to everyone, and I felt brief relief. But the fear returned quickly:

    “What if I can’t keep this up?”

    That was the beginning of a belief that no matter how much I achieved, I was never “enough.”

    This pattern followed me for decades, surfacing in unexpected places. As an adult, I would freeze with anxiety at gas stations, trembling as I pushed my motorbike forward even when no one was rushing me.

    Eventually, I connected it to another childhood memory: my dad shouting at me to move faster in line at a gas station, his glare and sharp tone burning into me again. When processing this as an adult, I realized he had a good intention—to move things along for the other people waiting. But before I began my healing process, my nervous system was wired to react to the present as if I were reliving the past.

    Even years later, the anxiety lived on in my body, and I didn’t know how to process it.

    The Breaking Point

    I carried this unprocessed anxiety into adulthood. When I was five weeks pregnant, my partner was in a tragic accident that left him in a coma for two weeks before he passed away. Suddenly, I was alone, grieving, and without money to survive.

    I didn’t have the privilege of avoidance anymore. Grief, financial instability, and the responsibility of carrying a child forced me to face emotions I had buried for years.

    This was when I learned the practices that helped me stop spiraling and regain my composure.

    10 Tips That Help Me Prevent and Manage Anxiety

    Important note: These tips are not a substitute for therapy, medication, or professional diagnosis. They are complementary practices to help restore balance and create a sense of safety in the body.

    1. The gratitude shift—turn anxiety into information.

    Instead of berating the intense sensations anxiety brings, I now try meeting it with gratitude. Anxiety is my body’s built-in alarm system.

    When I feel it rising, I say, “Hi, anxiety. I see you doing your job. Thank you for showing up.”

    Then I ask:

    What is this sensation trying to tell me?

    Where is this coming from in my history?

    What action can I take now to feel safer and more supported?

    This small act of acknowledgment makes space to feel more in control and invites curiosity instead of fear.

    2. Slow down and simplify your life.

    Too many distractions can block memories and emotions from surfacing. Simplifying my life gave me mental space for self-awareness.

    I released unnecessary obligations, overpacked schedules, and numbing habits like endless scrolling. When I slowed down, I could finally hear myself and recognize what was driving my anxiety.

    3. Trace the roots through quiet observation (and fasting).

    Closing my eyes and observing the first persistent memories that surface often reveals the root of anxiety.

    When I couldn’t afford therapy, I used intentional fasting to access clarity. (If you decide to give this a try, I recommend consulting with your doctor first. This is my personal spiritual practice, not a universal recommendation.) I started slowly with:

    • A twelve-hour fruit and vegetable fast, then
    • A twelve-hour water fast, then
    • A full-day fast (6 a.m. to 6 p.m.)

    Each time hunger arose, I named my intention out loud through prayer or journaling: “Please show me the root cause of this anxiety and how to release it.”

    Fasting, for me, was a deliberate way to quiet external noise so buried memories and insights could surface.

    4. Catch the first emotion—shock.

    My body often stores layers of pain, and shock is usually the first overwhelming emotion. If I can name it quickly, I can interrupt the spiral.

    For example, when I was feeling overwhelmed as a mother, I’d sometimes snap at my daughter. I’d get frustrated and angry with myself, but after fasting, the memory of my parents snapping at me came up quite vividly.

    Remembering this, I allowed myself to see, acknowledge, experience, and accept how painful and shocking it was for me to be treated that way.

    5. Write in detail what shocked you (and other emotions).

    After naming shock, I write the exact details of what triggered it: the sudden glare, the change in tone, the clenched jaw, the slammed door.

    Then I name the other emotions as honestly as possible: fear, humiliation, sadness, anger, or betrayal—whatever is true in that moment.

    Being radically honest in this process helps me release the experiences that I previously stored as trauma.

    6. Grieve the losses.

    Once I release the shock, I let myself grieve. I cry for the safety, compassion, and respect I needed but didn’t receive.

    Sometimes I use music to amplify the sadness so it can move through me. This isn’t weakness—it’s how the body processes pain instead of storing it.

    7. Name the unmet needs.

    Grief opens the door to understanding my needs.

    “When I was shouted at by my dad after making mistakes, I felt unsafe and ashamed. My need for emotional security was violated.”

    “When I was only praised for achievements, I felt unseen. My need for consistent acceptance was neglected.”

    Naming needs clarifies what’s important so I can ask for it clearly and assertively as an adult. It’s empowering to name the hurt and see how it helps me understand my emotional needs better.

    8. See the context—compassion for your parents’ limitations.

    Fasting and becoming a mother helped me understand the hardship my parents faced. Parenting a neurodivergent child with limited resources, little support, and financial stress is overwhelming.

    This doesn’t excuse the harm, but it helps me hold two truths:

    1. Their actions hurt me.
    2. They were also struggling humans who lacked the tools to parent better.

    This perspective softens resentment and breaks cycles.

    9. Write down the worst-case scenarios.

    While processing the past experiences that have contributed to my anxiety can help decrease anxious feelings in the present, it also helps to challenge how I think about the future.

    When I spiral, my brain floods me with worst-case scenarios. Positive thinking never helped—it only deepened my fear.

    Instead, I confront the fears by writing down every possible worst-case outcome, even the most extreme. I’ve lived through homelessness, earthquakes, and tragic losses. Pretending they couldn’t happen again didn’t work.

    By naming them, I strip them of their power.

    10. Prepare intuitive actions and identify help.

    After writing the worst cases, I ask:

    What is the first intuitive action I can take to prevent or reduce the impact?

    Who is the first person I can contact for help? Who else could I reach out to?

    Writing these down gives me agency. It tells my nervous system, “I’m not helpless. There are things I can do and people I can ask for help.”

    —

    Anxiety is a part of me. Experiencing the spiral because I didn’t know how to name, process, and communicate it sucks.

    I’m still a work in progress when it comes to maintaining composure consistently, but I feel empowered knowing that I’m mastering emotional intelligence—skills I can pass down to my child.

    Healing is not linear, and some steps will feel harder than others. But with consistency, these practices can help you restore a sense of safety, reclaim your agency, and soften the belief that you must always be on high alert.

  • The Invisible Prison Shyness Builds and What Helped Me Walk Free

    The Invisible Prison Shyness Builds and What Helped Me Walk Free

    “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” ~Anaïs Nin

    When I think back on my life, shyness feels like an inner prison I carried with me for years. Not a prison with bars and guards, but a quieter kind—made of hesitation, fear, and silence. It kept me standing still while life moved forward around me.

    One memory stays with me: my eighth-grade dance. The gym was alive with music, kids moving awkwardly but freely on the floor, laughing, bumping into one another, having fun. And there I was in the corner, figuratively stomping paper cups.

    That’s how I remember it—like I was crushing cardboard instead of stepping into life. I can even smile at the image now, but at the time it wasn’t funny. I noticed another girl across the room, also standing alone. She was beautiful. Maybe she was waiting for someone to walk over. But in my mind, she was “out of reach.” My shyness locked me in place, and I never moved.

    It wasn’t a dramatic heartbreak—just another reminder of how many moments slipped by.

    The Pattern of Missed Chances

    That night was only one of many. Over the years I missed far more opportunities than I embraced: the conversations I didn’t start, the invitations I quietly avoided, the women I admired from a distance but never approached.

    Shyness never really served me. I hated it, but it was powerful. I carried it into my adult years, and though I fought hard to loosen its grip, it shaped how I lived and related. Over time I changed; I’d call myself “reserved” now rather than painfully shy. But the shadow is still there.

    Shyness as a Prison

    Shyness isn’t just being quiet. It’s a whole system of fear and self-consciousness: fear in the body, doubt in the mind, and inaction in the world. It feels like safety, but it’s really confinement. It builds walls between you and the very connections you long for.

    I’ve come to see shyness as a kind of “social yips.” Just as an athlete suddenly freezes when overthinking the simplest movement, I froze in moments of connection. I knew what I wanted to do, but my body wouldn’t follow. And like the yips, the more I thought about it, the worse it became. Buddhism later helped me see that the way through wasn’t forcing myself harder but loosening my grip—letting go of self-judgment and stepping into presence.

    Zorba and the Choice to Say Yes

    As I look back, I know not every missed chance would have been good for me. Sometimes the lure of conquest was more about ego than true connection, and saying no spared me mistakes.

    But there’s another kind of moment that still stings. In Zorba the Greek, Kazantzakis has Zorba say, “The worst sin a man can commit is to reject a woman who is beckoning.”

    The point isn’t about conquest—it’s about clinging. If you say yes when life beckons, you can walk away later without wondering forever. You’ve lived it, and it’s complete. But if you turn away, you carry the ghost of what might have been. That ghost clings to you.

    I know that ghost well—the ache of silence, the memory of walking away when I might have stepped forward. Those are the regrets that linger.

    A Buddhist Lens on Shyness

    Buddhism has helped me understand this prison in a new way. The Buddha taught that suffering arises not from life itself but from how we cling to it. My shyness was stitched together from craving, aversion, and delusion.

    The walls of my prison looked solid, but they weren’t. They were only habits of thought.

    Buddhism also teaches dependent origination: everything arises from causes and conditions. My shyness wasn’t my identity. It was the product of temperament, upbringing, culture, and adolescence. If it arose from conditions, it could also fade as conditions changed. It was never “me”—just a pattern I carried.

    And at the heart of it all was attachment to self-image. I was afraid of being judged, of looking foolish, of failing. But meditation taught me that the “self” I was defending was never solid. Thoughts pass, feelings change, identity shifts. When there’s no fixed self to protect, the fear loses its grip.

    Regret Without Clinging

    The memories of shyness still emerge from time to time. They’re not paralyzing anymore—I don’t live locked in that cell—but when they rise, they sting. They make me feel foolish, like a prisoner might feel when looking back on wasted years, replaying choices that can’t be undone.

    What I try to do now is not cling to them. I can see them for what they are: moderately unresolved regrets. They will probably always flicker in my memory. But instead of treating them like permanent failures, I let them pass through. They remind me I am human, that I once hesitated when I longed to act, and that I don’t have to make the same choice now.

    Regret, I’ve learned, can also be a teacher. It shows me what I value most: presence, intimacy, connection. It reminds me not to keep living behind walls of hesitation.

    Buddhism teaches that memory—whether sweet or painful—is something the mind clings to. But the door of the prison has always been unlocked. Freedom comes when we stop pacing the cell and step into the present.

    Saying Yes

    One memory from later in life stands out. I was in my twenties, still shy but trying to push past it. Someone I admired invited me to join a small group heading out after class. Everything in me wanted to retreat, to say no. But that time, I said yes.

    It wasn’t a great romance or life-changing event. We just shared coffee, talked, laughed a little. But what mattered was that I had stepped forward. For once, I wasn’t left haunted by what if. I walked away lighter, without clinging. That small yes gave me a glimpse of freedom.

    I’m still not outgoing. But I am no longer the boy in the corner, stomping cups while everyone else dances. I can step forward, even when my voice shakes. I can risk connection without assuming others are out of reach.

    Shyness may still whisper in my ear, but it no longer holds the keys.

    What I’ve Learned

    • Shyness was my inner prison, but the bars were made of thought, not stone.
    • Not every conquest would have served me—but turning away from true openness creates the sharpest regret.
    • Regret is painful, but it can teach us what matters most.
    • Memories of missed chances still surface, but I don’t have to cling to them.
    • Freedom doesn’t come from rewriting the past, but from choosing differently now.

    I still carry the memory of that eighth-grade dance, the girl across the room, the echo of other missed chances. But I don’t cling to them anymore. They remind me that presence is always possible—because freedom isn’t found in “what if.”

    It’s found in saying yes when life beckons and in stepping out of the prison of hesitation, here and now.

    To anyone reading this who has ever stood in the corner of their own life: the prison you feel around you was never locked. You can step forward, however awkwardly, and find freedom in the present moment.

  • How to Coexist with Fear (and Spiders)

    How to Coexist with Fear (and Spiders)

    “If you are willing to look at another person’s behavior toward you as a reflection of their relationship with themselves rather than a statement about your value as a person, then you will, over time, cease to react at all.” ~Yogi Bhajan

    Several years ago, I hiked into the remote forestlands of Bukidnon, a mountainous province in the southern Philippines. I was there to make a documentary about the Pulangiyēn people, an Indigenous community living in the village of Bendum. No roads led there. No running water. Just a winding trail upwards, a slow-moving carabao pulling my camera gear, and a few kindhearted villagers helping me climb.

    I had come with the intention to listen—to observe daily life, record sounds, and learn what I could. What I didn’t know was that one of my deepest lessons would come not from the forest or the people, but from a spider.

    A very large spider. Hairy. Big and spidery.

    My lodging was a small, hand-built hut with bamboo walls and a woven floor mat. I felt honored to stay there, grateful for the simplicity and peace and the respite from the rains. But my gratitude dimmed a little when I noticed, down on the floor in the corner of the room, a dark shape—a spider. Motionless. The size of my outstretched palm.

    I asked one of the locals if it should be, well… removed.

    They smiled gently. “It lives there,” they said.

    That was it. No concern. No plan to catch it in a cup and carry it away. The spider wasn’t a problem. In fact, to interfere might have been seen as disrespectful—not only to the spider, but to the spirits believed to dwell in all things, visible and invisible.

    So I had a choice: coexist or live in fear.

    The Challenge of Coexistence

    At first, I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of bamboo startled me. I imagined the spider descending on my face in the middle of the night. But day after day, the spider never seemed to move around much; at least I was not aware of any major roaming around by the beast. And slowly, I began to wonder—what exactly was I afraid of?

    It wasn’t just the spider. It was the unknown. The loss of control. The feeling of being vulnerable in a place far from what I understood.

    But here’s what I learned: coexistence is not about agreement or comfort. It’s about choosing not to reject or destroy what we don’t yet understand. It’s about pausing long enough to see whether what we fear is truly dangerous—or whether it’s just unfamiliar.

    That spider became a mirror.

    Fear Isn’t Always a Problem to Solve

    Over time, my relationship with the spider shifted. I stopped checking the corner obsessively. I still noticed it, but I didn’t react. I stopped trying to protect myself from something that wasn’t actually threatening me.

    In the quiet of those forest nights, I began to think about all the other things I’d tried to avoid or control in life—conversations, emotions, uncertainties, even my own sense of failure. The pattern was the same: discomfort would arise, and I’d try to evict it.

    But this experience showed me a different way: you don’t always need to solve the fear. Sometimes, you just need to sit with it. Let it stay in the corner.

    And over time, your relationship to the fear changes. You grow larger around it.

    In the Indigenous worldview of the Lumad people, coexistence isn’t an abstract concept—it’s life. Trees, rivers, stones, animals—everything has a presence, a role, a spirit. You don’t have to like every being you share space with. You just have to respect it.

    This is echoed in many traditions. In Buddhism, the practice of metta encourages us to extend loving-kindness not only to friends but to enemies, strangers, and even things that scare us. In modern mindfulness practice, we learn to observe our experience without judgment, to allow thoughts and sensations to come and go.

    Even ecology tells us: thriving systems are diverse, and balance depends on the peaceful presence of all things—even spiders.

    What I Tell My Students Now

    I’ve taught filmmaking and storytelling for many years. My students often wrestle with fear—fear of being seen, of not being good enough, of making mistakes. Before, I tried to coach them out of it. Now, I teach them to make room for it.

    I tell them about the spider.

    I tell them about the time I shared a hut with something I was afraid of—and how, by coexisting with it, I changed more than it did. The fear didn’t go away. But it stopped running the show.

    So the next time something in your life scares you—not because it’s harmful, but because it’s unfamiliar—see if you can let it stay in the corner a little while longer. Don’t push it away. Don’t judge yourself for feeling it. Just breathe.

    Let it be there.

    You might discover, like I did, that peaceful coexistence is possible—even with the things you never thought you could accept.

    And once you learn that, there’s very little left to fear.

