Tiny Buddha

Tag: self-worth

  • The Gift of Being Single (More Joy, Less Fear)

    The Gift of Being Single (More Joy, Less Fear)

    “The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” ~Michel de Montaigne

    Some people fear spiders. Some fear public speaking.

    My biggest fear? That my plus-one will always be my own reflection.

    More and more people are finding themselves in the single life—not because they joyfully signed up for it, but because they’ve quietly resigned themselves to it. Being alone forever is one of the worst things most people can imagine. And yet, nobody’s talking about it.

    I have no interest in bashing men—I love them. And I’m not here to shame relationships—I’d still love to experience conscious partnership or marriage one day. But what I am here for is giving a voice to the other side: the reality of singlehood. A reality that has been shamed, underrepresented, and spoken over for lifetimes.

    Yes, humans of all kinds fear being single. I happen to live it in the skin of a woman, but the fear itself is cultural, primal, and deeply conditioned.

    Not a Witch, Not a Spinster, Not a Divorcee

    The stigma of singlehood is sticky and insidious. It convinces people to stay in relationships they’ve outgrown because it’s “better than the alternative.” It whispers that you’re not enough without a partner. And the biggest problem? We have so few role models of people living single, fulfilled lives.

    I’m not a witch. I’m not a spinster. And I’m not divorced.

    Funny story—when I was once applying for a work visa abroad, the form asked me to declare my relationship status. The options? Married. Divorced. Spinster. That was it. Guess which box I had to begrudgingly tick? I still laugh about it, but it says everything: if you’re not partnered, you must be a problem to categorize.

    It’s in Our Bones

    The roots of this run deep. For most of history, women’s survival was directly tied to men—financially, socially, legally. That dependency shaped generations of cultural messaging we all still carry in our bones, regardless of gender. We’ve been taught that wholeness comes from someone else.

    For anyone who has spent long stretches of life single, there’s a peculiar kind of grief that shadows us, not for something lost, but for something never felt. We grieve the idea of intimacy we were promised, the mythical “other half” we were told to need. It’s less about absence and more about a haunting—mourning the story we’ve been handed rather than our own lived truth.

    Maybe Disney messed us up. Maybe it was Jerry Maguire’s iconic “you complete me.” But the truth is, our obsession with relationships is far older than pop culture. It’s centuries old. And it’s led so many of us on a quest for “another” long before we’ve gone on the quest for ourselves.

    And now? The dating industry has taken that centuries-old conditioning and turned it into a multi-million-dollar business model.

    It shows up in quiet moments, like the friend fresh out of a twenty-year relationship who whispers, “What if I never find someone else?” as if that’s the worst fate imaginable.

    Legacy, Good Girl, and the Seventh-Grade Soothsayer

    We may have moved beyond needing a partner for a bank account or a roof over our heads, but inside many of us lives a whole cast of characters who haven’t gotten the memo.

    In my case, they look like this:

    • The legacy-burdened one—the part that still believes worth is sealed only once I’m chosen.
    • The good girl, who doesn’t want to disappoint the family, who smiles politely when someone says, “You’ll find someone soon.”
    • The people pleaser who wonders if they should tone themselves down to be “more dateable.”
    • And the inner child who still remembers the sting of being told in seventh grade, “You’ll never have a boyfriend” and worries, even now, that maybe it was a prophecy.

    Different faces. Same message: You’re not enough on your own.

    Swiping Right on Your Insecurities

    The modern dating industry has taken this centuries-old programming and turned it into a goldmine. Apps, relationship coaches, matchmaking services, and self-help books all thrive on making your relationship status yet another problem to be solved.

    Not long ago, I was on a twenty-four-hour road trip listening to yet another relationship self-help book. This one at least was about “becoming the one,” but even then, the end goal was still to get the partner. Where are the books about deepening your relationship with yourself, not as a prelude to love, but simply to live your damn best life?

    And can we please stop acting like every contrived meeting arranged on an app is a “date”? We used to meet organically in coffee shops or elevators; now we swipe because we’re too afraid to make eye contact in real life.

    The funniest part? Friends in relationships often get more excited about my first meets than I do—as if I’m finally about to be rescued from the great tragedy of my singlehood.

    Love, Yes; Panic, No

    Biology matters. We are wired for connection. We crave intimacy and belonging. This is not about pretending otherwise.

    What I’m talking about here is the fear of being single—the panic that drives bad decisions, keeps us in misaligned relationships, and has an entire industry profiting off our insecurities.

    Rather than pouring all that longing into loving and being loved by one person, we could simply be… loving. Period. Creating a more compassionate relationship with ourselves. Spreading kindness. Offering to everyone the kind of love that heals the world. Because when we’re busy running from the fear that something is inherently wrong with us, we miss our greatest capacity—to love, in every direction.

    The Gift of Being Unpartnered

    Here’s the thing nobody tells you: I can literally do anything I want.

    If there are socks on the floor, they’re mine.

    If the yogurt is gone, I ate it.

    I can book a trip on a whim, sleep diagonally, and never negotiate over the thermostat. Netflix isn’t infiltrated with someone else’s questionable taste, and no one wakes me up in my sleep—except my dog.

    If I’m honest, my unfiltered fear about being single forever isn’t loneliness. It’s choking on a piece of toast and no one finding me. Or never experiencing the kind of deep intimacy and vulnerability I still hope for.

    But here’s the freedom side: I’ve gotten to know myself in a way I never could have if I’d always been in a relationship. I’ve formed an identity that’s mine—unshaped by a partner’s wants or habits. And I want anyone living single to know this is not a consolation prize. This is one valid, powerful way to live. You haven’t failed. Your worth is not measured in anniversaries.

    For me, soulmates show up in friendship as much as romance. My best friend and I joke we’ll probably live side by side when we’re old. Deep connection isn’t confined to coupledom, and that truth is liberating.

    Single By Trust, Not Default

    Seeing singlehood as a radical act of self-trust in a culture obsessed with coupling is… well, radical. And honestly, it’s 2025. We’ve accepted gender fluidity. Sexuality can be expressed on any spectrum you choose. So why are we still categorizing people by relationship status? Why is this still the metric we use to size up someone’s life?

    And this isn’t about some performative empowerment—people determined to prove they’re so strong, so independent, so “I don’t need anyone.” That’s still a posture that defines itself in relation to others. What I’m talking about is living fully for yourself, without apology, without your relationship status being a headline of your life.

    So maybe the real question isn’t “Will I end up alone?” but “Who can I be if I’m not waiting to be chosen?”

    And if you need me, I’ll be training for my next big adventure: walking the Camino trail in Portugal next summer—a pilgrimage powered entirely by my own two feet, my own heart, and absolutely no plus-one required.

  • Learning to Be Seen After a Childhood Spent Disappearing

    Learning to Be Seen After a Childhood Spent Disappearing

    “The habits you created to survive will no longer serve you when it’s time to thrive.” ~Eboni Davis

    I learned early how to measure the danger in a room. With a narcissistic mother, the air could shift in an instant—her tone slicing through me, reminding me that my feelings had no place.

    With an alcoholic stepfather, the threat was louder, heavier, and more unpredictable. I still remember the slam of bottles on the counter, the crack of his voice turning to fists, the way I would hold my breath in the dark, hoping the storm would pass without landing on me.

    In that house, love wasn’t safe. Love was survival. And survival meant disappearing—making myself small, silent, and invisible so I wouldn’t take up too much space in a world already drowning in chaos.

    In a home like that, there was no space to simply be a child. My mother’s moods came first—her pain, her need for control. With her, I learned to hide the parts of myself that were “too much” because nothing I did was ever enough. With my stepfather, I learned to walk carefully, always scanning for danger, always bracing for the next eruption.

    So I became the quiet one. The peacekeeper. The invisible daughter who tried to keep the house from falling apart, even when it already was. I carried a weight far too heavy for my small shoulders, believing it was my job to make things okay, even though deep down, I knew I couldn’t.

    Those patterns didn’t stay in the walls of my childhood home; they followed me into adulthood. I carried silence like a second skin, disappearing in relationships whenever love began to feel unsafe. I learned to give until I was empty, to lose myself in caring for others, to believe that if I stayed quiet enough, small enough, I might finally be loved.

    But love that required me to vanish was never love at all. It was survival all over again. I found myself repeating the same patterns, choosing partners who mirrored the chaos I had grown up with, shutting down whenever I felt too much. I confused pain for love, silence for safety, and in doing so, I abandoned myself again and again.

    The cost was heavy: years of feeling invisible, unworthy, and unseen. Years of believing my voice didn’t matter, my needs were too much, and my story was something to hide.

    For a long time, I believed this was just who I was—invisible, unworthy, built to carry pain. But there came a night when even survival felt too heavy. I was sitting in the cold, in a tent I was calling home, with nothing but silence pressing in around me. The air was damp, my body shivering beneath thin blankets, every sound outside reminding me how unsafe and alone I felt.

    And for the first time, instead of disappearing into that silence, I whispered, “I can’t keep living like this.” The words were shaky, but they felt like a lifeline—the first honest thing I had said to myself in years.

    It wasn’t a dramatic transformation. Nothing changed overnight. But something inside me cracked open, a small ember of truth I hadn’t let myself feel before: I deserved more than this. I was worthy of more than surviving.

    That whisper became a seed. I started writing again, pouring the words I could never say onto paper. Slowly, those words became a lifeline—a way of reclaiming the voice I had silenced for so long. Every page reminded me that my story mattered, even if no one else had ever said it. And piece by piece, I began to believe it.

    Survival patterns protect us, but they don’t have to define us. For years, disappearing kept me safe. Staying quiet shielded me from conflict I couldn’t control. But surviving isn’t the same as living, and the patterns that once protected me no longer have to shape who I am becoming.

    Writing can be a way of reclaiming your voice. When I couldn’t speak, I wrote. Every sentence became proof that I existed, that my story was real, that I had something worth saying. Sometimes healing begins with a pen and a page—the simple act of letting your truth take shape outside of you.

    It is not selfish to take up space. Growing up, I believed my needs were too much, my presence a burden. But the truth is that we all deserve to be seen, to be heard, to take up space in the world without apology.

    We don’t have to heal alone. So much of my pain came from carrying everything in silence. Healing has taught me that there is strength in being witnessed, in letting others hold us when the weight is too much to carry by ourselves.

    I still carry the echoes of that house—the silence, the chaos, the parts of me that once believed I wasn’t worthy of love. But today, I hold them differently. They no longer define me; they remind me of how far I’ve come.

    I cannot change the family I was born into or the pain that shaped me. But I can choose how I grow from it. And that choice—to soften instead of harden, to speak instead of disappear, to heal instead of carry it all in silence—has changed everything.

    I am still learning, still growing, still coming home to myself. But I no longer disappear. I know now that my story matters—and so does yours.

    So I invite you to pause and ask yourself: Where have you mistaken survival for love? What parts of you have learned to stay silent, and what might happen if you gave them a voice?

    Even the smallest whisper of truth can be the beginning of a new life. Your story matters too. May you find the courage to stop surviving and begin truly living.

    May we all learn to take up space without apology, to speak our truths without fear, and to find safety not in silence, but in love.

  • Work Is Not Family: A Lesson I Never Wanted but Need to Share

    Work Is Not Family: A Lesson I Never Wanted but Need to Share

    “The paradox of trauma is that it has both the power to destroy and the power to transform and resurrect.” ~Peter Levine

    I was sitting in the conference room at work with the CEO and my abusive male boss.

    The same boss who had been love-bombing and manipulating me since I started nine months earlier, slowly pushing my nervous system into a constant state of fight-or-flight.

    When I was four months into the job, this boss went on a three-day bender during an overnight work conference at a fancy hotel in Boston.

    He skipped client meetings or showed up smelling like alcohol, wearing yesterday’s clothes.

    When I texted him to ask where he was, he replied, “I f**king hate you.”

    When my CEO found out and called me five minutes after I got home, I told him I trusted him to handle it however he saw fit.

    I really believed he would. But over the next five months, the abuse didn’t stop. I just didn’t know it was abuse yet.

    He was over-the-top obsessed with me. He regularly told me:

    • “You’re going to make so much money here.”
    • “You have the ‘it’ factor.”
    • “You know how I feel about you.”
    • “I’m going to fast-track you.”
    • “You’re such a good culture fit.”
    • “This has been your home all along.”

    He told me everything I wanted to hear.

