Tiny Buddha

Tag: friendship

  • When Friendship Is One-Sided: Letting Go of Someone Who Was Never Really There

    When Friendship Is One-Sided: Letting Go of Someone Who Was Never Really There

    “Finally, I realized that I was never asking too much. I was just asking the wrong person.” ~Unknown

    Friendship should nourish the soul. And in my life, for the most part, it has. I have a small, longstanding circle of friends steeped in a long-shared history. We’re basically a real-life, thirty-five-year-long John Hughes film.

    However, every now and then, a hornet in disguise has buzzed into my life and stung.

    He was one of them. A bad sting.

    Love Bombing

    Right off the bat, knowing him felt amazing.

    I was still reeling from the aftereffects of living with an abusive man who died a few months after I finally got away. Emotionally raw, my nervous system felt like it was covered in third-degree burns being scrubbed with a Brillo pad.

    But this new friend? He felt safe. Quiet. Peaceful.

    He wanted to see me multiple times a week. He introduced me to his child. We spent time watching TV, going out for drinks and dinner, living in what felt like a comforting routine. His good morning texts became a comfort for my sleepy eyes.

    It felt good. Really good.

    Until it didn’t.

    A Bouquet of Red Flags? For Me?

    Small things began happening that just didn’t sit well.

    He began to speak ill of others in our mutual friend group. If he’s talking about them like this, what is he saying about me? Then I’d dismiss it. No, Jennifer. He’s a good friend.

    Once, when I asked him to repay money he owed me, I received a semi-scathing text accusing me of not being a “real friend,” because “real friends” don’t expect repayment. Am I here to subsidize your income?

    You’d think I walked away entirely at that point. No, not quite.

    When There’s No Communication, There’s No Friendship

    Instead, I drank too much one night and made out with him. (Stop judging me.)

    I felt uncomfortable and needed to talk about it. I asked if I could come over for a quick chat. He declined. He was “too busy gardening.”

    Right. Gardening. Okay.

    The good morning texts stopped. The invitations to hang out vanished.

    Days later, I texted, “Are you upset with me? We usually see each other all the time, and I haven’t heard from you.”

    His reply: “I’m not upset.” No explanation. No elaboration.

    Five weeks passed. Silence. Crickets.

    And it hurt—more than I expected. I had let someone in after a traumatic experience. I was vulnerable, open, willing to trust again. But the friendship only existed on his terms. Everything was fine—until I asked for emotional accountability.

    Inner Work and Uncomfortable Truths

    After doing a lot of inner work, I realized something painful: I have a pattern of projecting qualities onto people that they simply don’t possess. I want people to be kind, emotionally intelligent, and loyal. So, I make them that way in my mind.

    But people are who they are—not who I wish them to be.

    And for my own well-being, that pattern had to end.

    Not everyone is ready to do the work. And that’s fine. I can only be responsible for my healing, my boundaries, my growth.

    In any relationship—be it romantic, familial, professional, or platonic—every individual has a right to be seen, heard, and valued. To be acknowledged as a complete person with thoughts, feelings, and needs.

    Our voices and wants should be respected and celebrated. Without this foundation of trust, emotional safety, and genuine connection, we begin to feel invisible, diminished, or invalidated.

    And sometimes the most loving thing we can do for ourselves is to leave a space that no longer aligns with who we are.

    It’s not about giving up on people too quickly but recognizing when staying becomes a quiet betrayal of our own needs.

    Self-Respect and Goodbye

    So how did I move forward?

    After acknowledging a deeper truth—that I had lived in a place of unworthiness for far too long, repeatedly allowing myself to be manipulated and emotionally abandoned—I decided to no longer chase breadcrumbs and worked hard on setting clear boundaries. And if those aren’t respected, I give myself permission to walk away.

    And I walked away from him. I declined invites where I knew he’d be present and performed a digital detox: the phone number, the photos, the threads—all deleted. Unfollow. Unfollow. Unfollow.

    And none of it happened out of anger or malice, but from a place of peace. A place of self-respect.

    In the end, we teach others how to treat us by what we allow, and leaving is sometimes the most powerful way to be seen and heard—by ourselves most of all.

    I was whole before I met him. And I remained whole after saying goodbye.

    A Final Note

    Not every friend is meant to stay. Not every connection nourishes the soul.

    Some buzz in for a bit, give a quick sting, and buzz right back out.

    The lesson? To stop letting ourselves be stung over and over again.

  • How My Ex and I Created a Beautiful Friendship

    How My Ex and I Created a Beautiful Friendship

    When my ex-wife and I separated in 1999 and divorced two years later, I never imagined that we would one day spend a week together as friends.

    Over the past quarter century, our lives had rarely crossed, except on the day our divorce was finalized and at our daughter’s wedding in 2012. Yet here we were, sitting across from each other, talking not just about the past but about the paths that had brought us here.

    It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was an excavation. Over the course of our week together, I realized that my memories of our twenty-year relationship had become skewed over time, focused on the fractures that led us apart rather than the ties that had bound us together.