  • Why You’re Not Happy (Even If Life Looks Fine)

    Why You’re Not Happy (Even If Life Looks Fine)

    Do you sometimes see people running around enjoying life and wonder what you’re missing? Sometimes I used to think I must be a horrible person. I had so many things going for me, and I still couldn’t be happy. I would ask myself, is there something wrong with me? Am I a narcissist?

    Then sometimes I would decide I was just going to be happy. I would fake it until I made it and just accept that’s who I was. But it wouldn’t take long for me to feel overwhelmingly depressed.

    I had a little dark hole that would constantly pull at me, and I didn’t have the energy to keep ignoring it. My attempts to do so just made it scream louder, and then I really was in a mess. This, of course, made me feel worse because it would remind me that I must be crazy.

    As I worked through my healing journey, I discovered there are three key reasons why we can’t just muscle up and be happy. We need to work through these three obstacles to move from just surviving and having moments of happiness to thriving and living a life full of joy and inspiration. To living a life where we love who we are and what we are doing and have hope for the future.

    Life is never perfect, but it sure is a lot more enjoyable and fun when we love, enjoy, and fully experience the present moments we are in.

    So what are these obstacles? And what strategies can you use to work through them?

    1. Validate Past Experiences

    When you don’t fully validate and process painful past experiences, the energy of those experiences gets trapped and contained within your body.

    It takes consistent and continual emotional energy to keep the walls around those experiences high and the energy within contained. The energy and emotion inside are deep and strong, and to keep these feelings away from our consciousness. we can’t allow ourselves to experience any deep or strong feelings, even the good ones.

    Allowing yourself to pull down these walls and grieve all the deep and strong feelings inside will free your emotional energy to feel deep and strong happy feelings too.

    For me, this meant feeling and processing the sexual abuse I endured as a child.

    For years I convinced myself that I was fine and that it happens to almost everyone. I tried to minimize my experience and leave it in the past. The walls I had built to keep all the grief and pain of those experiences out of my conscious daily awareness drained me and prevented me from feeling life in real time. I was guarded, with very shallow access to my feelings.

    No one wants to go back and work through the pain of the past, but I discovered that doing grief work with my therapist allowed me to truly let go of the pain and thrive in the present.

    2. Let Go of the Need for Control

    When you’ve been hurt in the past, it is normal to want to curate a life where you can’t get hurt again. We create a sense of safety by ensuring our life is as predictable as possible. Any time someone in our circle acts in a way that is outside our control, we ensure they “get back in line” so we feel safe.

    For example, if your partner doesn’t immediately return your text, you might get upset and lash out about how disrespectful he is being. If your kids don’t seem to be as concerned about their grades as you think they should be, you might panic and shame them, saying they will be stuck working in fast food restaurants for the rest of their lives. We want everyone to act as we think they “should,” so our world feels nice and safe and predictable.

    Zoom out and look at this scenario… Could it be any more boring? No wonder it’s impossible to feel true joy and happiness. Joy and happiness come from the ability to be spontaneous, light, free, and unpredictable.

    I think a lot of people mistake feeling safe for feeling happy. Being in a constant search for safety keeps us in survival mode. Knowing you are safe with yourself no matter what allows you to move out of survival and into a higher consciousness that brings joy, pleasure… and happiness.

    It is true that many of us have very real pain from the past, and it is perfectly normal to want to protect ourselves from feeling that pain again by attempting to curate a life we can fully control. This is an unconscious decision we make out of self-protection.

    Choose to make the conscious decision to let go of control. Trust that you now have all the resources within yourself to feel safe, no matter what happens. Releasing the need to control will bring you the ability to feel joy, pleasure, and fun again.

    This one was difficult for me and took a long time to integrate. Because of my abusive childhood experiences, I overcompensated for my feelings of worthlessness and lack of safety with a drive for success and perfectionism to try to control how others perceived me.

    If my co-worker wasn’t pulling her weight, I would stay late and work weekends to ensure the work was done, and done well. If my husband wouldn’t spend time with me or plan dates, I would plan dates and put all the reservations in his name so it looked like he was investing in me and our relationship. If my kids were not interested in wearing outfits that I thought would make our family look perfect, I would bribe them with candy so we could look good and put together as a family.

    I thought that making myself and my family look like we had it together meant that we did, and we would therefore be happy. Man, this couldn’t be further from the truth, and it actually drove not just myself but everyone in the family system in the opposite direction.

    No one likes to be manipulated, and even if we can’t exactly identify that’s what is happening, we feel it. Honestly, I had a bit of an identity crisis as I let go of how I wanted life to look and embraced living and feeling life in real time. What I can say is that since I’ve let go of control, life has been full of more peace and joy than I knew possible.

    3. Look for Happiness

    What we look for, we will find. There is a reason we constantly hear people talk about gratitude. When we look for things we’re grateful for, things we enjoy or love, we create more of those things in our lives. We begin to see how much joy and happiness we already have.

    We so often completely overlook the goodness that’s all around us because we are preconditioned to see and experience all the things that are going wrong.

    This third step is caused by not working through the first two. When we haven’t validated our past painful experiences, we look for validation in all our current painful experiences.

    It’s like those experiences keep haunting us until we take the time to turn around and look at them. They cloud our ability to see the happiness we already have all around us. We can’t experience the innocence and joy in our children. Nor can we accept the love and connection our friends want to offer us or appreciate all the amazing things we are doing well at work.

    When we are stuck in the need for control, we look for all future outcomes that will help us to stay safe instead of looking for all the joy and pleasure that is already in our life. We don’t have enough bandwidth to do both, at least not all at once; so, for example, if we spend all our time subconsciously looking for ways someone else might hurt or abandon us, then we don’t have the energy left to look for joy and pleasure in our relationships.

    One day I had to make a choice. I decided I had had enough of being tired, frustrated, and miserable. I knew it would take a while for my circumstances to change, but that didn’t mean I had to stay stuck and feel isolated, frustrated, and lonely.

    I made the hard choice to look for happiness. At first, I would journal things I found happiness in, and over time it became more subconscious than conscious. It also helped to talk about it with a good friend, as we both challenged each other in looking for happiness.

    Sometimes I still struggle. If I haven’t been taking care of myself, this one is the first to slip. I start to slide back into an old pattern of looking for how life is screwing me over. I know that I’m better able to keep my mindset in happiness when I engage in self-care as often as possible.

    If enough is enough and you are ready to move on from feeling like you are just surviving life, implement the following three strategies to overcome the obstacles to joy.

    First, start journaling or processing your feelings about past experiences. It could be a good idea to do this step with a professional, depending on what you have been through.

    Next, start identifying how much control you have over your life and the people around you and see where you can loosen up the reins a little.

    I can almost hear you saying back to me, “But everything will fall apart if I let go!” Let it fall apart. You don’t want a partner and kids who live only to make you satisfied and “happy.” Let life get a little messy. They (and you) will be so much happier if they just get to be themselves, make mistakes, and develop connections out of genuine love and respect… not out of fear of failure or mistakes.

    This last one is pretty simple: start looking for joy. Get curious when you find it hard or upsetting to look for joy. Often, turning things around is simply a choice. Change your subconscious conditioning from looking for what is going wrong to looking for what is going right.

    These three steps will help you attract the people and experiences that will bring you everything you are looking for.

    Before you know it, your past pain will be a distant memory that doesn’t impact your day-to-day life. Instead, you will feel a sense of freedom and joy because you’ll be able to live life in the moment rather than in your head trying to predict outcomes, and because you’ll have reset your pre-conditioning to look for the good in life everywhere you go.

    This is what it takes to be one of “those people” who just seem happy and full of life. Which strategy will you try first?

  • Discovering I Lived in Fear, Thinking It Was Love

    Discovering I Lived in Fear, Thinking It Was Love

    “Fear is the opposite of love. Love is the absence of fear. Whatever you do out of fear will create more fear. Whatever you do out of love will create more love.” ~Osho

    I did not realize I was driven by fear for most of my life.

    I thought I was making choices from love by being good, responsible, kind, and successful. Looking back, I see how much of my life was organized around keeping myself safe, and that came from a place of fear.

    From the outside, I looked successful, practical, and just fantastic at adult life. In the quiet moments, which I rarely allowed, I felt dull, disconnected, and like I was watching my life from the outside. I filled those voids and pushed away those feelings by doing. I had no idea that fear was in the driver’s seat. Fear spoke loudly and told me:

    • Keep yourself small.
    • Be careful about speaking up.
    • Try to be as good as others.
    • You’re not smart or good enough and need to work harder and do more.
    • Love has to be earned by proving yourself.

    And because I didn’t know it was fear, I listened. I thought these messages were the truth. I didn’t realize that I lacked the expansive, open power of self-love.

    The Moment I Realized Fear Was Running My Life

    I didn’t recognize fear until it had completely consumed me.

    In March 2020, I sat on my bed, crying, shrouded in the shame of failure. My husband and young kids were on the other side of the door, and I was scared. I did not want to face them and be home with them through the pandemic lockdown,with no school or work as respite.

    I feared that I would fail them, and that I could not hold it together to be the calm, loving mom and wife they needed. Mostly, I was scared of not being able to handle it. My alone time, as much as I was disconnected from myself and filled any quiet with noise and distraction, was when I recharged.

    I had spent so much of my life striving, pushing, proving, and performing, desperate to be good enough.

    But no matter how hard I worked or how much I achieved, it never felt like enough.

    That day, as I sat there, exhausted and broken, a thought rose inside me:

    “There has to be another way. I cannot go on like this.”

    And then, through the heaviness, I heard a quiet voice:

    “The work is inside you.”

    That was the moment everything started to change. I pulled that inner thread, and for the first time, I slowed down enough to feel.

    I let myself be still. I let myself sit with emotions I had spent a lifetime avoiding. Sadness, failure, shame, guilt, and resentment all rose to the surface. And as I unraveled, my heart started to open, and I realized that I had been living in a state of fear.

    I had spent years thinking my way through fear, trying to control it with logic. But real understanding—real change—came when I started listening to my body and its quiet whispers.

    Fear vs. Love

    Once I learned how to connect with my body, I noticed:

    • Fear is loud and demanding, while love is quiet and calm.
      Fear creates internal pressure: “Hurry! Move! You’re late!”
      Love is patient: “Take your time. The right answers are within you.”
    • Fear feels tight, restricted, and on edge, while love feels expansive, open, and at ease.
      Fear comes with shallow breathing, tension in the shoulders, and a racing heart.
      Love brings deep breaths, relaxed muscles, and a sense of wonder.
    • Fear lives in the mind, while love lives in the body.
      Fear spins stories. Love is present.
    • Fear keeps you small, while love invites you to grow.
      Fear says, “Stay where it’s safe.”
      Love says, “Step forward. You can handle this.”

    My biggest realization came with knowing that love doesn’t force or pressure or shame. I lived so many years feeling like I had to tread carefully and not make a mistake, or else I would be in trouble or be discovered as a fraud. This stemmed from childhood, where, as the oldest child, I didn’t want to cause problems for my parents. I know now that was straight out of fear’s playbook.

    Shifting from Fear to Love

    Fear will always be there. It’s part of being human. It’s not all bad. We want to feel fear when there’s real danger. But we don’t want it to be our mindset.

    Here’s what I do now when I feel fear creeping in:

    1. Get out of the mind and into the body.

    You can’t think your way out of fear. Instead, I:

    • Close my eyes.
    • Take a deep breath, inhaling through my nose and sighing out of my mouth.
    • Place a hand on my heart or belly.
    • Notice the sensations in my body—tightness, warmth, buzzing, stillness.
    • Ask myself, “What am I scared of?”

    2. Notice the difference between fear’s voice and love’s voice.

    When making a decision, I ask:

    • Does this thought feel urgent, pressured, or heavy? That’s fear.
    • Does this thought feel grounded, spacious, or light? That’s love.

    3. Move through fear—don’t push it away.

    Fear doesn’t disappear just because we wish it away. As researcher Jill Bolte Taylor says, with any emotion, if we can sit in it for sixty to ninety seconds without attaching a story or thought to it, the fear will pass. This can be uncomfortable and takes some practice.

    Instead of avoiding fear, try saying:
    “I see you. I know you’re trying to keep me safe. What do you want me to know?”

    One morning, after forgetting my son’s backpack at school drop-off, I felt fear in the form of harsh self-criticism. It sat heavy in my gut. I asked it, “What do you want me to know?” It told me I was a failure. As I dialogued with it, I discovered that underneath the anger and pressure was exhaustion—and a part of me that needed rest and reassurance.

    4. Make small choices from love.

    We don’t have to make massive leaps. Even small shifts—choosing self-compassion over self-criticism, presence over anxiety, truth over avoidance—begin to rewire our nervous system.

    Choosing Love, One Breath at a Time

    I spent years letting fear run my life without realizing it.

    I thought I had to think my way through everything. But the moment I dropped into my body, things changed. I am more present, compassionate, curious, appreciative, and embodied.

    Now, when fear arises, I no longer try to silence it. I don’t fight it. I don’t shame myself for feeling it.

    Instead, I breathe. I listen. I notice how it feels. And then I ask myself:

    “Is this fear speaking? Or is this love?”

    And whenever possible, I choose love.

  • Two Reasons We Sabotage Our Joy and Success and How to Stop

    Two Reasons We Sabotage Our Joy and Success and How to Stop

    “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ~Rumi

    Have you ever held yourself back from going after what you truly want, or from enjoying what you have, because of a lingering fear that it might be taken away from you, or because you felt guilty for having more than others?

    For years, I found myself unintentionally sabotaging moments of pure joy and personal success without being able to embrace them fully.

    For example, when my son was born, a rush of panic would flood me every time I even imagined the possibility of losing him, and I felt guilty even having a family knowing that my friend was struggling with infertility due to her health issues.

    Also, the money that flowed into my life always seemed to vanish as if I was in a rush to get rid of it, feeling torn between my gratitude for what I’d earned and the unease of knowing that others were barely getting by.

    No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the constant sense of dread that lingered. One moment, I’d feel exhilarated and at peace, only to be hit with a wave of fear and guilt, as if my mind was plagued by relentless, unsettling static.

    It felt like an endless cycle of scarcity. A pattern of having and sabotaging. But it was something deeper that made me question my beliefs of my own worthiness.

    It took years of reading, researching, and learning to realize that this feeling wasn’t just a behavior—it was a belief that traced back to my childhood.

    I grew up in a dynamic, happy family that traveled often, cared for me, and always made me feel safe and loved. But when the war came and everything changed in an instant, my life of safety and my carefree days turned into a desperate fight for survival.

    That abrupt shift of losing freedom and the life I had before that moment left a deep mark on my young mind. It taught me that nothing is guaranteed and that having too much joy was dangerous and it could vanish in a flash.

    Later on, this belief seeped into every corner of my adult life. When I built a vibrant career, guilt kept creeping in because I knew there were others who were struggling. Even in moments of personal growth and healing, the weight of this belief made me feel as if I was betraying all the suffering and destruction I had witnessed as a child.

    It was exhausting, and for the longest time, I had no idea why I felt this way. But holding onto this belief didn’t help anyone. It certainly didn’t help me. And especially not those still fighting for survival. It kept me small and limited, trapped in a cycle of guilt and fear.

    While this mindset once served as a form of protection, I had to accept that loss is an inevitable part of life—and that fearing it only kept me from truly living.

    As I started my healing journey and helped other souls find their path to healing, I began learning about the subconscious mind and how early childhood experiences, cultural conditioning, and unresolved emotions shape us.

    When I allowed myself to acknowledge the origin of this belief without judgment, I knew I had started the healing process. I gave myself permission to grieve for the child I was and for everything I had missed experiencing as a twelve-year-old girl.

    Then I started working on how I see the world and how I, just like everyone else, am responsible for the energy I send out into the world. I started to see my joy, success, happiness, and achievements as gifts and opportunities, not things I had stolen from others.

    I reframed my story and embraced an affirmation that I still use nowadays—The more I thrive, the more I can give back. This whole new perspective shifted my energy from guilt to gratitude and inspired action.