    I had spent the prior fifteen years in corporate America, wondering where I belonged. Wondering where my work family was.

    At first, I felt like I had finally found it.

    Then the attention escalated. What started as friendly check-ins became constant interruptions. The group Teams chats turned into direct messages. The work texts turned into personal texts—at night and on the weekends.

    He asked to go to dinner with me and my husband. He offered to buy me lunch while ignoring my coworkers. He brought in cookies for the office but made sure I knew they were for me. He singled me out in meetings and asked how I was doing while ignoring everyone else.

    I told myself, “There are worse things than your boss liking you.” But over time…I started to feel unsafe.

    My body started to send signals. I was having panic attacks on Sunday nights. I couldn’t sleep. I found myself using PTO just to get away from him. My fight-or-flight response was fully activated, and I finally had to admit I wasn’t in control anymore.

    Eventually, a coworker reported it to the CEO. Which brings me back to the conference room.

    I sat across from the CEO, body tense, heart racing, but filled with hope. I was ready for resolution. Support. Justice.

    That’s not what happened.

    Whatever the CEO said that day affected me in a way I didn’t expect. I felt minimized. Judged. Dismissed.

    Then my body reacted.

    The pressure in my chest started to build until I couldn’t control it anymore. I started shaking—full-body, uncontrollable shaking. I tried to sit still, tried to pretend nothing was happening, but it was too late.

    There was no hiding it. No escaping it.

    Just a forty-two-year-old corporate woman, uncontrollably shaking in a conference room across from the CEO.

    I excused myself and ran to the restroom.

    I lay on the floor of the public bathroom and cried harder than I ever had. My body was forcing the energy out of me. There was nothing I could do but let it come out.

    Once the tears slowed, I left the building as fast as I could.

    What had just happened to me?
    Why did it feel like a gaping wound had opened in my chest?
    Why did I feel physically damaged?

    It would take almost a year before I understood: that was trauma. That was new trauma layered on top of old trauma.

    Almost exactly twenty years earlier, I had been sexually assaulted by a coworker.

    I reported it to the police, and they didn’t even take a statement. I was sent away. Dismissed. Minimized.

    My brain had filed this memory away. But my body remembered.

    That moment in the conference room—being in a position of vulnerability, being ignored, unheard, unprotected—triggered a trauma response that had been waiting quietly inside of me for decades.

    My brain couldn’t tell the difference between past and present. It just knew I wasn’t safe. So it mobilized. It tried to protect me. And it left me raw, shut down, and checked out from the world—including my own kids—for a long time afterward.

    It was the worst time of my life.

    Several months after the conference room incident, I got a new job.

    It wasn’t easy to leave despite everything that had happened. I liked my job. I was good at it. My coworkers were my friends, and we had been through so much together. But I had become a shell of myself, and leaving seemed like the only way to get myself back.

    Even so, the first six months at my new job were not easy. I remained hypervigilant and emotionally reactive. Standard feedback and performance reviews brought me right back to that conference room, no matter what was said.

    That’s when I learned: trauma doesn’t stay with the toxic job. It comes with you. And this was trauma.

    What I Learned About Trauma

    I needed to learn everything I could, so I enrolled in a trauma-informed coaching program and studied my experience through that lens.

    From a trauma perspective, I learned:

    • The brain constantly scans the environment for safety and danger, a process called neuroception.
    • My brain perceived danger in countless ways during my employment and alerted me through my nervous system.
    • I rationalized those signals away, telling myself I could handle it.
    • But the signals—racing heart, insomnia, panic, emotional reactivity—only got louder until they could no longer be ignored.

    It felt like my body was attacking me. In reality, it was trying to save me.

    Trauma is what happens when your system struggles to cope with overwhelming distress, leaving a wound behind. Those wounds don’t need your permission to exist; they only need a trigger.

    That day in the conference room, multiple unhealed wounds surfaced all at once—sexual trauma, financial trauma, friendship trauma, life purpose trauma, and institutional betrayal trauma.

    The new trauma stacked on the old was simply too much for my system to manage. So my body did what it was designed to do: protect me.

    Learning this allowed me to release the shame I was carrying. It allowed me to have compassion for myself and others.

    It made me stop looking backward and start looking forward.

    What I Learned About Work

    While I was learning about trauma, I started asking bigger questions in my new role as an HR consultant.

    I had never worked in HR before, so I studied every conversation, policy, and process to understand how the system works behind the scenes and to view my own experience through the employer’s lens.

    Who really has the power?
    What rights do employees have?
    What responsibilities do employers have to protect them?

    Here’s what I learned:

    • The employment agreement is simple—employees agree to perform the duties on their job description, and employers agree to compensate them for performing those duties.
    • Both parties can end the agreement at any time.
    • HR and employment attorneys are paid to protect the company from risk. Period.

    That’s it. Anything beyond that is optional, unless required by law.

    Work is a contract. It is not a family. It is a system built for labor, not love.

    And this system is not immune to abuse. It is not immune to trauma.

    Just because it’s a professional setting doesn’t mean it’s a safe one. And just because you’re a high performer doesn’t mean you’re not vulnerable to harm.

    The idea that work is a family, that it should provide belonging, meaning, and loyalty, didn’t come from nowhere—it reflects how work itself has changed over time.

    In the past, belonging came from many places at once: tight-knit communities, extended families, faith traditions, and work that was often woven into local or family life.

    When industrialization pulled people into factories, corporations, and offices, many of those community anchors began to lose influence. To fill the void, workplaces leaned into family language—promising connection and loyalty in exchange for more of people’s time, energy, and devotion.

    For a time, many companies did try to live up to that promise with pensions, long-term employment, and mutual loyalty between employer and employee.

    But as work has become more globalized and transactional, that loyalty has faded. Today, organizations still borrow the language of family, but the commitment is one-sided. When it serves them, they lean on employees’ devotion; when it doesn’t, the illusion disappears.

    That’s how we know work is not family—because families don’t withdraw love, belonging, or loyalty the moment it no longer serves them.

    What Helped Me Heal

    The good news is healing is possible.

    For me, healing meant more than just learning about trauma in a classroom and HR policies in an office. It meant implementing daily practices into my life that rebuilt my sense of safety and helped me trust myself again. This included:

    Monitoring my nervous system and honoring my body’s responses to triggers.

    I started noticing the small cues—a clenched jaw, a racing heart, a stomach that wouldn’t settle. Instead of pushing through, I learned to pause, breathe, and respond with care. These moments of noticing became the foundation of feeling safe in my own body again.

    Exploring my past experiences with compassion instead of judgment.

    For years, I believed I had compassion for myself, but it was shallow—more like telling myself to “let it go” than honoring what I had lived through. It wasn’t until I became aware of the experiences that shaped my patterns and behaviors that I finally understood real self-compassion.

    Recognizing the subconscious behaviors that put me at risk.

    Perfectionism, rationalizing red flags, unhealthy coping strategies—these were patterns I had carried for decades. Becoming aware of them gave me the power to make different choices, rather than repeating the same painful cycles.

    Setting boundaries at work to protect my energy and healing.

    I learned how to say no without guilt, how to step away from people who drain me, and how to handle the frustrations of work without getting emotionally activated. Boundaries have become an act of self-love.

    Honoring the complexity of the human body and lived experience.

    This was the hardest lesson of all. I carry a body, brain, and nervous system that remember everything I’ve been through, even the parts I’ve tried to forget. My responsibility now is to honor that complexity in every environment I step into—including work.

    That doesn’t mean molding myself to whatever the workplace demands. It means protecting my well-being first and remembering that I am more than a role, a paycheck, or the approval of others.

    It took time, but these practices slowly closed the wound that had once left me gasping for air on the floor of that bathroom. The open wound in my chest has now been closed for over a year and has been replaced with peace.

    That day in the conference room broke me. But it also cracked me open. I put myself back together, stronger than ever.

    And you can, too.

  • Why Narcissistic Abuse Doesn’t Define You and How I Found the Love I Deserve

    Why Narcissistic Abuse Doesn’t Define You and How I Found the Love I Deserve

    “When it hurts to move on, just remember the pain you felt hanging on.” ~Unknown

    There was a time when I thought my heart would never heal.

    I’d been lied to, betrayed, and broken by a man I thought I loved. A man who turned out to be nothing more than a beautifully packaged nightmare.

    If you’ve ever been hurt by a narcissist, you know that the pain cuts deeper than most people can imagine. You know the way it seeps into your bones, the way it makes you question your worth and replay every moment, wondering if you could have stopped it.

    I’ll never forget that night in Paris when I learned what love is not.

    The Champs-Élysées was alive with golden lights strung high in the air. Shoppers moved slowly, bags swinging in their hands, laughter spilling out of nearby cafés. The smell of roasted chestnuts drifted through the crisp night. And in the middle of that beauty, my world shattered with one heavy punch to the stomach I did not deserve.

    It happened on the balcony of a famous Paris hotel. I had overheard a phone call. His voice casual, almost bored. “I’ll be home in a few days.”

    Home.

    To. His. Wife.

    My blood ran cold.

    The words clung to my skin like ice. Betrayal swelled in my chest, my breath sharp and ragged. I demanded answers. My voice cracked, trembling between anger and disbelief.

    The first slap was so fast I barely registered it. Then another. Then the kick. A sharp, merciless blow to my stomach that folded me in two and dropped me to the floor.

    My lungs emptied. I gasped, but no air came.

    I needed to scream. I wanted to claw, to fight, to make him hurt. But some part of me knew that to stay alive, I had to stay still. My body shook in silence, hot tears sliding down my cheeks, my ears ringing as his voice faded into a blur of meaningless words.

    The carpet felt rough beneath my palms as I steadied myself. My ribs ached with each shallow breath.

    When his rage finally burned out, I slipped away and stepped onto the balcony. The night air stung my face. Through the blur of tears, I saw the Eiffel Tower shimmering in the distance, each light flashing like a cruel reminder of where I was—the city I had dreamed of visiting. In love.

    I gripped the railing, fighting the urge to collapse again. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to wash every trace of his hands from my skin. I wanted to go home, crawl into my bed, and erase Paris from my memory.

    It took months to unravel what had happened that night. Months to understand why I had let a narcissist treat me like that. I wasn’t naive. I wasn’t unloved. I came from a loving family. I cared for people.

    So why did I believe I deserved this?

    Somewhere deep inside, I had confused love with proving my worth. I believed that if I could just give enough, forgive enough, understand enough, I could earn love that stayed.

    That belief had been quietly living in me for years—from the little girl who learned to keep the peace by being “good” to the woman who equated over-giving with strength. I didn’t think I deserved cruelty, but I didn’t yet believe I was worthy of love that came without pain.

    Looking back, all the signs were there. Endless red flags I chose not to see. The charm that drew me in, the constant need for attention, the way he twisted the truth until I doubted my own sanity. The anger when I questioned him, followed by the empty promises meant to keep me hooked.

    The bruises faded in weeks. But the ache inside stayed.

    For a long time, I hated Paris. I had been there with the wrong person. I had imagined us wandering hand in hand along the Seine, kissing on Pont Alexandre III as the city lit up around us. I had pictured mornings in Montmartre with coffee and croissants, sunlight spilling through tiny café windows.

    Instead, I got a nightmare.

    Deep down, I always knew real love was effortless. Not that it didn’t require work, but that it didn’t demand your dignity and your soul.

    After months of healing, I wrote down exactly what I wanted in a partner, and I refused to settle for less.

    Then, when I least expected it, he showed up. One email led to another, and soon we were talking across time zones, our words building a bridge neither of us had seen coming.

    He wanted to meet right away. I stalled. Part of me still needed the safety of distance.

    When we finally met in New York City, the moment felt like something written long before we were born. I had landed early that morning, wandering the city in the winter chill. When I called from a payphone near Bryant Park to confirm, I turned, and there he was, smiling at me like I was the only person in the crowd.

    In the past, I would have rushed in and molded myself to fit his rhythm. But this time, I moved slowly. I asked questions I used to avoid, and I said what I needed without apology.

    My healing had raised my standards, not for others but for how I treated myself in love. I was no longer searching for someone to fill a void, and because of that I could actually see him—not through the lens of fantasy or idealization but through truth.

    His steadiness and confidence didn’t scare me. They grounded me. He met me where I was. I could simply receive his presence without fear it would disappear. And that was brand new to me—being loved without having to abandon myself to keep it.

