Tiny Buddha

Tag: neglect

  • 5 Surefire Signs You Grew Up with an Emotionally Immature Parent

    5 Surefire Signs You Grew Up with an Emotionally Immature Parent

    “There’s no such thing as a ‘bad kid’—just angry, hurt, tired, scared, confused, impulsive ones expressing their feelings and needs the only way they know how. We owe it to every single one of them to always remember that.” ~Dr. Jessica Stephens 

    All children look up to their parents from the moment they enter this world. They have this beautiful, pure, unconditional love pouring out of them. Parents are on a pedestal. They are the ones who know what’s best! They are the grownups showing us how to do life!

    We don’t think for one moment that they could be showing us the wrong way.

    I, like many others, adored both my mum and dad. I could not see their flaws, their pains, or their trauma. I just loved them and wanted to spend time with them. If they shouted at me and told me I was wrong, I trusted that they were right, no question.

    When I had non-existent self-esteem, anxiety, and suicidal ideation because I believed I was not good enough, I blamed that 100% on myself. I had unconsciously recorded all those moments when their behavior had made me feel not good enough as my own fault for being ‘bad,’ not considering they could have had something going on themselves.

    When I struggled in romantic relationships, always chasing unavailable men, I held myself responsible and never for one minute thought that this pattern of behavior stemmed from my relationship with my parents. I believed what they had told me in different ways—that I was the problem!

    The reason I struggled in relationships, I later discovered, was that my parents were not actually okay when they were parenting me because of their own traumas and were emotionally immature.

    Here are five signs you had emotionally immature parents and how may it impact you.

    1. Their feelings and needs were more important than yours.

    Emotionally immature parents can be incredibly self-absorbed and distracted by their own feelings and emotions, and they want their child, you, to regulate them.

    For example, when my mum was upset, I would be affectionate toward her and soothe her. As I got older, she would be angry with me if I was not there to soothe her when she needed it, saying I was selfish and she had no one. I believed her.

    I was off playing with my friends and being a child, but this was not allowed if it meant I couldn’t meet her needs and calm her emotions. As a result, I learned it was not safe to choose my needs over hers, as she would withdraw her love from me, which felt so scary. My heart would race, and I would feel terror take over my body.

    As an adult, this meant I believed I was responsible for other people’s emotions, and if they were angry or upset, it was my fault. So I would always walk around on eggshells just in case someone might attack me for upsetting them. Because I believed everyone’s pain was my fault, I attracted more relationships like the one with my mum. These relationships made me feel powerless.

    2. Expressing your feelings or needs was not safe.

    When you expressed a feeling and it was met with a negative reaction from your parent, it created a world of panic inside your body. For example, sharing how you were struggling could have been met with a comment about how their lives were so much worse and you should stop being so dramatic.

    Expressing a need, like asking for a ride somewhere, could have launched an attack about how selfish you were—and didn’t you realize how hard your parents were working!

    So what happened? You stopped expressing your feelings and needs and buried them deep. (For me, I topped them with ice cream and sugar for comfort.) As an adult, you may now be so cut off from your own emotions and needs that you act as if you don’t have any.

    3. They did not take responsibility for their actions.

    They’d say or do something that really hurt you, but they wouldn’t acknowledge it, nor apologize. In fact, they may have just carried on as normal.

    Your relationship with them was not repaired as a result. You may have tried to resolve the situation, but you were the only one trying, and you may even have found yourself blamed for something you didn’t even do. The whole situation would leave you feeling crazy and like you didn’t know what’s true. You may even have started thinking it was your own fault.

    As an adult, you might repeat this dynamic in other relationships, feeling powerless to repair and resolve issues that arise. This leads to resentment and staying in unhappy relationships because you don’t know it can be any other way.

    4. They have no idea how to regulate their emotions.

    They walked around triggered by their emotions all day. They had no idea how to bring themselves back into balance. They’d come home exhausted from work, but rather than doing something to discharge from the day, they’d get stuck in their chores and then take out their emotions on others due to resentment over being so tired.

    They also might have had no idea what they were feeling. Maybe they were constantly angry because they lacked the self-awareness to recognize they were really feeling sad or anxious or overwhelmed. And because they didn’t know what they were feeling, they had no idea what they needed to do to feel better.

    5. You were forced to grow up before your time.

    It wasn’t okay for you to be a child. They found it way too stressful, so you were encouraged to be a little adult. Maybe even a little adult that parented them. It was also not safe for you to be a child. You couldn’t be loud or silly, as they could have lost their temper, so you walked around on high alert waiting for this. You may have learned to be the calm one because your parents weren’t.

    I found myself getting involved in their very grown-up arguments as a child just to try and keep the peace in the house. This is not the role of a child. If you had the same experience, you may find yourself attracting similarly codependent relationships as an adult.

    —

    If this childhood sounds like yours, you are not alone. There are many of us. There is an inner child within you that missed out on so much love, nurturing, encouragement, and balance, which could be the reason you are struggling now as an adult.

    It is not because you are not good enough or because you are to blame for everything. It is because you were raised by emotionally immature parents. Effectively, you were raised by children in adult bodies.

    You could still be dealing with these patterns as an adult with your parents, as they could be children in even older bodies now!

    Learning how to be emotionally mature yourself so you don’t repeat the patterns with your own children is a wonderful gift to be able to give them, but also it means you can have healthy relationships and find peace within. Healing and reparenting your inner child means you will be able to express your emotions and have boundaries so others don’t think it is okay to do the same to you.

    I used to feel powerless when people treated me like this, not just with my parents but in other relationships too. I would try to be whatever they wanted me to be, but they would still react in the same ways no matter what I did. Stepping back from them and focusing on healing my inner child, understanding her feelings and needs, and holding space for her has changed my life. I was able to become the parent I always longed for.

    I understand now that my parents were emotionally immature, as they were raised by emotionally immature parents too. They were mature with money and jobs, but with emotions, they were out of their depth because no one showed them how to manage them, and unfortunately, they never learned.

    But we can be the generation that breaks this pattern by being the emotionally mature parent we needed. We can be the example of healthy relationship dynamics that we never had.

    **This post was originally published in 2022.

  • 6 Reasons We Ignore Our Needs and How to Stop

    6 Reasons We Ignore Our Needs and How to Stop

    “If you feel that you are missing out on fulfillment and happiness, but cannot put your finger on why, perhaps there is something deeper going on. Believe it or not, anyone can develop an unconscious habit of self-deprivation. Usually, this habit begins in childhood.” ~Mike Bundrant

    For all my adolescence and over a decade of my adult life, I was what men (and I’m guessing some female friends as well) would refer to as “emotionally needy.” And some did. To my face. With a sense of condescension and judgment.

    They were right. I was clingy, insecure, and fragile. I needed regular reassurance. And I was constantly on the lookout for signs that someone might reject or abandon me.

    I was also highly dependent on external validation because I didn’t believe I was worthy or good enough. And I treated myself like I wasn’t.

    I frequently deprived myself of the things that might make me feel happy and whole while numbing myself with other things that made me feel worse about myself and even more depleted.

    Instead of expressing my feelings about things that had hurt me, I attempted to drown and burn my emotions with booze, cigarettes, and weed.

    Instead of sharing myself authentically and pursuing relationships with people who seemed receptive and trustworthy, I shapeshifted and chased one emotionally unavailable person after another—repeating a humiliating pattern of rejection and neglect that felt painful yet familiar.

    And then there were the many ways I ignored my physical needs. Like pushing myself to work more when I really needed a break—so I could achieve something big enough to feel I was worthy of love. Or forcing myself to exercise when I really needed to rest—so I wouldn’t become big enough to attract the same abuse I’d endured as a bullied kid.

    I can’t remember exactly when it happened, but I eventually realized I was so needy because I didn’t value or honor my own needs—so I looked to someone else to do it. It was the ultimate in disempowerment. I was a fragile shell of a human being who desperately hoped someone would fill me up, and convince me I deserved it.

    But the irony is that when you don’t believe you deserve good things, you’re likely to sabotage or reject them when they come your way. If you even put yourself in the position to attain them.

    And the truth is that no one else can be responsible for meeting all our needs. And most people who try (and inevitably fail) are dealing with their own wounds—fulfilling some kind of savior complex that resulted from childhood trauma. Another pattern I know all too well.

    If we want to feel happy, worthy, and loved, we have to take responsibility for meeting those needs for ourselves.

    That doesn’t mean we can’t also form relationships with people who see our worth. Just that we won’t depend on their perception to maintain our own. And we won’t require anything (or much) from them to fill our own cup. Because we’ll not only have the awareness and tools to do it ourselves but the confidence that we deserve it.

    If you can relate to any of my story or even just some, there’s a good chance you also struggle with recognizing and honoring your needs. And this likely affects more than just your relationships.

    It might manifest as deteriorating mental or physical health. It might result in professional burnout if you push yourself to do too much, especially within a toxic work culture. It could also lead to a sense of emptiness and purposelessness if you continually ignore the voice inside that tells you you’re unfulfilled.

    The first step to changing all of that is to recognize that you’re devaluing and deprioritizing your needs and do some soul-searching to understand why.

    When we understand the conditioning and beliefs that have shaped us, we’re able to work on the type of internal healing that can lead to major external change.

    It was only when I healed my deepest core wounds that I was able to change my patterns because I was no longer building from a foundation built on trauma but rather one erected in its place from self-love. Self-love that started as the tiniest seed and eventually grew into a mighty tree—much like the one at the top of this site.

    Not sure why you ignore your needs? Perhaps, like me, you’ve experienced some of the following.

    6 Reasons We Ignore Our Needs

     1. You grew up watching other people putting themselves last.

    If your parents or caregivers constantly neglected themselves while trying to please other people, you might have learned from their example that it’s selfish or wrong to put yourself first.

    They probably thought the same, and maybe for the same reason. Patterns of self-neglect, self-sabotage, and self-destruction often get passed on from generation to generation until someone says, “No more” and does the work to break the cycle.

    2. You learned, by how you were treated growing up, that your needs aren’t important, or as important as other people’s.

    If your parents or caregivers ignored or neglected your needs, regularly or as a form of punishment, you might have concluded that you’re not worthy of having your needs met, or that you deserve to be deprived in some way whenever you make a mistake.

    You likely didn’t realize as a kid that when your parents failed to show up as you needed them to, it was because they were wrong, not you.

    This doesn’t mean they were bad people or even horrible parents. Once again, they were likely repeating what they experienced as kids because they didn’t know any better. (But now you do.)

    3. You believe that having needs is somehow wrong or a sign of weakness.

    You might mistakenly assume that having needs is the same as being needy—perhaps because someone else ingrained this belief in you, directly or indirectly. Maybe by invalidating your feelings, gaslighting you when you spoke up for yourself, or shaming you for asking for help.

    But as I realized, there’s a huge distinction between having needs and being needy. And more importantly, when you’re able to recognize and honor your own needs, you’re not dependent on other people to do it for you. Which is the exact opposite of being needy.