    I changed my inner narrative through energy healing and the deep soul alignment my being was craving. I am worthy of happiness, just like everyone else, and I deserve abundance in every aspect of my life.

    Over time, these words became my truth, which I now believe deep in my core.

    It’s no surprise that, of all the emotions I worked on during the process, guilt was the hardest one to let go, because I couldn’t give up thinking and feeling what other people who were going through the same struggles felt. But when I decided to channel my abundance into acts of service, I realized I could help others without sacrificing my own joy.

    Limiting beliefs can be tricky because you may not even realize you have them. And even if you’re aware of some, they might not be the ones you actually need to work on. The root cause isn’t always easy to spot, but there are steps you can take to get there.

    1. Start by identifying areas of your life where you face challenges.

    Write down the belief you feel is contributing to your struggles. Putting it all in writing can give you the clarity you need to move forward.

    2. Explore the origin of this belief.

    Did you hear it from someone? Was it an event in your life that started it? Understanding where this belief might have started can help you detach from it.

    3. Challenge limiting beliefs with empowering truths.

    For example, you could replace “I’m not worthy of success because others are struggling” with “My success empowers others. By thriving, I create more opportunities to help and inspire.”

    Find examples from your own life when this was true and write them down. As you shift your perspective, you’ll begin to see things in a new light—one that is healthier and more uplifting.

    While affirmations can be a powerful tool, please note that they may not be sufficient if you’re dealing with deep-rooted patterns of fear, doubt, or trauma. Simply repeating the words may not be enough if you struggle to truly believe them.

    To more effectively heal these limiting beliefs and rewire the brain, a more holistic approach is often needed—one that integrates mind, body, and energy healing. This can include guided meditation to access subconscious patterns, breathwork to release stored emotions, somatic practices to reconnect with the body, and inner child work to address the root cause of past wounds.

    By combining these methods, you allow healing to happen on multiple levels, creating deeper and lasting transformation.

    4. Create a daily practice where you meditate and visualize yourself thriving to reinforce your new narrative.

    Meditation helps quiet the mind and clear energetic blockages, while visualization allows you to embody the feelings of your new reality.

    To fully integrate this shift, take aligned action each day that supports your growth. Set boundaries by saying no to commitments and situations that no longer serve you, speak your truth by expressing your needs, and engage in new experiences by exploring new places. Celebrate small wins by acknowledging and appreciating every step you take toward becoming the person you are meant to be.

    It might also help to find a guide or a coach who can help you navigate the deeper layers of limiting beliefs. You might realize that an outside perspective is what you need to break free.

    —

    If you find it hard to let go of your conditioning, be patient with yourself. It’s not easy to get out of your own way, even when your soul is feeling a strong pull and an immense desire to break free and to awaken to a life filled with meaning, light, and purpose.

    But if you keep at it, you can let go of the limiting beliefs that hold you back. Then, when you believe that you are worthy of receiving and fully experiencing all of life’s blessings, you’ll be able to embrace each gift with gratitude while you have it, knowing that both gain and loss are natural parts of our journey.

    And remember, embracing joy and success is also a gift to everyone around us. When we honor our worth and embrace our light, we align with a higher vibration that radiates into the world.

  • The Growth That Happens When You’re in Between Chapters

    The Growth That Happens When You’re in Between Chapters

    “The most powerful thing you can do right now is be patient while things are unfolding for you.” ~Idil Ahmed

    When one door closes, another one opens, or so the saying goes. From experience, I know that the new door doesn’t always open right away. Often you spend some time in the hallway, the state in between what has been and what will be.

    About two years ago I decided to quit my job. While I was in the process of making big decisions, I decided to give up my apartment and go abroad for a period. I didn’t have a super thought-out new plan, but I just felt like it was time to move on.

    When my loved ones expressed their doubts about my plans, I waved them away, certain I would figure it out. And to be honest, I kind of expected the new plan to just happen to me as soon as I made the decision.

    For most of my life, the phases between jobs, relationships, and living spaces followed each other neatly. I fully expected this time to be no different.

    You can imagine my surprise when this time the new phase didn’t start immediately. Answers, opportunities, and big synchronicities didn’t just fall at my feet. What I got instead was a lot of confusion and self-doubt.

    In the middle of all this, my long-term relationship ended, which added another element of uncertainty to my life. I was in the hallway, and it felt like I was waiting for the door to appear.

    One way or another, most of us spend time in the hallway during our lifetime. The hallway is that phase between two chapters of life when nothing seems to happen. This in-between phase can take many shapes and forms.

    Sometimes you end up there by choice, like when you take a sabbatical or choose to spend some time focused on yourself. Other times the decision is made for you: perhaps your physical or mental health forces you to take a pause. Maybe you are let go from your job, your business closes, or your partner chooses to end your relationship.

    There is also the space between where we think of something we want to bring into our lives—anything from a business to parenthood—and where it comes into fruition. That period can also feel like an in-between phase, where we are not yet where we want to be, but we are very focused on getting there.

    We want to be there and forget to enjoy that we are now here. Rather than enjoying the journey and all the little steps along the way, we focus on where we feel like we should be.

    Most of us don’t want to spend time in the in-between. It can be a highly uncomfortable time, as there is a lot of uncertainty involved.

    It can feel like being stranded in the middle of the desert: Everything looks the same, and nothing orients us in any direction. We don’t know how long the period will be or where we will go next. It can make us doubt everything we thought we knew and believed in, and that can be unsettling.

    There are different strategies to take in the in-between phase. I know, because I have tried all of them, with mixed results.

    You may choose to frantically knock on all doors until one of them opens. The problem with this strategy is that, while understandable, this is a fear-based approach. Rather than deciding from a deep sense of trust in yourself and life, you become attached to the door that opens.

    There’s also the option of lying on the floor and waiting for the door to present itself. While that works at times, it is not the most empowering strategy. It is also a slippery slope into a bit of a victim mentality when things take longer than you expect.

    And then there’s the option to see this period as an opportunity. A chance to get to know yourself better and become familiar with your own fears and doubts, hopes, and longings. If you let it, this phase can bring you closer to yourself and allow you to move forward in a more authentic, aligned way.

    It took me a little longer than I care to admit to move from strategy one and two into the third, but when I finally did, these were some of the lessons I learned.

    1. When you lose something that feels essential to your self-worth, you learn who you are without that part.

    Most of us feel quite attached to certain parts of our identity, whether it is our job, relationship, or an idea we have about ourselves. The more we attach our self-worth to a door that has been closed, the more uncomfortable this phase will feel. And the more we probably need this time.

    The in-between phase gives you a chance to see who you are without all the things you thought you were. In that process, you are invited to recognize that your worth is so much more than those identities.

    I had always seen myself as someone who followed her intuition and was courageous enough to follow her own path. In my relationships, I had taken on the role of encouraging others to do the same. When I felt neither certain nor courageous, I learned that I was still a caring friend and family member. Opening up about my feelings made other people feel safe about sharing their deeper feelings as well.

    No one is meant to take on one role; we are all multifaceted beings, and all of our parts are valuable.

    2. A period of uncertainty gives you the chance to become more resilient to fear.

    At times, your biggest fears come true in this in-between phase. And that is truly frightening. But it’s also a great opportunity. When what you deeply fear is happening, you have a chance to integrate that fear so that you are no longer so controlled by it in your day-to-day life.

    It gives you a chance to process it rather than just simply hoping it never happens. And with that, it can give you great freedom. If this happens, and you can handle it, then perhaps you are capable of more than you thought.

    When I was in limbo, I realized I had this deep fear that my life wouldn’t really go anywhere, and that I would never be able to live up to my potential. It made me feel deeply afraid of failure and rejection, as I felt that these experiences would confirm my core fear.

    In the process of creating a new path, I faced my share of failure and rejection. Initially, the feelings that came up would overwhelm me, and I would want to give up trying. But gradually, as I learned to process these feelings, I found a deeper sense of safety within.

    As uncomfortable emotions come up, learn to feel them in your body. Become familiar with the sensations and just breathe. Implement tools to calm your nervous system—like deep breathing or listening to calming music—so that you can regulate yourself back to safety.

    The more comfortable you become with uncomfortable emotions, the more resilient you become to them. You then no longer have to avoid the things you fear, which could potentially bring you great happiness.

    3. An in-between period is a chance to move forward in a different way.

    There is usually a paved path in relationships, career paths, and life in general, with a logical next step to take. So often in life we take that next logical step, rather than reflect on whether that aligns with our deepest longings.

    It is challenging to go off that paved path and into the wilderness, but it is greatly rewarding as well. An in-between period forces you to make a conscious choice: Do you want to keep going as you did before, or are there changes you would like to make moving forward?

    As you learn to find safety in the uncertainty and let go of your attachments to things that weren’t quite right for you, you open space to move forward differently. With a newfound trust in your resilience and a deeper knowledge of yourself, it becomes much easier to make decisions that are deeply aligned with you.

    4. Change is often gradual and can only be seen clearly in hindsight.

    There are moments that propel you into a new stage of life from one moment to the next. But often, there is not one big earth-shattering moment that changes everything. The hit-by-lightning breakthrough moment where you suddenly know exactly what to do does not always come.

    Rather, change is often a gradual process that you can only fully see when you look back on it. It is a combination of lots of little steps and lessons and a gradual integration of the emotions that the change brings up. When you fully embrace that, it is powerful.

    It means that you don’t have to dig for answers or figure everything out at once but learn to trust that the things you do every day matter. Life has natural rhythms and seasons, just like nature does. Some seasons are big and exciting, while others are slower paced.

    Looking back now, I can see that I learned to gradually replace my fear-based choices with options that felt more aligned. It started with seemingly small things, like my morning routine and the recipes I cooked, and evolved into starting my own business and deciding to move closer to the ocean. In the stillness, I learned to sit with my feelings and take tiny steps towards sustainable change.

    And so perhaps, as we move toward the door that will inevitably show up at some point, we notice that the hallway isn’t just a space between the two doors. It is a room all by itself, a necessary and fruitful phase of life. We learn that we are never in-between, as we are always growing, evolving, and simply living.

  • How I Found Emotional Freedom and 3 Unexpected Benefits

    How I Found Emotional Freedom and 3 Unexpected Benefits

    “We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.” ~Maya Angelou

    What if the person you’re trying hardest to please is you?

    For years, I wore a mask—a professional, composed, always-on version of myself that I thought everyone expected.

    My need to please and perform was deeply rooted in my earliest experiences. I was born three months premature, and doctors called my survival a miracle. Separated from my mother and placed in an incubator for weeks, I was surrounded by love but deprived of touch and connection.

    Though my parents adored me, this experience created the foundation for a limiting belief that I had to prove myself to earn love. Then, later in life, my drive to be “enough” led me to push aside my own emotions in favor of pleasing others.

    I thought if I could just keep moving fast enough—working harder, being more present, looking more composed—then my feelings would eventually settle. But the truth is, every time I tried to avoid them, my emotions only became louder and more persistent. They didn’t go away—they built up, each layer adding tension, stiffness, and discomfort to my body.

    I could feel it in my chest—the tightness that wouldn’t go away. In my shoulders, which ached with the weight of emotions I refused to acknowledge. My body was telling me something, but I wasn’t listening. I was too busy keeping up the image that I thought the world needed to see. But the more I suppressed my emotions, the more they controlled me, manifesting as stress, anxiety, and physical discomfort.

    It wasn’t until I realized that I didn’t need to keep pushing my feelings away that things started to change. The truth is, trying to outrun my emotions only left me exhausted. What I needed was to face them, feel them, and allow them to pass through me, just as they were meant to.

    The Trap of Emotional Suppression

    I had spent so many years trying to appear strong, convincing myself that my vulnerability would make me weak. That if I showed any emotion other than calm and composure, I would be judged. But in reality, emotional suppression was taking a much bigger toll on me than I ever realized. As I pushed my feelings deeper into my subconscious, they didn’t disappear. They festered.

    One moment that stands out vividly is when a close friend opened up to me about a deeply personal struggle. While I wanted to be fully present for her, her vulnerability stirred unresolved emotions within me, bringing up memories of a similar experience I had yet to process.

    Instead of acknowledging my feelings or sharing my own story, I chose to hide behind a comforting role, offering support while keeping my emotions locked away. Outwardly, I appeared to be a caring friend, but inside, I felt an overwhelming sense of disconnection. My silence created a wall, leaving me isolated and robbing us both of an opportunity for mutual support and a deeper bond.

    Another time, I had a difficult conversation with a colleague at work. Their criticism stung deeply, but instead of acknowledging my hurt feelings or advocating for myself, I smiled and assured them everything was fine.

    I convinced myself that avoiding conflict was the right choice. But the weight of those unexpressed emotions lingered, showing up as tension and resentment long after the conversation had ended. Suppressing my feelings didn’t maintain peace; it only created internal turmoil.

    I began to feel disconnected from myself—my true self. The tension in my body was the physical manifestation of that disconnection. The more I avoided my emotions, the more distant I felt from who I really was. The pressure was building, just like a pot on the stove, and I could feel the inevitable explosion waiting to happen.

    Emotions Are Messengers, Not Enemies

    One of the most powerful lessons I learned during this process was that emotions are not the enemies I had made them out to be. They are not here to destroy me; they are simply messengers.

    When I felt anger, it wasn’t because I was broken. It was my body telling me that something wasn’t right—that my boundaries were being crossed or my needs weren’t being met.

    When I felt sadness, it revealed that I was grieving a loss or change.

    Fear showed up to remind me that I was facing the unknown, urging me to trust myself and embrace uncertainty.

    The key to emotional freedom is recognizing that emotions are not “good” or “bad.” They simply are. They are part of our human experience, each one carrying important information. When we allow ourselves to feel them fully, we stop labeling them as threats or obstacles. We open ourselves to their wisdom and guidance.

    The Power of Feeling Fully

    At first, feeling my emotions fully felt uncomfortable, even painful. I wasn’t used to sitting with the discomfort that came with vulnerability. But I kept showing up for myself, making the decision to stop resisting and to feel deeply, without judgment. Over time, I realized that, just like a storm, emotions have a beginning and an end. When I stopped fighting them, they passed through me much faster than I imagined.

    Allowing yourself to feel means sitting with discomfort for a moment. It’s about embracing your sadness, your joy, your anger, or your fear—without trying to change them. You stop trying to fix your emotions, and you simply let them be.

    This doesn’t mean wallowing in your feelings or letting them consume you. Instead, it’s about giving yourself permission to experience them fully, without the pressure to change or judge them. By embracing your emotions with curiosity and openness, you release their hold over you. And the beauty of this process is that the emotions are temporary—they don’t last forever. But the freedom and peace you gain from letting them flow are lasting.

    Embodying Your Emotions

    As I continued to practice feeling my emotions fully, I discovered that one of the most powerful ways to do so was through embodiment. I started paying attention to how my emotions manifested in my body. Was there a tightness in my chest when I was anxious? A heaviness in my stomach when I was fearful? A rush of warmth in my face when I felt joy?

    By focusing on these physical sensations, I was able to move beyond the mental stories I had been telling myself. I could feel the emotion itself rather than analyzing it or trying to push it away. I learned how to breathe through the discomfort, how to sit with it until it passed. And in doing so, I was able to release trapped emotions and make space for healing.

    It was as if my body knew exactly what to do once I stopped trying to control it. I just had to stop thinking and start feeling.

    Letting Go of Emotional Attachment

    One of the hardest lessons for me was learning that feeling my emotions fully didn’t mean holding onto them. There’s a difference between feeling your feelings and identifying with them. I had spent so much time tying my emotions to my identity—believing that I was my emotions—that I had forgotten that emotions are temporary visitors. They come, and they go.

    When I stopped attaching myself to every emotion, I began to experience greater emotional freedom. I learned to release my grip on the feelings that I had once let define me. Rather than letting them dictate my life, I learned to feel them and let them pass. It was a liberating experience.