    Years later, we’re still together. We’ve faced storms, held the line when things got hard, and fiercely protected the magic we built. And we visited Paris together. This time, it was the city I had always wanted—champagne kisses, walks by the river, and a skyline wrapped in light.

    For the first time, there’s safety. There’s no fear in being honest, no punishment for being human. We listen, we repair, and we hold each other accountable without shame. When one of us feels hurt, we talk instead of withdrawing. When one of us makes a mistake, we forgive and learn instead of blaming.

    Love doesn’t take from us. It expands us. It’s steady, mutual, and kind. I can ask for what I need without guilt. I can express my fears without shrinking. We celebrate each other’s successes and hold each other through failure.

    For me, this love feels like finally being able to breathe, like exhaling after years of holding my breath, and knowing I can rest in someone else’s presence without losing myself.

    If you’ve been hurt by a narcissist, I see you. I know the nights you lie awake replaying everything. I know how heavy your chest feels, how loud the silence is.

    You may need to close the chapter that destroyed you, then open a new one and write the story you’ve been longing to live.

    Forgive yourself. Forgive them. Not for their sake, but because you deserve the peace it will give you.

    One day, you’ll wake up and realize the darkness is gone. The fear, the self-doubt, the endless ache are no longer yours to carry. And in that moment, you’ll know the truth: you will never again return to what broke you.

    It took months for my nervous system to finally feel safe around men again. For a long time, my body reacted before my mind could catch up, flinching at raised voices, shrinking from affection, bracing for betrayal even when love was right in front of me.

    This is how I slowly found my way out of the grip of narcissistic abuse:

    Belief work.

    I had to meet the invisible story I’d been carrying for years—that love had to be earned. Rewriting it didn’t happen overnight, but each small reminder felt like a crack in the opening around my heart. I began telling myself, again and again, I am deeply worthy of love. I am enough, exactly as I am. When my mind drifted back to old patterns, I didn’t fight it. I simply offered a new story, one where I was already enough and worthy of calm, steady love.

    Listening to my body. 

    I began to notice how my chest tightened or my stomach knotted when something felt off. Instead of ignoring those signals, I treated them as truth. My body knew what my mind wanted to deny.

    Somatic healing. 

    Breathwork, sound therapy, gentle movement, and trauma-informed bodywork helped me release stored fear and regulate my nervous system.

    I remember one session lying on my mat, my breath shallow, my chest heavy. As the sound bowls vibrated through the room, a trembling began to move through me. First it was rage, then a deep grief for all the ways I had abandoned myself, and finally a relief, like my body was releasing what it had carried for years.

    Something softened inside me. Something I couldn’t name. But what that moment taught me is that healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about allowing what was once trapped to move through you, until it no longer owns you.

    Boundaries. 

    I practiced saying no. At first, it felt unnatural, even selfish. But every no became a small act of reclaiming myself.

    I started small. I stopped saying yes to coffee dates I didn’t have the energy for or to men who mistook my kindness for an open door. Then it extended into every corner of my life.

    I stopped overworking to prove my worth, stopped letting colleagues pile their tasks onto mine just because I was capable. I stopped replying to work messages late at night, stopped entertaining conversations that left me feeling small, but most of all, I stopped ignoring the quiet voice inside that whispered when something didn’t feel right. Each no created a little more space for truth, for me.

    Choosing safe people. 

    I surrounded myself with friends and mentors who treated me with kindness, who showed me what respect actually looks like. Their presence slowly re-taught my body that love doesn’t always come with pain.

    Clarity in love. 

    I wrote down exactly what I wanted in a partner, not just the surface traits, but how I wanted to feel with them: safe, cherished, seen. That clarity was my compass.

    When we began talking, I noticed I didn’t feel anxious waiting for his reply. I didn’t need to edit myself to earn his affection. There was no chaos, only ease. That peace told me I was finally aligned with what I had written. He embodied nearly every quality I had put on that list—emotional awareness, consistency, integrity, and most importantly, a tenderness that made my nervous system begin to trust again.

    Healing from narcissistic abuse isn’t linear. It’s a thousand tiny steps back to yourself. Some days you’ll stumble. Some days you’ll doubt. But little by little, the pieces come back together, and you realize you were never broken.

    When the right one arrives, you won’t question it. You won’t shrink yourself to fit. You won’t beg to be seen. You will simply know, in the steady, quiet place inside you that this is real, this is love.

    Rejection was never your ending. It was the redirection toward the life you were always meant to live.

  • What Happened When I Stopped Expecting Perfection from Myself

    What Happened When I Stopped Expecting Perfection from Myself

    “There is no amount of self-improvement that can make up for a lack of self-acceptance.” ~Robert Holden

    Six years ago, I forgot it was picture day at my daughter’s school. She left the house in a sweatshirt with a faint, unidentifiable stain and hair still bent from yesterday’s ponytail.

    The photographer probably spent less than ten seconds on her photo, but I spent hours replaying the morning in my head, imagining her years later looking at that picture and believing her mother had not tried hard enough.

    It’s strange how small moments can lodge themselves in memory. Even now, when life is smooth, that picture sometimes drifts back. The difference is that I no longer treat it as proof that I am careless or unloving. I see it as a reminder that no one gets it all right, no matter how hard they try.

    I tend to hold on to my “failures” long after everyone else has let them go. My daughter has never mentioned that photo, and one day, if she becomes a mother, she might discover that small imperfections are not proof of neglect. They can be a kind of grace.

    For most of my life, I thought being a good person meant being relentlessly self-critical. I stayed up too late worrying over things no one else noticed, like an unanswered text or a dusty shelf before company arrived. Sometimes I replayed conversations until I found the exact moment I could have been warmer or wiser.

    The list was endless, and my self-worth seemed to hinge on how perfectly I performed in every role. Somewhere along the way, I started expecting myself to already know how to do everything right. But this is the first time I have lived this exact day, with this exact set of challenges and choices.

    It is the first time parenting a child this age. The first time navigating friendships in this season. The first time balancing today’s responsibilities with today’s emotions.

    The shift came on a day when nothing seemed to go my way. I missed an appointment I had no excuse for missing, realized too late that I had forgotten to order my friend’s birthday gift, and then managed to burn dinner. None of it was catastrophic, but the weight of these small failures began to gather, as they always did, into a heaviness in my chest.

    I could feel myself leaning toward the familiar spiral of self-reproach when I happened to glance across the room and see my daughter. And in that instant, a thought surfaced: What if I spoke to myself the way I would speak to her if she had made these same mistakes?

    I knew exactly what I would say. I would remind her that being human means sometimes getting it wrong. I would tell her that one day’s mistakes do not erase years of love.

    I would make sure she knew she was still good, still worthy, and still enough. So I tried saying it to myself, out loud. “We all make mistakes.”

    The words felt clumsy, almost unnatural, like I was finally trying to speak the language I had only just begun to learn. But something inside softened just enough for me to take a breath and let the day end without carrying all its weight into tomorrow.

    Self-compassion has not made me careless. It has made me steadier. When I stop spending my energy on shame, I have more of it for the people and priorities that matter.

    Research confirms this truth. Self-compassion is not about lowering standards. It is about building the emotional safety that allows us to keep showing up without fear.

    And here is what I have learned about actually practicing it. Self-compassion is not a single thought or mantra. It’s a habit, one you build the same way you would strength or endurance.

    It begins with noticing the voice in your head when you make a mistake. Most of us have an internal commentator that sounds less like a mentor and more like a drill sergeant. The work is in catching that voice in the act and then, without forcing a smile or pretending you are not disappointed, speaking to yourself like someone you love.

    Sometimes that means literally saying the words out loud so you can hear the tone. Sometimes it means pausing long enough to remember you are still learning. Sometimes it means choosing kindness even when shame feels easier.

    It also helps to remember what self-compassion is not. It is not excusing harmful behavior or ignoring areas where we want to grow. It is acknowledging that growth happens more easily in a climate of patience than in one of punishment.

    The science supports this. When we practice self-kindness, our stress response begins to quiet, and our nervous system has a chance to settle. This does not just feel better in the moment; it makes it easier to think clearly and choose our next step.

    I’ve noticed other changes as well. Self-compassion makes me braver. When I’m not terrified of berating myself if I fall short, I am more willing to try something new.

    I take risks in conversations. I admit when I do not know something. I start things without obsessing over how they’ll end, and when mistakes inevitably happen, I don’t have to waste days recovering from my own criticism.

    Sometimes self-compassion is quiet, like putting your phone down when you begin to spiral through mental replays. Sometimes it is active, like deciding to stop apologizing for being human. Sometimes it is physical, like unclenching your jaw or placing a hand on your chest as you breathe.

    Over time, these small gestures add up. They rewire the way you respond to yourself, replacing the reflex of blame with the reflex of care.

    We are all walking into each day for the first time. Of course we will miss a detail or lose our patience. Of course we will get things wrong.

    But when we meet ourselves with kindness instead of condemnation, we remind ourselves that love, whether for others or for ourselves, has never depended on perfection.

    And that lesson will last far longer than any perfect picture.

  • The Lonely Ache of Self-Worth That No One Talks About

    The Lonely Ache of Self-Worth That No One Talks About

    “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” ~Kahlil Gibran

    They don’t talk about this part.

    The hardest part about knowing your worth—after doing the work, setting boundaries, and getting crystal clear on what you want—is the ache.

    Not just any ache. The ache of being awake. The ache of knowing. The ache of not settling.

    I remember the first time I walked away from someone who didn’t mistreat me but who also didn’t quite meet me. I had spent years unraveling my old patterns: the people-pleasing, the over-giving, the “maybe this is enough” mindset. For the first time, I didn’t override my intuition. I didn’t pretend I was okay with something that didn’t feel like home.

    I left. And I felt powerful.

    But two days later, I sat alone on my kitchen floor, not crying, not spiraling—just aching. Aching for company. Aching for closeness. Aching for the comfort of being chosen, even if it wasn’t quite right.

    That’s what no one talks about: the emotional hangover of choosing yourself.

    No one warns you how lonely it can feel when you finally stop contorting yourself to fit someone else’s story. When you stop abandoning yourself just to be loved, there’s often a pause before something new begins. A stillness that used to be filled by “almosts” and “maybes” and “well, at least I’m not alone.”

    When you’ve been used to bending, standing tall can feel stark. Spacious. Bare.

    You’re no longer wasting energy explaining your needs or trying to make the wrong person understand your heart. But that clarity comes with a cost. And sometimes, that cost is company.

    The ache of growth is quieter than chaos, but it cuts deeper. It lingers in the in-between: that sacred space between no longer and not yet.

    There’s grief that comes when we raise our standards. A grief for the illusions we used to cling to. A grief for the comfort of something, even when it wasn’t truly nourishing.

    We don’t talk enough about how healing isn’t just insight and empowerment. It’s also the slow disintegration of everything that used to be familiar. Your old identity. Your old dynamics. Your old sense of “enough.”

    It’s disorienting because the world doesn’t always reflect your new clarity back to you. You may find yourself sitting across from someone on a date, and while they’re kind and curious, they don’t feel like resonance. You may feel unseen in rooms you once blended into easily. You may notice the distance between you and your past life widening without any clear sense of where you’re headed.

    That’s the paradox of healing. You do the work thinking it will bring you closer to connection—and it does. But only to the kind that matches the version of you who did the work.

    And that kind often takes time.

    This is the part most advice columns skip: the emotional soup you wade through after you’ve walked away from what no longer fits.

    It’s thick with contradictions: grief for what you had to leave behind, hope that what you long for still exists, fear that maybe it doesn’t.

    There’s a raw tenderness in the quiet. A new intimacy with yourself that feels more honest but not always more comfortable.

    You might bounce between feeling empowered and heartbroken. Proud of your boundaries one day, questioning them the next. Rooted in self-respect in the morning, lonely by evening.

    This isn’t backsliding. This is integration.

    You’re building something new within yourself. And like any reconstruction project, it comes with debris, dust, and disorientation. But it’s real. It’s yours. And it’s lasting.

    Eventually, something begins to shift.

    One morning, you wake up, and the ache feels less like emptiness and more like spaciousness. You start to trust the quiet. You no longer hide your pain to make others more comfortable. You realize your worth has stopped being a negotiation.

    This is the sacred turning point—when the waiting becomes an invitation. When the pause between what was and what’s coming becomes a place of preparation, not punishment.