    4. You believe prioritizing yourself is unsafe because other people might hurt, judge, or abandon you.

    If you were hurt, judged, and abandoned as a result of trying to honor your needs in the past, you might carry a subconscious fear that this could happen again. Consequently, you might feel panic even thinking about honoring your needs.

    And if you’re anything like I used to be, you probably don’t realize you’re better off losing anyone you could lose by speaking up for your needs.

    5. You believe you need to earn good things and that you haven’t done enough to deserve them yet.

    In our achievement-focused culture, it’s easy to conclude that you’re not good enough if you haven’t accomplished something impressive. If this is true for you, you might be putting most of your needs on hold until you achieve something that makes you feel worthy.

    In my twenties I spent many days and nights glued to a computer, thinking everything would be better in my life if I could just find a way to make a mark—and some decent money in the process. It didn’t occur to me that I could feel better right in that moment by stepping away, taking care of my needs, and allowing myself to be present while doing something I enjoyed.

    6. You’re living in survival mode, and your needs aren’t even on your radar because you’re focused on getting through the day.

    If you’re living in a state of chronic stress, due to trauma, grief, or burnout, you’re quite possibly doing the bare minimum,  just trying to keep your head above water. When you’re in survival mode, you have no energy left to focus on your needs, big or small.

    I experienced this when I was at my worst mentally and physically, struggling with depression and bulimia while also suppressing deep trauma. And I went through something similar (but far less life-threatening) as a chronically sleep-deprived new mother, without a village.

    —

    If you were nodding your head while reading any of the above, you now have a good starting point for changing your patterns.

    The next step is to regularly check in with yourself and ask yourself two questions:

    • What do I need right now—physically, mentally, and/or emotionally—to feel and be my best?
    • What false beliefs do I need to challenge in order to meet that need?

    The first question requires you to get really honest with yourself and to let go of the instinct to judge your needs. Because they might be different from other people’s.

    You might need to share your feelings in a trusting space while someone else might not require the same type of emotional support in a similar situation.

    You might need to get up and move your body while someone else might be able to continue with the task at hand for longer.

    You might need time to yourself to recharge while someone else might be fine and even content with socializing for longer.

    The important thing to remember is you’re not them, and that’s not only okay but beautiful! Because honoring your unique needs allows you to show up as the best version of your unique self.

    As for the second question, when you pause and really think about why you might choose to deprive yourself, you give yourself the opportunity to challenge your instinctive behavior and overcome your conditioning.

    I’ve found that a tiny pause can be huge.

    In tiny pauses, I’ve realized I need to let myself cry instead of stuffing my painful feelings down, burying all hopes of joy with them. That this isn’t wrong or a sign of weakness but rather a precursor to feeling stronger.

    In tiny pauses, I’ve recognized that I need to get outside instead of isolating myself or forcing myself to be productive. That I don’t need to accomplish anything to be worthy of relief and connection.

    And in pauses somewhat longer, I’ve found the strength to speak up when someone mistreats or devalues me. Because I remember that, contrary to what I concluded when I was younger, I am worthy of love and respect.

    Knowing this is the key to honoring our needs. Because honoring our needs is the number one way we give these things to ourselves.

  • 7 Ways Childhood Trauma Shows Up in Your Romantic Relationships

    7 Ways Childhood Trauma Shows Up in Your Romantic Relationships

    “Love is the greatest miracle cure. Loving ourselves creates miracles in our lives.” ~Louise Hay

    When you are unlucky in love, you tend to blame yourself for not being enough and maybe blame fate for not giving you a break already! Everyone else around you is in happy, long-term relationships, but you just can’t get there.

    You might come to the conclusion that there is something wrong with you—you’re too old or too fat—and all the good ones are already married, and you will just die alone! You never think for one moment that your relationship history is playing out a dynamic from childhood.

    I felt like this for thirty-seven years of my life. It was like I kept dating the same man but in different bodies. The way I felt was always the same. Always chasing after someone who was unavailable in some way. Some had addictions, some were in relationships, some prioritized other people, but the underlying feeling was the same. I am not good enough to be loved.

    Other times I avoided relationships all together, or I was the one running away from the ones who did want me, telling myself that they were not what I wanted. In all situations it ended in the same way—me single, feeling incredibly lonely and hopeless. Looking at everyone who could manage a relationship wondering what was wrong with me.

    I continued aimlessly looking for love in all the wrong places, completely unaware of how my childhood was impacting my relationship choices. Thankfully, I began a journey of healing that started by reading and listening to self-help content. I became aware of Pia Melody and the concept of love addiction after reading her book by the same name.

    This relationship behavior I kept repeating was actually a trauma response. I had grown up with a dad who was emotionally unavailable and very much focused on his own needs. Unconsciously, I was finding him in these other relationships. It got worse after his suicide.

    Since then, I’ve learned a lot about how our childhood trauma plays out in relationships. Here are seven ways it can happen:

    1. You are in a relationship but don’t feel loved.

    You are in the relationship you once wished for, but you still feel this emptiness and feel like your partner is to blame. If they did x, then you would feel loved and enough.

    You blame them and they trigger you. But are you expecting the love and care from them that you are not even giving to yourself? Are you filling up your own love so that their love is just a bonus? Are you even noticing the ways they show you love? It may be different to your love language. Maybe things are not right, but are you working on repairing the issues rather than blaming or ignoring them?

    Our first relationships (with our parents or childhood caregivers) teach us about attachment. If your relationship with your parents was sometimes really loving but other times they were cold and distant, you didn’t grow up with love being available and consistent. Which is why relationships can make you feel anxious and you can over-give and feel lonely in a relationship.

    2. You are the fixer in love.

    When you date or even marry, your partner tends to be the broken bird that you are obsessed with fixing. Or they might be a narcissist who is all about their needs and you taking care of them. Either way, you have found yourself in toxic relationships that don’t feel safe or good.

    They could be an addict and you pour all your energy trying to save them while feeling depleted and unloved. You become almost obsessed with how you can save this person you love so much. It’s quite possible you’re repeating a dynamic with one of your parents.

    For example, I very much repeated a pattern of finding men to fix because my relationship with my dad was all about his needs and his struggles with his mental health. I was always saving him, and when I did, I would receive love from him. I thought this was love, so I repeated this unconsciously in other relationships.

    3. You chase unavailable love.

    You spend all your time and energy chasing after someone who is not available in some way. They need fixing, have addiction or family issues, are in a relationship already, or won’t commit to you. But you think of them day and night. You are obsessed with getting them to choose you, but they don’t and this spirals you into despair.

    You just keep trying and sometimes use other addictions to numb the pain. I was addicted to a psychic line at the height of my love addiction with an unavailable man because I was looking for confirmation that we’d end up together. This is what launched my healing journey, as it really did make me feel insane at times, especially when the object of my affection kept coming forward and then running away.

    We often will attract people who are playing out their attachment trauma from childhood with us. Often one that is opposite to us. So if you chase love, you may attract someone who runs away.

    4. You avoid relationships entirely.

    Falling in love feels like too much and it just makes you feel so anxious, so you might avoid relationships entirely and seem to function better single. But the loneliness is intense. You wish you could be held at night.

    You will do things to avoid these feelings, like overwork, take care of others, keep your social calendar super busy, numb with TV, drink all the time—whatever you can do to not feel your feelings!

    If you even attempt to go on a dating app your heart races and you feel terrified. So you run back to your safe single life, wondering what is wrong with you that you can’t even go on a date.

    5. You ignore the red flags.

    The object of your affection does things that don’t feel safe, yet you don’t say anything out of fear of losing them. You have no idea how to set a boundary and ignore warning signs that this person may not be good for you—how they talk to you, put you down, deny your reality, or even get physically violent.

    Since you grew up with a parent that did the same to you, it feels almost normal. Even though your body will tense up around them, you are used to that. You stay too long in relationships that don’t make you feel good, where you get very little. You feel like this is the best you can get, so you focus on the good rather than noticing the bad.

    6. You feel suffocated in your relationship.

    You are in a relationship that feels safe and easy, but then your brain starts to question it all. Am I attracted to this person? Do I feel suffocated by them? Are they the right one for me? You will convince yourself that they are wrong for you and end the relationship, as you have no idea what healthy love even is. It makes you feel so anxious to end up with the wrong person.

    7. You don’t think you can get better.

    You are in a relationship because you don’t want to be alone, but it doesn’t make you happy. But you don’t think you deserve any better. The fear of leaving and being alone feels like too much, so you just stay. Resenting the other person for not making you happy but not taking any action to make your situation better.

    —

    Many of us fall into more than one of these categories.

    Without healing and inner work, we unconsciously play out patterns from the past and stop ourselves from having a fulfilling relationship.

    We can’t even objectively see what is wrong because so much of what we are experiencing in our relationships is based on our past trauma wounds. We don’t know what we don’t know, and if no one  modelled a healthy relationship for us growing up, how can we know what it is ?

    I had no ideas my parents’ relationship was unhealthy because the constant fighting was my normal, so I had no idea I could have something different.

    Romantic love felt stressful for me for many years. I was either pining after them or they were driving me mad. I didn’t know there could be any another way.

    But understanding my relationship patterns and where they came from has been a game changer for me.

    Now, after a journey of healing the past relational traumas with my parents through therapy, books, and support groups, I know how to have healthy love. What changed was I learned how to love myself and care for myself the way I wish others would love me.

    This changed everything…

    As my relationship with myself improved, so did my relationship with men. I am now married, and thankful my marriage is nothing like my parents’. When there’s conflict, we have the tools to move through it and come out stronger.

    We have a strong relationship in large part because I have done a ton of inner work and healing. Unlike in previous relationships, I now know my own worth, and I also know how to express my needs and boundaries with love and kindness.

    I finally took responsibility for my behavior and moved out of victim mode. This changed the relationships I attracted, not just romantic. I now knew how to treat myself with love and respect, and this meant the quality of love I received was healthier as a result.

    Our internal issues play out in our relationships. Once we heal on the inside, everything changes.

    Love yourself the way you wish to be loved by someone else. Notice when your relationship is triggering negative emotions and ask yourself, “What do I need?” Start to give yourself what you need and then you will learn to ask others for what you need. Showering yourself with your own love will change everything.

  • Why Codependents Don’t Trust Themselves to Make Decisions and How to Start

    Why Codependents Don’t Trust Themselves to Make Decisions and How to Start

    “Slow, soulful living is all about coming back to your truth, the only guidance you’ll ever need. When you rush, you have the tendency to follow others. When you bring in mindfulness, you have the power to align with yourself.” ~Kris Franken

    Codependency previously created a lot of pain and agony in my life. One of the ways it manifested was in my inability to trust myself. I would overthink decisions to death, fearful that I would choose the “wrong one” or upset someone if they didn’t agree or were disappointed by my choice.

    I was terrified of “making a mistake,” and I exhausted myself trying to collect everyone’s opinion (to ensure they would be pleased with me) before finally settling on a choice.