    The Benefits of Emotional Freedom

    Once I embraced the practice of feeling my emotions fully, I experienced a profound shift in my life. I wasn’t overwhelmed by anxiety, stress, or fear anymore. Instead, I felt a deep sense of inner peace and understanding. Emotional freedom meant that I could stop being at war with myself and my feelings.

    This shift brought with it several benefits that I didn’t expect:

    • Increased self-awareness: Feeling my emotions helped me reconnect with my true desires, values, and needs. I stopped second-guessing myself and began trusting my intuition more.
    • Improved relationships: When I stopped hiding my feelings, I allowed myself to form more authentic and meaningful connections with others.
    • Increased resilience: The more I practiced feeling my emotions fully, the stronger I became. I realized that emotions are temporary, and I could ride through them without letting them consume me.

    Final Thoughts

    If there’s one thing I wish I had known sooner, it’s that emotions are not something to fear. They are powerful, transformative, and ultimately, the key to emotional freedom. When we allow ourselves to feel our emotions fully—without judgment, without fear—we free ourselves from their control.

    Instead of running from your emotions, I encourage you to face them with courage and compassion. You may find, like I did, that by releasing old patterns of suppression, you open yourself to a life of greater authenticity, connection, and peace.

  • 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.

  • The Truth Behind Imposter Syndrome: What It’s Really About

    The Truth Behind Imposter Syndrome: What It’s Really About

    “We are who we believe we are.” ~C.S. Lewis

    Have you ever caught yourself hiding behind the term “imposter syndrome”? I know I have—more times than I’d like to admit.

    We hear the phrase so often now, and it’s almost become a catch-all for our fears, doubts, and insecurities. But what if I told you that imposter syndrome isn’t what you think it is? What if it’s something deeper that has been with you far longer than your career or the roles you play in your life?

    Let me take you on a journey that may mirror your own. It starts in a place many of us know well: childhood.

    My first taste of feeling “less than” came early, in the first grade, at a Catholic elementary school in Lawrence, Kansas.

    I remember sitting on the gray carpet in a circle with my classmates, already feeling small and unsure. A boy named AJ, whose words still echo in my mind, said, “Take off your mask.” I was too young to understand what he meant, but my insecure little heart decided it was a comment on my appearance. Was my face not good enough? Did I need a mask to hide behind?

    I was already feeling uncertain about myself when my teacher called on me to spell the word “bowl.” Such a simple word, but in that moment, it felt like an impossible challenge.

    My heart raced as I struggled to find the letters, and as the giggles of my peers filled the air, I turned fire-engine red, shrinking into myself.

    The harder I tried to hide, the redder and more embarrassed I became. I don’t remember how long it took for the teacher to move to another student, but I do remember hearing a deep message from within. The message was clear: I was “dumb…and maybe ugly.” This moment became a cornerstone in the foundation of my self-belief.

    Years later, as a junior in high school, I moved from Kansas to Cleveland. Moving across the country in the middle of high school rocked my world.

    The new school was enormous, so vast that I felt like a speck, unseen and invisible. My insecurities, which had been nurtured since that day in first grade, came flooding back.

    Wearing cut-off jeans, a baggy t-shirt, and sandals—a perfectly acceptable Kansas high school outfit—I found myself just trying to survive in this new world, where the girls dressed like they were straight out of a scene from the nineties film Clueless. I felt like I didn’t belong.

    One day in math class, the teacher, Mr. Dillon, called on me. The question was simple, but I froze. My mind went blank, overwhelmed by the pressure to fit in, to be seen by the kids in the class, and to make friends. I couldn’t speak.

    As I sat there looking at him, his words stung: “Did you even pass the third grade?”

    I wanted to disappear, to escape the burning embarrassment that filled my cheeks and the tears that welled up in my eyes.

    The classroom fell silent as his words hung in the air, and I could feel every pair of eyes on me. In that moment, all I could feel was judgment. I wanted to be noticed, but not in this way. Once again, I was “dumb,” and once again, I shrank.

    These moments, though small in the grand narrative of life, became monumental in shaping who I believed I was. I withdrew, rarely raising my hand, counting the kids in front of me, then the paragraphs in novels so I could rehearse my lines and avoid any chance of being caught off guard.

    I wouldn’t listen to the world around me; I only practiced my own words, desperately clinging to the hope that I wouldn’t expose my perceived inadequacies.

    I learned that if I raised my hand for the thing I knew, then maybe I could stay quiet for the things I didn’t. I adapted. I stayed small, blending into the background, fearful of being noticed, fearful of being labeled “dumb” once again.

    But life has a funny way of unfolding. Despite this deeply ingrained belief that I wasn’t smart enough, I found proof that I was, in fact, not dumb.

    I ended up finding success when I least expected it. Fresh out of college, I landed a sales job and, without even realizing it, became the top sales account rep in the nation. I didn’t even know there was a ranking system!

    Then, in my next role, I was named “Rookie of the Year,” again, to my surprise. It wasn’t because I had set out with grand ambitions—far from it. I was simply doing my best, without the burden of expectations or the fear of failure weighing me down.

    If I had known about these accolades ahead of time, I’m certain I would have sabotaged myself, convinced that someone like me could never achieve such success. The labels I had adopted as a child were still there, lurking in the background, ready to pull me down.

    But what I didn’t realize then is that those labels, those beliefs, were never truly mine. They were the words of others, handed to me and accepted without question. They became part of my internal belief system, shaping how I saw myself at my core.

    Recently, I had lunch with a dear friend, a woman who has built an incredible business and dedicated her life to empowering young girls. She’s someone I deeply admire. When I asked her, “What’s next for you?” she paused and said, “I know where I want to go, but imposter syndrome is holding me back.”

    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Here was a woman who had created a thriving business and positively impacted thousands of lives, yet she was still questioning herself. I had to dig deeper. When I asked her what she felt underneath, she paused again and said, “I’m a loser.”

    There it was—the truth. It wasn’t imposter syndrome at all. It was an old belief, planted in her childhood, that had never fully healed.

    She shared how she had struggled in school, how she had been held back in third grade, and how she had defied her parents’ expectations. Despite all her success, she still believed she was a “loser.”

    And isn’t that the case for so many of us? We use the term “imposter syndrome” to describe the fear of being exposed, but we hide behind old, unhealed wounds. We’re looking for ways to stay safe and avoid stepping into our true power because, deep down, we still believe the lies we were told as children.

    It’s taken nearly a decade of healing to finally understand that the labels we place on ourselves are often the very things holding us back. It’s not the opinions of others, our circumstances, or our environment—it’s our own internal belief system. This belief system, which shapes how we see ourselves at our core, is often clouded by the layers of hurt, fear, and insecurity that we’ve accumulated over the years.

    Peeling back these layers is hard work. It requires a willingness to confront the parts of ourselves that we’ve hidden away and to question the narratives we’ve accepted as truth. But beneath those layers lies our truest self—the self that is brave, smart, strong, and so much more.

    So, I ask you: Who would you be if the world hadn’t told you who they think you are? What would you do if you let go of the labels and embraced the truth of who you are at your core?

    I’ve come to forgive those who labeled me as “dumb”—for I know now that it wasn’t their truest selves speaking. It was their own layers of pain, their own insecurities, projecting onto me. And I forgive myself for believing them and for carrying their words with me for so long.

    This is a loving call to action, a call to get curious about your true self. Your soul has a purpose, and your truest self has so much to offer the world. I know it may seem like another motivational blog, but it’s so much more than that. This is me urging you to look deeper, find your truth, and don’t believe everything you think!

    Somewhere within you are beliefs that are not true, and if you release them, you can feel lighter and more open and see the abundance waiting for you. Don’t let the labels and layers hold you back any longer. Peel them away, one by one, and step into the fullness of who you are meant to be.

    You are not the beliefs that others have placed upon you. You are so much more. It’s time to stop believing your beliefs and start believing in yourself.

  • 5 Lessons About Change I Learned from Moving to a New City

    5 Lessons About Change I Learned from Moving to a New City

    “You may not be able to control every situation and its outcome, but you can control how you deal with it.” ~Unknown

    I recently moved to Florida, a decision thirty years in the making.

    Growing up in Haiti, I always longed to return to a warm climate. I remember being on our layover in Miami when we first moved to the States and thinking, “Why don’t we just stay here?” Moving to Boston at ten, the cold rain was a shock, and I’ve been dreaming of Florida ever since.

    Here’s the thing about dreams—they take time, and life sometimes gets in the way. I stayed in Boston for college, built a career, and raised my daughter, and every time I thought about making the move south, something else needed my attention.

    When my daughter graduated from high school, I felt the time was right. So I handed in my resignation, let our landlord know that we would be moving out, and started planning our move to Florida.

    You might be wondering, “Did you really move just for the sunshine and palm trees?” Well, yes and no. Those are wonderful (especially after decades of Boston winters!), but the truth is, it goes much deeper. It’s about finding a sense of belonging and reclaiming a piece of myself that I felt I lost along the way, reconnecting with the warmth that reminds me of my childhood in Haiti.

    Leaving Boston wasn’t easy. The friends, the routines, the community—I had built a life there. It was a terrifying decision. There were nights I lay awake wrestling with doubt, but deep down, I felt it was right.

    Reflecting on the move, here are five lessons it taught me, which I hope you can relate to.

    Lesson 1: Embrace the unknown.

    The fear of the unknown is usually one of the most daunting parts of any major life transition. And for me, moving to Florida was no different. I had to leave behind everything familiar to enter a world of uncertainty.

    I spent thirty years building a comfortable life in Boston. But comfort can be a double-edged sword—it can keep you from exploring and from finding new parts of yourself.

    During one of my first morning walks in Florida, I noticed how different everything felt—the air was warmer, the pace rather slow, and the faces were all unfamiliar. It hit me then: I was truly starting over.

    But it also reminded me of when I first moved to Boston from Haiti as a child and how different everything felt back then. Just as I adapted then, I knew I could do it again.

    Yes, the unknown can be scary, but growth happens when you embrace it—when you open yourself up to new experiences, people, and places.

    You have to be willing to explore, to try new things, to make mistakes and learn from them.

    Lesson 2: Plans don’t always work out.

    I’m a big-time planner. I love having everything mapped out, knowing exactly what’s going to happen and when. So, before our move, we knew where we were going to live, what college our daughter would attend, and how we would adjust to the new city.

    But life had other plans.

    We faced unexpected challenges—delays, changes in schedules, and problems we didn’t see coming.

    For example, right before our move, the moving company that had agreed to transport our belongings, cancelled at the last minute. I remember standing in the middle of our packed-up living room, filled with hundreds of packed boxes, and feeling utterly overwhelmed. How could something so important go so wrong at the last minute?

    In the end, we scrambled to find an alternative. When we finally did, the new company was delayed by several days, leaving us in limbo with everything packed but nowhere to go.

    So here is the thing—no matter how perfectly you plan, life has a way of throwing you curveballs. I had to accept that plans don’t always work out and that being adaptable is what really gets you through when things don’t go as expected.

    Lesson 3: People handle change differently.

    One thing I have learned about change is that everyone experiences it differently. We each have our own perspectives and our own ways of processing and reacting to what’s happening around us.

    My daughter was a bundle of nerves and excitement, stepping tentatively into adulthood, balancing her part-time job with college orientations and a whole new social scene. My husband, usually the rock, struggled to adapt to our new surroundings and missed his after-work routines and his usual grocery store.

    As for me, I was managing the logistics and emotional toll of the move, trying to keep everything on track—all while running a business still in its foundational stages.

    What worked for us? Regularly checking in with each other.

    It was powerful to ask—and really listen—about each other’s well-being and how each of us was dealing with this move. Taking the time to understand and connect with each other made all the difference.

    Lesson 4: Find your anchors.

    Amidst all the uncertainty and chaos that comes with a big life transition, finding things that ground you (I call these anchors) becomes your lifeline. These can be routines, habits, or places that give you a sense of stability when everything else is in flux.

    For me, journaling has become that sacred anchor. It’s my time to slow down, be present, and listen to myself. Every morning, I grab my journal and simply ask:

    “What am I feeling right now?”

    This one question opens up so much for me. It’s not just writing things down—it’s about connecting deeply with myself. It helps me embrace all the newness here in Florida, from the excitement of fresh starts to the occasional twinge of missing what I’ve left behind.

    Lesson 5: Don’t forget to laugh.

    Mistakes happen, especially during a big move.

    Like the time we realized we had packed essential items in the wrong boxes. We tore through boxes at midnight, finding only kitchen utensils and winter coats. We ended up using towels as makeshift pillows.

    We were stressed, tired, and frustrated beyond belief. But then we laughed about it.

    In moments of frustration, finding something to laugh about can shift your perspective and remind you that even in the most chaotic times, there are moments of joy and connection.

    Take a moment to think about these points.

    • How do you handle change? Do you find yourself trying to control every aspect, getting frustrated, or using humor to cope?
    • What unexpected changes have you faced recently? How did you adapt, and what did you learn about yourself in the process?
    • How do you support the people around you at times of change? Remember, you’re not the only one experiencing change; those around you are, too.

    Change is inevitable, but how we handle it defines our journey. Embrace the unknown, support each other, and don’t forget to laugh along the way.

  • How to Navigate Loss and Fear and Emerge Resilient

    How to Navigate Loss and Fear and Emerge Resilient

    “New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.” ~Lao Tzu

    Sailing on a beautiful day in calm seas can feel like a spiritual experience and can convince your senses that life should always be like this.

    My family life was smooth sailing for many years. My husband and I were committed to our family and our responsibilities of building and running our businesses, leaving little time for anything else. Gradually, the weather changed, and we found ourselves in the uncharted, turbulent waters of divorce.

    I was unprepared for the toll it would take. My anxiety caused me to lose weight, and when I felt hypo-glycemic, it was my body’s reminder to nourish myself. I was scared about what life would look like for my three daughters and me and wanted the best for my husband, even though we decided we could not remain together.

    Living separately, we grew to learn how to do things we depended on each other for, such as financial management, cooking, DIY home repairs, etc. We lost some friends, and some family estrangements developed—a ripple effect we didn’t see coming.

    When you lose friends and family members due to divorce or estrangement, it can make you question your worth and stirs up self-doubt.

    Years pass, and life goes on.

    Eventually, we both remarried, and a few years later, my new husband, Bill, was told he had throat cancer. His treatments whittled down his hard-earned military physique to a shadow of his former self.

    During this time, as his caregiver, I was also preparing to take a board exam to practice my profession, and I worked as a science teacher in an alternative school to help make ends meet. The days were incredibly long and hard for both of us.

    Within that year, my father was diagnosed with cancer, which further destroyed our family. His treatments were equally brutal to his body. Eventually, Bill lost his valiant battle with cancer, and my father lost his battle in the following seven months, resulting in two funerals in a year.

    Physically, I was exhausted and gained an unhealthy amount of weight. Whenever I ate, I had gut pain, so I lost the pleasure of eating. Headaches were frequent, and due to a loss of sleep, my energy was so depleted that doing everyday tasks was a burden, never mind having to relocate and downsize yet again.

    I had little support, and this was when I felt genuinely broken.

    In my “brokenness,” I remembered a conversation with a pastor friend who reminded me that life has its seasons: the spring of childhood, the summer of youth, the autumn of adulthood, and the winter of death. So many aspects of life can be viewed that way. With that, I discovered truth in his words and oddly felt an inner peace.

    I grew to understand the phrase “if you hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up” because I hit those rocks hard. I desperately needed to regain my physical, mental, and emotional health, which had been tested repeatedly for years, for myself and my family.

    My sympathetic fight-or-flight nervous system switch never shut off. I realized I had to change that before relinquishing control of my health and well-being, which I have always valued but took for granted.

    Here is what I discovered in my losses and fears, along with some pearls for living with resilience.

    1. Submit to the process.

    Feel the depth of your feelings by allowing them to flow through you.