    You begin to notice the difference between being alone and being lonely. You stop shrinking your needs just to have someone next to you.

    Your loneliness, paradoxically, becomes a sign of your healing. Because you’re no longer willing to fill the void with what doesn’t serve you. You’re holding your own gaze. And while that might not feel cinematic, it’s powerful.

    Because not everyone gets here. And not everyone stays.

    In the moments when it gets hard, when it feels like maybe you should settle, maybe you are being too much, maybe love isn’t coming after all, I want you to come back to this: I trust that it’s worth waiting for the love I deserve, and that it’s possible for me.

    Repeat it when the doubts creep in. Write it on a Post-it. Say it into your tea. Breathe it into your bones.

    Because you didn’t come this far just to go back to what hurt you. You didn’t do all that work just to re-audition for roles you’ve outgrown.

    You came this far to call in something real—something that honors the truth of who you are now.

    One of the hardest things about this journey is that there’s no timeline. No guarantee. It can feel like you placed a very specific order with the universe and it’s taking forever to show up.

    But here’s what I’ve learned: when you ask for something deeper, more aligned, and more rooted in mutual presence, it takes time. Not because it’s not coming but because you’re asking for more than fast. You’re asking for true.

    And true takes time.

    If you’re feeling lonely on the other side of healing, please hear this: You’re not doing it wrong. You’re just no longer willing to fill your life with noise. You’ve stepped into a deeper honesty with yourself. And that’s rare.

    This is the season of sacred discomfort. A liminal space where the old has gone, but the new hasn’t fully arrived. It’s tender. Uncertain. And wildly fertile.

    Trust the ache. It’s not here to punish you. It’s here to refine you. To shape you into the kind of person who will recognize the love you’re calling in because it will feel like the love you’ve already chosen to give yourself.

    Today, I sit in my own presence and feel mostly calm. Slowly, almost without notice, that refining did its work. The ache has softened. The loneliness has eased. There’s a quiet joy in just being here, in just being me.

    What surprises me most is how peaceful I often feel. Not numb. Not distracted. Not pining for someone to see me. Not begging the universe for faster delivery. Just fully, intimately present.

    It’s strange, but the more I’ve allowed myself to embrace the hurt, the longing, the more open I’ve become to beauty. A song hits deeper. Small moments feel more meaningful. I see love everywhere.

    Life shimmers differently these days.

    And in this calm, I finally recognize just how powerful I am. The ache has carved a wider capacity within me, just as Gibran said. I hold more joy, more love, more connection. And that feels utterly magical.

    So if you’re feeling that ache right now, please remember: the very sorrow that feels so heavy now is making room for a fuller, richer experience of life and love. It’s the foundation for the kind of love that doesn’t ask you to shrink, dim, or settle but invites you to show up as your whole, radiant self.

    And as you release your anxiety about finding someone else, you might find that the greatest love comes from yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

    He was one of them. A bad sting.

    Love Bombing

    Right off the bat, knowing him felt amazing.

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

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

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

    It felt good. Really good.

    Until it didn’t.

    A Bouquet of Red Flags? For Me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Right. Gardening. Okay.

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

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

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

    Five weeks passed. Silence. Crickets.

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

    Inner Work and Uncomfortable Truths

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Self-Respect and Goodbye

    So how did I move forward?

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

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

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

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

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

    A Final Note

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

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

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

  • I Spent Years Chasing Love Until I Finally Chose Myself

    I Spent Years Chasing Love Until I Finally Chose Myself

    “The only people who get upset when you set boundaries are the ones who benefited from you having none.” ~Unknown

    For most of my life, I lived with a quiet ache, a longing I couldn’t quite name but always felt. I wanted to be chosen. Not just liked or tolerated, but fully seen, wanted, and loved.

    That longing shaped so many of my choices. I over-gave in relationships, staying in situations far longer than I should have, and shrank myself to be accepted.

    I didn’t know it at the time, but I was trying to fill an emptiness that had started years before, an emptiness born in silence and absence, in words left unsaid and emotions left unacknowledged.

    You see, I grew up in a household that looked stable from the outside when, in reality, the opposite was the case.

    My father was a brilliant and accomplished professor but emotionally unreachable. He was a provider, but not someone I could run to, laugh with, or open to. Our conversations rarely went beyond school and grades—never “How are you feeling?” or “What’s on your heart?”

    Affection wasn’t part of the language we spoke at home. I learned early that performance was prized, but vulnerability was not. That I had to know things without asking, succeed without stumbling, and carry weight without complaint.

    As a child, you don’t have the language for the emotional neglect that comes as a result of this, but you feel it in your body. You sense the void.

    Even before I could articulate words, I felt more comfortable with paper than with people. I didn’t speak until I was four and carried a piece of paper everywhere I went, using it to express what I couldn’t say out loud.

    Writing became my voice before I had one. But even that was dismissed. My father didn’t see value in it. And so, the message was reinforced again: What I loved didn’t matter. Who I was wasn’t enough.

    And over time, I internalized that belief. I carried it into my teenage years and well into adulthood, thinking love had to be earned through sacrifice or silence.

    I struggled with setting boundaries because I didn’t want to be “too much” and drive people away. I mistook people-pleasing for kindness, over-accommodation for loyalty, and emotional exhaustion for love.

    My longing for connection often led me into relationships where I gave more than I received. I wanted so badly to be seen, to feel chosen, to matter to someone in the ways I never felt I did growing up.

    But the more I sought love externally, the more disconnected I became from myself. My self-worth was tangled in how others treated me, how well I performed, how little I complained, and how much I could endure.

    One of the most defining relationships of my life culminated in an engagement. At the time, it felt like a dream come true. Here was this successful, handsome man who made six figures and stood over six feet tall. And he chose me. He was also spiritual and into meditation, something I had been exploring with the Buddhists, so I felt this deep alignment with him. It felt like a sign that maybe I was finally enough to be loved fully.

    But in hindsight, that relationship mirrored all the unresolved wounds I hadn’t yet faced. Without realizing it, I had found someone who was essentially my father, an engineer, emotionally unavailable, with a temper and narcissistic tendencies. I was literally about to marry my father. When it ended in 2014, it left me feeling like I had failed, not just in love, but in my identity.

    I didn’t realize it then, but the engagement wasn’t just a romantic loss; it was the collapse of the illusion I had built to protect myself.

    Prior to the engagement, I had already spent years performing at work, in friendships, and in love. The little girl who once ached to be seen had grown into a woman who poured herself into everything and everyone, just to feel worthy of being chosen.

    At work, I became a relentless overachiever. I tied my value to performance, convinced that if I exceeded expectations, my bosses, my colleagues, anyone would have no choice but to love me. I wasn’t just doing my job; I was doing the most, all the time. Not from ambition, but from a quiet desperation.

    But overgiving didn’t bring admiration; it brought disrespect. I ended up with bosses who were bullies. I remember one vividly. I had worked hard on a project with a team, believing it would finally earn his approval. He looked at it once, then threw it in the trash right in front of me.

    Still, I stayed. Still, I tried harder. Still, I chased the validation that never came. Because deep down, I thought I had to earn love. That if I just proved myself enough, someone would finally say, “You’re worth it.”

    It wasn’t just at work. In friendships, I bent myself backwards to belong. I mirrored the habits of others just to stay close. If they drank, I drank. If they were into something I didn’t enjoy, I pretended to love it.

    I mistook blending in for bonding. I didn’t know that a healthy connection doesn’t require self-erasure.

    And in romantic relationships? The pattern deepened.

    The first guy I dated was vulnerable, open, willing to truly see me. But I couldn’t handle it. His tenderness felt foreign, uncomfortable even.

    Because I’d never known that kind of love. I didn’t think I deserved it. I told myself I wanted someone “edgier,” but the truth was, I was more familiar with emotional unavailability than emotional safety.

    And so, I gravitated toward men who couldn’t love me well. Men who ignored me, mistreated me, made me feel small. I shrank to fit their needs.

    I became who I thought they wanted—changing my interests, compromising my values, giving all of myself just to be chosen. And I settled. I accepted crumbs and called it a connection.

    There was Matt, someone I’d known in college as a friend. When we started dating later, I thought maybe this was it. But he’d spend time talking about the women he found attractive right in front of me.

    And Dustin, I paid for his flight to come see me when I lived in Texas. Even paid for a coach to help him find a better job. Not because I had to, but because somewhere inside, I believed that love could be bought.

    After all, that’s what I had learned. My father gave gifts, not affection. Money, not presence. So I repeated the pattern, hoping financial sacrifice would lead to emotional intimacy.

    I slept with men who didn’t care for me. I stayed with partners who didn’t choose me. I even cheated, sometimes with men who were already in other relationships because if they were willing to risk what they had for me, then maybe I mattered. Maybe I was special.

    But the truth is, I was still that little girl with the paper in her hand, trying to speak a language no one around her understood. Still aching to be seen. Still hoping someone would say, “You are enough.”

    These pains would then become the very ground where the seeds of transformation would be planted.

    But healing didn’t come all at once. It came quietly, slowly.

    At first, I didn’t know where to start. All I knew was that something had to change. I was tired of feeling stuck in the same cycle, repeating the same patterns, and finding myself in relationships that only brought more hurt.

    I knew I needed space to figure out why I kept choosing unhealthy relationships and why I was drawn to people who couldn’t truly love me.

    In early April of 2015, I made one of the hardest phone calls of my life. I called my mom to tell her I needed a break. None of us were familiar with boundaries back then, but I knew I had to find myself outside of my family’s influence. We both cried on that call. I couldn’t give her a timeframe as I had no idea how long this would take.

    My dad didn’t take it well. Shortly after, he left me a voicemail, convinced I’d joined some kind of cult. He felt like I was turning my back on him. For almost two years, I kept my distance. I’d send cards on holidays, but I didn’t call or text. I needed that space to heal.

    The first move I made was joining a twelve-step program aimed at breaking free from addiction. That’s where I met Gina. She became more than just a mentor, a guide.

    She helped me dig deeper into the underlying issues I hadn’t acknowledged before. I also cut ties with people I thought were my friends because I realized they didn’t genuinely care about me. Instead, I slowly started building healthier relationships.

    A big part of my journey was introspection. I started asking myself the hard questions:

    Why do I keep picking unavailable men?

    Why do I keep repeating the same toxic patterns?

    What does a healthy relationship even look like?

    It was uncomfortable, but I knew I had to figure out why I was drawn to those situations and how I could change. I wanted to understand my own behaviors and patterns so I could break free from the cycle.

    I went to therapy, tried acupuncture to help me sleep, and even explored Buddhism to find some inner peace. I attended a Methodist church, hoping to reconnect with a sense of faith and community.

    Showing up to these places on my own without the crutch of a friend or a partner was a huge step for me. I began to realize the strength in simply being present and curious on my own.

    I also started exploring concepts that would change my perspective on relationships entirely.  Someone introduced me to attachment theory and trauma bonding, and it was like a light bulb went off. Suddenly, I had names for the patterns I was trapped in.

    I learned that I was “avoidant”—someone so terrified of being truly known because deep down, I didn’t believe I had anything worthwhile to offer. Yet I kept gravitating toward people who were emotionally withdrawn, just like my father. I had to chase them for any scrap of affection or attention. Later, I discovered this was called trauma bonding, where you develop feelings and loyalty toward someone who’s treating you poorly. It was a revelation that both devastated and freed me.

    I read books by Brené Brown, went on retreats, and soaked up as much knowledge as I could. I was desperate to understand myself, so I kept asking questions, taking notes, and allowing myself to be vulnerable in safe spaces.

    One of the biggest breakthroughs came when I realized how much anger I was holding onto. I remember a conversation with my mom. I was so angry that she kept trying to fix me or give me advice when all I needed was to just be. She’d send me books on anger management, text me inspirational quotes, or tell me what she thought was best for me. Every gesture felt like another reminder that who I was wasn’t enough.

    That’s when it hit me: I didn’t just hate the advice. I was angry at myself, at my own patterns, at feeling stuck. I knew I couldn’t keep living like that, so I chose to take a two-year break from my family to sort through those emotions.

    I wanted to connect with people not out of guilt or obligation, but because I genuinely wanted to be around them.

    The shift was gradual, but I started to see progress when I could attend community events alone, like the Buddhism gatherings or church services. Those first few times, I felt terrified and hesitant, questioning whether I belonged there. But once I actually showed up, something shifted. I felt empowered in a way I’d never experienced before.