    Through conversation, we began unlocking memories from our youth. She reminded me of the nine months we lived with my father after both of us contracted mono during our first year of college. Her stories filled in missing pieces and added new depth to my memories.

    We also revisited the challenges and events we’d both experienced during our time together—moments of joy, struggle, and growth that had shaped us in ways we didn’t fully understand back then. Time and distance gave us the clarity to piece these moments together in ways we couldn’t have before.

    For me, the first step back to friendship came about three years ago. I needed her permission to restructure an old pension, which required a detailed financial agreement. I sent her a carefully crafted proposal. Her swift response caught a mistake I had missed, but what stood out was her immediate assurance: “I trust you implicitly.”

    That moment—her trust, so freely given—meant the world to me. It marked the beginning of a slow rebuilding of the mutual respect that had once been the cornerstone of our relationship.

    Since then, life has brought us together in unexpected ways. Two years ago, our daughter asked for financial help, and I was the one who reached out to her mom on our daughter’s behalf. That conversation, the first in over a decade, felt like opening a door that had been closed too long.

    More recently, I’ve been there to support her through her father’s passing and the end of a long-term relationship. In turn, she has listened as I’ve processed the unraveling of my second marriage and found my footing in a new relationship.

    This week together felt like clearing away the rubble of a collapsed house to find that its foundation is still solid. We talked about the ways we had both changed, the lessons we had learned from failed relationships, and the new awareness that comes with time.

    In helping each other process our shared past, we laid to rest ghosts that no one else could have exorcised for us. These were moments only we could give one another—unspoken truths we now had the tools and perspective to understand.

    I’ve come to realize that healing isn’t always about finding closure—it’s often about finding new ways to hold the past with compassion. It’s a pattern so many of us fall into—hoping things will improve instead of addressing the reality. Recognizing this in ourselves isn’t easy, but it can be the first step toward living more authentically.

    At sixty-three, I’ve come to see that life is rarely black and white. It exists in shades of grey. Relationships—whether marriages or friendships—are rarely all good or all bad. I carry immense gratitude for what we shared in our youth, the growth we’ve both achieved, and the chance to rediscover the friendship that lay beneath it all.

    Reconnecting with my former best friend has been a gift. As the years pass, those who share our early chapters become rarer, making these connections all the more vital—not just as a link to our past, but as a reminder of how far we’ve come. These shared histories remind us  who we were and help us understand who we’ve become, anchoring us in ways that feel irreplaceable.

    We’ve already begun planning the next chapters of this friendship. She’ll visit me in the US soon, meeting my current partner, and doubtless, we’ll spend more time together when I’m next in the UK. What we’re creating isn’t just a rediscovered connection—it’s a living, evolving bond that carries us forward.

    Sometimes, healing doesn’t mean repairing what’s broken to its original state. Instead, it means clearing away what collapsed and discovering something new in its place—a friendship that can stand the test of time.

    In clearing the rubble of our past, I found a friendship that could endure. I wonder how many of us might discover the same if we found the courage to begin.

  • Good People

    Good People

  • Everyone Needs a “No Matter What” Friend

    Everyone Needs a “No Matter What” Friend

  • 5 Big Lessons I Learned After Losing a Legacy Friend

    5 Big Lessons I Learned After Losing a Legacy Friend

    “You can’t force anyone to value, respect, understand, or support you, but you can choose to spend your time around people who do.” ~Lori Deschene

    There’s a term in IT called “legacy systems.” These are computer systems that are ancient and abysmally outdated yet are kept around because organizations have centered some of their operations around them.

    The exercise to replace a legacy system is challenging and possibly even painful because of the interwoven network of dependencies placed on these systems—but it’s not impossible.

    The benefits of replacing a legacy system with one that is aligned with the current operational standards of an organization far outweigh the burden of doing so. More importantly, though, keeping a legacy system may prove to be a more costly undertaking, perhaps even jeopardizing the survival of the organization.

    Are you rapidly blinking while wondering if you somehow clicked on the wrong article and that perhaps it’s time for you to finally address your poor sleep routine because you seem to be getting an IT 101 lesson in what should be a wellness article?

    Well, apart from being a tech enthusiast who will use any excuse to educate anyone I can on anything IT-related, it was also a good way to introduce a term I recently experienced in an especially gobsmacked manner: legacy friends.

    These are people who remain in your life because, at one point, you befriended them and the friendship persisted.

    The only reason that you’re friends now is because you’ve been friends for some period of time, and the yieldless relationship persisted unquestioned while you somewhat silently evolved over the years. Or, in my case, unquestioned until the realities of life forced me to pause and ponder upon the emptiness of one such friendship.

    A few months ago, I decided to let my adventurous spirit lead the way as I moved to a new country after seven long years of living in the same city. I desperately needed some change, and pretending to be engrossed in patio furniture while a former romantic partner sauntered down the aisle with his mother was not something I found appealing.

    At first, the move was invigorating, inspiring, and all kinds of wonderful. The anonymity of a new place where I didn’t need to feign interest in furniture of any kind was just splendid, but the novelty of everything quickly diminished.

    I experienced the deep difficulty of abruptly losing my entire support system and faced unfamiliar natural elements that spawned symptoms associated with seasonal affective disorder.