    When you are in a liminal place, at the threshold of change, it is only natural to have many strong feelings and feelings that you may resist—grief over the loss of a loved one or a relationship, fear of the future ahead, anger that you are in this position, frustration with your own body, or denial of the new reality.

    Feel your feelings and journal to process them or communicate with someone you trust. This is how you start to heal. Far better than suffering silently is being honest with yourself about your feelings tied to the complexities of your process.

    Minimizing yourself or numbing your feelings invalidates the depth and breadth of your experience.

    If possible, consider reframing a sad or difficult experience to put a positive spin on it.

    I may be divorced, but my daughters are the best part of my life. I would not have them if it weren’t for my previous marriage. Also, downsizing into a smaller home improved my financial situation. I rejected it initially, but it made my responsibilities and financial commitments more manageable in the long run.

    Suffering any kind of loss or hardship is never easy and can feel crushing. Meet yourself where you are, go with the flow of your emotions with self-compassion and nonjudgment, and, if possible, open your mind to reframing a negative into a positive result.

    2. Don’t ruminate while looking in the rearview mirror.

    This is so tempting.

    It is so easy to slip into the default pattern of looking at the past when we want our personal losses, challenges, and difficulties to make sense.

    Exercise radical acceptance if you need to accept your life as it is, even if it causes you pain.

    When I learned of radical acceptance, it felt unnatural, something I might have to convince myself to do. But I realized that to be at peace, I could not control everything in my life. Seasons.

    Also, bringing gratitude into your daily life is a valuable, underutilized tool that brings what is good into focus. When we target several reasons for gratitude as a daily habit, we shapeshift our mindset to support our well-being.

    Amassing what has happened to you in the past and bringing it into focus today creates an unnecessary, overwhelming burden. The past cannot be changed, and the future cannot be predicted, but we can choose to accept what is right now.

    This will lessen your suffering and the tendency to look back in the mirror.

    3. Connect with your physical, mental, and emotional needs.

    Prolonged stress affects our hormones, cardiovascular system, gut health, musculoskeletal system, immune health, and every other function and body system with far-reaching, long-term effects.

    There is no reason to neglect or minimize your needs; this is a time to amp up your efforts to honor your needs. Listening to your body’s messages strongly improves your ability to handle and recover from stress.

    When stuck in the stress cycle, mindful self-care practices are even more important to prevent unhealthy habits from forming. Eating nutrient-dense meals, walking in nature, practicing consistent sleep hygiene practices, or spending time with friends or family members who love and support you are effective self-care practices to reduce stress and manage anxiety.

    According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, you cannot experience all the potential that your life has to offer if you do not first meet your basic physiological needs. As you meet those needs, you can move through your experience in life more fully, owning and attracting love to you, developing deep connections, and increasing your confidence, self-esteem, and full potential despite setbacks in life.

    It is easy to become more reflexive than in control, an oversight that is not uncommon for highly stressed individuals.

    When I reprioritized myself with self-care practices, my health and well-being improved, as evidenced by my improved blood labs, weight loss, ease of digestion, and increased energy levels. I had a renewed sense of purpose in my work; later in my life, love found me.

    When you connect with your physical, mental, and emotional needs, you can also better honor them in others.

    4. Chart a course that meets your life’s needs at the time.

    Decide what needs to be done to meet important needs. By successfully tending to some of the smaller needs, you can more easily prepare for larger target goals. With that, you develop an adaptable and increasingly more positive mindset.

    Consider small gains as you progress forward.

    As part of my healing and stress management, I knew I could do what I had to do by taking small, manageable, and incremental steps. It was too difficult for me to envision a big-picture view of a whole and healed life following so much loss for a time, but eventually, that changed.

    A day at a time, a week at a time, and a month at a time are now years later.

    Remaining open-minded and building your optimism naturally builds and reinforces your resilience muscle.

    So celebrate the small gains in your life. They naturally lead to more small successes, which builds confidence in planning for larger ones.

    5. Life happens, and when it does, develop a surfing mindset, even if you fear the wind or the waves.

    When the winds of change occur, a sailor must adjust the sail to tack and harness the wind to his advantage. The wind and the waves do not remain the same even on one given day. Sailors hone their skills to have the wind and the waves support their intended direction.

    Life never remains the same. Things constantly change. When they do, step back, breathe, and ask yourself what the next best step is in caring for yourself in the moment and in moving forward.

    Through resilience, you can more easily heal and accept life’s dynamic nature by learning and growing from overcoming challenges and setbacks, and, in the face of uncertainty, you can live more fully with confidence and joy in the present and in the mystery of the future.

    Resilience is a quality that is not earned by having an easy life; rather, it is a testimony to coming through hardship and challenging experiences and feeling whole despite them.

  • How to Make a Big Change by Embracing Love and Confronting Fear

    How to Make a Big Change by Embracing Love and Confronting Fear

    “If you truly want to change your life, you must first be willing to change your mind.” ~Dan Altman

    I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts recently, and the guest speaker, Gary Zukav, was explaining that humans operate from two major emotions. Once you learn this and can differentiate how you’re truly feeling, life can feel easier and more peaceful. He said this:

    Every emotion stems from only two: love and fear.

    It took me a second to let the message sink in, but the more I thought about this statement, the more I realized how true it is. Humans can experience a gamut of feelings such as anger, guilt, love, happiness, sadness, worry, shame, etc. But if you look closer at each emotion, you can trace them back to love or fear.

    I started to apply this reasoning to my thoughts and began identifying which emotion was causing each one. I found that the heavier emotions like worry, anxiety, and insecurity were stemming from fear. Fear of what will happen, fear of what people thought of me, and so on.

    When I started this process of identifying the thoughts, I realized I was spending way more of my time in fear than love. (It’s common for humans to be here because our brain is built to protect us.) I set out to train my brain to think more love-based thoughts like recognizing the abundance and love I already have and how I am so grateful to have the relationships I do.

    Now, this isn’t to say that fear-based thoughts are bad; we need them for survival. And I’m also not saying that you should ignore any negative emotion and only think happy thoughts; that isn’t realistic or healthy!

    But I found that I was consciously focusing on the heavier emotions instead of finding all the beauty around me. The fear-based thoughts turned into my comfort zone because making a big change felt intimidating. I’d rather just stay safe and let the worry dictate my actions.

    I think we humans love to complicate life and be constantly in worry mode, fearing that if we let our guard down something bad will happen. But what if you consciously chose a thought that felt better? What if you chose to see the beauty and ease in life? Try it for just one day and see how you feel.

    One area of my life where I was stuck in fear was my relationship with my physical body. I started a new journey this year, one where I am taking care of myself through choosing healthy food and movement. Releasing excess weight I gained from a stressful year in 2023.

    Although I knew what foods to eat and that I needed to move my body more, my mind was still against me. Telling me I couldn’t do it or it wouldn’t make a difference. But this time around, I wasn’t going to throw in the towel just because my mind wanted to.

    I decided to choose love-based thoughts about myself and my new journey. I figured that no one was going to do it for me, and I needed to be my biggest advocate. I had to choose the thoughts and beliefs that would support me and remind myself that I was worth the extra effort.

    Let’s take a look at love-based vs. fear-based thoughts and how I completely changed my perspective by reframing my thinking.

    Fear-based thought: I have to cut out “bad” foods so I can lose weight quickly.

    Love-based thought: I’m choosing to eat whole foods that give me energy.

    Fear-based thought: If I’m not spending an hour in the gym every day, then what’s the point in moving my body? It won’t make a difference.

    Love-based thought: I choose to move my body daily, in a way that makes me happy, because it improves my mental and physical health.

    Fear-based thought: I have to look a certain way or weigh a certain amount to be happy and confident.

    Love-based thought: I’m taking ownership of my health so I can feel and look my best and be confident in my own body, not because I need to look like anyone else. I know that external appearance has little to do with being happy.

    Fear-based thought: I need to punish myself for past decisions and actions, so that means I can’t have fun anymore or enjoy food.

    Love-based thought: I know that this is a journey, and perfection is not the goal. I’m making daily decisions that support where I want to go, and that includes having fun.

    See how supportive and kind the love-based thoughts feel? Now, that doesn’t mean there won’t be challenges or setbacks along the way. Of course there will be! But I can choose to be kind to myself and have my own back.

    The love-based approach to this journey reminds me why I’m doing it—to take care of my body, not because I am trying to look like someone else. The love-based approach is what is going to set me up for long-term success.

    Fear wants everything immediately, and love knows that good things take time to grow. Fear will tell you to stick to what you’re used to, even if it’s not the healthiest choice. Fear likes comfort because comfort = safety. That’s why so many of us find it challenging to change our habits.

    To make any change, you first need to start with your belief system and how you see yourself. Doing anything out of punishment, shame, or insecurity will never last. These are all based on what other people think of you and don’t give you a greater sense of purpose as to why you’re making a change.

    Now it’s time to look at your own life and identify which of these two emotions you are living in. The next time you are starting a journey or just feel like you are stuck in life, first ask yourself what thoughts and beliefs you are carrying. Do they feel supportive and loving or fearful?

    If you find yourself having more fear-based thoughts, that’s okay and normal. What you choose to do with those thoughts is where your power lies. Start to look at the fear and question what it protects you from. Will it get you to your goals? Would you talk to your best friend this way? Having awareness and confronting these thoughts is what will completely change your life.

    Do you desire more love and kindness? Start by being kind to yourself! Write down all the ways you are worth the extra effort and care. Start finding the beauty that already exists in your life, all around you. Decide right now that you’ll be your biggest cheerleader because when you have your own back, almost anything is possible.

  • 5 Hidden Fears That May Be Secretly Sabotaging Your Life

    5 Hidden Fears That May Be Secretly Sabotaging Your Life

    “Sometimes what you’re most afraid of doing is the very thing that will set you free.” ~Robert Tew

    I like to say I don’t regret much in life, because I know I’ve always done the best I could and have learned from every experience. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t considered what my life might be like now if I’d overcome certain fears sooner.

    For years I shut people out because I feared I might ruin relationships if I opened myself up to them. And there was a good reason for that—I’d damaged many relationships in the past by acting in response to my trauma.

    I’d driven people away, sometimes with unnecessary drama that stemmed from insecurity and other times with dangerous behavior, like binge drinking, that required them to take care of me.

    The binge drinking was particularly terrifying to me because I couldn’t seem to stop once I started, and I often blacked out, which meant I didn’t trust myself.

    I didn’t trust myself to drink responsibly. I didn’t trust myself not to humiliate myself when alcohol lowered my inhibitions and opened the floodgates to my deepest pains. But most importantly, I didn’t trust myself not to confirm what I suspected everyone thought of me: that I was a mess. Unlovable. And not worth having around.

    I remember a time when I was working on a marketing tour, when I was twenty-three, taking a mobile appliance showroom from state to state. My boss and I would often get drunk together at bars, along with my one female coworker, after we powered down the showroom for the night.

    A few shots in and I’d be all over him on the dance floor, with him all too happy to accept the attention.

    At one stop, my coworker, who was also my hotel roommate, met a guy who stayed in our room for several nights. This meant I moved to my boss’s room, where we finally took things to the next level.

    In hindsight I see it had “bad idea” written all over it—and not just because it was clearly a crossed boundary, but also because I was an emotional mess back then. But that’s exactly why I didn’t see it at the time.

    I convinced myself that he loved me and I’d finally found “the one.” Something I feared would never happen after my college boyfriend left me, after three years of my self-destruction. Which made it all the more devastating when he told me we had to keep things professional once we hit the next city.

    On the final night of the tour, in NYC, where it had originated, we met up at a bar with several people who were going to be my boss’s new coworkers. I got black-out drunk and—as I’ve been told—cried hysterically in front of all of them, screaming at him, “You used me!”

    I don’t think I’ve ever felt shame like I did in the days that followed, and I’ve felt some pretty deep shame in my life. It wasn’t just that I’d lost control and humiliated myself, though that obviously stung. And it wasn’t because I’d hurt someone I claimed to care about, though, once again, realizing this was brutal.

    It was also that I’d revealed my darkness and my damage to people who I assumed were better than me, much like I had as a bullied kid. I had publicly exposed the most fragile, broken parts of myself.

    This wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time “relationships” and “work” overlapped in the Venn diagram of my fears. And that terrified me. Because now I wasn’t just afraid that I’d mess up my relationships with my emotional issues but my professional life as well.

    We don’t always talk about these kinds of things because no one wants to broadcast the experiences and fears that make them feel most ashamed and vulnerable.

    But when we don’t process these kinds of experiences, they fester inside us, growing into toxic blocks that prevent us from pursuing the things that would bring us love, joy, and fulfillment.

    They keep us hiding, playing small, depriving ourselves of the connections and experiences we deeply want to embrace—if only we weren’t so scared.

    Scared of what we can’t do. Scared of what we might do. Scared of what people will see. Scared of what they might think.

    We barricade ourselves into a corner of our minds, somewhere down the hall from all our fantasies about the life we really want—filled with people and passion and pleasure.

    Because it feels safer there. Because less can hurt us if we don’t put ourselves out there.

    But life is out there. Love is out there. Passion and purpose and contribution—all the things that make life worth living—are out there. Beyond the fears that many of us don’t even realize we’re holding.

    Not sure what fears are holding you back? Maybe one of these will sound familiar.

    5 Hidden Fears That May Be Secretly Sabotaging Your Life

    1. If I get into a good situation, I might mess it up.

    Maybe, like my former self, you fear ruining relationships. Or perhaps for you, this fear pertains to your work and taking on more responsibility. Maybe you’ve cracked in pressure-filled situations before and worry you will again. Or maybe you fear having kids because you’re afraid you’ll mess them up, even if you try your best to be a cycle-breaker (a fear I know all too well).

    I believe this a three-pronged fear, born from equal parts shame, mistrust, and perfectionism.

    We’re ashamed of things we feel we’ve ruined in the past, and we don’t want to relive that pain. We don’t trust that we can do better than we’ve done, or that we can handle it if the past repeats itself. But most importantly, we don’t realize that the goal isn’t to never again make mistakes but to know that we can repair and bounce back when we do.

    I’ve often felt I’ve messed up as a parent to young kids because I’ve had moments when I’ve failed to meet my high standards of calmness and gentleness. And maybe this is why I waited until thirty-nine to have my first son.

    But in those moments when I disappoint myself, I remind myself that what matters most is how I respond to my mistakes—because my sons are human and fallible too. Even if I could do everything perfectly, which I obviously can’t, it’s far more valuable for me to show them how to repair, learn, and grow when I inevitably fall short.

    When I look back, I recognize that every I’ve time I’ve messed something up—in parenting or other parts of life—I’ve learned something that’s helped me do better going forward. Which has enabled me to slowly become more confident in my relationships and my work.

    The key to overcoming this fear, I’ve realized, is diving in, accepting that the worst might happen, and knowing that getting through your worst moments is the key to getting closer to your best.

    2. If I put myself out there, people might find out I’m a fraud.

    If, like me, you’ve struggled with low self-worth, you might find it challenging to overcome the fear of being seen as inferior, incompetent, inadequate, unworthy, or somehow less than others. And this might compel you to sabotage opportunities to make a difference in the world.

    It feels a lot safer in a shadow than a spotlight because people can’t criticize what they don’t see. And you don’t have to worry about being exposed as a fraud if you’re never in a position to be scrutinized.

    But I’ve come to believe that most of us feel like we’re really just winging it. Most of us worry that someday people will find out we have no idea what we’re doing. That despite the degrees and credentials and filters and followers, we’re all just wounded kids underneath it all, trying to outgrow the limitations that our trauma and other people have imposed on us.

    This is partly why authentic sharing has been so compelling to me. When I put my cards on the table, no one can question if maybe I’m bluffing. Because here you go, I’m showing you! I don’t have the best hand. But I’m playing it the best I know how. We all are. And there’s something empowering about letting that be enough.