    I was finally showing up as myself, not performing or trying to be what I thought others wanted. I was vulnerable and honest about when I wasn’t okay, and that honesty was freeing.

    I came to terms with my relationship with my dad by forgiving him. I used to carry so much resentment, but I learned to see him for who he was, not who I wished he would be.

    The full forgiveness came years later when I started my own relationship coaching business. I realized that without his emotional unavailability, without all that pain he caused, I wouldn’t have been driven to dig so deeply into my own wounds. In a strange way, he helped me find my calling and ironically, he hates that I’m a relationship coach now. There’s something deeply satisfying about finally being my own person. Since I’ve learned to accept myself, I can accept and forgive him fully. Acceptance didn’t mean agreeing or condoning his behavior, but it allowed me to let go of the hurt.

    I could be around him without the weight of past pain.

    Healing didn’t mean I stopped making mistakes, but I’ve learned to choose myself, to honor my feelings without needing validation from others.

    And if you’re reading this, I want you to know: Healing is messy and nonlinear, but it’s worth it. You don’t have to perform for love.  You don’t have to prove your worth. You just have to start slowly, with the smallest act of truth.

    For me, that act of truth—what Martha Beck calls “the way to integrity” was the simple but profound realization that I didn’t have to earn love from my dad, my teachers, my bosses, or anyone else. I was worthy of love just by being me. What a relief that was.

  • We Do Not Beg or Chase

    We Do Not Beg or Chase

  • The Truth About Self-Worth: We Don’t Need to Earn It

    The Truth About Self-Worth: We Don’t Need to Earn It

    “Success isn’t about what you do; it’s about who you are. Just existing—waking up, breathing, being present—is enough.” ~Unknown

    On my third trip to the emergency room, I lay in a hospital bed, ten weeks pregnant and nine kilograms lighter. I had just vomited for the forty-seventh time that day. My body felt empty, but the nausea never stopped. An IV dripped fluids into my arm, and I didn’t swallow anything for the next five days.

    Hyperemesis—a rare and severe condition that affects about 1% of pregnancies—typically subsides by twelve weeks. For me, it lasted my entire pregnancy.

    For fifteen years, I measured my worth by what I did. If I exercised, ate well, showed up for my friends and family, and worked hard—then I could go to bed knowing I was a good person. That was my framework. My safety net.

    Now, I couldn’t do any of it. I could barely move.

    And for the first time in my life, I asked myself: Who am I if I can’t do anything at all?

    Six months of pregnancy, living in survival mode—failing to meet a single requirement on my self-made checklist for being a good person—I hated the person I had become.

    The Framework That Held Me Together (Until It Didn’t)

    For years, my sense of worth was built on a framework—one I had carefully constructed to keep myself on the right path. If I could tick off all the boxes, I could go to bed knowing I was enough. It gave me structure, a sense of control, and a way to measure whether I was living up to the person I believed I should be.

    This checklist was my identity. It was how I knew who I was and that I was good.

    At first, this framework served me well. When I left the structure of school, this checklist gave me direction.

    It kept me disciplined, motivated, and focused on self-improvement. But beneath it all, there was fear—that if I didn’t check every box, I would somehow fail at being a good person.

    The voice in my head wasn’t encouraging; it was demanding. Slowing down felt like slipping. No matter how much I did, there was always more to prove. Nothing was good enough, fast enough, or impressive enough.

    Then, when Hyperemesis stripped me down to a barely functioning shell of myself, the framework collapsed. I wasn’t showing up for anyone. I wasn’t achieving anything. And without those measures of success, I felt like I had lost myself. My identity. My sense of worth. If my worth had always been something I had to earn, what happened when I could no longer earn it?

    That’s when I realized the flaw in my system: it was built on conditional self-worth. As long as I kept up, I was safe. But the moment life forced me to stop, the framework didn’t hold me—it crushed me. Life was only going to get more complicated with kids, and I didn’t want it to feel this hard forever. More than that, I didn’t want them inheriting this checklist as a way of living.

    Rebuilding From the Bottom Up: A Shift in Perspective

    Hitting rock bottom can be an incredible gift. With nowhere lower to go, it becomes a chance to rebuild in a simpler, more aligned way—letting go of what doesn’t serve you.

    A framework can be useful—until it becomes a cage. When discipline is fueled by fear, it exhausts us. True growth doesn’t come from relentless self-monitoring, but from knowing you are already enough. It comes from showing up, doing your best, and trusting that’s enough.

    Talking things through with a psychologist, it became obvious: the checklist that once gave me security had become a restrictive system holding me back.

    I decided to trust the extensive research that shows leading with self-compassion drives success and happiness by turning setbacks into growth, reducing stress, and helping us become more present people.

    The hard part was learning to believe it—not just in my head, but in my gut. That kind of shift takes time, patience, and a steady mindfulness to gently bring yourself back when you drift.

    Doing Things Out of Joy, Not Obligation

    When I used to run, it was with a fierce determination to get to the finish. Quickly. And it was never fast enough. I didn’t use a social fitness tracker because no run I ever did was perfect enough to represent who I thought I should be.

    When I started to exercise again after surviving the pregnancy and transitioning from a place of self-judgment to self-compassion, my mind was blown.

    The voice in my head was kind and understanding and came from a place of love. When pushing for another lap, my thoughts would wander to words of encouragement. “Okay, do another lap, but stop if you need—you’ve already come so far!” I felt complete gratitude.

    The rules I had followed for years didn’t disappear; they transformed from needs to wants—and never musts.

    I still love to move my body, but I do it because I can and because I want to, not because I have to.

    I still care for the people around me, but not at the expense of myself.

    The things that once felt like obligations became absolute pleasures. And the best part? There are no repercussions if I don’t do those things. I either let it go without thought or reflect and learn from my actions. Without judgment.

    You Are Enough, Always

    Your worth isn’t something to prove—you are enough just by existing.

    It doesn’t need to take a crisis to realize this. Checklists, measuring, self-checking, the relentless need to keep up—they are never what make you worthy. Letting go of that weight doesn’t mean losing yourself; it means freeing yourself.

    Start noticing the voice in your head. Is it pushing you out of fear, or guiding you with love? Self-compassion isn’t about doing less—it’s about doing things from a place of kindness, not criticism. You can still strive, grow, and show up—but now, it’s because you want to, not because you have to. And that changes everything.

    Shift the script. You don’t have to do more. You don’t have to be more. You already are enough—always.

  • From Pain to Power: Letting Go of Approval to Love Myself

    From Pain to Power: Letting Go of Approval to Love Myself

    “If you love yourself, it doesn’t matter if other people like you because you don’t need their approval to feel good about yourself.” ~Lori Deschene

    For most of my life, I worried about what others thought. Every move I made felt like a performance for someone else. I’d built my life on their approval.

    Then came the losses. Three family members were gone in a matter of years. Each time, the grief hit like a fist to the gut.

    My mother was my pillar of strength; my father, who might not have always been there for me but was still my father, went next, and then my younger brother—a cruel fate.

    Their absence left a void that seemed impossible to fill.

    I felt hollow, like someone had punched all the air out of me. I was left winded and empty. Grief, relentless and heavy, kept knocking me down.

    I tried to keep up appearances, but inside, I was stuck. Couldn’t move. I didn’t know how.

    I remember one day after my younger brother died, I sat alone in the garden. The sun was out, but I felt nothing.

    It was close to Easter, and I had a list of commitments. Things I’d agreed to, people I had to see. Each one felt like a chain around my neck.

    I stared at my phone, anxious and tired. ‘’Where are you?” the message read. My hands were shaking. That’s when I put it down.

    It was a moment of liberation. I realized I didn’t want to do this anymore. I didn’t want to worry about what everyone else wanted.

    It was time to let go. And in that release, I found a new sense of freedom and hope.

    I picked up my phone again and texted, “Sorry, I will not make it today.” And I hit send.

    One message turned into two, then three. “I’m sorry, I won’t be coming.” The words felt strange, as if I were speaking them for the first time.

    One small act, one message, was enough to break the chains. For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe. The tightness in my chest eased.

    It was a turning point in my journey to self-acceptance.

    I didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of reclaiming my life. Just a few words and the weight started to lift.

    Grief Changes Everything

    Grief stripped away everything I thought mattered. The “should” and “have to” layers fell away like dead skin. I was left with nothing but raw, aching truth.

    I saw my life clearly for the first time. It was built on everyone else’s expectations. There was no space left for me.

    That was the most challenging part to accept. I had spent so long trying to be what everyone else wanted. And now I didn’t know who I was.

    But the losses kept coming, pushing me deeper into emptiness. Each time, it took something from me. And each time, I was forced to look harder at myself.

    I began to see a pattern. I was living for others, not for myself. It was a painful truth, but grief can uncover what’s hidden.

    The Realization

    One day, I stood in front of the mirror. The reflection, looking back, was a stranger. My face, my clothes, how I stood—it was all for someone else.

    That was the moment when I decided I needed to change. I didn’t want to live like this. I needed to stop.

    I didn’t need the approval of others. I didn’t need to be perfect for anyone but myself. It was time to break free.

    It wasn’t easy. The habit of pleasing others ran deep. But I started with small steps.

    Steps Toward Freedom

    First, I listened to my thoughts. When I found myself worrying about someone’s opinion, I stopped. “Is this helping me?” I’d ask.

    The answer was almost always no! So I let the thought go. It was redemptive.

    Slowly, the worrying and sleepless nights of being a people-pleaser lessened.

    Next, I set boundaries. The most challenging boundary was with me. I had to stop pushing past my limits, physically, emotionally, or mentally.

    I began saying no. I stopped feeling guilty for choosing myself. Setting boundaries was empowering and made me feel more in control of my life.

    It was a declaration of my needs and desires, a step toward asserting my worth.

    I distanced myself from people who drained me and people who made me question myself. It was a gradual process.

    I started by reducing the time I spent with them, and eventually, I found the courage to communicate my need for space.

    I started creating space, which allowed me to breathe and focus on my well-being.

    Slowly, I started doing what felt good: walking in the rain instead of counting steps; I just walked for pleasure.

    I stopped trying to please everyone; instead, I pleased myself.

    This focus on my desires and needs was an essential aspect of my journey to self-acceptance and self-love.

    I stopped playing host because others required it. The first Christmas after my younger brother passed away, I took a vacation with just my children, starting a tradition that centered on what worked for me. Now I only host when it feels right on my terms.

    I also stopped being the one to reach out constantly to family or friends. I realized I didn’t have to check in or hold relationships together single-handedly. Trusting that real friendships wouldn’t crumble without my constant effort was freeing.

    Each small action was a step closer to who I was. Each “no” brought me back to myself. It wasn’t a sudden transformation but a slow, steady shift.

    Healing Through Action

    There’s freedom in not needing anyone’s approval. I started to feel it in my bones. I began to laugh again.

    The weight lifted. I noticed the world again—the way the sky changes colors at dusk, the way the wind feels on my face. Life was waiting for me.

    I started to walk more—no destination, no purpose—just walking. I felt the ground under my feet, solid and real.

    The loss of my loved ones will always be there. But it doesn’t define me anymore. It’s part of the story, not the whole of it.

    Moving Forward

    If you’re stuck seeking approval, start small—one step at a time. You don’t have to change everything at once.

    Ask yourself: What do I want today? Just for today, choose that. It’s enough.

    Reflect on the moments when you felt trapped—times when you felt overwhelmed by external pressures and were trying to meet everyone’s expectations; when you sacrificed your own needs and desires to please others; or when you found yourself constantly worrying about the opinions of others. By reflecting on these moments, you can identify what has been holding you back and take the first step toward living authentically.

    Self-reflection is a crucial part of the journey to self-love and self-acceptance. It’s a mirror that allows you to see yourself more clearly, understand your wants and needs, and be free to fulfill them.

    It takes time to break free. The habits run deep. But each small step chips away at the chains.

    Embracing Self-Acceptance

    Self-acceptance wasn’t easy. It felt foreign, like trying on clothes that didn’t fit. But little by little, I got used to it.

    I stopped chasing what others thought was beautiful. I looked at my imperfections and decided they were mine. The quirks became markers of who I was.

    Writing helped. It was messy and unfiltered, but it was real.

    I saw my patterns. The way I bent over backward to fit in. The way I swallowed my voice to keep others happy.