    My spark dimmed as I felt lost and alone in a foreign land. A new job in an unfamiliar and taxing work environment and part-time postgraduate studies only added to the increasingly dark cloud of confusion and misery I felt plagued by. The administration around being an immigrant felt never ending, as I struggled to keep up with everything my new life demanded of me.

    It’s not hard to imagine the delight I felt in finding out that a friend from college would be in my new city for an evening and wanted to have dinner with me. For a second it felt like the dark cloud had lifted if only for a moment, and there was an unmistakable feeling of relief at the thought of seeing a familiar face.

    That sense of ease was short-lived, as I soon found out that he had also invited his friend to dinner. I felt a little confused by this, as he had made it seem as though it would just be the two of us at the beginning. But feeling overridden by the thought of seeing a longtime friend, I compromised and committed to dinner.

    Weeks passed by and I plowed on, barely surviving, submitting agonizing assignments and enduring circuitous workplace conversations that left me quickly losing my sense of confidence despite having had almost a decade worth of experience.

    A week before the dinner, I was informed that it was now a dinner party for as many people who were available to attend, and that it started thirty minutes after the time I would officially finish work.

    I was stunned. I’d been working overtime for months on end—with every spare minute spent hunched over textbooks that were apparently written in the English language but were all sorts of Greek to me—and I was now suddenly expected to show up on time, dressed appropriately, and cheerfully mingle with strangers I had never met before while running on barely any sleep.

    Knowing how busy things had been at work, I gave my friend a heads up that my work demands may prevent me from making it to dinner and that, if I did show up, it would be a bit later. His response was something along the lines of “Show up on time or don’t bother showing up at all.”

    Again, I was stunned. I’d prided myself on cultivating respectful, mature relationships and was rendered speechless by his response.

    My other friends were kind and compassionate and consistently demonstrated their unwavering support for me doing what I needed to do in order to be the best version of myself. So his response was shocking to say the least.

    The bewilderment soon gave way to some serious contemplation as I struggled to understand how someone in my life could administer such a senseless ultimatum.

    The more time I spent inspecting the details of our friendship, the clearer things became. The truth of the matter was that we were not actually friends. Well, at least not by the definition of a friend that I had come to know over the past few years.

    To me, a friend is someone who patiently yet firmly prompts you to finally talk about your broken heart and the dysfunctional relationship you clearly needed to remove yourself from.

    It’s someone who is so ecstatic about your final term results that they excitedly lift you into the air with a bear-like hug while you temporarily forget your mild but very real fear of having your feet off the ground.

    It’s someone who will listen to your wails of discomfort in the wee hours of a Sunday morning as you attempt to put up much needed boundaries with your family.

    It’s someone who offers you a sympathetic shoulder to cry on instead of saying, “I told you so” when the deliciously tattooed guy does exactly what they predicted he’d do.

    It’s someone who constantly encourages you to silence your inner over-achiever by continuously telling you that a 50% pass is a fantastic outcome for someone juggling as many things as you are.

    It’s someone who will gladly spend their time letting you interview them for a needs assessment survey while you try to desperately (and very foolishly) finish a two-week assignment in two days.

    It is not someone who has known about your challenges in acclimating to a new continent yet stayed silent about it.

    It is not someone who failed to display any empathy or concern when you mentioned that you were sick yet again.

    It is not someone who offered absolutely no support in helping you navigate an academic degree that they had already completed.

    It is not someone who complained that the three-minute voice note you sent was too long for them to listen to.

    It is not someone who criticizes how you choose to embrace your heritage and culture.

    It is not someone who barely expressed any gratitude for the time and energy you sacrificed in helping them realize their career ambitions.

    It is not someone who childishly refuses to reply to your messages all because you missed a dinner, planned with no consideration to your dietary restrictions or time constraints, that made you feel like an afterthought.

    This person is not a friend by my current standards. They would be what is deemed a legacy friend—someone who had remained in my life simply because they’d been there for some time.

    This conclusion was jarring, but I guess all harsh truths are. The nice thing about the truth is that it really does set you free. With this newfound knowledge, I liberated myself from the hold of this unnecessary relationship and re-framed the experience as an opportunity for self-awareness to outline what I need from friendships in my life.

    Here are five lessons I learned from the loss of a legacy friend.

    1. I am wholly uninterested in superficial conversations and activities that do not enrich my life or society at large in any way.

    2. It’s a messy endeavor to attempt to have people in your life with values that are misaligned with yours.

    3. It’s perfectly fine for you to choose your peace and well-being over people who have taken far more than they’ve given.

    4. As tough as it is to accept, it’s impractical to have people in your life who are stuck in a lifestyle that you outgrew long ago.

    5. There is no way to explain away disrespect, and every single human on this earth, regardless of creed or color, deserves unconditional respect.

    I of course feel saddened by the loss of someone I thought to be a friend, but a consoling outlook is that I’m now making space in my life for people who more closely meet my needs.

    As with legacy systems, removing a legacy friend may be an uncomfortable and even painful undertaking, but the allure of a more enriched life should be a worthwhile incentive to at least consider it.