    3. If I don’t push myself, I might never prove my worth.

    This is the other side of the last fear, but instead of creating a sense of paralysis, it keeps us in a perpetual state of busyness—depriving ourselves of rest, connection, and fun so we can hurry up and matter.

    It’s the fear that tells us to keep working. Or networking. Trying to build the right thing or meet the right person so we can finally make a name for ourselves. And make the kind of difference that proves we’re valuable.

    It’s the ticking time bomb of pressure and productivity that eventually explodes in a breakdown or burnout, ironically pausing all our efforts to do something big and significant.

    When we’re driven by the fear of dying unimportant, we’re never truly able to devote ourselves to the things that are important to us. Both because we’re too busy to find the time for them and because our minds are too busy when we finally do.

    And what a shame that is—because the people we’re most important to don’t care what we do or what we earn. They just want us. Our presence. Our attention. But we can only offer those things if we fully accept that they’re just as valuable as anything we could accomplish or create.

    4. If I’m honest and authentic, people might judge, reject, or abandon me.

    Maybe you’re afraid to set boundaries or speak up about your needs. Or perhaps you’re afraid of sharing your trauma because you worry that people might look down on you, or worse, doubt or blame you.

    When we suppress our needs and deepest truths, we not only withhold our authentic selves in our relationships but also reinforce to ourselves that we need to hide. That what we have to say is wrong or shameful.

    This means we simultaneously sabotage our relationships with others while fracturing our relationships with ourselves.

    Looking back, I now realize my binge drinking was partly my authenticity trying to survive. It was the liquid courage that enabled me to release my social anxiety and say the things I wanted to say.

    But the irony was that lots of people rejected me when I was a sloppy, emotional drunk.

    It took me years to recognize that my binge drinking wasn’t just rooted in the fear of rejection. I drank to excess in social situations because I wanted to numb the voice in my head that told me it might happen. And that maybe I deserved it because I was fundamentally flawed.

    So really, the key to overcoming the fear of being rejected was to stop rejecting myself. To recognize that it was okay if some people didn’t like me, and it didn’t have to mean anything about me. It didn’t have to mean there was something wrong with me—just that we were wrong for each other.

    5. If I don’t settle for what’s right in front of me, I might end up with nothing.

    Every fear on this list stems from low confidence in ourselves and our worth, and this is a sad but common belief many of us with low self-esteem subconsciously hold—that we probably can’t get anything better than what we have right now.

    So we settle for unfulfilling jobs and dysfunctional relationships that leave us feeling drained and empty.

    We hold onto people and things that hurt us, thinking it’s better than having nothing at all.

    And we do it because we believe we need those people and things to feel happy and whole—without realizing they’re actually keeping us stuck in feelings of unhappiness and brokenness.

    They probably didn’t cause those feelings, though. Or at least they’re not the root cause. They’re just the most recent iteration of familiar dissatisfaction—a new level in a pattern we’ve been repeating for years because we don’t realize we’re playing out the past over and over, recreating the initial pain that led to our low self-worth.

    No one is born believing they deserve the bare minimum. We learn it when that’s when we’re given.

    Then many of us go through life without ever questioning why we accept so little, from others and ourselves. We hurt but don’t know why, and try to drink it away, smoke it away, eat it away, or love it away—all to avoid facing ourselves and our deepest wounds and fears.

    We may even convince ourselves those fears are just parts of our personality. I’m just quiet. I’m an overachiever. I’m a cautious person.

    But that’s not the real truth, or not the whole truth. The truth is that we’re living behind a wall of our fears, yearning for life on the other side while taking comfort in the perceived safety of not exploring it.

    And I get it. I really do. I want to feel safe. Safe with other people and, most importantly, safe with myself. I now know that starts with trusting myself.

    Trusting that I can do hard things—and bounce back if I fail.

    Trusting that I can put myself out there—and handle it if someone doesn’t like me.

    Trusting that I can face the pain that comes with a life unnumbed—and grow through every uncomfortable moment.

    And maybe that’s it—trust. Maybe that’s the antidote to fear.

    I’m not sure if it’s the result of boosting our self-worth or the path to doing it. But I know that trust is the reward for trying. Because we can never guarantee that we’ll do everything perfectly or that other people won’t judge or reject us. But we can trust that with every step we take in spite of our fears, we are growing a little further beyond them. And that the more we grow, the less our fears can limit us.

  • How to Get to the Amazing Life on the Other Side of Your Fears

    How to Get to the Amazing Life on the Other Side of Your Fears

    “As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others!” ~Marianne Williamson

    Have you ever felt trapped by fear, unable to break free from the shackles of insecurity and doubt? It’s a shared experience that often holds us back from living authentically and pursuing our true passions.

    Fear comes in many forms—fear of failure, fear of success, fear of the unknown. Yet, at its core, fear is a prison of our own making, constructed from limiting beliefs and negative self-talk.

    But what if I told you that confronting your fears could lead to liberation? What if facing your deepest insecurities was the key to unlocking your true potential?

    Consider the metaphor of caged dogs accustomed to electric shocks. Despite the opportunity to escape, they remain imprisoned by familiarity, opting for discomfort over the unfamiliarity of freedom. This phenomenon is mirrored in our lives, where we cling to dissatisfaction for the illusion of security.

    Reflecting on my own journey, I recall a time when I grappled with chronic illness. Despite yearning for healing, I realized I harbored a deep-seated fear of what lay beyond the confines of my suffering.

    I had an epiphany (post-existential crisis): Did I fear failure? Or did I fear success? Did I actually fear what success and healing meant and what they came with?

    What would healing mean for me? It would mean relinquishing the safety net of my pain and stepping into a reality where I was called to fulfill my purpose and potential. The prospect was daunting, especially after being confined to the shadows and the comfort of my sofa for so long.

    As I embarked on the journey toward healing, I found myself grappling with a profound fear—one that extended beyond the confines of my illness. I yearned for recovery, yet I couldn’t shake the apprehension of what lay beyond the familiar territory of my suffering.

    Would I lose the identity I had forged amidst my struggles?

    Would I be able to navigate a world without the crutch of my suffering?

    These questions loomed large, casting shadows of doubt and hesitation on my path to recovery. It became evident that my fear wasn’t merely rooted in the prospect of being sick or well but rather in the unknown territory ahead.

    Yet, amidst the uncertainty, a glimmer of hope emerged—a reminder that growth often requires us to confront our deepest fears head-on. I realized that true healing transcends physical recovery; it demands a willingness to embrace change and step into the unknown.

    As I grappled with these uncertainties, I came to understand that the journey toward healing is not just about overcoming illness but about rediscovering ourselves and embracing the fullness of life that awaits on the other side of fear.

    We fear that the life we truly want would be too scary to bring into manifestation. But to live in such a way is doing ourselves a massive disservice. You can feel it in your soul when you abandon your desires in this way.

    Yet, as I confronted my fears head-on, I discovered a newfound sense of empowerment and freedom. I realized that true liberation comes from within, from the courage to embrace change and step into the unknown.

    Marianne Williamson poignantly remarked, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.” Embracing our innate power liberates us and those around us, igniting a ripple effect of inspiration and transformation.

    So, how do we break free from the chains of fear? Here are some actionable steps to help you overcome anxiety and step into your authentic self.

    1. Identify your fears.

    Take time to reflect on the fears holding you back. Write them down and acknowledge their presence in your life.

    2. Challenge your beliefs.

    Question the validity of your fears. Are they based on facts or assumptions? Challenge the negative self-talk that reinforces these fears. When I did this exercise, I realized I believed I wasn’t good enough and assumed it would be too much work to pursue the life I wanted.

    3. Learn and practice nervous system regulation.

    Fear is programmed into our bodies from a young age. If we don’t deal with it, then it can become trapped inside us and cause things like anxiety, depression. and chronic illness. Teaching my body how to feel fear and stay regulated was vital to my healing journey.

    One way I do this is through breathwork, focusing on longer exhales to activate the parasympathetic nervous system. I also discovered that movement really is medicine when it comes to the nervous system. And I underwent somatic trauma therapy and somatic experiencing, which was game-changing in my healing journey and recovering from chronic anxiety.

    4. Visualize success.

    Imagine yourself overcoming your fears and achieving your goals. Visualize the empowerment and fulfillment that come with stepping into your authentic self.

    5. Take small steps.

    Break down your goals into manageable steps and take action toward overcoming your fears. Celebrate each small victory along the way.

    When I knew I wanted to travel the world and work online but was housebound due to my health and anxiety, I started with going to the shops. Then months later, I went back to work one day a week. I built myself up, and three years later, I just came back from three months travelling in Bali!

    6. Seek support.

    Surround yourself with a supportive network of friends, family, or a therapist who can offer encouragement and guidance as you confront your fears. You do not have to do this alone! It takes a village!

    7. Cultivate compassion for the part of you that is scared of thriving.

    Be kind to yourself throughout this process. Recognize that facing your fears takes courage, and it’s okay to experience setbacks along the way.

    Feeling scared or hesitant about the prospect of thriving and healing is natural. After all, change can be daunting, and the unknown can evoke feelings of vulnerability. However, it’s essential to approach these fears with compassion and love, recognizing that they stem from a place of self-protection and past experiences.

    Start by acknowledging the validity of your fears and the emotions they evoke. Instead of dismissing or suppressing them, offer yourself empathy and understanding. Remember that feeling scared is okay, your emotions are valid, and you’re doing your best to navigate this journey.

    Offer yourself the same compassion you would extend to a loved one facing similar challenges.

    8. Practice self-care.

    Engage in self-care practices that nurture your emotional well-being and cultivate inner peace. This could include mindfulness meditation, journaling, time in nature, or engaging in activities that bring you joy and comfort. By prioritizing self-care, you create a supportive foundation for addressing your fears with compassion and love.

    9. Be patient with yourself.

    Finally, remind yourself that healing and thriving are gradual processes that require patience and perseverance. Support yourself through each step of your journey, knowing you deserve to live a life filled with growth, joy, and fulfilment.

    Ultimately, the path to liberation lies in embracing change, confronting our fears, and stepping into our authentic selves. It’s a journey of self-discovery and empowerment that promises freedom, fulfilment, and the realization of our true potential.

    Are you ready to embrace the unknown and liberate yourself from fear? The choice is yours.

  • How I Overcame My Fear on My Trauma Anniversary

    How I Overcame My Fear on My Trauma Anniversary

    “It’s okay that you don’t know how to move on. Start with something easier…. Like not going back.” ~Unknown

    I’m one of the 70% of people who have experienced trauma, and it can be hard to deal with. Actually, I’ve experienced more than one traumatic event, which is also common.

    In fact, sometimes it feels like trauma and the symptoms have ruled my life.

    The gut-churning, confused thoughts, sweating, shaking, inability to breathe and panic are horrible parts, though to me there is something worse.

    The fear.

    The fear that it will happen again. The fear of what it took from me and how will I continue to live.

    The fear that I will never be the same again. Forever changed.

    So you kind of repress it as much as you can and learn to live with the symptoms.

    When trauma impacts your life permanently, the diagnosis is post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)— the continual fear of reexperiencing what you went through and the avoidance of any potential trigger.

    When people know about the trauma, they often treat you differently. They see the trauma, not you. They just see what happened.

    This week is a significant anniversary of workplace trauma.

    I previously worked in security and was very good at my job. I was a supervisor, and my concern was for those I worked with and the people where I worked.

    As the only female security person there, I made the decision to be approachable to others. Especially women. I wanted them to feel safe to ring up for a chat at any hour if they felt alone working in their office or if they wanted someone to walk with them to their car.

    I used to go for a walk around the area every night, with my uniform covered. Night shifts are long and can be lonely and boring. A good walk helped me stay focused.

    One night, at 3 a.m., I was walking with my uniform covered when I ran into a woman walking home. She was a little tipsy, so I walked her the last little way home. After I left her, something felt off.

    Walking back, I knew I wasn’t alone. I looked around and couldn’t see anyone, but I felt them. I was being watched, and it was terrifying.

    At that moment my brain registered that this was personal, not professional.

    My uniform was covered, so it wasn’t an attack by someone who was angry with me relating to the job. I was a woman, and I was being hunted.

    All my extensive training went out the window. The fear was paralyzing. A fear that, commonly, men don’t understand. They are rarely the prey.

    I walked as fast as I could in the middle of a street with poor lighting, and I kept looking but couldn’t see anyone.

    I was aware that there were four sexual deviants in the area. I’d read all the reports of assaults, rapes, and indecent exposure. Where I worked was a great ‘playground’ for disturbed people.

    This person was in the shadows; I was in the center of the road. At that point, I couldn’t breathe.

    I was almost at the building I was aiming for when I saw him. Right in front of me. And I saw his knife.

    That moment felt like an eternity. When reality slows down and every action is like a dream.

    I got inside the building, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him through the window. He was waiting for me to leave. Even if I hadn’t read the incident reports, there was no doubt about what he intended.

    I tried calling the guards for help on my two-way radio, but I couldn’t speak. No words came out. I tried three times while watching him move back into the shadows.

    Twice I tried to use my phone to call the office (500 meters away) to get help, but again, no words came out. Alone in a brightly lit building, I was terrified to move. I didn’t want to move into the building further. It was dark, but I didn’t want him watching me. My decision was to stand still near the entrance, where most of the cameras were.

    The third time I called, my number was recognized, and all I could say was “help.” I managed to give him a building number and could hear him dispatching help.

    The man who had been following me silently left in the shadows. We never found him, despite the guards hunting for him. Back at base, these men had never seen me fazed by anything. I was always the calm one, the one you call in a crisis, even the physical ones. They didn’t get it.

    This man didn’t have to touch me. I knew his intent; I could see his weapon and his eyes. I had read the reports. This was personal.

    It was something that my employer couldn’t understand; as aggressive men, they were never ‘prey.’ As a rule, men are stronger than women and more violent.

    While some men have been prey, it is far less common. Women have to deal with these feelings and fears so much more. In this case, it was more than just the fear that got to me.

    It was the shame, the humiliation, and the shock.

    Shame that I was incapable of protecting myself and he was left there to hurt others. While I already felt that hit, my employer stated his disgust at my inability to act.

    Humiliation, as I was always seen as the ‘strong one,’ but I felt very much the victim here. I know what being a victim feels like. I’ve been there many times, though I never dreamed that I would be there when working.

    It’s been ten years, and I am still affected by this experience. It has affected my quality of life and how I live.  

    With any trauma, you learn to manage it. Live with it and come to terms with it in your own way. You have a choice: Will you allow the experience to leave you a victim, or will you move through it?

    Recently, someone asked me, “How will you manage the anniversary?” They asked in a caring way, wanting to know that I had support during this time. But it left me in a challenging place.

    In my heart, I know that it is not about repressing, hiding, pretending it didn’t happen, or pretending that I am okay when I’m not. I truly believe that to heal from something, we must stop running from it and look at it, feel it, and allow it to heal.

    I also know that a bad experience can make us stronger, and that we can inspire others with how we rise above adversity.

    The day after that person asked me, “How will you manage?”, my right knee went numb.

    It didn’t hurt, but it did make me limp. Suddenly, I was scared.

    I was thrown back into the energy of being a victim because someone was worried about how I would manage to deal with this thing that had changed my life.

    I spent most of my life in that victim space, and it was a struggle to get out of it.

    It is more than a mindset shift. It is breaking old beliefs, changing old habits, and being willing to see that there is something else there. It was a personal challenge for me to see that life can be more than a meager existence.

    I will be forever changed by my trauma, and I may never be able to do what I used to do, but that doesn’t mean that I cannot live the best life that I can.

    If one looks at the energetic issues around knee pain, it is often related to a fear of moving forward in life. A fear of stepping into your path. A fear of change. So we stay stagnant.

    I am at a crossroads in my life. I am seeking a new path, while aware of my limitations.

    Thrown back into the old energy, it is hard to take the next step and move forward.

    The irony is that this week I was planning to go to a very special crystal garden. A place that feels like a deeper ‘home’ to my soul. Being there is always special, healing, and empowering.