    As annoying as it was, for me and everyone around me, I couldn’t seem to stand firm in my decisions. I longed to be more confident in my choices but couldn’t understand why it was so hard for me.

    Growing up with an authoritative, controlling parent, I didn’t have the opportunity and support I needed to feel my feelings and let my intuition guide my choices. I didn’t get to learn from my mistakes. When I made a mistake, it felt like death. I was often blamed, shamed, and criticized, all too much for my empathetic system to bear.

    I learned that if I placated and pleased, others were happy. And because I became so others-focused from such an early age, I never learned how to build my muscle for good decision-making.

    Feelings and emotions were not welcome in my world, so my only way through was to disconnect from feeling at all—though I felt responsible for others’ mood swings and feelings. I learned that sharing my needs or opinions was triggering for others, and I didn’t have the skills to navigate the weight of that. All this combined felt mentally paralyzing, so I began to look outside of myself to others for advice and guidance eventually.

    When you’re reliant on other people’s opinions and guidance, you’re much like a feather in the wind—susceptible to any small or big gust that comes along. You aren’t in control of your life, and you give others way too much power over how you feel.

    One of the best ways to begin to build self-trust and heal from codependency is to begin feeling your feelings again, living from the neck down as I like to say. Moving from our cognitive thinking brain (because I know you know making decisions shouldn’t be this hard) to the wisdom of our bodies.

    I believe that in order for us to really build this self-trust muscle, we have to learn how to trust our feelings. And that requires us to build a sense of awareness around why we might be codependent in the first place.

    Perhaps, like me, you were programmed from an early age not to trust your inner knowing, or intuition. This results in low self-worth. And this happens for a number of reasons.

    • You were abused or neglected (physically and/or emotionally).
    • Your feelings and needs were minimized.
    • You were judged, shamed, or mocked for your feelings, maybe even being called “too sensitive.”
    • Your feelings and needs weren’t as important as other people’s.
    • You didn’t have at least one parent or caregiver validating your feelings and sense of worth. You didn’t have someone mirroring back to you your value.

    If you experienced any amount of neglect, or had emotionally unavailable parents, like me, you probably learned to suppress your feelings in order to survive. And what we resist persists, so those feelings that we try to shove down only intensify.

    3 Tools to Build Self-Trust

    These three tips might help you learn to trust your inner wisdom so you can make decisions from an empowered place.

    TOOL #1: Do a daily check-in of your feelings.

    When we check in with our feelings regularly so we can meet our needs, we learn to trust in our ability to do what’s best for ourselves.

    When I first started doing this, I would set four alarms on my phone. When the alarm went off, I would do a quick check-in by asking myself, “What am I feeling? What am I experiencing right now?”

    Often, we run through life, not checking in to see how we are doing and feeling (especially if we struggle with people-pleasing and codependency). We do a lot of things every day, all day—go to work, make decisions, parent our kids—but we often don’t check in with ourselves and ask if we need to shift something.

    This is a big part of self-love, checking in and asking, before I have this conversation with my child, my partner, my boss, or customer service rep for my computer, what’s going on with me? Oh, I’m feeling ornery or hungry; here’s how I can address that before I have this conversation.

    You can also do this by journaling. Keeping track of your feelings in a journal can be a beautiful way to understand, process, and look back on your experiences.

    Here are some journaling questions to help you get started:

    • What do I need to hear from myself?
    • What do I need to do for myself to feel my best?
    • What do I love about my life right now?
    • Today I woke up feeling (fill in the blank).
    • Am I living a life aligned with my values?

    TOOL #2: Reparent your inner child.

    Reparenting your inner child is a beautiful way of giving your inner little one the things that he or she needed and never received in childhood. You become the parent you needed when you were a child. And, by giving to yourself what you didn’t receive then, you free yourself from the past.

    So much of reparenting yourself is about making choices every day in your own best interest. It’s becoming aware of your patterns and behaviors, understanding why you do what you do, and carving out time to give yourself what you really need. When you give yourself what you need, you start worrying less about other people abandoning you because you know you won’t abandon yourself.

    One of my favorite ways to reparent myself is to give myself the words I never got to hear as a small young child.  Words like:

    • I love you.
    • I hear you.
    • You are perfect and complete.
    • You didn’t deserve that.
    • I see that really hurt you.
    • What do you need right now?
    • That must have been very difficult for you.
    • I’m so sorry that happened to you.
    • You are smart.
    • You did your best.

    TOOL #3: Practice creating safety within.

    Because we, as codependents, were raised by either emotionally unavailable or narcissistic caregivers/parents, we developed what I refer to as “a hole in the soul.”

    Our parents’ responsibility is to mirror back to us our worth and value, but when they fail to do that, we will look to someone or something outside of ourselves to show us our worth and, in essence, feel safe.

    It’s an endless battle of trying to fill that hole. Low self-worth, self-value, self-esteem, and self-regard are typical for codependents. We look outside of ourselves for safety and approval, becoming dependent on that next hit or rush. That safety might last for five minutes, five hours, and if we’re lucky, a whole day.

    One of my trusted and reliable systems for safety was shopping. I would spend frivolously, buying things we didn’t need with money we didn’t necessarily have. This created a lot of stress and conflict between my husband and me, and further decreased my self-trust.

    He couldn’t understand why I had this insatiable push to spend, and I didn’t either. I just knew that my system felt safe and relaxed once I made my purchases—until the excitement wore off, which usually happened quite quickly, and I was back in the store, searching and spending, trying to get my next fix.

    I had a lot of stress and guilt because I knew what I was doing wasn’t healthy. Yet it was compulsive. I couldn’t stop.

    I longed for the connection and safety that I never received as a child but didn’t know how to get it in healthy ways. So I suppressed my needs in relationships and tried to fill that hole with shopping.

    It didn’t happen overnight, but once I learned how to create that feeling of safety within myself (with lots of support through trauma-informed coaching, therapy, breathwork, meditation, and proper nutrition, and after learning to speak up for myself), my codependent strategies (shopping, relationship addiction) slowly seemed to disappear.

    I no longer needed to rely on my old strategies because I knew how to trust myself and offer myself what I truly needed.

    I invite you to try this: Close your eyes and imagine something that makes you feel at ease, calm, and safe (maybe your favorite forest or beach, perhaps a little cabin nestled in the woods). Notice where the sensation of ease lives in your body. Be with it for a moment—just sit with and experience it. That feeling you just created was created by you. It is yours.

    Every time you do this exercise you release the belief that you can’t create this feeling alone. That you can’t be trusted, and that you must rely on things outside of you to create safety.

    When I first started this practice, I had to implement it every time I entered a store. I took a few moments while I sat in my car and created that feeling of safety within. That way, I felt a sense of calm and ease as I was shopping, keeping my prefrontal cortex online so that I could make rational purchases that I felt confident and good about.

    I started to build evidence that I could, in fact, trust myself to make healthy decisions. It was incredibly empowering and freeing to walk into a shop and simply admire the textures, patterns, scents, and products without feeling an overwhelming compulsion to put things in my cart that I simply didn’t need.

    Every time we connect with ourselves this way, we prove to ourselves that we can create safety within. And every time we make healthy choices from that place of internal safety, we deepen our trust in our ability to discern and do what’s best for us.

  • How I Stopped Chasing Men Who Hurt Me and Found Healthy Love

    How I Stopped Chasing Men Who Hurt Me and Found Healthy Love

    “There are two things you should never waste your time on: things that don’t matter and people who think that you don’t matter.” ~Ziad K. Abdelnour  

    “What is wrong with me?” I asked myself. Crying in the dark of the night. “Why doesn’t he love me?”

    I’d tried to fold myself in all the ways I could to be loved and accepted, but it was never enough. I found myself repeating patterns of chasing men who just didn’t want me. Same cry in the night, different men.

    The more I chased them, the more they ran away, and the deeper I lost my self-worth. 

    I was addicted to them. They were my drug. These men who were wounded and just needed a loving, caring woman to come save them. I wanted to be the answer to their pain so then finally, a man would choose me. Finally, I would get the love I had longed for and chased my whole life.

    I always chased men that were unavailable in some way. They may have been addicts, in other relationships, or just not ready for a relationship. The more they didn’t want the relationship, the harder I would chase.

    I would be up late in the night, full of anxiety, obsessing about them. So preoccupied with trying to make them love me that I forgot to take care of myself.

    I had no boundaries and would accept any kind of awful behavior. It would break my heart and I may pull back for a moment, but then they would notice and come toward me, so the pull-push cycle would begin again.

    I lacked self-love and self-worth, and this pattern was destroying what little I had. I felt like nothing and like there was something fundamentally wrong with me.

    My happiness, my everything, was tied up in receiving validation from these unavailable men. The older I got, the worse it got, and the more obvious it was that something was not right. My friends were getting married, having children, and moving forward. But I was stuck ruminating about my latest obsession.

    I even drove my friends mad! No matter what they said to me, it wouldn’t stop me chasing a fantasy. When they stopped listening, I rang a psychic line multiple times a day for validation that the man I wanted was ‘the one.’ So not only did my self-worth disappear but my bank balance with it.

    It was exhausting and brought me to my knees in my mid-thirties.

    Then I noticed something. If someone was interested in me, available, and wanted to move forward, I would feel suffocated and tell myself there was no chemistry. But if someone showed some interest but was not available, I would want them more than anything.

    I felt like there was something really wrong with me because of this pattern, but I was determined to change, so I could have healthy, loving romantic relationships.

    I read You Can Heal Your Life, by Louise Hay, and decided to change my beliefs.

    Here are the five things I did to heal so I could open up to a healthier relationship:

    1. I adopted a daily self-care practice.

    It became painfully obvious to me that I knew how to love others but not myself. So I began with adding some practices to my day to help me build self-love.

    I listened to affirmations on Spotify and read them to myself looking in the mirror. I tried meditation and hot baths to begin my journey. I was always researching new ways to show myself love. In addition to developing a self-care practice, I invested in support to help me get better, including therapy.

    2. I began doing inner child work.

    I went back to my earlier story through meditation and discovered that younger-me was always chasing after my dad’s unavailable love. Trying to help him, to be seen. Trying to fix him so he would tell me I was enough. Seeking his validation, his connection, because he was unavailable due to his own childhood trauma. My inner child had internalized this to means I was unlovable.

    I began to say affirmations to a photo of my younger self. “You are loveable,” “You are enough,” “You are worthy.” I would literally talk to her and ask her how she felt and what she needed. I would imagine playing with her and showing her love.

    I explored my inner child’s story and learned lots about attachment theory. I realized that I had disorganized attachment from my father’s inconsistency, and that this was not my fault but just part of my old programming. The great news was I could change this! A book that helped me was Healing Your Attachment Wounds, by Diane Poole Heller.

    When I recognized why I sought love from men who couldn’t give it to me, that ache for unavailable love lessened.

    3. I set clear intentions.

    I grew up on my dad’s little crumbs of love. It made me feel starved for love and attention, so later in life, I would accept them from any man who showed me interest. Even if they weren’t the right fit for me. I had no idea what that was!