    So, I began taking small actions. For instance, I started embracing my uniqueness by wearing clothes that made me smile (like a short mini skirt!).

    I spent more time with people who supported me. The ones who made me feel seen. Their encouragement helped me believe that I didn’t have to change to be worthy.

    The Healing Process

    Of course, there were setbacks. Days when I slipped back into old habits. But each time, I chose to keep moving forward.

    It’s not a straight path. There are twists and turns. But each small step makes you stronger.

    There’s freedom in not needing anyone else’s approval. I started to feel it grow. I felt lighter, unburdened.

    Conclusion

    Grief changed everything. But through it, I found strength. I found my worth buried beneath all the noise.

    You don’t need anyone’s approval to feel good about who you are. The only person who can define your worth is you.

    So ask yourself today: Who’s writing my story?

    If the answer isn’t you, it’s time to take the pen back.

  • Silent Storms: How Mindfulness Helped Me Reclaim My Self-Worth

    Silent Storms: How Mindfulness Helped Me Reclaim My Self-Worth

    “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” ~Jon Kabat-Zinn

    We often hear about storms as powerful forces of nature, but for many of us, the most intense storms are the silent ones—those we battle internally. For me, this storm took the shape of bullying. While I appeared to handle the daily microaggressions and malicious rumors, inside, I was crumbling.

    The bullying didn’t stop in high school; it followed me into adulthood. Every time I thought I had weathered the storm, another wave of hurtful comments would crash over me, leaving me feeling trapped and powerless.

    The constant gossip, whispers, and passive-aggressive remarks from others chipped away at my self-worth. I questioned my value, wondering if I deserved the treatment. Was there something inherently wrong with me? Why was I the target of this relentless negativity? These thoughts haunted me for years, leading to a vicious cycle of self-doubt, anxiety, and fear of being judged.

    At one point, the weight of all these feelings became too much to bear, and I sought counseling. It was in therapy that I first learned about mindfulness, a practice that would transform my life.

    Mindfulness helped me confront the storm I had been carrying inside for years—the shame, hurt, and loss of self-worth brought on by years of bullying and mistreatment. Here’s how this practice helped me heal and reclaim my self-worth, and how you, too, can apply it to your life if you’ve experienced bullying, mistreatment, or any form of emotional harm.

    How Bullying and Mistreatment Lead to Low Self-Worth

    Bullying and mistreatment don’t just hurt in the moment—they can have a lasting effect on how we see ourselves for years.

    Whether it’s gossip, exclusion, or direct harassment, these experiences erode our self-worth. We begin to question our value, internalizing the cruel words and actions of others. Over time, we might start to believe that we deserve the mistreatment, or that there’s something wrong with us.

    This low self-worth can affect every aspect of our lives, from our relationships to our careers. We might shy away from opportunities, convinced that we’re not good enough. We might struggle to form meaningful connections, believing that we’re unlovable. The effects of mistreatment run deep, but they don’t have to define us.

    Mindfulness, self-compassion, and community support can help us rebuild our sense of self. By acknowledging our pain, letting go of what we can’t control, and surrounding ourselves with people who lift us up, we can reclaim our self-worth and begin to see ourselves as deserving of love, respect, and kindness.

    Acknowledge Your Pain and Validate Your Emotions

    For years, I hid behind a mask of indifference. I convinced myself that the bullying didn’t affect me. I didn’t want to give my bullies the satisfaction of knowing they had hurt me. But in reality, each cruel word, each whisper, left a mark on my self-worth. The more I bottled up my emotions, the more they festered, eroding my sense of self.

    The first step in my healing journey was acknowledging the pain and allowing myself to feel it. Through mindfulness, I learned that running from my emotions only gave them more power over me. Instead, I had to sit with them—feel the sadness, frustration, anger, and betrayal. I had to give myself permission to grieve the parts of myself I had lost to bullying. Only then could I begin to heal.

    Tip: If you’re struggling with emotions from past mistreatment, take a moment each day to ask yourself, “What am I feeling right now?” Don’t judge yourself for feeling anger, sadness, or resentment—acknowledge these emotions and sit with them. By allowing yourself to feel, you can begin the process of healing.

    Use Mindful Breathing to Regain Control

    There were countless moments where the weight of gossip and harsh comments felt suffocating. I often felt powerless, lost in a spiral of negative thoughts. Every time I walked into a room, I felt like everyone was judging me, like they had already formed opinions about me based on lies. I didn’t know how to cope with the overwhelming feelings of shame and fear.

    Mindful breathing became my anchor—a simple yet profound technique that helped me center myself in these overwhelming situations. Instead of allowing my mind to spiral, I learned to focus on my breath. It was the one thing I could control, even when I couldn’t control the rumors or the people spreading them. In those moments, mindfulness gave me back a sense of power and control over my emotional state.

    Tip: The next time anxiety or fear begins to take hold, focus on your breath. Inhale deeply, paying attention to the air entering and leaving your body. This simple practice can bring you back to the present moment, offering a sense of calm and control when you need it most.

    Build Self-Compassion to Heal the Hurt

    For a long time, I let the words of others dictate how I saw myself. I internalized the bullying, believing that if so many people thought poorly of me, it must be true. I criticized myself relentlessly, convinced that I was not good enough, smart enough, or likable enough. The words of others had become the lens through which I viewed myself.

    Mindfulness taught me the importance of self-compassion. I realized that I was treating myself far worse than I would treat a friend in need. Through this practice, I learned to be kinder to myself—to approach myself with the same care and empathy I would offer someone else who was struggling. Slowly, I began to rebuild my self-worth, not based on what others thought of me but on how I chose to treat myself.

    Tip: Each day, write down three things you appreciate about yourself. Whether it’s a strength, a skill, or even just how you made it through a tough moment, these small affirmations can help rebuild your confidence. Self-compassion is a powerful defense against negativity, reminding you that you are deserving of kindness—especially from yourself.

    Practice Letting Go of What You Can’t Control

    One of the hardest lessons I had to learn was that I couldn’t control how others perceived me. I spent years trying to defend myself against rumors, trying to correct false assumptions people had about me. The more I tried to control the narrative, the more exhausted and frustrated I became. I realized that no matter what I did, some people would always see me in a negative light—and that wasn’t my responsibility to fix.

    Mindfulness taught me that while I couldn’t control the rumors, I could control my response to them. I learned to let go of the need to be liked or understood by everyone. Instead, I focused on how I saw myself and how I wanted to show up in the world. Letting go of what I couldn’t control was liberating—it allowed me to focus on what truly mattered: my own peace of mind and self-worth.

    Tip: Visualize the hurtful words—or, in my case, the hurtful people—as leaves gently floating down a stream. Observe them as they pass by, acknowledge their presence, but resist the urge to hold onto them. This practice allows you to create emotional space and frees you from being weighed down by things beyond your control.

    Find Strength in Community

    Healing doesn’t happen in isolation. While mindfulness was essential in my recovery, finding support from others played a significant role too. For years, I had isolated myself, afraid that opening up would make me vulnerable to more judgment. But through counseling and support groups, I realized that sharing my experiences with others who understood helped lift the weight I had been carrying.

    Opening up to trusted friends, seeking professional help, and connecting with a community of people who understood what I was going through helped me regain my voice. It allowed me to shift the narrative that had been imposed on me, to reclaim my story, and to see myself not as a victim of bullying but as someone who had the strength to heal.

    Tip: Don’t hesitate to seek help from others, whether through counseling, support groups, or mindfulness communities. Finding a group where people understand what you’re going through can provide both personal growth and emotional support, reminding you that you’re not alone.

    Mindfulness Is a Lifelong Practice

    Healing from mistreatment and reclaiming your self-worth is not an overnight process—it takes time. For me, mindfulness became the foundation of my recovery, and it’s something I continue to practice daily. By integrating mindfulness into my routine, I learned to navigate emotional challenges with grace and resilience.

    Tip: Start small. Whether it’s taking a few moments of mindful breathing or journaling your emotions, every step helps you regain control. Remember, you are stronger than the words that hurt you. With mindfulness, self-compassion, and a supportive community, you can reclaim your self-worth—one step at a time.

  • 6 Mindset Shifts to Overcome the Need for External Validation

    6 Mindset Shifts to Overcome the Need for External Validation

    “Relying on external validation to understand your worth is not sustainable. If you depend on people to build you up, you also give them the same power to break you down. You are worthy regardless of their opinion.” ~Unknown

    In my heart of hearts, I knew I wasn’t supposed to rely on others for validation. Yet, for the longest time, I found myself seeking external approval to define my worth.

    I was constantly seeking reassurance from friends, family, and even strangers. Their validation became the measure of my self-esteem, leaving me trapped in a cycle of doubt and insecurity.

    I had several achievements under my belt, yet the accolades and praise never felt quite enough. The need for external validation consumed me, overshadowing my own sense of accomplishment and robbing me of genuine pride in my achievements.

    It seemed like I had the best job and everyone admired my success. Despite the external validation pouring in, there was an emptiness within me, a hollowness that reminded me I was seeking validation in all the wrong places.

    I had a nagging feeling that something was amiss.

    But was it the right thing? Is doing anything in life out of a desperate need for validation truly fulfilling?

    Interestingly enough, not only did I know I didn’t want to rely on external validation, but deep down, I also knew that those who constantly sought validation were often less fulfilled.

    I was one of those individuals who would sacrifice their own desires to gain the approval and validation of others. It became clear that this dependence on external validation was holding me back from true self-acceptance and happiness.

    So why did I continue down this path? Why did I keep seeking validation from others when I knew deep down it wasn’t serving me? And most importantly, how can one overcome this toxic need?

    Before I get to the mindsets required to overcome the need for external validation, let’s talk about the mindsets that will almost certainly lead to a dependence on external validation.

    See, it’s often better to figure out what to avoid first instead of trying to navigate through a maze blindly. I know, because these are all mistakes I’ve made myself.

    Mindsets That Lead to a Dependence on External Validation

    1. The Pursuit of Perfection

    For the longest time, I couldn’t escape the allure of perfection. I always had to strive for flawlessness, believing it was the key to validation. But the truth is that perfection is an illusion. It sets an unrealistic standard and creates an insatiable need for external validation.

    We develop a flawless mindset because we’re driven by the fear of being judged or rejected. However, it hinders self-acceptance and prevents us from embracing our authentic selves.

    2. Fear of Failure 

    Fearing failure is closely linked with seeking external validation. That’s the trap we fall into—we perceive failure as a reflection of our worthiness. We think that just because we’ve stumbled, we are somehow lesser. We don’t recognize that we can learn and grow from failure because we’re too afraid of what other people will think.

    3. Comparison Trap

    Seeking validation in comparison leads to a never-ending cycle of frustration. For me, it was having an incessant need to be better than others. For others, it’s simply being acknowledged as equal. Some might siphon validation through getting more social media likes or job promotions than their peers. Whenever we seek validation through comparisons, it tends to be a trap.

    4. Seeking Approval from Everyone

    Even though I didn’t always love being a people-pleaser, seeking approval from everyone and sacrificing my own needs and desires became ingrained in my identity. Then, when the realization hit, I found myself having to build a new life based on my own values and aspirations. Had I established an identity of wholeness rather than seeking universal approval, I wouldn’t have fallen into the trap of constantly trying to please everyone.

    5. External Validation as a Measure of Self-Worth 

    You should get that promotion, those accolades, and the approval of others. Living on external validation is the only way to measure your self-worth, right? You should have a constant stream of praise to feel good about yourself.

    But you shouldn’t. You know the tropes, but here’s the truth: External validation can never truly define your worth. And you’re the only one who can recognize and embrace your inherent value beyond others’ opinions.

    6. Neglecting Inner Reflection

    I was caught up in seeking external validation for so long because I didn’t know who I was. But in the wake of countless disappointments, I completely gave up on that approach.

    For months, I quit searching for approval and turned inward. I got more and more in touch with my values, my passions, and my true self. It’s only through putting ourselves first and nurturing self-awareness that we can cultivate a strong foundation of self-validation.

    So, what mindset can help you overcome the need for external validation?

    I can’t give you any definitive answers because I don’t know you. I’m not a psychology or mental health expert. I’m just a guy who’s tried, failed, lived, failed, and done it all over again.

    So, just like I’ve given you insights about what not to do based on my personal experience, I’m going to give you some insights based on the way I’m living my life now.