    Yet suddenly, I could not walk easily. Stepping into my power and letting go of the impact of trauma seemed impossible.

    I had to identify that I was sabotaging myself from stepping forward. From progressing with a dream, with a desire, with a passion. I had caused myself to stall.

    Can one truly cause a physical problem, based on fear?

    In my world, yes.

    This does come down to your beliefs, though, to me, this is how I stop myself from moving forward in life.

    Now that I have learned to recognize this (which takes time and courage), when I identify it, acknowledge it, and reconnect with my heart regarding the situation, I can heal the emotional wound, which then frees the energy that causes the physical issue.

    This takes practice, and I’m trained in various healing modalities, so I have a head start here, but this is how I’ve worked through things many times over the years.

    When my knee went numb and it felt like I was trying to walk through cement, I knew that I needed to clear this energetic resistance that had formed in my mind.

    Here’s what I did to regain feeling in my knee again, to release the victim mindset I’d slipped into.

    1. I acknowledged my fears out loud. “I fear stepping into my power.” “I fear not coping.” “I fear I am stuck in trauma.” I had to verbalize these fears, then change them.

    2. I wrote lines in my surrender notebook. “I no longer fear stepping into my power,” “I no longer fear that I am stuck in trauma,” and “I longer fear that I am not coping.”

    3. Then I wrote positive lines: “I am easily stepping into my power,” “I am capable of managing all situations that I am in,” and “I am free from trauma and stress.”

    I kept writing and saying these statements out loud until I could feel them. I wrote several pages worth, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was shifting my mindset and energy.

    After a hot Epsom salt bath, which is a powerful energy-cleansing ritual, I felt better, and my knee had more feeling. I wasn’t fully where I wanted to be; however, I wasn’t dwelling on the trauma and the negative. I was back in the moment.

    Now I needed to visualize and see what I wanted to happen. This is such a powerful skill to learn. I often use my phone voice recorder to create my own visualization that I can play as I sleep or throughout the day.

    What was important here was that I take a step in the direction I wanted to go in.

    I jumped online and purchased the tickets needed for the crystal castle I wanted to go to. I committed to moving forward.

    Then I very slowly started walking on my treadmill.

    Again, as I slowly walked, I was repeating out loud, “I am easily stepping into my power. I am free. I am achieving my dreams.” This wasn’t about exercise or heart rate; it was about showing myself and my body that I am moving forward in life.

    I closed my eyes and visualized walking through the crystal gardens, through the bush, touching the crystals, and letting my vision move into my next life steps.

    At one point, I noticed that I was walking more easily. I could feel my knee again. But I kept going, holding on to the positive, progressive feeling.

    After thirty minutes of slow walking, I felt refreshed and, importantly, I felt in my flow of life again. Able to walk normally and not be caught up in the trauma anniversary.

    In fact, at that point, I was determined to stop remembering this anniversary date and decided to accept it as a time in my life that gave me the opportunity to grow.

    This is a challenging way to look at things, but when you are ready to look at an experience this way, it empowers you and inspires others too.

    This is not saying that any trauma is justified or condoned. It is saying that I refuse to stay a victim of this experience, and if I can, I will find a way it can help me grow as a person.

  • How I Cherished Every Beautiful Moment of My Daughter’s Short Life

    How I Cherished Every Beautiful Moment of My Daughter’s Short Life

    In the spring of 2012, I heard this word, “rest.” I realized how horrible I was at it. I wasn’t even sure what it was. Was it extra sleep? Was it not working on Sundays? Shortly after I heard this word, my life began changing. For one reason or another, one by one, the things with which I occupied myself were stripped away until I found myself with nothing left to hold.

    A year later I was in a panic, wondering how we were going to make ends meet. Everything in me said to do what I had always done: get on email, get on the phone, make the next thing happen. Anyone who knew me knew I was someone who could make anything happen. If I didn’t know how, I bought a book and learned. Anything I ever wanted, I found a way to get.

    Then I heard the word again, “rest.”

    “What?! Now? No. My family is depending on me. My reputation is at stake. I don’t have time for rest. I will rest when things are okay.”

    “No. That is not what rest is.”

    Rest is not something you do. Rest is something you put on. It is something you are while you do what you are doing. Rest is a posture.

    I decided to do the exact opposite thing my insides were telling me to do. I went to the backyard, sat on a chair, and watched. I did not know what I was watching for. I listened. I did not know what I was listening for. Every time a thought or an idea came to my head, I wrote it down and then resumed sitting.

    It was horrible, like ignoring an itch for hours. I knew that if it was this hard for me to physically sit still, it was important for me to learn. If my body could not sit still, then how could my mind or my heart? So I decided to discipline myself to sit that way at least one day a week.

    Eventually, I sat this way more often. Meanwhile, my professional life continued to fall apart and the temptation to do something about it grew. I heard so many voices, some from friends and family but most from my own head:

    “You’re lazy.”

    “You’re being irresponsible.”

    “What are you doing??!!”

    “It’s up to you to provide for your family.”

    “Get up and make something happen, now!”

    Simultaneously I heard another voice:

    “Rest.”

    “How long do I wait?”

    “Rest.”

    This was the summer of 2013. A year later, we received the call about our soon-to-be-born baby’s condition. I had thought that the urge to get up and do something was strong before, but now this was on an entirely new level. Again, I heard the voice say, “Rest,” so we didn’t research Trisomy 18. We didn’t look for different doctors who would say something we wanted to hear.

    I continued to sit and stare at the fence, quieting my body, and eventually, at times, quieting my mind and my heart as well. I cannot even describe the amount of fear that was present. But this time it was different. It was as if in the past, fear had walked in the door and I was afraid; now fear stood in the doorway and waited to be invited in.

    More and more, fear gathered at the door, but it did not come in. It only waited. I could see it there. It was terrifying. But I wasn’t able to invite it in. Rest was occupying the space instead.

    Some moments in the hospital on January 7th, 2015 I thought my wife might die. I expected to hold our lifeless baby that morning. I knew I would speak at Olivia’s funeral and not know what to say. It was like a nightmare. But I remember it. I was there. If she would have lived only an hour, I would have been there for that one hour. Because fear was at the door, but rest was inside.

    My posture was rest, quiet, and trust. It was not about making things happen. It was about watching, listening, and being there and nowhere else. I was not going to miss it, as horrible as it could have been.

    During the first few months of Olivia’s life, fear kept congregating at the door. We thought we saw her last breath so many times. We were so sleep-deprived. I passed out one day just walking across the room.

    At this point, I felt pretty incapable of getting up and making something happen. The doctors were clear that there was nothing we could do. Hospice was at our house every few days. I was not tempted to get up and do something about Olivia. Now I was tempted to get up and work. To make sure the bills got paid. To make sure my career did not disappear any more than it already had.

    But underneath was a stronger need: to run, to get the hell out of this situation. Work can be an easy place for a man to avoid the realities of his life. It was pretty obvious, though, that work was not to be my focus—that whatever time we had left with Olivia was to be cherished, every minute of it. Still, I felt the urge to run more than ever.

    “Rest.”

    I continued to hold the posture. To sit. To stare at the fence. To listen quietly. I was not going to miss it.

    I was there the whole time. All fourteen months of her life.

    I lost my posture at times. But I can say that the thirty-year-old Nathan (five years ago) would have occupied himself the entire time, trying to make things happen, running like crazy away from the pain.

    No. I had practiced for this all year. I knew how to allow the itch, the pain, to be there and not to move. I knew how to allow the voices in my head and the voices from others to be there without being influenced by them. I knew how to go deeper within my self, to the place where a still and quiet voice whispered the word “rest” over and over.

    I had practiced the posture; the time had come to use it. I was there the whole time. I did not miss my daughter’s life.

    In March of 2016, when I got the call that Olivia had stopped breathing, I was on a bike ride with our other three kids. Time stopped. Jude asked if Olivia was okay, and I was able to look at him and say, “Yes. Even if she does die, all of us are okay.”

    We rode our bikes so fast. Fear was now filling the doorway and had crowded around the house and the windows and as far as the eye could see. We rode our bikes. I didn’t feel much, but the tears streaming down my face told me, “Today is the day. It is finished.” We kept riding.

    I don’t remember getting off my bike. I’m guessing I had never run so fast. But I will never forget the feeling of walking through the back porch door and seeing Heather and Olivia there. The most sinking and unreal amount of pain I have ever felt mixed with an equal amount of peace, beauty, and a sense of victory.

    After a lot of crying, the only words I could say to Heather were, “We did it.” We won. Olivia won. Heather won. I won. Our family won. Our community won. Yes, Olivia died, but that was never the battle we were fighting. We had chosen to fight fear instead.

    I don’t think I have experienced the remainder of that day, or the next few days, or the funeral or the burial yet. I think I’m still back processing the day Olivia was born. It’s weird. I have never grieved like this before, but I think the body has a way of pacing how much pain it allows in at once.

    I’m realizing now that we will be experiencing the pain and the beauty of Olivia’s life and death for a long time. I don’t know if or when we will ever feel normal or even functional again. But I do remember one thing about the morning after Olivia died, vividly.

    I remember going for a run and the feeling of rest overwhelming me. Not happiness or excitement—I was very sad—but so much rest. And I remember noticing how little fear I sensed, like it was not even at the door anymore. It was as if the battle had ended, and fear had lost and just turned and went home. There was no temptation to run or to make anything happen. Olivia was dead, but I felt an amazing amount of rest. And trust. And quiet. And strength.

    Since that day, fear has returned to my door. I have struggled more than ever to rest. This battle is never-ending. But once you win one battle, every battle after is different. Now you know you can win. You know what it feels like to say, “We did it,” and you know you can do it again.

    I have a feeling the next year is going to be more difficult to rest than the previous two years were. That is a very overwhelming thought. But I have a wife and three living kids and one sleeping daughter who need a husband and a father who knows how to rest.

    That is what I will choose to do.

    Fear at the door, rest inside.

  • How to Find Peace When Your Mind Is Restless

    How to Find Peace When Your Mind Is Restless

    “Within you, there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself.” ~Hermann Hesse

    When I work with people who are suffering from anxiety, fear, grief, or other challenging issues, I like to take them through a simple exercise I call “The Noticing Exercise.”

    It’s my first port of call when helping people break free from mind-created suffering.

    It’s amazing how quickly, and effortlessly, people can move from suffering to peace, simply through shifting their focus to being aware of the present moment—noticing the sensation of the body touching the chair, the ribs expanding on the in breath, or the sounds in the room.

    Even deeply troubled individuals can experience peace the very first time they try this simple meditation.

    How is this possible?

    It is because peace is already there inside all of us. It’s an integral part of who we are. When the mind’s activity subsides, even for a moment, peace is what remains.

    The ocean provides a good analogy.

    At the surface, the water is constantly in motion. It never stops, even for a moment. But when you drop down into the depths, there is stillness and peace.

    It’s exactly the same with the mind.

    On the surface level, the mind is always active but, in the depths of our being, there is a natural peace and stillness that is unchanging… always present, always available. Being part of our essential nature, it can never leave us.

    Although this inherent peace is always there, it goes unnoticed in most people through the deep-seated habit of giving our exclusive attention to the surface movements of the mind.

    We are so pre-occupied with what’s going on at the surface that we simply fail to notice what’s happening in the depths of our experience.

    And, of course, there is nothing ‘wrong’ with any of this.

    Spending our days lost in thinking is the human condition. It’s what we all do.

    Being swept away by the restless waters of the mind is perfectly normal, particularly when we are faced with intense patterns such as anxiety, trauma, or grief. And yet, the fact remains that, despite appearances, there is a peace inside every one of us that is untouched by what’s going on at the surface, however intense it may be.

    Withdraw your attention from the mind, even for a moment, and it’s there.

    You don’t have to create it; just recognize what has always been there.

    Peace doesn’t leave you. You leave peace.

    Stress, anxiety, and unhappiness exist primarily in the form of thoughts.

    If you are able to become fully present in the moment, thoughts subside, and stress and anxiety are replaced by peace and stillness.

    Of course, most people will pick up their painful stories again as soon as the meditation comes to an end, but the fact they were able to be free of their suffering, even temporarily, provides us with clues for finding a more permanent solution.

    With practice, anyone can learn to withdraw their attention from the mind for longer periods of time and thereby extend the periods of peace.

    Have You Been Barking Up the Wrong Tree?

    Most people are looking for peace where it can never be found—not lasting peace anyway.

    It’s a bit like losing your keys in the house and looking for them in the garden.

    You’re never going to find them… because they are not there.

    Most people I help have been searching for peace through the path of self-improvement, often for years.

    And it makes total sense.

    If my mind is causing me trouble, then the obvious solution is to try to fix it—to ‘work on myself’ and try to convert all my anxious and unhappy thoughts and feelings into pleasant, happy ones. Try to create a new, improved version of myself.

    But, if you’ve been down this path for any length of time, as I have, you’ll know that fundamentally changing the mind is not so easy.

    The problem with this approach is encapsulated in the following quote from the Indian spiritual teacher, Nisargadatta:

    “There is no such thing as peace of mind. Mind means disturbance; restlessness itself is mind.”

    Like the surface of the ocean, the mind is constantly in motion. It is restless by nature.

    And, although there may well be fleeting moments of peace here and there, they will inevitably be followed by moments of agitation and disturbance.

    Restlessness is the nature of the mind. Trying to make it calm and peaceful is like trying to iron the surface of the ocean. It’s simply never going to happen.

    Making Peace with The Mind Just as It Is

    To find a solution that actually works, we must first understand the true cause of suffering. It’s not what most folks think.

    People believe, as I did for years, that the anxious, stressful, or fearful thoughts themselves are the primary cause of suffering.

    They believe that:

    • the mind is broken and needs to be fixed.
    • anxiety, fear, confusion, etc. are inherently bad or wrong.
    • there’s something wrong with them for having these thoughts.
    • they can’t experience peace or happiness until they are gone.

    These beliefs are the main reason people suffer.

    As the Jesuit priest Anthony de Mello said:

    “There’s only one cause of unhappiness; the false beliefs you have in your head, beliefs so common, so widespread, that it never occurs to you to question them.”

    What if, instead of spending years trying to fix the content of the mind, we focused instead on making peace with the mind, just as it is?

    What if, rather than fighting and resisting fear, sadness, envy, or confusion, you were able to accept them as natural expressions of the human condition?

    What would happen to your anxiety if you didn’t see anything ‘wrong’ with it?

    Or your sadness if you didn’t mind it being there?

    They may still feel unpleasant but, in the absence of resistance, they’d lose their power to affect your peace.

    We can wrap our non-peace in the peace of acceptance.

    You Don’t Need to Have a Peaceful Mind to Experience Peace 

    On the path of self-improvement, the goal is to find peace of mind.

    But this approach is unlikely to succeed simply because the mind is restless by nature.

    Here’s the truth:

    You can’t stop bothersome thoughts from arising, but you can stop bothering about them.

    One of my teachers used to say, “You suffer because you are open for business.”

    You entertain your thoughts and invite them in for tea—engage with them, ruminate over them, wallow in them, play them over and over in your head—and create suffering for yourself as a result.

    You don’t need to have a peaceful mind to experience peace.

    You need to stop giving your thoughts so much attention and importance.

    If you are able to accept whatever appears in your head, whether pleasant or unpleasant, with an attitude of non-judgmental acceptance, you will always be at peace.

    Acceptance is like kryptonite to the mind. It loses its power to disturb your peace.

    The Two Types of Peace

    There are two types of peace.

    There is the feeling of peace, which is a temporary respite from feeling restless or agitated. Like all feelings, it comes and goes, like clouds passing across the sky.

    Then there is the peace that exists in the depths of your being; the backdrop of peace that is unchanging, ever-present, and has nothing to do with what is going on in your head.

    Even in the midst of the most turbulent storm at sea, in the depths, the ocean remains calm and unmoving.

    There is a peace inside every one of us that remains untouched by the movements on the surface, no matter how intense.