    When I realized this, I compiled a list of what I didn’t want. I tuned into what brought me pain and unhappiness growing up. Things that made me feel unsafe. These became my red flags. For example, emotional unavailability, anger, shouting, gaslighting, denying my reality, and addiction were a few items from my list.

    I became conscious about what I didn’t want so I wouldn’t blindly go into a relationship that made me feel unsafe again.

    I also compiled a list of things I did want—must-haves like kindness and safety.

    4. I ended contact with unavailable men.

    This was a hard one and felt very uncomfortable. I took a step back from my ‘drug.’ I even unfollowed people on social media to allow myself space to heal. Sometimes I would have a bad day and make contact, but slowly my addiction lessened.

    To support myself through this process, I read books, listened to podcasts, and even trained for a marathon to give me another focus. Books like Father Therapy, by Doreen Virtue, and Facing Love Addiction, by Pia Mellody, helped me to understand my pattern. I also found communities where I could share my story and not be judged.

    I learned how to stop numbing the pain from my past with these unhealthy relationships by learning how to soothe myself and let my wounds heal.

    5. I dated myself.

    I stepped back from dating and focused solely on learning to love and date myself. To start, I took myself on a trip for three days in Italy. I took my books, went on tours on my own, and journaled about my story. I  regularly spent time with myself and even found new hobbies. Before, I had been so obsessed with these men that pleasing them was my hobby.

    I found ways to enjoy my own time and have fun! To feel whole and enough on my own. I took myself to restaurants and treated myself to gifts. I became the person I always wanted. Validating, attentive, kind, and fun!

    Sure enough, in time, I found an emotionally available man who chose me and was everything I wrote on my intention list. He had no red flags, unlike any of my previous partners. He makes me feel safe every day, and most importantly, he gives me space to continue the most important relationship in my life. The one with me.

    If you can relate to this pattern of choosing emotionally unavailable partners, just notice the behavior. It is not you. It is just a behavior you are doing to keep safe. Thank this part and know that it is possible to change and find your healthy love.

  • How I’m Healing from Abuse After Going in Circles for Years

    How I’m Healing from Abuse After Going in Circles for Years

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of sexual abuse and may be triggering to some people.

    “Recovery is a process. It takes time. It takes patience. It takes everything you’ve got.” ~Unknown

    We are often told in therapy that we need to dig deep and explore our feelings until we find the root of our problem, as though we’ll finally have peace and relief just because we’ve found the “Nugget of Trauma.”

    The problem with long-term childhood trauma is that there was not just one Nugget, or one moment that we were left reeling from. For many of us abused as children, trauma encompassed our entire childhood and adolescent life.

    When I was in my early twenties my memories became a deluge, flooding into my mind all at once. I started with talk therapy, and it seemed like the one recurring question being asked of me was, “What’s the issue or event that you are struggling with?”

    So, thinking that they must know more than me about how to deal with the chaos in my mind, I would focus on one aspect of my childhood to try an work through it with them.

    I had a lot to pick from: beatings, torture, rape, sodomy, abduction, neglect, and the big pulsing mass of guilt and shame.

    I was ashamed that I could not protect my brothers and that, each time I was raped, it was because of something I had done that required punishment, like not wringing out a wash rag tightly enough. All of my abuse and the abuse of my brothers was, according to my father, my fault because I wasn’t good enough.

    Sound familiar? For many of us, the manipulation of how we think about the abuse and ourselves is the most painful and long-lasting trauma, but going into detail about this in therapy is exhausting, mentally and physically, and can cause a spiral into deeper depression.

    I didn’t know all this when I was in my twenties, and I barely understood the concept of talk therapy, which was: You talk about something that happened to you, and then the therapist tells you about the side effects of that experience to help you understand your feelings and behavior.

    It took me a long time to learn that having a realization about a certain event and learning how it’s affecting me in the present doesn’t mean the problems associated with it go away. And, unfortunately, the clinical view that I was making progress with those realizations, or “breakthroughs,” was false.

    For many of us, having a “breakthrough” doesn’t even mean that in two years we’ll remember it, and we may go through the same cycles of dealing with the abuse all over again. Like a big Wheel of Trauma.

    It took me years to recognize I was cycling through the Wheel of Trauma:

    • A deep dive into depression
    • Leading to anger at being depressed and feeling “sick of living with this”
    • Then the realization of how a specific past experience was affecting me
    • Cue the tsunami of relief and giddy hopefulness and a false belief that I was getting better
    • The relief soon wears off
    • A deep dive back into depression where the realization is forgotten

    I may never have recognized it if a friend hadn’t pointed it out to me. To find out I’d been going in circles was devastating.

    After doing some independent research on the neurological damage caused by early childhood trauma, I have begun to wonder if my brain was cycling just so I could have those moments of relief as a way to feel something positive and hopeful. That might be wishful thinking, but this is one example of why it is so important to write things down and keep track of what is going on in your head, especially in dark times.

    Trust me, I know so well how scary it can be to put things down on paper and suddenly find yourself looking at something that your brain put away a long time ago to protect you.

    I’m not going to say it’s easy or fun. I’m not going to say that I haven’t been triggered by writing. I have been, but I also came through it, and the memories I was so afraid of, while painful, aren’t as scary now.

    If you’re like me, your mind protected you when you were too young to process what was happening to you. But you aren’t that child anymore; you’re older, your mind is more mature, and you’re better equipped to deal with those experiences now.

    Be gentle with yourself, but also have faith that you will come out the other side if you have to come face to face with a horrible memory, or what I have dubbed a Nugget of Trauma.

    I’ve also learned that you can grab a Nugget of Trauma and pull it into the light, metaphorically. I don’t mean to take it out and analyze every detail. The goal isn’t to hurt yourself with old trauma; the goal is to learn how to move forward with it, and figure out some basic reactions you may have to that memory Nugget.

    Do you recognize the feelings that memory, or Nugget, has entwined with it?

    Do you behave in a certain way every day based on those feelings?

    Do you avoid certain people or places because they trigger that feeling?

    Do you feel this every day or just in certain situations or around certain people?

    How does it affect how you react to other people?

    How does it get triggered, and does it send you spiraling into depression?

    How do you feel about yourself?

    The goal isn’t to make it go away because it may never go away completely. But you can learn how to take care of yourself with this knowledge in hand and create new habits to counter the poison of the trauma.

    If something happens and you begin to feel a certain way, you will more likely recognize that feeling as something that is not associated with the present, and you can make a plan to take care of yourself in that situation.

    For example, I have come to recognize a sensation I sometimes feel when I’m with one or more people in an enclosed space, like a conference room or office. It is a physical, slimy, crawly feeling that I have to focus on and consciously control until I can make an excuse and leave.

    I’ve learned to recognize it so I can take care of myself in those situations. I leave, usually to a bathroom, and allow time for it to go away so I can feel safe again. If I can’t leave, I will hold a notepad or something in front of my chest as a barrier.

    Other things that may work for you are saying some soothing mantras, making a cup of tea, or taking a break and just writing it out. Smells can be a great way to break through a triggered response. Maybe keep some lotion or something else scented to help calm yourself and bring you back to the present. I love VapoRub for this.

    Your knowledge of yourself is the key to taking care of yourself, lessening past’s hold on you, and breaking the cycles.

    This means being completely honest with yourself and observing things you say and do without judging.

    When you can really see yourself without all the rationalizations, defenses, and excuses you cover your psyche with, you can better recognize your triggers, behavior patterns, and reactions.

    In my case, I am badly triggered by any cinama-graphic representation of rape. I will get up and walk out of the room, usually in a state of high agitation, and get really catty with anyone who tries to touch me or invade my personal space, which at that moment is about 1000 meters wide.

    It’s not a surprising trigger, and it doesn’t require a lot of analysis to figure out why it’s upsetting to me, but that isn’t really the point. The point is to truly be with myself in those moments to keep myself from spiraling down to the depths or physically harming myself.

    I’ve had to learn how to deal with my brain being doused in visual memories of rape and all the skin-crawling feelings that come with them. For me, this is where self-comfort and care has become vital.

    It’s almost like I have to be two people at the same time; while a huge part of me is freaking out, I have to be able to step outside of that, see myself in pain, and comfort myself back to safety and calm. And considering that I perceive most other people as threats when I’m triggered, I really only have myself.

    This was originally a hard lesson because I could listen to advice from friends or doctors or people on TV, but it was hard for me to take those ideas from “yeah, that sounds logical and smart” to actually living with those tools at my disposal and using them when I needed them.

    The first step was learning how to get myself to a mental state where I could use them. When you’re in the dark in your own mind and you can’t see the reality in front of you there is no logic that can break through.

    The damage isn’t logical, so it’s not an issue of logic or understanding; it’s a matter of taking care when your mind is in that painful moment and getting yourself back to the point where you have more control and are able to use those tools.

    It takes a lot of practice, patience, and honesty to develop self-care routines based on self-love and understanding. That understanding can’t always come from other people telling you what’s going on or why you’re reacting in a certain way. It’s best when understanding comes from caring enough about yourself to get your hands dirty and learn what’s really going on in your head.

    Admittedly, I have had long runs of not knowing what to make of the chaos in my mind, sometimes not even knowing what I was feeling, or what was real, or what was an attack from my past. In some moments of terror, not even knowing how old I was. It can be really bad at times, and I totally get that.

    The best course of action is to write as much as you possibly can every day about everything that is going through your mind. This gives you some idea of what your brain is fighting with.

    When you’re done writing, get some sleep or cry or go for a walk or talk to yourself on a voice recorder, or do something that will help calm your thoughts a bit. Later, you can look at what you’ve written and really see what you’re going through.

    This can be harsh at times, so be prepared for what comes out of your head. One of my dark writing sessions showed a seething self-hatred that was quite frightening.

    A lot of people take this journey with a therapist, and that can be a safe way to venture into the sometimes-ugly reality of our thoughts and being, like having someone with a life preserver waiting to pull us out of the muck if we get too deep and can’t get back out. I’ve had hit-or-miss experiences with therapists, but as mental health knowledge around early childhood trauma expands and improves, it is becoming a more viable option for some people.

    If you haven’t tried it yet, do some research and make an appointment. It takes time to build trust with someone, so be patient and remember to be kind to yourself.

    When I went to my last therapist I made a list of boundaries. I had been placed with a male against my noted preference, but I wanted to give it a shot, so I made a list letting him know things that would make sessions more difficult for me, like having him stand between me and the door. Little things to some people, but triggers for me.

    Don’t be ashamed of letting people know how best to help you. And know what helps you might change over time.

    After doing this for so many years I have learned that a method of self-care that worked for me in the past may not work for me today. Or a method that never sounded quite right for me before might now make sense. Allow yourself time and space to learn and grow and regress and progress.

    First priority: be good to yourself.