    1. Embracing Imperfections

    Every experience I have now is an opportunity for growth. I do my best not to strive for perfection but rather to embrace imperfections as part of being human. I don’t feel sour about my flaws; instead, I see them as stepping stones to becoming a better version of myself.

    I try to look at outcomes as lessons rather than measures of my worth. Instead of using external validation as a benchmark, I’ve become more focused on self-acceptance and personal growth.

    You can’t experience true growth without embracing imperfections. They operate on different ends of the same spectrum and wavelength, shaping us into resilient individuals. If you try to avoid imperfections, you deny yourself the opportunity to learn, evolve, and ultimately become your authentic self.

    2. Self-Defined Success

    This doesn’t mean I don’t care about the opinions of others; I do. But I’m not going to construct an identity around their validation. I’m focused on living a life that aligns with my values and aspirations.

    I’m more than welcome to let people into that experience, and of course, their support and encouragement are valuable. But I’m no longer going to chase external validation or base my self-worth on it. And I’m not going to analyze every comment or reaction as though they’re saying something about who I am. The goal is to be true to myself, define my own success, and find fulfillment from within.

    3. Authenticity and Vulnerability

    I feel no pressure to present a curated version of myself for validation. I could easily mold my image to fit societal expectations, but it just doesn’t matter. I don’t go on a quest for likes and approval. I just do me, unapologetically.

    This isn’t just a mindset I’m using for personal gain; it’s about living authentically. I’m now embracing authenticity and vulnerability as strengths and prioritizing self-expression over seeking validation from others. It’s a path of courage, growth, meaningful connections, resilience, and living with integrity.

    4. Internal Validation Practice

    I learned how to validate myself—who I am, what I enjoy, and my values—because I realized that seeking validation from others was an endless pursuit, and I could never control how others perceived me. I also took time to acknowledge and celebrate my own accomplishments. I took the approach that everything in my life, both big and small, deserved recognition.

    Moving forward, my attitude shifted toward self-appreciation and recognizing my worthiness independent of external validation. This is a never-ending process, but it’s also the most useful process for self-empowerment, self-compassion, intrinsic motivation, balanced self-perception, and authentic self-acceptance.

    5. Constructive Self-Talk

    I’ve had moments of insincerity when I’ve portrayed a persona that doesn’t align with my true self, leading to a feeling of dissonance and self-deception. I’ve also spent a lot of time criticizing myself, doubting my worth and capabilities, without realizing I was viewing myself through a distorted lens.

    Moving forward, I’ve decided I’m going to be honest about who I am. No more pretending to be someone I’m not. And I’ll no longer lie to myself about my worth.

    That’s the hardest part: replacing self-criticism with self-compassion and encouragement. However, fostering a mindset of positive and constructive self-talk is essential for nurturing self-esteem and self-acceptance.

    6. Embracing Supportive Relationships

    The irony is that we often hide who we really are so other people will validate our worth—but how can they if they don’t truly know us? We might also try hard to seek validation from people who are unable or unwilling to give it.

    None of us can do life alone. But instead of changing to please others or fighting for approval from the wrong people, we all need to surround ourselves with supportive and uplifting individuals who value and appreciate us for who we are.

    —

    So, what should you do with these pieces of advice?

    I suggest you analyze them. Discard the ones that don’t resonate with you and keep the ones that do.

    The important thing is that you see what mindsets are guiding your life and release the ones that aren’t serving you so you can be free and present, not controlled by other people’s opinions and the endless pursuit of validation.

  • Feeling Depleted? How to Overcome Your Internal Barriers to Resting

    Feeling Depleted? How to Overcome Your Internal Barriers to Resting

    “Rest is not necessarily a cessation of all activity but a means of going inward, going deeper. Rest is what allows us to go beneath the surface, if we make the time for it. Rest gives us the gift of perspective, and rest invites us into new ways of being and showing up in the world.” ~Ashely Neese

    I was probably about sixteen when my dad and I were driving down Main Street in our small town at about 1 or 2 o’clock in the afternoon.

    As my dad looked out the passenger seat window, he noticed a man out on an afternoon run. For most people, this wouldn’t be a topic to even give another thought to; however, to my dad, this was unimaginable.

    He turned, looked at me, and said, “What in the world do you think he’s doing?”

    My dad couldn’t comprehend that someone might be out midday enjoying themselves, doing something other than working.

    I’ve thought a lot about that day since, because it was the moment when I began to recognize where my view of rest, productivity, and my personal worth collided.

    All my father has ever known is work. This past year, he has suffered multiple heart attacks, and yet he still scoffs at the idea of rest.

    Work was where my dad learned early on to escape from his dysfunctional upbringing. Work was where he could hide from my mother’s constant nagging.

    Work was where my father felt he was enough.

    Growing up in this environment, work, productivity, and striving became deeply embedded in my nervous system. Productivity and proving myself were how I felt appreciated, seen, enough, and worthy.

    I never consciously thought about these things or said them out loud, but they showed up in subtle ways, like in my relationship with time. I never believed there was enough time, which caused me to feel behind, rushed, and internally chaotic.

    Until the past couple of years, I never knew what it was like to not live in urgency mode. I was trapped in a familiar anxious nervous system, which robbed me of the rest and renewal that my body desperately craved.

    Living in survival mode kept me rushing, busy, and frenetic, avoiding the deeper work that was required for me to slow down and create the space that I craved.

    My conditioning led me to believe:

    • If I wasn’t productive, I wasn’t worthy.
    • If I wasn’t producing, I was lazy.
    • If I wasn’t hustling, I would fall behind.

    These are what I call my COWs. My CONDITIONS OF WORTH.  

    It was as if I was codependent with the outside world, believing that everyone outside of me depended on me, and if I didn’t follow through and perform, please, and be productive, I wasn’t ‘good.’ All of this combined kept my nervous system heightened, causing me to live in a state of urgency. And urgency makes it impossible to rest.

    Between fried adrenals, constant anxiety, and extreme fatigue, I eventually had to succumb to the idea that rest might be the medicine I needed. I’ve worked with a lot of extraordinary modalities through my healing journey, but rest was a topic I had always resisted.

    I believed that rest was wrong, and in order to be good, I had to keep pushing and proving and make something of myself. Rest felt disobedient. Slowing down and becoming still brought up too much discomfort, so even though rest was the medicine I needed, I resisted.

    Maybe this resonates with you too. You know deep down that you need to rest, but the messaging you’ve received along the way is that rest will render you useless. With this belief system driving our lives, of course we resist rest. We are taught from early on to value speed, productivity, career, money, material things, competition, and financial success.

    Slowing down and noticing my COWs was life-changing for me, especially when it came to rest.

    Your COWs may sound a bit like this:

    • I don’t have time to rest.
    • It’s selfish to prioritize resting.
    • Rest has to look a certain way.
    • In order to rest, I have to get x, y, and z done first.
    • I am not good at resting.
    • I’ll rest once everything is checked off my to-do list.
    • I don’t have the support I need.
    • I will start resting tomorrow.
    • My mind is too active; I’m easily distracted.
    • I have too many urgent things to do.
    • My family and career depend on me; it’s just not possible for me to rest.

    Maybe your COWs are listed here, or maybe they sound like something different, but it’s worth giving your COWs (also called limiting beliefs) some thought.

    Ask yourself: What was I taught about rest? What do I believe about rest? Who, if anyone, modeled or practiced self-care or rest for me? What message did I receive about the worth of rest?

    While our COWs might seem ‘bad’ for us and things to be eradicated, I invite you to consider that COWs can be a portal to know ourselves better and heal.

    Bringing our COWs to the surface gives us a choice about how we are going to heal them and work through them. When we’re unaware of our COWs, the choices we make around rest are restricted to whatever our beliefs allow, making it challenging to rest.

    Examining our COWs around rest leads us to deep inquiry so that we can empower ourselves to slowly choose a better rhythm for our lives.

    We are a culture that is tired to the bone. Rest offers us a restorative healing balm for anxiety, exhaustion, overexertion, and illness. Rest is a potent medicine, as essential to the body as water. When we’re dehydrated, we’re miserable. And we feel the same when we are unrested.

    Urgency does not have to be our baseline. We can choose differently. We can untangle ourselves from the faulty programming of our culture, systems, and upbringings when it comes to rest. We can learn to slow down. We can learn to embody presence and ease. We can learn to rest.

    Rest still doesn’t come easily for me. At times, I fight it, wanting to get more done at a faster pace. That old, familiar rush of adrenaline feels familiar to my system, and yet deep in my bones, I know that urgency isn’t sustainable. Urgency is coming from a part of me that longs to be seen as worthy, good, loved, and enough.

    Softness, slowness, groundedness, and presence are the gifts that rest offers me. Life happens fast enough as it is, and when I’m unrested, I miss so much.

    My invitation is to begin exploring your relationship with rest. While it might seem simple or not worthwhile, I promise, it is some of the deepest and most rewarding work you will ever do.

  • How to Boost Your Self-Esteem: 6 Tips to Like Yourself More

    How to Boost Your Self-Esteem: 6 Tips to Like Yourself More

    “You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” ~Buddha

    I have, as I believe many of us do, grappled with the thorny issues of self-esteem for much of my life. But it was only when I became terribly unwell with an autoimmune disease six years ago that I began to see how much low self-esteem was affecting my day-to-day life and my health.

    I started to see how focusing on external validation and bending and folding, putting the needs of others ahead of mine, like a reed being dragged back and forth by the currents of a river, was a damaging way to live.

    As I began to heal, I could see how not really valuing or trusting myself was filtering into almost every aspect of my life. I began to understand how even the little decisions that said “yes” or “no” to my true self were affecting my health and happiness.

    I didn’t really know what I liked or didn’t like, who I was, or what I wanted from life. Well, at that point, I mostly wanted to be well, but I knew that emotional work was an important component of that. I also knew that developing greater self-worth would be key to my healing.

    I began reflecting on what I value and enjoy. I began listening to messages from my body and from my intuition. I started to ask myself questions like, “Am I people-pleasing from a place of low self-esteem, or is my true self saying yes in all its honesty and wisdom?” and “Am I bending to please or placate someone else’s wishes just to accommodate them, to the detriment of my health and happiness?” I began to believe in myself and to recognize the value I add to this world.

    Having high self-worth or self-esteem can be one of the most transformational and wonderful things for your happiness, health, and success, but how do we get from not holding ourselves in high regard to having high levels of love and esteem for ourselves?

    Self-esteem is the way we value and see ourselves. It is our assessment of our overall worth or value. It is how much we like ourselves. It is something that forms over time, but, along with the rest of our subconscious beliefs, it is mostly formed at a young age.

    Many of us suffer from low self-esteem, but it is totally possible to change and reframe our limiting beliefs.

    “Low self-esteem is like driving through life with your handbrake on.” ~Maxwell Maltz

    Having low self-esteem can really hold us back from living a full and happy life. We might feel anxious and awkward around others because we feel unlovable or paralyzed by low self-esteem, unable to move forward and succeed in life because we don’t feel we’re worthy.

    Low self-esteem often leads to high levels of self-criticism and ideas of not being good enough. It’s a feeling of generally thinking negatively about yourself and your life.

    It may stem from things like bullying or abuse, mental or physical illness, stress, work, or relationship problems. It can often begin in childhood and develop over the years.

    Low self-esteem can manifest in numerous ways, such as:

    • people-pleasing
    • being indecisive
    • not having positive relationships
    • getting angry or irritated easily
    • regularly feeling overwhelming sadness
    • Having difficulty creating boundaries
    • holding a pessimistic outlook on life
    • doubting your capabilities and capacity for success

    The great news, however, is that developing love for yourself and creating a happier, more successful life is totally possible. Here’s how.

    1. Work on developing self-compassion.

    I can be hard on myself at times—much harder on myself than on others. Nurturing self-compassion has helped me soften toward myself and, in doing so, view myself with a kinder lens.

    Kristen Neff explains, “Tender self-compassion is the capacity that allows us to be with ourselves just as we are—comforting and reassuring ourselves that we aren’t alone, as well as validating our pain. It has the gentle, nurturing quality of a mother toward a newborn child.”

    A useful technique for being kinder to yourself is to think about how you might respond to a good friend or a young child if they were beating themselves up about something. Just noticing how differently we speak to ourselves and beginning to adjust that to something kinder and gentler is an excellent way to start building compassion toward ourselves.