    Having felt the fierce love of my found family for many years, I believe with all my heart that the goodness you embody will be a signal to like-minded souls, so do not settle for anything less than what you deserve.

  • Someone Who Will Be There for Us

    Someone Who Will Be There for Us

  • Show Them Love

    Show Them Love

  • Top Notch Weirdos

    Top Notch Weirdos

  • Adult Friendships Are Hard

    Adult Friendships Are Hard

  • The Type of Friend That Really Makes a Difference

    The Type of Friend That Really Makes a Difference

  • Long-Term Friends

    Long-Term Friends

  • The Friend You Can Call on Any Day

    The Friend You Can Call on Any Day

  • Build a Circle of Friends

    Build a Circle of Friends

  • Why Relationships Matter Most: We’re All Just Walking Each Other Home

    Why Relationships Matter Most: We’re All Just Walking Each Other Home

    “We’re all just walking each other home.” ~Ram Dass

    Living in the hyper-individualist society that we do, it’s easy to forget our obligation to those around us. Often in the West, we are taught to prioritize ourselves in the unhealthiest ways, to ‘grind’ as hard as we can to achieve wealth and status.

    We are taught, between the lines, that our first responsibility is to create a ‘perfected‘ version of ourselves to such an extreme that it is alright to forsake our relationships with others to accomplish it.

    From day one, it is embedded in us that it is our individual selves against the world. Like many others, I’d like to challenge this notion. Because what is the purpose of wealth and status if not to share it with the ones you love and who love you the most?

    What is the meaning of life itself if not companionship, community, and love?

    I want to disclaim, of course, that this is by no means attacking the notion of having personal external goals. Career success, physique aspirations, and other tangible objectives can absolutely be noble in pursuit and attainment.

    What I would like to say is that none of those external goals will fulfill you the way that genuine human connection can—and that those goals should not be completed by abandoning your healthy relationships and support systems. And if you are thinking, “who actually does that?” this introduction is not for you.

    To put it simply, life is a series of circumstances, situations, and experiences that we get reluctantly swept into (and sometimes, foolishly, sweep ourselves into). It’s just one adventure after the next, for better or worse. That sounds gloomy, but it is what makes life so beautiful—the human ability to feel a vast range of emotions within an hour and find charm in the worst circumstances.

    A little over a year ago, my aunt passed. Through a blur of tears, I remember thinking about how beautiful the flowers people had sent were and how vibrantly green the grass of the cemetery was. And amidst all the despair, I remember looking around and seeing my friends.

    When I think back to all the times in my life when it felt like the roof would cave in, that I had nothing left, that I didn’t know if I would be strong enough to move forward and continue on, I remember what exactly it was that pushed me forward. It was always my friends, my people. Those who almost daily not only told me that they would be there for me but showed up when I needed them the most.

    Would I have survived my hardships alone? Yes. Would I prefer to do it alone? Never.

    I am infinitely grateful for the community I have created for myself—the network of friends that have become family and mentors that help guide me when things seem too chaotic to untangle.

    Through the gentle counsel of my loved ones, I have come to realize that there is no nobility in solitary living. There is no wisdom or bravery in taking on hardship or challenges alone when I don’t need to. Every time I forsook my loved ones to be (my distorted idea of) independent, it seemed almost like I was just adding gasoline to already growing flames. There was no more profound message beneath suffering in silence, only suffering.

    And I think most of us can agree that attempting to handle problems alone feels infinitely more difficult to manage than with support. It’s part of why people seek romantic partnerships, to have someone always there to walk through the flames alongside. It’s why people invest so strongly in their loved ones in general. It is to feel heard and be seen, to hear and to see.

    Part of the purpose of life, I have come to learn, is within the attempt to know someone else, to recognize yourself in another person deeply. Connection is everything we have in this world. It’s the mirror that holds itself up to us in the face of conflict with another person. It makes us think twice before buying from a brand that uses slave labor, and it’s what makes us recoil at the thought of abused animals or children.

    Connection with all living beings is the deeper understanding that we are all somehow joined by our humanity. And in that, understanding that one of our primary purposes is to know and be known. To know my friends and their joys and fears and draw parallels to how they reflect my own. To walk alongside them through the difficult times and the blissful times. I recognize now that it is in the attempt to know others that I now know myself.

    We are all just walking each other home. Life, at its core, is that simple.

    I am walking, hand in hand, side by side, sometimes a little bit ahead or a little bit behind, with the people around me. Some of those people may walk too quickly for me to keep up, and some may move too slowly. That is when I thank them for walking me as far as they could and continue on without them, as they will continue on without me.

    If the journey of life is a path we walk, then the purpose of our travel buddies is to help us navigate the storms on the road and to make the journey as funny, exciting, and comfortable as possible. If life is a journey, then the whole point of friendship, companionship, and mentorship is to just be with each other.

    If I am walking you home, is my purpose not to try my best to protect, guide, and love you throughout that journey? We are all walking each other and ourselves home. And the least we can do is do our best to make that journey as beautiful, warm, and light as possible.