  • If You’re Afraid to Ask for Help Because You Don’t Trust People

    If You’re Afraid to Ask for Help Because You Don’t Trust People

    “Ask for help. Not because you are weak. But because you want to remain strong.” ~Les Brown

    I sat in the doctor’s office, waiting—linen gown hanging off me, half exposed—while going through the checklist in my mind of what I needed help with. I felt my breathing go shallow as I mentally sorted through the aches and pains I couldn’t seem to control.

    Fierce independence and learning to not rely on others are two of the side effects of my particular trauma wounds, stemming from early childhood neglect and abandonment. During times of heightened stress, my default state is one of significant distrust.

    Letting people in and asking for help has never been my strong suit.

    Not only did it prove painful at times, asking for help has also proven to be unsafe. I’ve been given poor and damaging advice from people I assumed knew more than me. I’ve emotionally attached to people who disappeared when I least expected it. I’ve been lied to, betrayed, and left behind when my help was no longer useful.

    I’ve been injured both physically and emotionally when relying on others to care for me and have been let down more times than I can possibly recall.

    I have plenty of reasons to convince myself that no one can help me. That I’m in this life all alone. Some days I feel just that.

    Other days, I sit in my doctor’s office ready to make myself vulnerable one more time looking for support that I’ve been unable to give myself. Hoping, fingers crossed, that maybe this time I’ll be seen, heard, and cared for.

    When the doctor walked in, I was writing a note on the depression screening form justifying why I feel sad some days. I know it’s normal to feel sad doing the work I do as a mental health therapist. Working with people’s sad can be sad. I wanted to be upfront.

    And also, I’ve been focusing on healing the trauma in my body that injured my nervous system starting in infancy. Actively inviting my body to retrieve its pain to set it free and regulate my system to a state that is considered normal. Except I don’t know what normal feels like.

    Her very first questions to me: “Are you getting back what you put into your work? Is it worth it?”

    I blink, unsure if I heard her correctly.

    “Are you asking me if the work I’m doing is more depleting than rewarding? Am I receiving as much as I’m giving?” I ask.

    “Yes,” she responds assuredly.

    I exhale.

    She sees me. She actually sees me. I ask myself this very question every day.

    This one question cracks me wide open. I know I can trust her.

    I hear words pouring out of my mouth explaining the work I’ve been doing with myself. My intention to heal my nervous system and my body, how hard it’s been to feel all the emotional pain that’s come up and the subsequent physical pain that comes and goes to remind me just how deep all this stuff runs.

    I shared with her my most recent discovery—my earliest known physical trauma at nine months old, when my mother gagged me to make me throw up to “protect” me.

    When her behavior was discovered, she was admitted to a hospital for psychiatric services for over a month. My brother and I were placed in the care of anyone who was available to watch us.

    At the most important time for healthy attachment and trust to form, I was taught that survival meant staying clear of those who are assigned to protect you. They can hurt you. And the world was not a safe place.

    This was the first of many experiences in my life that would drill in the same belief. My body spent years trying to protect me by tensing up, shaking, or wanting to flee when I sensed any kind of danger—being trapped, pressured, controlled, or trusting authority figures was high on my list of subconscious nos.

    To me, there was no logic to the way my body reacted to what seemed the smallest threat, so I shamed myself for it.

    I couldn’t understand why driving on the highway put me in an instant state of hypervigilance. Why I would wake up in the middle of the night unable to breathe. Why the bright lights and enormous amount of stimuli in the grocery store made me freeze the moment I walked in. Why perceived conflict made me want to curl up into myself or attack and bail.

    All I knew was I was not “normal,” and I felt like I had no control over it.

    I recall the first infomercial that serendipitously came across the screen during a sleepless night while I was traveling in my early twenties. At the time I always slept with the television on to drown out the noise of my thoughts in the silence of night. A woman talked about her struggle with anxiety and the way it internally took over her life. I immediately tuned in.

    She was talking about me. She was talking about so many of us. I couldn’t believe someone understood what I desperately tried to hide and despised about myself.

    It was the first of many books, programs, methodologies, and practices I would try. It was the first time I felt seen and sought help.

    It wasn’t that I didn’t want help. I just didn’t trust it, nor was I comfortable with being vulnerable enough to ask for it. Particularly because I had proof that when I did rely on people, they could turn on me, or even worse, leave.

    And then there was the cultural push to just “suck it up” or accept that “it is what it is.” Key words to encourage us to abandon ourselves.

    Sucking it up is exhausting, and it doesn’t help. It doesn’t change what’s hard, and from what I can tell, years of sucking it up never made me stronger. Just more certain I was stuck in this mess of myself alone.

    Even though I help people for a living, and fully understand that I am the help I encourage people to seek, I forgot that I, too, was able to ask for help.

    This meant I had to have the courage to let my guard down. To let go of the feeling of burden I was afraid to put on another. To remember that every single one of us has our hardships, and we actually want to be needed and helpful to another when we have the space.

    It’s why we are here as humans. To give love and receive it. When I give someone the opportunity to love or support me, it gives them the chance to feel the fullness of my gratitude. To receive love back from me in return and feel needed and wanted as well. It is also the most solid reminder for both of us that we are never actually alone.

    We need each other.

    It is a practice for me to remember this. It’s also a practice to remind myself that I have been cared for far more often than I’ve been hurt. That those who have harmed me or left me had their own burdens to bear that I was not meant to be a part of. And that every time I do ask for help, like in my doctor’s office, and receive it wholeheartedly, I am able to keep myself filled and balanced to be able to help the people I care about even more.

    I exhaled when my doctor acknowledged me. I knew it was safe to let her in, yet I still swallowed tears while I did so. Her validation of my challenge felt comforting; her support, the extra oxygen I needed. Knowing the value of support has never made it easy for me to ask, but it has made it easier.

    As humans we are regularly encouraged to give, yet it is equally important to learn to receive. We need both to keep ourselves balanced and in flow so we can be the love we want to feel. To give is a powerful feeling, while receiving can make us feel a little vulnerable. That’s okay. The more courage we use to ask for help, the more strength we have to give out in return.

    If you are feeling resistance to seeking help, ask yourself where your fear lies. Is it a current concern or is it one from the past? Does vulnerability make you uneasy or bring up insecurities you have around being judged or feeling like a burden? Or do you feel it’s hard for you to let your guard down and trust another?

    When resistance lingers, choose people who’ve been loyal and consistently supportive in the past. If you don’t have any relationships like that, or if involving your personal relationships feels too uncomfortable, consider professional support. There are affordable and even free resources available, if money is an issue.

    The key is to remember that you, too, deserve a place to be you and invite in the help that everyone needs at times. To release your burdens so you can stand back up and move forward with more ease and a lighter load. So you have the strength to be a support for others and also for yourself.

    When feeling weighed down, ask for help—whatever that looks or feels like for you. The past may have taught you what you don’t want, but you have the power to choose what you do want in the present. There are people out there who you can rely on and who want to be there for you. They are simply waiting for you to ask.

    So go ahead and let someone in. No one needs to or is expected to navigate this wild life alone. Not even you.

  • Ending My Toxic Relationship with My Mother Was an Act of Self-Love

    Ending My Toxic Relationship with My Mother Was an Act of Self-Love

    “It’s okay to let go of those who couldn’t love you. Those who didn’t know how to. Those who failed to even try. It’s okay to outgrow them, because that means you filled the empty space in you with self-love instead. You’re outgrowing them because you’re growing into you. And that’s more than okay, that’s something to celebrate.” ~Angelica Moone

    I was taught to love my family and to just accept the love they give. With the passage of time and the dawning of maturity, I began to doubt this kind of unquestioning love. The chronic emotional and mental stress of the relationship with my mother came into a new light after the birth of my youngest daughter.

    I could no longer avoid and just accept a toxic relationship that was void of emotion and affection. I began to look at the dysfunctional familial relationship with her through the eyes of a new parent and started to see things differently.

    I started asking myself questions like “Would I ever purposely treat my child with such indifference and disregard them so callously?” So many more questions I asked myself were met with “no.” So, why would I just accept this behavior? Why was I allowing this constant stress to take up so much energy in my life?

    I can look back and see now that I was holding out hope for a grand gesture while craving to receive maternal feelings of love and security.  My inner child was holding out for love from the person that gave birth to her, but the adult in me sees that the love I was truly needing was love for myself. 

    The walls to unquestioning family loyalty came tumbling down around me about five years ago. My husband and I had been living in the Bay Area and felt strongly that it would be nice to raise a family near family. So, before the birth of our youngest, we decided after fifteen years of living in California to move across the country to Connecticut.

    During our plans to move, I held on to the delusion that if I lived closer, my mother would want to be part of our lives. She even called me while packing up our last few moving boxes to tell me how thrilled she was that we were moving back and that she could not wait to visit us all the time. She never came to visit; I had built up the illusion that she wanted to be part of our lives.

    The coup de grace was when she called me out of the blue on her drive up from Florida, where she vacations in the winter, tell me she was planning on stopping for a quick visit on her way home to Massachusetts. Giving me a time frame as to when she would be arriving.

    As the week passed, she did not call or visit. However, I did receive an out of the blue message three months later to say hi, which never acknowledged the previous plan to visit.

    It was after this final act of indifference that I made the decision, I could no longer allow the hurt and manipulation to continue. What was I teaching my children about boundaries if I was not creating healthy boundaries?

    My therapist once asked me “Would you go shopping at a clothing store for groceries”? When I answered, no, it dawned on me that I wouldn’t, so why was I expecting something different from my mother?

    I once read that people can change, but toxic people rarely do. Toxic individuals, according to this adage, seldom change. Because if someone isn’t accepting responsibility for their acts and lacks self-awareness, how can you expect them to alter their ways? The change I was waiting for was not her to change but my willingness to change.

    At first, I questioned my decision to end this relationship. Was it cruel of me to not allow my children to know their grandmother? However, at the same time the realization came that she was not really a part of our lives.

    Unraveling this toxic tie has been an act of self-love. For myself, for my inner child who is still healing, and for my children, so they can witness their mother loving herself enough to quit letting someone else harm her.

    Since this decision, I have had family try and talk to me about my decision. Telling me stories of how their friends severed their relationship with a family member and regretted it after their passing. When that time happens, I will grieve, I will grieve for what never was.

    Instead of clinging to this toxic relationship, I am teaching my children so much more by ending the cycle of neglect and creating healthy boundaries. I am showing my children how to love themselves.

  • How Meeting and Re-Parenting My Inner Child Helped Me Love Myself

    How Meeting and Re-Parenting My Inner Child Helped Me Love Myself

    “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.” ~Oscar Wilde

    The journey to meeting, loving, and re-parenting my inner child was a long time coming.

    In 2018, I went through a devastating breakup. I’d been through breakups before. They suck, they hurt, some of them left me in deep abysses of sadness for a long time, but this one was something different.

    I can honestly say I felt levels of pain I did not know were survivable for a human being. Many days, I did not want to survive; I couldn’t imagine continuing to be in that level of pain for another moment. It is indeed a miracle I survived and came out on the other side thriving!