    And it’s not difficult to find. How could it be if it’s already who you are?

    You don’t need to fix or change anything about yourself to experience what is ever-present inside you.

    You just need to dive below the surface and discover what is always there.

    The peace you are looking for is with you always. But you’ll never find it on the level of the mind.

  • How to Release the Fear That Keeps Our Lives Small

    How to Release the Fear That Keeps Our Lives Small

    “Being cut off from our own natural self-compassion is one of the greatest impairments we can suffer.” ~Gabor Mate

    It was late at night, and I couldn’t sleep. I could almost hear the thudding of fear that was exploding in my chest. I tried to identify the singular cause of the fear, but it didn’t feel like there was just one thing.

    There were so many things.

    It was the world at large and problems in it; it was how my kid was feeling this morning when they got home from school. It was the rift between my husband and me, feeling so much like I couldn’t reach him to build a connection again. It was work and the state of my health. I was eating too much, always unexercised, ever stressed.

    And I could feel that night the icy fear that liked to crawl up my spine and fill me with abject horror.

    I just wanted my life to change in so many ways, so I could rid myself of this fear and be over it already.

    After this night, and the hundreds of other nights like it where I lay awake unable to sleep, feeling so very bad about my life, I learned something very important. That the fear that existed inside of me was actually very, very old, and it was the same fear that was simply playing on repeat, over all my life. Instead of dealing with the hundreds of things that scared me, I had to go to the source of the fear.

    Fear had embedded itself into my bones at an early age, passed on from my parents, and exacerbated by terrifying experiences that I’d had. And it had stayed locked in my body like a confined animal lying in wait, because I had never received enough emotional safety to allow it to release from my body.

    Oh, how I hated this fear.

    The list of things I was terrified about was overwhelming, and it filled me with such deep shame about who I was now—a grown adult with children, a business, and a husband. That I could be someone who was almost afraid of their own shadow repulsed me.

    When I reflect back and think now about that woman, that poor, terrified woman, looking out at the world and feeling so alone in her fear, I feel so much sadness. Not so much about how scared I was—I understand now why I had so much fear in my body and why it stayed there—but because I felt so much shame for feeling that way.

    It was like a double whammy of emotional pain—fear in itself is a big, hard, tough emotion to experience day in and day out. And it requires compassion and understanding. Adding deep feelings of shame that, somehow, I was wrong to feel like this, made the fear so much harder to handle.

    I yearn to scoop up that woman and hold her and say, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

    What made the difference to that woman lying in perpetual fear and to the woman I am now was that I learned about how emotions actually work. And I learned how to work with emotions so they didn’t stay trapped inside my body, growing ever bigger by the decade, creating a life that kept getting smaller as the fear seemed to have seeped out and tainted so much of it.

    I no longer have a growing list of things that scare me. In fact, I have an ever-shortening list of things that scare me, as I have learned how to not just work with the emotion of fear in the present, but to release the gigantic weight of the past fear that I had been carrying.

    Decades of fear that had stayed in my body, unable to release and coloring my world view so dramatically.

    What really helped me make a huge shift was when I learned to support myself through feeling the emotion of fear. To build a feeling of safety to hold these feelings in my body. To allow them, the sensations they create, in order to be fully present. Feel them and then they have the chance to release.

    And this is because our emotions want to be seen, felt, and heard. It may sound illogical, but just because we are feeling emotional doesn’t mean we are actually feeling our feelings.

    Most of us, to be honest, are resisting our feelings—trying to move away from them as fast as possible, thinking our way out of them, trying to talk our way out of our feelings or fix the situation/our lives/the people we feel are to blame.

    We aren’t accepting them, welcoming them, and allowing them—which is what our emotions want.

    When emotions arise, the first thing we need to do, instead of staying on the runaway train of thoughts—the endless cascade of thoughts that all humans have all of the time—is move our attention to our bodies.

    We notice: How is the emotion showing up in my body?

    What does it look like or feel like?

    What sensations am I noticing? Heat, heaviness, tension, constriction?

    And when we notice the sensations, maybe the sensations get stronger. I like to think of it like it’s relieved that, finally, we are paying attention to it.

    When we aren’t used to paying attention and staying with the sensations of, say, fiery anger or nauseating fear, it can feel like a lot. So we want to be gentle with ourselves, taking baby steps to learn how to tolerate the sensations the feeling is creating in our body. Taking tiny sips of the emotion until we can hold more.

    Emotions love to be met with empathy and understanding, so this is my next step. For many of us we have gotten so used to feeling aggrieved or scared by our feelings that we will feel judgment about the feeling being here.

    I shouldn’t feel like this!
    What’s wrong with me that I get so angry / sad / scared all the time?
    Why can’t I just stop feeling so ashamed?!

    So, if that’s you, if you load on judgment when you notice your feelings, try this instead.

    Offer a pause and some empathy.

    Oh, look, fear is here. That’s a tough one for me.
    It makes sense that I feel like this.
    It’s hard to be with this emotion, but I am going to support myself to feel this.

    We can then see what happens when we turn toward that feeling with an attitude of acceptance, understanding, and empathy. How does it respond? What does it feel like to be allowed to have that feeling in your body?

    All emotions are natural. All emotions are valid. What makes us human and able to live such rich and rewarding lives and relationships is that we have feelings. When we learn how to fully feel our emotions, we get to become aware of their purpose, their ability to guide us to living and being more authentic in our lives.

    Most of us don’t know how to be with the sensations our feelings create, so we get tangled up in how badly we feel about them.

    Now, we don’t want to pour our feelings onto people; we don’t want to shout or scare people. But we do want to fully acknowledge our feelings with compassion.

    When we can be curious about how we feel, it helps us open up to the possibilities of supporting ourselves through the feelings we are having. And when we offer ourselves compassion, it helps us develop a more trusting, loving, and gentle relationship with ourselves.

    Instead of trying to push through or ignore our feelings, when we turn toward them with compassion and empathy, it actually helps us to move through the feeling so much faster.

    Once the feeling has been fully felt, when we’ve been able to stay with the sensations that it creates, it will then release.

    And when we’ve released that feeling from our body, wow, we feel so much lighter, calmer, with a renewed sense of possibility.

    As an added bonus, once our feelings have been seen, felt, and heard, we get to access the part of us that is awesomely productive. The part that’s great at coming up with ideas and solutions, feels confident, and enjoys life. And we have a lot more energy.

    When we are able to be with our feelings, understand them, hold them with a feeling of safety and possibility in our body—and once we start doing this over and over again—this is where we get to reduce the amount of fear we hold in our body. And wow, that is a beautiful sensation!

  • Why I Sense Threats Everywhere and Panic All the Time

    Why I Sense Threats Everywhere and Panic All the Time

    “Traumatized people chronically feel unsafe inside their bodies: The past is alive in the form of gnawing interior discomfort. Their bodies are constantly bombarded by visceral warning signs, and, in an attempt to control these processes, they often become expert at ignoring their gut feelings and in numbing awareness of what is played out inside. They learn to hide from their selves.” ~Bessel A. van der Kolk

    I have a prescription for Lorazepam.

    After coming home from picking up my first ever bottle from the pharmacy several years ago, I threw the bottle at the wall and cried.

    I used to find those orange bottles of medication in my mom’s bathroom and tucked away in kitchen cabinets. Zoloft, Ambien, Xanax. It was how I figured out what was “wrong” with my mom—by looking up what a particular medicine was used to treat it.

    But instead of helping her, her cocktail of pills caused side effects that seemed to make things worse. Was she suicidal because of her mental state or because of her medication?

    Seeing that orange bottle holding an anti-anxiety medication labeled with my name felt like a death sentence. I was doomed to go down the same path.

    —

    I didn’t grow up afraid of going to the dentist. Or maybe I did; I just didn’t know or feel it. Feigning okayness was how I moved through the world. Maybe I was doing it at the dentist too. Maybe I always dissociated.

    About a year and a half after having my first child, I was at a routine dental cleaning when a panic attack hit. I remember the way it felt like time was stuck, like I was stuck, trapped. I remember acting casual as I put up my hand, laughed, and told the dentist that I really needed the bathroom.

    In the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror, berating myself for being embarrassing and ridiculous. “Pull yourself together! You’re fine!”

    Months later, I went to an endodontist for a root canal. As soon as I sat down, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it. This time, I was honest with the doctor, who very kindly listened, told me a lot of people fear dental treatments, and suggested I speak to my GP about medication.

    I had never taken any sort of anti-anxiety medication before. I barely take ibuprofen for cramps and, when I do, one pill feels like more than enough. I saw what medication did to my mother—the way she became dependent and addicted and how her medication seemed to intensify her madness. Also, with my yoga background, I couldn’t possibly willingly ingest toxins and chemicals!

    But I needed the root canal, and I knew that it would get worse the longer I put it off. I asked my therapist, and he agreed with the endodontist that using medication to help me get through this specific stress-inducing situation was the right choice.

    I returned for my root canal appointment with a dose of Lorazepam in my system and I got through it. I haven’t taken another dose since.

    —

    I avoided the dentist for five years before finally making an appointment with a new dentist, hoping for a fresh start. I spoke to him about how scared I was, and he suggested a slow and gentle plan, which put me at ease. An appointment just to talk about my dental goals, an appointment just for X-rays, never too much at once. I arrived each time with my support system: a member of my family, my kids’ security blankets, and Friends playing in my AirPods.

    The dentist told me that the first thing he recommended was fixing a broken crown and filling the beginnings of a cavity. It would take two hours, and he recommended that I book it reasonably soon. I felt confident I could get through the appointment. I had built trust with the doctor; I felt safe at the clinic. I didn’t have to pretend I wasn’t scared when I was, and that had to count for something.

    I ended up rescheduling the appointment six times. Each time, there was some sort of moderate conflict, but the real reason, of course, was fear.

    The day before the appointment I would ultimately keep, I considered the Lorazepam. Despite never having taken it since that first time, I always have an updated bottle on hand. There’s something about knowing that it is there that helps.

    I gave myself a pep talk that I hadn’t had a panic attack in years now and that I could do this! My husband was coming with me, and I would have my kids’ blankies. It would be fine.

    —

    On the morning of the appointment, I woke up in dread. I had butterflies in my stomach. I kept having to go to the bathroom. I felt shaky, a nervous energy. But I showed up. I told myself how good I would feel on the other side.

    As I was being prepped in the chair, I told the dental assistant that I was scared. She assured me that the doctor was the best—so good, so fast. I asked for a breakdown of the two hours. I breathed deeply. I could do this.

    Within seconds of the treatment beginning, I was sitting up, taking the protective—claustrophobic—glasses off saying, “I’m sorry. I’m so scared. I don’t know if I can do this. I need to get up. Can I get up? Can I walk around? I’m sorry.”

    The doctor said, “Of course. It’s no problem. We have plenty of time.”

    My body shaking, I got up and paced the hallway. I exhaled through fluttered lips. I thought about my dog shaking her whole body after a stressful encounter, and I shook out my arms and hands.

    I returned to the room and repeated my apologies and my confessions of fear.

    “You’ve done the most painful part already—the numbing shot,” the doctor said encouragingly.

    “I know, but I’m not afraid of pain. I’m afraid of having a panic attack again,” I said, clarifying to everyone, including myself, the exact source of my fear.

    It was an important, necessary distinction to make. My fear of the dentist was not actually of dental procedures. No, this fear was rooted in repressed childhood trauma that exploded into uncontrollable symptoms that severed me from who I thought I was.

    I apologized again, and the dental assistant said something I really needed to hear: “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You can’t control how your body reacts.”

    What she said alleviated me from blaming and shaming myself. Logically, I understood that I was fine, safe even. But my body—where trauma is stored—was not present. It was back at that dental cleaning where panic overtook it, and further, it was back in my childhood when life truly was scary, shocking, unpredictable, unsafe.

    I wanted to get through the appointment. The main thing I needed to feel was that I was not going to be trapped. What if I needed to sit up? Was it okay if I swallowed? Went to the bathroom? Got a drink of water? Just had a break? I was assured that all of those things were possible; there would be no point where we would not be able to stop.

    I felt the support of the dentist and dental assistant and, most of all, my husband, who sat at the end of my chair and held my foot through the entire treatment. I felt my breath. I clutched my kids’ security blankets. I focused on the lighthearted banter and cheesy jokes of Friends.

    I got through it.

    And I was elated.

    I felt emotionally and mentally drained for the rest of the day, but I expected that would be the case. Mostly, I felt relieved and happy.

    —

    The next day, carrying my toddler down four flights of steep stairs in an old Tribeca walkup, I was suddenly hit with a feeling of unsteadiness. It was a humid and rainy day, and my glasses had been falling off my face, something I recently learned is contributing to dizziness as my eyes struggle to focus outside the center of my lenses, where the prescription is most accurate.

    As logical as it was to feel unsteady in that moment, fight-or-flight mode was triggered, and I felt off for the rest of the day.

    The grooves of something-is-wrong are so deeply worn that my mind and body effortlessly magnetize toward and embed within them.

    I sense threat everywhere: Is my kid going to get hurt at camp? Is a mass shooter around the corner? Why am I so dizzy? Is it my brain? And why does it feel hard to take a deep breath? Is it my heart? For a while, I’m caught in an oppressive whirlpool of fear until something snaps me back to reality, to the present.

    I think it helped that I did a cardio-heavy workout in the middle of that day—energy got moved around. And then a thought saved me: This is all the residue of anxiety from the dentist appointment yesterday.

    As quickly as I had that thought, my physical symptoms eased. It’s like my body had been searching for and straining itself to find something to fear. And as no answers arose, it was trying harder, fighting harder.

    —

    I relayed all of this to my therapist.

    “How are you feeling right now?” he asked.

    “I’m fine!” I reflexively answered, perhaps a pitch too high.

    “Fine doesn’t really give us much information. Close your eyes. What do you feel?”

    I closed my eyes and realized my body felt lighter than I expected. “This is kind of strange, but I can’t really feel the seat underneath me.”

    “What does your skin feel like?”

    I patted my arms and noticed I couldn’t really feel any sensation. “Wow, I almost feel numb,” I said.

    I was not in my body.

    —

    My therapist explained that dissociation is a common trauma response. It’s an emergency action taken during actual danger, a mental escape when physical escape is not possible. However, it’s not effective when there is no danger and counterintuitively preserves the fear you so desperately are trying to avoid.

    Dissociating tells the body we are back in danger, and the body responds appropriately to danger. Except there is no danger.

    Dissociating disconnects the body from the present moment so that instead of protecting yourself from a perceived yet false fear, you’re ultimately depriving yourself from a sense of safety.

    —

    The wiring of the trauma brain can feel impossibly tangled, even irrevocably damaged, like Christmas lights that were improperly stored. Trauma alters neural pathways so that we experience the world through a lens of fear.

    But our brains are malleable—neuroplastic. For me, therapy is like a mental and emotional Botox to smooth out the trenches of my trauma and anxiety. I crave the intellectual understanding of what is happening in my body and mind and how they infinitely inform and impact each other.

    When my mind thinks about the past, my body thinks we have gone back in time, and it reacts accordingly. My body is desperate to keep me safe, so it reverts to various trauma responses and coping mechanisms. The mind then detects a disparity between the circumstances of the present and the physiological reaction of the body and, to put it bluntly, freaks out.

    But I recognize a potential re-centering in this trauma pattern. If a sudden feeling of physical unsteadiness can untether my mind from reality and send my body into a spiral of fear, it is logical to assume that the opposite can also be effected—that a conscious grounding of my body in physical space and in present time can coax my mind away from fear of the past.

    This isn’t to say that freedom from symptoms is as simple as intellectually understanding that you are no longer a child or moving your body through exercise. Those are simply pieces of a much more layered puzzle of each of our psyches. But for me, it’s a helpful reminder that there are always anchor points I can return to: breath, the present moment, and people who are looking out for me, like my husband holding my foot.

    Because as much as healing is inner work, we don’t have to do it alone.