    So many of us are falling into a spiritual trap of sorts and being wholly sucked into the hyper-consumerist and individualist mentality of the West. Some of us are actively fighting the true nature of our being, which yearns for deep and genuine connection above all else.

    As you age and the world around you changes, your values begin to change. When you’re nearing your final days, when all you want is your family and friends surrounding you, will you have planted those seeds? Will you have spent time cultivating and nourishing your relationships with those around you? Will you have walked your loved ones down their path and done your best to create joy in your (and others’) journey?

    The message I am trying desperately to convey here is that we need one another. We need love, and we need companionship. We need forgiveness, and we need grace. We need to be open to giving our hearts away and open to the risk of being hurt. And in that same breath, we need to do everything possible in our power to avoid hurting those around us. We need to use the path to grasp the importance of being tender with each other.

    The journey of life is not easy. Take a moment and reflect on all those who have walked you in the past and all those who continue to walk you home.

    Think about the connections you have made, the empathy and love you have nourished in the lives of those you care about.

    And remember that at the end of the day, despite all of the problems and chaos around us, we are all just walking each other home, and we are all just trying to be better companions, one day at a time.

    Dedicated to my travel companions, you know who you are.

  • How to Reclaim Your Joy After the Pandemic: 3 Things That Helped Me

    How to Reclaim Your Joy After the Pandemic: 3 Things That Helped Me

    DISCLAIMER: Though vaccines have allowed many of us to return to more normal activities, the pandemic isn’t over, and it’s still crucial that we all follow the evolving CDC guidelines to keep both ourselves and others safe.

    “Perfect happiness is a beautiful sunset, the giggle of a grandchild, the first snowfall. It’s the little things that make happy moments, not the grand events. Joy comes in sips, not gulps.” ~Sharon Draper

    It was a rainy, late Sunday afternoon. The sun was already going down, and it was getting dark outside.

    “How are you?”

    “Oh, good. Nothing special. It’s quiet,” my mom responded when I called her a couple of months ago.

    “It’s quiet” had been her response for the past two years, possibly before that. My mom is retired. Since the pandemic, her life became even more “quiet” than before—fewer friends, fewer activities, less fun.

    I’m not retired, but I work from home, and the same happened to me. To some degree, I let it happen.

    I got used to not seeing people, not laughing, and not dancing. I got used to being alone, and it became more comfortable to stay home on Saturdays than going out for social activities. Was I developing a mild form of social anxiety? Maybe.

    Two things were for certain: my social skills had atrophied, and I had forgotten how to have fun. What was joy like?

    “I feel like this must be what it’s like for the elderly; when no one visits them and they don’t have many friends and activities, they sort of start dying inside.”

    “That’s how I feel right now,” my mom responded.

    Have you experienced that too at some point? Not feeling like doing anything and seeing people because you forgot how to connect with them and what you even enjoy doing?

    “I think it’s a slippery slope. We should do something about it. We should make an effort to break the pattern and start socializing and doing activities again before we die inside,” I told my mom.

    After hanging up the phone, I reflected upon what I had just said. I knew that “shoulds” wouldn’t make the situation better; I had to be proactive and do something about it. I took out a pen and a notebook and started writing an action plan.

    Here are the three things I wrote down that day that have most helped me to reclaim a sense of joy in my life.

    1. Do one thing on your list of “joys.”

    A piece of advice that was very helpful came from a friend who lost his partner to cancer a couple of years ago, just a few months after she was diagnosed.

    It was a shock to him. They had projects together, like buying a campervan, traveling around North America, and building a house off-grid. Suddenly, those plans were gone, and my friend had to learn to live alone again while coping with grief.

    One thing that helped him get out of depression and slowly regain his spark for life was to make a list of things that made him happy (even just a little). Every day for the next three months, he did as many things on his list as he could.

    I took that advice and created my list of fifteen “little joys.”

    They’re not complicated. They include things like watching the sunset, reading a book while drinking a mocha latte in the morning, walking in nature, wearing my favorite outfit, dancing to progressive trance music in my living room, and watching funny dog videos.

    Every day, I picked at least three things on my list to do that day; if I could do more, great! But I did at least three. Over a few days, this simple practice started making me feel happier.

    Of course, you’ll first have to create your own list of “joys,” but once you have it, it’s a wonderful tool to bring more joy into your daily life.

    2. Do one thing to trigger the “helper’s high.”

    Another thing that significantly impacted my mood and energy was to do one act of kindness every day.

    I had read articles about the science of altruism and happiness, and I knew that helping or being kind to others makes us happy. There’s even a specific term for it: the “helper’s high.”

    I began asking myself every morning, “What’s one act of kindness I will do today?”

    Since I don’t always feel creative first thing in the morning, I made a list of fifteen acts of kindness ideas that I could choose from. Like my list of “joys,” they aren’t complicated. They include writing a nice comment on someone’s Tik Tok video, posting an uplifting quote on Facebook, and complimenting someone.

    Just doing this one thing, intentionally, every day made me feel more alive. But in case you don’t feel inspired to do one act of kindness a day, here’s another idea.