    So, what was the cause of so much pain?

    Well, it wasn’t him, I’ll tell you that much. While I loved that man more deeply than I previously knew possible to love someone, and so it made sense for it to be more painful, it didn’t make sense for me to be crying non-stop for months. I felt like I was being ripped to shreds from the inside out. The pain was relentless and wasn’t lifting even a tiny bit as time went on.

    So, I sought help to get to the root issue. The real cause of my pain was the tremendous amount of unresolved trauma I was carrying, a complete inability to love myself—in fact, I had no real understanding of what it meant to love oneself—and a massively wounded and scared little girl running the show at my core.

    To sum up: I had a great amount of sexual trauma, abandonment trauma, complex PTSD, and low self-worth, and I only understood validation as coming from outside of me. This breakup unearthed all these issues in one violent movement, like ripping a Band-Aid off a scab.

    All this ugly, unhealed stuff was exposed and shot into my awareness like a volcanic eruption, and I had no means of escape. All I could do was deal and heal. So that’s what I did.

    There were a lot of things I did, and still do, to facilitate this healing. Therapies, somatic healing modalities, and spiritual methods. None are necessarily better than the other. They all worked together to weave a rich tapestry of healing approaches to choose from at any moment.

    But since this is about inner child work, that’s what I am going to talk about.

    I believe many of us have wounded inner children running the show. Everyone we meet has an inner child expressing themselves through adult bodies. To what degree that inner child is wounded ranges on a wide spectrum, mostly based on how well their needs were met by their caregivers.

    My therapist suggested I purchase The Abandonment Recovery Workbook by Susan Anderson and begin working through it on my own in between our sessions. I furiously raced through the chapters, hoping that once I finished, I could date and find someone to hopefully mitigate the unrelenting pain. However, as I worked through and neared the end of the book, it became clear to me that I was in no way ready for someone else yet.

    The workbook contains several exercises, but there were a few dedicated specifically to identifying, visualizing, or meeting your inner child—a younger, more tender, innocent version of yourself that just needed to be seen, heard, and accepted for who they are.

    It helped for me to find photographs of myself from three to five years of age to aid in visualizing this child. Looking at that little girl and imagining she still lived inside me, deep inside my being.

    Once adult me was able to see her, I had to learn how to hear her and how to communicate with her. Via meditation, I’d visualize her and ask her questions:

    What does she need right now?

    How can I make things better for her right now?

    What is she feeling about this situation?

    I’d have to sit until I received an answer from her. This came as a thought or a feeling, sometimes a visual image or memory. Oftentimes, all she wanted was to be held, so I’d visualize my adult-self holding this small girl and giving her the comfort and compassion she desperately needed.

    This is the re-parenting. The part where we respond to ourselves in the ways that we would have wanted or needed when we were small children. To be seen and heard, rather than molded to act or behave a certain way. To be truly responded to, based on the needs we were expressing.

    The dialogue exercises with my little girl continued daily, sometimes multiple times in a day. It just depended on how intensely my inner child needed something from me that day, or how intently I was listening at the time.

    Sometime after I’d begun this dialogue, I was at work and delivered a small thank-you token to a colleague for doing a quick project for my office. He kissed me on the forehead in return. It made me very uncomfortable, and I quickly exited his workspace.

    I walked out to the street to run an errand, and within me, my little girl was raging. It felt like there was an inferno of anger brewing within my gut. I recognized in that moment I was not listening to my inner child, and she wasn’t having it, now that we had begun communicating with each other.

    So, I stopped. I tuned in. I asked her what she needed.

    She told me this man had violated her space and she felt unsafe, and I’d promised, capital “P” promised, she said, stomping her feet as young children often do, that I would take care of her from now on, and I hadn’t when I allowed someone to violate my physical space without saying something. She would not be appeased until the matter was resolved.

    The inferno continued to rage inside my belly until I walked back down the street, back into his office, and told him, “I do not want to be kissed by my coworkers. I’m sure others may not be bothered by it, but this is a boundary for me.”

    Of course, he apologized profusely, and we have never had any inappropriate run-ins again. But more importantly, immediately upon taking care of myself and my little girl, the inferno subsided.

    I took care of her and made her feel safe and secure. I continue to do so in my day-to-day life now.

    The above example was an extreme one. She is not always so easily heard. Sometimes I ask her what she needs, and it’s just to move the body, go for a walk. Other times it’s a cookie she wants. Often, it’s just to be acknowledged. Validated. To be told, “I hear you, I see you, your feelings matter.”

    As with any relationship, the needs, communication, and dynamics are ever-evolving.

    But I can say without a doubt, the connection between my adult-self and my inner child is the most valuable relationship I have, and today the amount of love I have for myself, due to inner child work, is above and beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

    I used to feel, most of the time, that I was not enough. Since doing this healing work, I now know I am enough, in all situations and places.

    Where there was typically a sense of impending doom and danger, there is now a lightness and delight and a true, deep happiness that has nothing to do with outside circumstances—just the pure joy of an inner wholeness I never even could have dreamed of.

    That’s what happens when we truly see and hear our inner child and respond to their needs without judgment. We feel love and safety like we’ve never known, and we finally realize we deserve nothing less.

  • The Day I Found Out from the Internet my Estranged Father Had Died

    The Day I Found Out from the Internet my Estranged Father Had Died

    “The scars you can’t see are the hardest to heal.” ~Astrid Alauda

    On a lazy Sunday morning as I lounged in bed, I picked up my phone, scrolled through my news feed on Facebook, and decided to Google my parents’ names.

    I am estranged from my parents, and I have not had much of a relationship with them in over fifteen years; however, there’s a part of me that will always care about them.

    I Googled my mother’s name first and found the usual articles about her dance classes, and her name on church and community bulletin boards. From what I was able to find, it appeared she was doing well.

    Then I went on to Google my father’s name. The first item I came across was an obituary posted on the website of a business that provides cremation and burial services. However, there was no actual obituary, only a few pictures of a much younger man and a profile of a much older man.

    Was this my dad’s obituary? It couldn’t be, could it? In shock, I convinced myself that it wasn’t his obituary, but I could not shake the nagging feeling that it was.

    For the last month I had a feeling that something was off, that something terrible had happened or was going to happen. At the time I attributed these feelings to work stress and the global pandemic.

    When I learned of the death of one of my mentors, who had been like a father to me, I attributed these feelings to this experience. Could I have been wrong?

    Later that morning I decided to search for my dad’s name in the obituary section of the online local paper. His name came up instantly, and much to my horror, this was how I learned about his death.

    Shock washed over me as I read the obituary. He had been dead for a month when I began having those intense, unsettling feelings of foreboding, as if something terrible had happened. It all made sense.

    My full name, which I had legally changed several years ago, was mentioned in the obituary under his surviving relatives, which quickly turned my feelings of shock into rage. Did my family think that I didn’t care about him? Did they think that I didn’t have a right to know about his death?

    I reached out to members of my estranged support group only to learn that many others had found out about a parent’s passing in the same manner.

    Years earlier I had feared that I might find out about one of my parents passing through Google; however, I had dismissed the fear and forced myself to believe that someone in my family would tell me if one of my parents had passed.

    In the days and weeks that followed I continued to Google my dad’s name. As I read tributes written by friends and other family members, I was hit with the realization that I did not know the person they were describing.

    He was described as a “simple religious man who was a welcoming neighbor, a devoted friend, family man, and an excellent father.” To me, however, he was none of those things, and as I continued to read the tributes, sadness and anger washed over me, and I was forced to reflect on the painful relationship that I’d had with him.

    In kindergarten I remember him telling me over and over, “You are as dumb as a post.” Later, after a visit to see his father, he repeated his father’s hurtful words, “You’re a wild hair, and you’re going to come to a sad end.”

    He continued to repeat these words on a regular basis throughout our relationship. Every mistake I made was met with harsh judgements, such as “You will never be good at that, you were just wasting your time, you were never going to amount to anything.”

    When I failed, he rubbed my failures in my face, and to this day failure is one of my greatest fears despite becoming a somewhat successful professional and academic.

    Time and time again, he told me:

    “It would be much easier to care about you if you did well with your studies.”

    “You’re illiterate, you’re a delinquent, you’re a dunce, and you are an embarrassment.”

    “You are never going to amount anything; you are going to end up working a minimum-wage job with angry, stupid people.”

    “You are fat, you are lazy, you are unfocused, and you are wasting your time with that stupid piano; you will never amount anything with that hammering.”

    After I broke up with my first serious boyfriend, my father told me, “What do you expect? A person like you is naturally going to have problems with their relationships, I fully expect you to have serious problems in your marriage as well.”

    When I was preparing to move away to go to university, he told me, “When you flunk out, don’t expect to come back here, just find a minimum-wage job and support yourself.”

    It’s taken me years to realize that comments like these are verbal abuse!

    Verbal abuse can be disguised in the form of a parent insulting a child to do better, to push themselves to be more, to lose weight, or enter a particular field. It can be disguised as caring or wanting to push someone to be a better version of themselves. Regardless of the parent’s motive, insults and put-downs are, in fact, verbal abuse, and no number of justifications can change this.

    Verbal abuse can have devastating effects on a child’s life, and these effects can be felt well into adulthood.

    Throughout my childhood and into my teens, my parents’ abusive comments caused me to believe that no one would want me and that I was not good enough for anyone. This limiting belief inhibited my ability to form friendships. As a result, I spent much of my childhood and my teens alone, playing the piano or spending time with my pets.

    The friendships that I did form were often one-sided because I made it very easy for people to take advantage of me, because I believed that I had to give and give in order to be worthy of the friendship.

    I also feared failure more than anything else and became very anxious in any environment where I might fail. This inhibited me from trying new things, and I only engaged in activities I knew I was good at.

    It was not until my mid-teens that I met a mentor who not only saw my work but loved me and nurtured me as if I was his own daughter. For the very first time in my life, I had an adult to support me apart from my grandmother and my grandfather, who believed in me and reminded me every day of my value and my abilities.

    “You are good, you are smart and highly intelligent, you’re capable of doing anything you set your sights on,” he would tell me. At first, I did not believe him, but in time I slowly began to see myself through his eyes.

    He talked to me the way a loving parent would have. When I failed, he didn’t make fun of me; instead, he encouraged me to reflect on what I’d learned from the experience and how I could do better in the future.

    He instilled in me the foundation of shaky self-confidence that enabled me to have the courage to apply to university. Without this relationship, I would likely not be where I am today because I would not have had the courage to break free from the verbally abusive narrative my parents had taught me to believe, or to challenge this narrative.

    As I was reading attributes about my father in tributes from people who knew him, I was filled with a sense of longing. Had my dad been the man who was described in those tributes we could have had a healthy relationship, and I would not have had to make the painful decision to cut him out of my life.