    Another thing I started doing recently, which I learned from Tim Ferriss’s book Tools of Titans, is a ten-second loving-kindness exercise created by Chade-Meng Tan, the man behind the popular mindfulness-based emotional intelligence course for employees at Google called Search Inside Yourself.

    The exercise is very simple: A few times a day, randomly choose two people you see and secretly wish for each of them to be happy. You don’t have to do or say anything—just think, “I wish you to be happy,” with a sincere intention from your heart.

    I find both the ten-second loving-kindness exercise and doing one act of kindness a day therapeutic. They take our focus away from our problems and increase our sense of connection to others, even when the act of kindness is anonymous, and we don’t physically interact with the person.

    3. Do one thing every day to nurture your social circle.

    It took me some time to realize that my mental health was being affected by a sense of isolation. I’m an introvert and enjoy my own company. It wasn’t obvious that my desire to eat more ice cream than usual and my lack of motivation to get out of bed in the morning had something to do with spending too much time alone.

    Some weeks during the height of the pandemic, I talked to no one except my clients on Zoom and the cashier at the grocery store. And the more time I spent alone, the less I wanted to see people. The idea of socializing began to feel daunting, and I chose to stay home (alone) more and more often.

    But it was killing me inside. I had to break the solitude pattern before the hole I was digging and putting myself in became too deep.

    I started small but did something every day to revive my social life.

    One day, I commented on an acquaintance’s Facebook post. Another day, I messaged a friend on Messenger. The following week, that friend suggested we go for lunch, and I went.

    Friendships must be nurtured to grow stronger and thrive; otherwise, they atrophy.

    So, perhaps you can ask yourself every day, “What’s one thing I can do today to nurture and expand my social circle?”

    Start small.

    —

    I did a few other things to bring more joy into my life in the past few months as well, like taking on a new hobby (learning to play the djembe) and attending social events every other week. But the three actions I mentioned in this article are the ones that made the most significant difference in my well-being in the long run.

    What do you do to feel alive and inspired? Share with us in the comments so we can all benefit from each other’s wisdom.

  • The People You Will Always Remember

    The People You Will Always Remember

  • Scared of Losing People You Love? How to Work through the Fear

    Scared of Losing People You Love? How to Work through the Fear

    “People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.” ~Joseph F. Newton

    “Oh my God, Mom…” she said with a verbal eye roll.

    “What?” I responded, sure that I had said too much or overshared like I normally do.

    I can’t recall what my daughter and I were discussing openly about while standing in line at the grocery store checkout, but I do remember the girl ringing us up laughing and saying we sounded just like her and her mom.

    I paused, unsure what that meant.

    “Is this what a healthy mother/daughter relationship sounds like?” I questioned to myself. It was a completely foreign concept to me.

    I wanted to create a strong bond with my daughter, but my own relationship with my mother was dysfunctional and boundary-less when I was a child, leading me to overthink everything when it came to creating a relationship with my daughter.

    My mother had significant mental health challenges, which eventually led to her death by suicide.

    I had no idea what healthy felt like.

    Insecurity plagued me when it came to connecting with my daughter. Was I giving her too much or not giving her enough? Did she trust me? Did she feel comforted by me? Was I too lenient? Was I too distant?

    It was hard to tell when the voices of doubt chimed in.

    I’ve watched other moms with their daughters since I was a young girl. I wasn’t exactly sure what normal was, but I knew it was not telling their daughters how depressed they were or talking through their marital issues. I knew it was not asking their daughters for advice and relying on them to feel good enough to get out of bed by midday.

    I knew my relationship with my mom was different, but it was the only one I had. My normal was gripping codependency and making sure she was okay so she would be there the next day.

    I didn’t want that relationship with my daughter. I wanted her to feel whole and complete and deeply loved without having to take care of another human being to feel it.

    My journey into motherhood was far from easy. With few role models and almost no experience with children, I felt like I had nothing to go on besides instinct alone. And my instincts were part of my problem. I couldn’t always hear them.

    When a child grows up in a volatile environment during their early development, they learn to distrust connection. When what feels comforting and loving one minute can turn to betrayal and rejection in the next, trust in others does not come easily.

    A human’s natural inclination is to want connection, but inconsistency or harm against a person creates a fear in that same connection. When this happens during early development, the child learns to fear what it also deeply desires—which develops into an adult who is quietly terrified to experience and trust reciprocal love.

    The only way I knew how to create that healthy connection was to look deeply into myself and be aware of my patterns and how I was passing them on. And so I observed—a lot.

    I observed other families and the way mothers spoke to their daughters. I observed the way the daughters responded to their moms. I watched what drew my daughter in, and I watched what pushed her away.

    I learned to listen without speaking (which is absolute torture when codependency feels like home), and I learned to ask more questions instead of giving unsolicited advice. I’m still learning, and most likely will be for the long haul since old habits die hard.

    But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just learning how to respond to normal discomfort when someone I love was uncomfortable. It was learning to respond to normal discomfort when I was uncomfortable. It was learning to not shut down and begin to emotionally detach when insecurity started to get loud.