    At the same time, these tributes forced me to accept that we are many things to different people. To some people we are a wonderful friend, a kind neighbor, and a loving parent, but to others we are a rude jerk, a self-centered person, and verbally abusive or neglectful parent. Each one of us has the right to remember the dead as they experienced them and honor their memory as we see fit.

    Years after cutting my parents out of my life I silently forgave them for the hurt they had caused me, and I worked to let go of the pain from the past. However, at times, I found myself fantasizing about what a healthy adult relationship could look like with my father.

    I imagined mutually respectful philosophical discussions, long walks, trips to far off places, and most importantly, being seen not as an unlovable failure, but as a successful adult worthy of love and acceptance.

    My last conversation with my father before my grandmother had passed away was positive, which only fueled these fantasies. Yet in these fits of fantasy, I was forced to accept my father for who he was and acknowledge the painful fact that some people are just not capable being who we need them to be.

    We can choose to plead for a relationship that will never be, or for the person to be something they are not, or we can choose to accept them as they are and accept ourselves in spite of their abuse. But this means we must let go and accept that the future holds time we can never have together.

  • How I’m Mothering the Wounded Kid Inside Who Just Wanted Love

    How I’m Mothering the Wounded Kid Inside Who Just Wanted Love

    “Bless the daughters who sat carrying the trauma of mothers. Who sat asking for more love and not getting any, carried themselves to light. Bless the daughters who raised themselves.” ~Questions for Ada by Ijeoma Umebinyuo

    “I failed you…”

    My mother said this to me after I confronted her about my childhood.

    That day, I had a clear image of the young girl I was, the girl I had tried to ignore in the hopes of moving forward. But pain shouts when it demands attention, and the suffering was palpable.

    A memory flashed within my mind. I had tried telling my mother I was hurting somehow. All children have hurt they can’t quite explain, even if it turns out that it’s just an itch or a bruised feeling, but the need to have the boo-boo kissed means everything to the child.

    That day I had found my mother occupied with something more pressing. And I, being the sensitive girl I was, figured that she hadn’t heard me or that I had disturbed her.

    It seemed that I only existed to be cautious of the adults in my life who, at best, were preoccupied with a mysterious something and, at worst, cruel without reason. I existed in a world where children were things you spoke to. Tell them what to do, and they’ll simply do it, because what else are they there for?

    The idea that children had inner lives, breakable hearts, and ideas of their own making was quite dangerous in my childhood. I’d soon learn that it was better to take a vow of silence and say very little. I was starved for the hunger all children have—the hunger to be seen.

    Love requires attention.

    It seems like the older we get, the more we have to reflect on those days when we were at our most vulnerable. We have to look back at the beliefs, habits, and people that shape us if we want to grow.

    When I finally talked to my mother, I was attempting to grow out of a destructive habit I had learned in childhood: denial. If you don’t talk about a thing, or name a thing, then maybe the thing never happened. Perhaps it wasn’t that bad, or maybe it was just a dream.

    I was no longer talking as a child in need of her mother’s attention; I was talking as a woman in need of the truth. I was now an adult who hoped to be a mother someday, and a healer committed to breaking the generational curse of mothers failing daughters, women failing women, and humans failing themselves.

    I poured out the heart of that little girl over the phone. She had needed protection when she was called names, or when someone hit her, or when she was touched inappropriately. She needed to know that whether she was a child or a girl becoming a young woman, she had a right to her body, mind, and spirit.

    My voice cracked through the phone, but I told her anyway. To me, you have never been trustworthy.

    She took a long breath and then spoke almost rapidly, like her life and our fragile bond depended on it. “I’m human; I falter. I never said I was a great mother. I know I failed. It looks like I’ve failed you many times. Forgive me.”

    The pus ball that had always festered in my soul—that sore that kept reddening with anguish—burst.

    My mother revealed something that I think all parents fear showing their children: humanity. At least I know for her generation, showing children a semblance of an emotional life was secondary to putting food on the table, and when you’re not raised on showing your feelings, you forget you have them.

    It’s scary to admit you’re full of contradictions, possibly wounded, and that raising a child, no matter what the circumstance, is difficult.

    In that moment, I understood what the word “grace” meant. It’s such an elusive word, and much better to experience than explain, but I know that my heart broke, love flooded in, and a burden was lifted.

    Her honesty freed me from having to second guess my existence, and it helped me understand the hardship of hers. The mirror I was looking through was no longer foggy. I could see my life clearly; it had texture, color, clearly defined lines, and a burst pus ball that needed cleaning.

    I saw a clear picture of the precariousness in my childhood. It was like my spirit whispered in my ear and confirmed, Yes. It was terrifying.

    So what do we do in the wake of failure?

    My mother’s admission gave me a little taste of what it means to become a mother. You can love a thing and hurt a thing at the same time. I deeply love and adore my mother. I can only imagine the people and circumstances that failed her. I have a softness toward her and a softness for myself that has made my heart grow more space to hold the things I’ll never fully understand. Sometimes, it is what it is.

    After ten years of doing what survivors of any trauma must do to clean their wounds—meditating, numbing, praying, therapy, journaling, blaming, finding community, practicing yoga, raging, and crying—I have come to accept the unacceptable.

    We don’t tell our parents the truth about our experiences to condemn them; we tell them our experiences because we must contend with it. No matter how painful the purge, this raw material from living is the grist that reminds us to do better the next time around. And there’s always a next time around.

    “I am a reflection of my mother’s secret poetry as well as of her hidden angers.” ~Audre Lorde

    This is what I’ve learned.

    Sometimes you must mother yourself. In the wreckage, you learn how to give yourself the love and affection you hungered for in your most powerless moments.

    I adore the little girl I once was. She found worthwhile things to enjoy about life as the ground beneath her eroded. She sang, had her own dance parties, liked to play with balloons, and loved listening to Motown music.

    She saved me, and now I get to take care of her.

    This is my greatest lesson: I can accept complexity as a requisite for living. I can love the mother that gave me birth, be my own mother, and also know that there’s a higher power that loves and watches over both of us.

    I can forgive while remaining protective of the little girl who was hurt too often, and too often ignored.

    Redemption in the wake of failure is possible, though difficult, and yet, it beats continuing a wretched cycle of negation.

    The more I reflect, the more I see that my mother and I, in many ways, are quite alike. It’s now my duty to be fiercely aware of my own demons and angels. If I am a reflection of my mother, what questions do I have to ask myself about who I have become? And what do I hope to pass on, to myself and others?

    I believe my story speaks to generations of children, particularly women, who grew into adult bodies and are still searching for their mothers. The reality is that we are the caretakers and mothers we’ve been searching for.

    The yearning I had as an adult for nurturing and recognition was my soul nudging me to show up for myself. Now you get to take care of you, and you must.

    Mothering yourself is the sacred call to practice love. Here are a few things I did in my own self-mothering journey. I hope you find them useful for your own toolkit.

    Get to know your inner child.

    I started doing inner child work in therapy. My therapist gave me some great activities to get to know what that part of myself was thinking, and I still do the exercises to this day. My tried and true activity is writing in the voice of my inner child with my left hand and responding as an adult with my right. I’ve found this exercise revelatory and recommend it for anyone attempting to rekindle a relationship with their younger self.

    Your inner child never leaves you, and I learned that mine had a lot to say. This helped me learn how to show up for myself emotionally and mother that part of myself that needed validation.

    Meditate.

    Meditation has helped me sharpen my awareness, and it keeps me present to what I’m feeling in my body. The health benefits are great too. Do whatever activity brings you a sense of stillness and focus (walking in nature, cooking, mindful exercise).

    Practice unconditional love, starting with yourself.

    Love is a practice, and in this world we’re taught to see love as transactional. You get love if you can prove that you’re lovable. Choose a different kind of love for yourself.

    Start simply, perhaps by listing what you’ve come to appreciate about yourself and treating yourself with grace when you make mistakes. Find alignment with your values and get to know yourself. Become your own best friend.   

    Distance yourself if you need to save yourself.

    Sometimes distance and time help heal and give perspective.

    I’ve had to take myself out of situations where I knew I had to protect myself. At times this meant limited communication, geographic distance, or emotional distance. This can be tough, but trust that when it’s time to save yourself, you’ll know what to do for your highest good.

    Reflect.

    No one is a saint, and the truth is that we’ve all hurt people and will hurt people. And it’s true that if we do a personal inventory, we’ll see that we have unsavory habits and patterns that need to go. Reflecting helped me see where I would like to grow. I’m acknowledging my own tendencies to shut down, ice people out, and feed into negative stories when I’m feeling defensive or frightened. I see that these habits stem from fear. Reflection provides information. Now, I am choosing to practice more loving habits towards myself and others while honoring my need for comfort.

    Finding a way to reflect is critical. I journal and make music to do this. It’s really helped me see how far I’ve come and where I still have gaps.

    Create rituals.

    Condition your hair on Sundays, or soak your feet in Epsom salts when you get back from work, or go for a swim, or draw before you go to bed, or cook yourself your favorite dinner on Saturdays. Go dance at Ecstatic Dance with your girls on a Saturday.

    Finding rituals for yourself helps reestablish intimacy that you might not have had growing up. It also helps you get to know what you like and brings you peace. Find that for yourself.

    Take care of yourself.

    Did you eat? Shower? Brush your teeth? Did you take a jacket with you because it’s cold outside? Do you like your eggs scrambled or fried? Are eggs even good for your unique body type? Become your parent and look after yourself.

    Don’t force forgiveness.

    Forgiveness will come when it needs to, if it even needs to, and if it doesn’t, then it doesn’t make you any more or less enlightened than the rest of us. It just means this is your path and that you’re working on some intense stuff. Be easy.

    I’ve found forgiveness to be a complicated process that takes time and a lot of honesty. Try to let yourself be where you are, and trust that it’s okay. Bypassing your emotions can feed into denial and numbing to your lived experience.

    The point is not to rush to enlightenment; the hope is that feeling your emotions can help you become whole. Working with a professional and/or support group can help you in your process.

    —

    Learning how to become the caregiver you’ve always needed is not only a gift to yourself; it’s a gift to everyone you meet. I vowed to nurture myself because I wanted to send a message that redemption of the human spirit is always possible, no matter the trauma. My life is a testament to that.

    Take what I say as an offering because you know yourself best, and the medicine that restores me might not be the ideal prescription for you. Feel free to add your own ideas of what makes you come alive to this list. At the end of the day, your experience is your teacher.

  • How I Overcame Childhood Emotional Neglect and Learned to Meet My Needs

    How I Overcame Childhood Emotional Neglect and Learned to Meet My Needs

    “In order to move on, you must understand why you felt what you did and why you no longer need to feel it.” ~Mitch Albom

    “Your feelings are valid,” said my life coach during one of our sessions, as we were working on an issue I had with my parents.

    I had to do a double take. My feelings are valid? She actually accepts them as they are?

    Eventually it started to dawn on me: My parents never validated my feelings. This sudden revelation earlier this year threw me into a dark period of my life.

    When I was growing up, my parents criticized me for being “overly emotional” and “too sensitive,” and I never felt they truly accepted me.