    Raising my children is one of the biggest challenges I’ve had to navigate with these embedded fears. To give birth to a part of you and know your job is to let this soul grow into themselves while they slowly leave you a little more each day. Pulling them close to me to feel safe and loved and teaching them to leave all at the same time. It’s like one long continual dance of love and grief.

    My daughter started college this year and I knew it was going to be tough when she moved on campus, but I had no idea the depth of the grief I would feel. It’s not logical. And the logical part of me likes reason and boxes to put my feelings in. I cognitively knew it was temporary, but my body did not know. It stores memories of every loss and every time I’ve felt left behind, and it was eager to remind me.

    “Life will never be the same again. It’s over.”

    And that is true. But until those old pangs of grief retell their stories without being dismissed and reprimanded for being dramatic or “too much,” I could not see that the new life may even be better than the one before.

    When I let myself experience the sad and angry feelings without reacting to them, they moved through me faster and I could see what I needed to stay connected.

    I requested we have small doses of consistent communication during the beginning stages of her being gone so I could show my fears they were unwarranted. We sent pictures on snapchat most days, and it was just enough to feel connected without being intrusive. It worked for us and comforted my childhood-driven fear until it passed.

    The first time she came home was over a month after she left. Our oversized puppy expressed it best with his big cries and leaping happiness to be with her again. We missed her and our little family felt the absence of her presence in a big way.

    The joy of her energy filling our house was immense. To be in my space again and under my care felt like she never left. She was in and out and visiting friends and doing her thing, but her presence was the reassurance I needed.

    It felt like the scared toddler in me re-experienced object permanence. Proof that it’s safe to trust that if love walks out the door, it also returns. Maybe not in the same shape or the same way, but it comes back when it’s ready… and maybe it never truly left to begin with.

    My little-girl heart, still quietly afraid of loss, was healing.

    Fears of re-experiencing old pains and heartache are the norm in the human experience, and the more we understand our fears, the more we can work with them to keep our connections strong and secure. It also helps us to not pass them on to our children, our partners, our friends and family.

    Our job is not to silence our pain or our fears. Our job is to invite them to the table, let them speak, let them breathe, and let them share their story to completion. Their interrupted cycle is what keeps them around longer as they impatiently wait to be noticed.

    When a fear shows itself through strong surges of emotion (sadness, anger, loneliness, etc.), ask it for more information like you would someone else.

    You can do this verbally out loud or write it out. Ask, tell me more about that pain or fear. What does it feel like? Where do you feel it in your body? Does it hurt or feel restricting? Have you experienced this feeling before?

    Then ask when was the last time you recall feeling this way. What was happening? Who did it involve? What were you scared of? What was the outcome? What might you be doing right now to avoid that same pain? Is it working?

    As you start to uncover the sensations and emotions, ask, what would you tell someone else who was experiencing this same pain? What would you tell a child?

    And my favorite question, what is the most loving and compassionate thing you can do for yourself right now?

    Questions like these give us the opportunity to feel our feelings without transferring them on to someone else and give them a voice they might not normally have. Our inherent need to be seen and heard is met, and we are not ignoring what is asking to be felt.

    The more we let ourselves feel, the more we can hear the voice underneath the feelings once they pass. The quiet intuitive voice who always knows how to nurture us, heal our wounds, and instructs us how to have the courage and ability to have loving relationships with those we care about.

    It’s normal to have fear in our connections. It’s part of our experience as humans and often how we learn about ourselves most. But to let those fears dictate the way we connect keeps us from connecting in the ways we truly crave. True intimacy requires vulnerability and a trust that starts within ourselves. The more we are willing to listen to the fears that drive us, the more we are open to the love that feeds us.

    What are you really scared of? Let your fears be heard, but let your heart lead the way.

  • Teach Your Child to Be a Good Friend Because…

    Teach Your Child to Be a Good Friend Because…

  • That Friend You Can Rely On

    That Friend You Can Rely On

  • The Only Way to Form Meaningful Relationships with People Who Get You

    The Only Way to Form Meaningful Relationships with People Who Get You

    “A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.” ~Jim Morrison

    When I left my full-time position at an ad agency and ventured out on my own, I had a clear goal in mind—to connect with like-minded people who align with my highest good. As far as how I was going to do that, I had little clue.

    My life was full of relationships built from forced, sometimes toxic circumstances where we found each other out of need or convenience. I am grateful for each of those people because they were there when I needed them most, but there was always a part of me that felt unknown or misunderstood. They did not speak my language.

    After a couple of decades of those experiences, it became natural to think that no one understood who I was, and no one ever would.

    Being an idealist, I’ve always believed in true heart-to-heart connections with other human beings as the most fundamental component of strong relationships, above cultural backgrounds, titles, properties, or romance.

    Most of the people around me, however, seem to pursue relationships to either avoid being alone or to create financial security, without the desire to form a deeper connection with others. Perhaps they don’t believe in the type of connection I know exists and think of it as a fantasy. In the past, I was often criticized as being naive and impractical.

    My idealistic nature often shows up in work environments, too, unguarded and without an agenda, while I watch others focus only on their own goals.