    My whole family shied away from expressing emotions, so I learned not to express or talk about my emotions either. I felt deeply disconnected in romantic relationships and often didn’t want to depend on others for help. Something felt completely off in my life, but I just couldn’t put my finger on what.

    It wasn’t until I did more research and came across the term “childhood emotional neglect,” coined by Dr. Jonice Webb, that I started to fully understand my situation.

    Childhood emotional neglect, or CEN, refers to a parent’s failure to respond to their child’s emotional needs.

    Dr. Jonice explains that CEN is an act of omission—or something that is silent, missing, and not visible—that goes on in the background of a child’s upbringing. In fact, most parents have good intentions and often provide for their child’s material needs but are emotionally unavailable because they were neglected themselves—thus, resulting in a cycle of not being able to express emotions or respond to their child’s feelings.

    So how do you know if you’ve experienced CEN? In Dr. Jonice’s CEN questionnaire, she asks questions like:

    • Do you sometimes feel like you don’t belong with your family and friends?
    • Do you have trouble knowing what you’re feeling?
    • Do you have trouble identifying your strengths and weaknesses?
    • Do you at times feel empty inside?
    • Do you have friends or family members who complain that you are aloof or distant?

    The more questions you answer “yes” to, the more likely you have been affected by CEN in those areas of your life.

    After taking the CEN questionnaire and reading more about it, I realized that it described my situation perfectly.

    Although I come from an Asian background that is generally known for not being expressive, I don’t want to live my life feeling wholly disconnected from myself and my emotions. But for a long time I wasn’t able to change this. It took me spiraling headfirst into anxiety and depression to find the courage to dig myself out of that proverbial black hole and fight back.

    I started going for counseling and received more validation that my feelings and emotions should be unconditionally accepted, and that it was okay to express them to others. I learned, through role-playing exercises, how to communicate my feelings properly, without feeling ashamed for having them.

    This continued to reinforce a new belief in me: that my feelings are valid and important, and so am I.

    As I went through this inner discovery, I learned a few other things that have helped me recover from the effects of CEN.

    1. I deserve self-forgiveness and self-compassion.

    Because children and adults affected by CEN are often shamed for their feelings, it is important for them to learn how to self-soothe and develop compassion for themselves.

    While I was going through my depression, I recognized that I was perpetuating the same behavior by shaming and guilting myself for my thoughts about my parents. I also blamed myself for causing my own pain all this time.

    It took much awareness to notice these negative thought patterns and consciously replace them with more positive ones. Now, I choose to be kind to myself when I’m struggling. I validate my own feelings in the way I wish my parents once did.

    2. My needs are important.

    In addition to accepting my emotional needs, I realized that all of my needs—physical, mental, and spiritual—are important. To ensure I could better honor them, I made a list of my varied needs and now use this as a guide on how to live my life consciously.

    I also learned how to communicate effectively when I need to stand up for myself instead of hiding from or running away from difficult situations. I learned that emotions are neither good nor bad; they’re just messages to inform me as I go about my daily life.

    For example, I don’t need to feel guilty about feeling angry. Anger is just a sign there’s something I need to address, like a boundary violation or perhaps a miscommunication.

    3. It’s okay to put my needs first.

    If your parents neglected your needs when you were younger, you may think that they are not a top priority. In my case, it took a lot of relearning, and I often had to stop and ask myself, in relationships or work situations, am I not putting myself first?

    I had to be careful to not martyr myself by agreeing to obligations, as this would lead to resentment and often, passive-aggressive behavior. I had to seriously consider whether I was actually saying yes to something because I wanted to or just agreeing because I wanted to please others.

    4. I need to regularly tune into my emotions.

    I use a simple body scan exercise every day that helps me recognize what I’m feeling. I listen to my body, and if any emotions or tension come up, I write this down, investigate what this really means, and see if I can find a way to meet my own emotional needs.

    For example, if I’m sad or angry, I ask myself: How can I tend to those emotions myself? What do I need to accept, change, or address? It’s like do-it-yourself parenting in a way.

    —

    Slowly but surely, through the exercises above and counseling, I’ve become more conscious of my needs and emotions. I’ve started feeling more connected to myself, and I’ve opened up to other people. I now feel much freer and better able to accept myself and my emotions, and I find it easier to relate to others.

    Often, the biggest challenge for those who’ve been affected by childhood emotional neglect is recognizing they’ve been subjected to it, since many people don’t even recognize how their childhood affected them.

    When you have more awareness of your own situation, you can easily implement the above tips and get help from a professional to learn how to re-parent yourself, and also ensure you don’t perpetuate this unhealthy cycle with your own kids.

  • How to Stop Neglecting and Abusing Your Inner Child

    How to Stop Neglecting and Abusing Your Inner Child

    Inner child

    “Hold the hand of the child that lives in your soul. For this child, nothing is impossible.” ~Paulo Coelho

    You’re probably an abusive parent. Even if you don’t have children.

    In each of us lives an inner child. This child isn’t just a sub-layer of our personality; it’s arguably the real us, the deepest aspect of ourselves.

    Like many people, I’ve been aware of the inner child idea for some time. I thought of the concept mostly as another way of explaining our personal sensitivities or the childish behavior we all are capable of at times. But it’s not that; it’s much more.

    It wasn’t until I thought of my inner child in relation to my actual children that I started to appreciate just how important it is to really take responsibility for this child. I realized, too, just how so many of us mistreat our inner child. Abuse them even. And it’s changed the way I treat myself forever.

    I think of the basic needs of my children. Sleep. Nutrition. Regular praise and encouragement. Physical safety. And of course, love.

    The idea of them not receiving these things causes me a pain that feels almost physical. Sadness and even anger arise in me as their dad.

    And yet, what about my other child? My inner child—the little me?

    I, as my adult self, have just as much responsibility to him as I do my son and daughter. But I, like so many others, have outright failed in my responsibility to him as a supposedly responsible adult.

    I have so often deprived him of sleep, made him go long periods without eating, and failed to keep him adequately hydrated. I have dragged him to work with me and pushed him so hard that he has burned out. I have allowed past girlfriends to abuse him.

    And worst still, I have failed to tell him I love him. I have let him feel unloved, unwanted, and unworthy. Because I was continuing a pattern.

    Like so many people, I had experiences early in my life that communicated to my inner child that he was not enough. For some people, this manifests as a deep-seated, almost silent belief, whispered into the ear of our inner child that says, “You are not good enough,” “You are not wanted,” or “You are not important.” Ultimately, it’s a feeling of being unlovable.

    In my case, this came about from incidents of witnessing and experiencing abusive behavior at home, with my parents’ divorce when I was a five-year-old at the center of it. I later experienced a more subtle emotional neglect by my parents and had experiences with violence.

    But experiences do not have to be this extreme at all. Simply growing up in a home where no one says “I love you” or having parents who never check in with us to find out how we’re doing is more than enough for a tiny person to develop these subtle but powerful beliefs. These experiences don’t even have to be at the hands of our parents; being rejected by friends at a young age can have the same effect.

    When people give the general advice of “take care of yourself,” what they never mention is that if you don’t, you will be failing to care for a child that is dependent on you for safety, security, and love.

    Here are the three general ways I make sure I live up to my responsibility as the sole caretaker of this child…

    Provide the Basics

    Just as I would never let my children go without adequate food, water, and sleep, I now ensure that I extend the same to myself.

    Push yourself in your work and mission; live at your edge to achieve your goals. But don’t do so at the expense of your health. While it’s true that growth rarely comes from times of comfort in our lives, comfort and being cared for are still necessities.

    Ensure you are getting enough sleep. Eat regularly and healthily. Stay hydrated throughout the day. It may not sound so serious, but frame it in terms of providing these basic needs to a child, and you will see how these things equate to essential self-love.

    Give Them Gifts

    Children aren’t “shallow” for liking to receive presents at Christmas or on birthdays. Gifts, in whatever form they may come, are a valid way of giving and receiving love. Everybody loves to be pampered and buy nice things for themselves. Don’t overlook the idea of buying yourself gifts or getting a massage as valid parts of self-work.

    By gifting ourselves regularly, we train ourselves to receive. Many people struggle with accepting gifts and favors, and this often comes from an inability to receive love as a result of our deep feelings of unworthiness.

    At first, gifting ourselves can feel a little shallow. The trick is to not put the emphasis on buying ourselves stuff—the giving—but to focus on the feeling of receiving. By allowing ourselves to open up emotionally to fully accept a gift, we are telling our inner child that they are worthy.

    But at the same time, just as you can spoil a child, it’s important to not make gifting the only way of showing yourself love.

    I have witnessed, many times, people trying to overcompensate for their self-love issues through materialism. So make sure you have the basics covered too, as well as ensuring you…

    Spend Time with Your Inner Child

    We’ve all known, or possibly have been, that child that grew up with everything. They had the nice house and all the latest stuff, but weren’t really happy.

    Maybe their parents weren’t very good at communicating emotions. Or they prioritized their bickering over their children’s happiness. Or perhaps they were just straight up abusive.

    A similar dynamic can occur with our relationship to our inner child. And so it’s important to develop healthy communication with that part of yourself.

    Through visualization, spend time being present with the little you. Allow them to feel your full caring, appreciation, and protectiveness as the responsible adult you.

    In a quiet place, you can envision you, in your adult form, being present with the little you. Maybe you are holding them, sitting them on your lap, or listening to their feelings and needs so you can meet them, instead of ignoring them, as so many of us do.

    You can also spend time stepping into the shoes of your child self and take comfort in experiencing the loving presence and protective qualities of your adult self.

    Feeling as though you were your child-self, allow yourself to be held and comforted by the adult you who has vowed to protect you. Feel the safety, security, and comfort—the unconditional love—that you perhaps were deprived of as a child.

    —

    Treating yourself with this level of respect, care, and unconditional love is some of the deepest and most instantly rewarding self-work one can do. Start today and be sure to share with others this practice when they notice the positive changes in you!

  • 21 Tips to Release Self-Neglect and Love Yourself in Action

    21 Tips to Release Self-Neglect and Love Yourself in Action

    “To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    The most important decision of your life, the one that will affect every other decision you make, is the commitment to love and accept yourself. It directly affects the quality of your relationships, your work, your free time, your faith, and your future.

    Why, then, is this so difficult to do?

    Your Family of Origin

    I grew up with nine siblings. I had two older brothers, three older sisters, three younger sisters, and a younger brother.

    I never fit in. My sisters were tall and thin with beautiful, long, lush hair. By eleven years old, I was short and very curvy. My hair was fine, thin, and wild.

    For the most part, my siblings did as they were told. I was outspoken, out of control, and rebellious.

    I wore my sister’s hand-me-down school uniforms. I rolled up the hems on the skirts and popped buttons on the blouses. My look was unkempt.

    I was teased and bullied at home and at school. Yet I didn’t go quietly into the night. I fought for my place in my family. To protect myself, I developed a good punch and grew a sharp tongue. (more…)