    I’ve always cared about coworkers as well as clients, and I’ve been enthusiastic about creating great designs to help them succeed. Those efforts were often seen as an agenda to get promoted, even perceived as a threat at times by supervisors fearing I was after their job. So, I finally gave into conformity and kept these idealisms to myself and pretended I had the same drives as everyone else.

    I wanted to be perceived as professional, to have friends, and to live every day drama-free, so I showed the world just enough of me in order to fit in comfortably.

    It is no wonder, in hindsight, I never met anyone who truly got me, because no one really knew about the existence of that part of me. And if I ever mustered enough courage to share those deep thoughts and visions, the slightest pause in our conversation or a split-second blank stare would scare me back into my shell all over again.

    Interestingly enough, after my “release” into the ocean (as I like to call it) from the corporate pond, and since taking full advantage of my freedom to work with whomever I choose, I find myself attracting more and more like-minded people. Whenever I marvel at the miraculous synchronicities, I begin to realize more and more why that is…

    I unknowingly started to come out of my shell and show the world all that I am.

    I was no longer met with judging eyes, passive-aggressive statements, and indirect criticisms that conditioned me to refrain from expressing myself in ways that I wanted to. Without having to deal with constant judgment and negativity, I naturally opened up and let my walls down.

    I spent the three-month grace period I granted myself following the leave nurturing feelings of self-appreciation and comfort and self-reflecting. What kind of relationships did I want moving forward? And what type of professional relationships would I want to build for my long-term success? The answer from deep within brought tears to my eyes—whatever business endeavors awaited, I always wanted to be as happy as I was right then.

    This morning, on an introductory Zoom call with a client who came to us for marketing and PR services, I had déjà vu listening to her echoing my own recent experiences.

    She is a veteran in her industry, well-educated across all subjects, has a rich cultural background, and is already a highly successful entrepreneur; yet she expressed discomfort in telling her personal story because she felt she would be seen as weird and unrelatable, at the same time wondering how her unique perspective and her desire to better the world could come across to the right clients.

    I immediately felt my pulse a little stronger, blood flowing, and wasted no time in sharing what I had just gone through.

    I gave her the following advice in hopes she would be encouraged to share all that she is with the world and build the clientele she truly desires. I got my confirmation immediately when her eyes lit up and her wonderfully mischievous childhood stories began to flow out naturally and comfortably… (Joy!)

    Your “weirdness” is your uniqueness.

    Since I’ve allowed myself to be more authentic, I’ve crossed paths with many people who share the same fear of being seen as “weird.”

    Many of us carry this heavy weight, the shame we felt perhaps from a young age of being judged, reprimanded, or made fun of, just for being ourselves. We then spent decades trying to fit in, prove we were “normal,” and worthy of love and respect. We diminished all the amazing qualities that make up exactly who we are as unique individuals.

    If you ever feel the need to hide your history, struggles, or emotions to appear “normal” to the rest of the world, consider this: You are actually depriving the world of getting to know you.

    What if the world needs your unique personality? What if the world is waiting to hear your personal story? Every single one of your qualities, even those some may consider “weird,” is a contribution to who you have become and what you have to offer the world.

    If you have read this far, you most likely have a desire to be known, to be acknowledged, and you are likely already sharing pieces of yourself with others, at least on a surface level. I encourage you to gently peel off another layer and share a deeper part of yourself. Because not doing so will keep you wondering and feeling caged.

    Like-minded people are trying to find you, too.

    Finding people who click with you can seem like a challenge, even if you lead a dynamic and interesting life and/or have a rich inner world.

    As I get older, I value deep connections more and more because I enjoy getting into a state of flow over effortless, meaningful conversations. I spent many frustrating years trying to figure out how exactly to meet the right kind of people, but it had never occurred to me they were looking for me, too. And I hadn’t made it easy for them to connect with me.

    When I met new people, I stuck with superficial conversations because, again, I didn’t want to be perceived as “weird” and be rejected. When I formed a friendship, I tried to maintain it the same way I had earned it, by not being who I truly am. Needless to say, those relationships were unfulfilling and short-lived.

    Sharing who you are authentically in each present moment not only helps connect you to those similar to you but also filters the relationships that are incompatible from the get-go. By bringing your inner world to light, you acknowledge your own uniqueness and allow others to fully see you, thereby making a connection with you.

    The more you let other people in, the deeper the connections you will form.

    The levels of connection you can create with another person can be exhilarating but also a little intimidating. Relationships can form from a fun-loving, surface-level interaction into something that touches the most intimate parts of your souls. But you have to be willing to risk discomfort and rejection in order to find the right people.

    If you are tired of superficial relationships that bear little fulfillment and want deeper connections you can build on, then your only option is to be brave, open up about your inner world, and let other people in.

    How deep the connections are will depend on how vulnerable you allow yourself to become and whether or not others reciprocate. Not everyone will, and that’s okay. It’s worth opening up to people who’ll reject you to find the one who won’t.

    Conversely, you need to be prepared to reciprocate just the same when someone else trusts you enough to show you their inner world. While this may take some courage to build up to, it’s also well worth the risk.