    Loving-kindness meditations have been very helpful for me in cultivating self-compassion. Incorporating one into your routine is an excellent way to develop self-compassion as a tangible practice.

    2. Set goals, and don’t break your promises to yourself.

    Building trust in yourself and your capabilities is an important part of developing self-worth. However, be careful not to allow goal-setting to be just another stick to beat yourself with.

    I live with a chronic illness, so setting goals can be challenging. My health can often dictate what I can achieve, so I have to be gentle in my approach to this. I keep my intentions reasonable, realistic, and compassionate. That means if I have a setback with my health, I don’t end up feeling bad for not keeping my promises to myself.

    Showing up for yourself and not letting yourself down tells your subconscious that you’re worth it. As long as you remain flexible and kind to yourself, setting small goals and then reveling in your accomplishments can begin to change the narrative you might have created around your abilities and not being good enough. Set realistic goals so you don’t set yourself up for failure, and build up over time as you develop your confidence and self-worth.

    If, like me, you have health woes, perhaps one of your goals might be to make sure you do a gentle yoga flow that you know helps with your pain. Or maybe even something as simple as making sure you spend ten minutes outside first thing in the morning so you get some sunlight and fresh air. The crucial thing is to show up for yourself and let your subconscious know that you matter.

    Or, if you are terrified of speaking up in meetings at work, set yourself a goal to say something once in the coming week. This small goal will feel more manageable than committing to speaking up in every meeting, and you’re more likely to achieve it, thereby swerving the shame spiral and negative self-talk trap. When you do speak up, really celebrate it!

    3. Take stock of your achievements.

    Make a list of things you’re good at. Start with small things like: good at being kind, funny, on time, tidy, whatever it may be. Come up with as many as you can, but ten is a good goal. Just writing this list will boost your confidence and shift you out of negative thought patterns.

    Then think about things you’ve achieved over your life—things like excelling in a sport or learning to cook or play an instrument.

    Next, consider what you’ve achieved at school, university, or work. Chances are, you excelled somewhere along the way, but you’ve told yourself a story to the contrary. It’s time to rewrite that story. Really revel in those successes. Maybe you could even write some words of praise next to each one. Go on, give yourself a gold star—you know you want to!

    I have an evening journaling practice, and sometimes, especially at times when I’m feeling a little down on myself, I write three things I did well that day. This always helps boost my mood and affects how I feel about myself.

    4. Accept compliments.

    I don’t know how many times I’ve deflected a compliment I’ve received: “You look nice today.” “Ugh, no, my hair’s awful” or some other such brush-off.

    I’ve started making a conscious effort to simply say, “Thanks very much” when someone pays me a compliment. I can’t say I feel totally at ease with it all the time, but it’s a warmer experience of receiving appreciation. I think it probably feels nicer for the person bestowing their kind words too.

    When we don’t feel good about ourselves, accepting a compliment can feel really awkward because we just can’t imagine how it’s true. It’s also considered culturally polite to modestly negate or refute a compliment, so it almost feels like a natural reflex to bat it away quickly and move on. But doing this keeps you in low self-worth and maintains the narrative of negativity you spin for yourself.

    The next time someone pays you a compliment, I invite you to just say, “Thanks so much” or “How nice of you to say.” The more you practice responding in this way, the more you will start to elevate your thoughts and feelings about yourself and develop higher self-esteem.

    5. Practice self-care.

    Looking after yourself is such an act of love. Consistently putting yourself and your needs first tells your brain that you’re worth it. Putting yourself first does not make you selfish. It actually enables you to give more fully to the people and things in your life that matter. It really is true that you can’t pour from an empty cup.

    Self-care absolutely looks like meditation, yoga, etc., but it also looks like getting enough sleep, eating well, moving your body, getting out in nature, and doing things you enjoy.

    Add it to your plan for the week. Build it into your calendar because it’s just as important as the meetings or whatever else you have filling up your week (more so, IMO!). Self-care is a way to keep showing up for yourself, showing yourself that you are worthy of care and love, which will raise your self-esteem to no end.

    One of my favorite self-care practices is to light a load of candles and incense, get some relaxing music on, and read a book. It makes me feel cozy and comforted and relaxes me. It can be all manner of things—whatever helps you show yourself the love you deserve.

    6. Try positive affirmations.

    Affirmations are a wonderful tool to help improve your self-esteem, but they need to be done right. Until I learned more about how affirmations work, they felt a bit meaningless to me.

    For them to work, our subconscious mind needs to accept them as true.

    If you have low self-worth, for example, chances are you won’t just immediately believe, at a subconscious level, the affirmation “I am worthy of love.” Once your self-esteem is a little higher, affirmations like that will work well, but when you’re coming from a place of low self-worth, your critical faculty won’t let “I am” affirmations pass go.

    While you’re developing your self-esteem, try using affirmations like “I am learning to feel worthy of love” or “Every day, in every way, I am learning to show myself the love and respect I deserve.”

    Affirmations like these feel much more credible to your belief system. Over time, they will help rewire your subconscious and, in doing so, help you raise your self-esteem.

    —

    I know firsthand that raising self-worth can be a slow and bumpy road, but it’s a journey well worth taking. Self-esteem is a crucial aspect of having positive relationships with yourself and others.

    By being gentle with yourself, accepting loving words from others, focusing on your achievements and skills, continually showing up for and looking after yourself, and reprogramming your subconscious mind, you can make a huge difference to your levels of happiness and success in life.

    A better relationship with yourself is the first step toward creating better relationships with those around you, and, if you ask me, loving, joyful relationships are what life is all about. As RuPaul says, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?”

  • Tiny Buddha’s Self-Care Course: Buy One, Give One Sale!

    Tiny Buddha’s Self-Care Course: Buy One, Give One Sale!

    As we get older, we tend to get clearer on what matters most to us in life. For me, it’s self-care and relationships. If you share my top values, you’re in luck, because today’s special offer honors both of those things!

    In my experience, self-care and relationships have been deeply intertwined—because I’ve found that deep-level self-care reinforces my worth, which enables me to attract and hold onto healthy relationships. Which then inspires me to continue taking good care of myself so I can give the best of myself to the people I love (without losing myself in the process).

    This isn’t easy or instinctive for a lot of us. Many of us were wired young to disregard our own needs and feelings, perhaps because they were too uncomfortable or inconvenient for the people around us. We then formed beliefs about what we deserve based on those experiences.

    Left unchecked, these kinds of beliefs can guide us to choices that don’t really serve us in all areas of our lives.

    In my twenties, that meant living in a seedy single-room occupancy building in Times Square. And only forming ‘friendships’ with people who wanted to get drunk and stoned together. And only ‘dating’ men who were interested in being friends with benefits, while treating me with much less respect than one would expect from a genuine friend.

    It didn’t occur to me until much later in life that I cared for myself so poorly because I cared for myself so little. It also didn’t occur to me that I could completely change my life by getting to the root of why.

    Why I’d turned to bulimia as a kid. And substances later. And unhealthy relationships pretty much all my life. Why I sabotaged myself when it came to money. Why I was always trying to prove I was a good person. Why I always worried people would figure out I wasn’t.

    Over the last two decades, I’ve made tremendous progress on all these things, and I’ve seen a ripple effect in my health, my work, and my relationships.

    I want the same kind of growth and healing for all of us—both because I believe this is how we can all carve out a little happiness in this world, and because I believe the world would be a better place if more people did this work.

    This is why I created my new eCourse Breaking Barriers to Self-Care: to help us all identify and overcome our self-sabotaging beliefs and habits so we can meet our deepest needs and thrive.

    Maybe you can relate to my story of self-destruction and self-sabotage. Or maybe you haven’t struggled with low self-worth to this extent, but you’re tired of feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, and unfulfilled from doing and giving too much. Either way, I believe this course can help you create meaningful change, from the inside out.

    NOW ONTO THE SPECIAL OFFER

    From today through midnight PST, on Monday, May 6th, I’m running a buy one, give one sale. That means that when you sign up for the course, you’ll also be able to extend free access to someone in your life who you think would also benefit.

    And if you’re in the US and one of the first 25 people to sign up during the sale, I’ll send BOTH of you a free print copy of my book Tiny Buddha’s Guide to Loving Yourself.

    All you have to do is register here and forward your purchase confirmation email, along with your address if you’re in the US, to email@tinybuddha.com. I will then send you a promo code that will work only once for your loved one, and mail both books to you.

    If you’re ready to honor, value, and prioritize yourself in all choices going forward, click here to sign up an get instant access to the course.

  • 8 Ways Life Improves When You Value and Prioritize Yourself

    8 Ways Life Improves When You Value and Prioritize Yourself

    “Every day, the world will drag you by the hand, yelling, ‘This is important! And this is important! And this is important! You need to worry about this! And this! And this!’ And each day, it’s up to you to yank your hand back, put it on your heart, and say, ‘No. This is what’s important.’” ~Iain Thomas

    As someone who believes in the healing power of self-care, I absolutely love this quote. But I didn’t always believe it was true. And it didn’t feel good to do it.

    My heart was too tender to be touched for long. And for years, it seemed to be empty. I didn’t feel pleasure. I didn’t feel passion. I didn’t feel love or hope or joy. I just felt numb from years of pain followed by years of suppressing my emotions with alcohol, food, and other anesthetics. And my feelings and needs didn’t feel important to me because I didn’t believe I was important.

    I suspect a lot of people are living some variation of this story, even if they’re not consciously aware of it. Because none of us get through our childhoods unscathed. And many of us go into adulthood with mounds of unresolved trauma, resultant low self-worth, and an arsenal of unhealthy coping mechanisms to keep the pain at bay.

    We don’t prioritize the things that we need to thrive because we’re too busy surviving.

    It would be easy to blame the world for dragging us by the hand, because it does—oh, how it does. There are bills to be paid, and requests to be honored, and all the million little things we feel we need to do and figure out before we can finally take a break and breathe.

    But we also drag ourselves all around, trying to do it all and be everything to everyone, because it’s easier than facing ourselves. It’s easier than facing our deepest pains.

    And it’s easier than acknowledging the truth—which would set us free if we could only admit and address it: We simply don’t value ourselves enough to prioritize ourselves.

    Maybe because we blame ourselves for pain from the past. Or because we don’t think we’ve accomplished enough to earn kindness and care. Or maybe because we’ve learned that good people put everyone else first, and we desperately want to be good people—loveable people. All were true for me.

    But I think that’s the point of the quote. That our most important work is to heal the wounds that cause us to devalue ourselves so we can then prioritize ourselves enough to figure out what we need to do to feel and be our best.

    For years I tried to make my life better, starting by making myself better, but nothing changed until I believed I deserved better.

    When you believe you deserve better, you commit to creating it, and you keep going when it’s hard because you know you’re worth it. And oh, how life expands when you do.

    When you start valuing and prioritizing yourself…

    1. You’ll start feeling calmer, more energized, and more fulfilled because you’ll be meeting more of your needs.

    The hardest thing about being the kind of person who puts everyone else first is that you never feel like you’re doing enough, even when you’re giving all you have. So you not only try to do everything you can for everyone else, but you also try to make them all comfortable and happy—which is impossible, so you generally feel neither.

    When you make yourself a top priority, you’ll figure out what you need to feel comfortable and happy first. And you’ll give yourself permission to do those things without carrying the weight of everyone else’s feelings and problems, as if it’s your responsibility to fix them.

    Then, instead of trying to fill your tank with quick-burning fuel of approval, you’ll fill it with the kind of things that truly nourish you, which, for me, includes movement, creativity, and time in nature.

    2. You’ll experience the joy of growing and exploring new possibilities as you invest in yourself and your potential instead of spending money on distractions that leave you feeling empty.

    When you decide that your top priority is to take care of yourself and your needs, you’ll feel more confident about investing in yourself—whether that means undergoing training for a more rewarding career or going to therapy to start healing from your trauma.

    Instead of spending your money on Band-Aids that barely cover your pain and overall life dissatisfaction, you’ll devote your time, energy, and resources to addressing those things so that you no longer feel the need to numb yourself.

    3. You’ll prioritize healing and feel more at peace with yourself, your past, and others as a result.

    As you work on healing from pains from the past, you’ll find it easier to forgive the people who hurt you. And because you value and want to honor yourself, you’ll recognize this doesn’t have to mean allowing them back into your life. It can simply mean releasing your anger and resentment toward them—which is a lot easier to do when they no longer have access to continually hurt you.

    Healing will also allow you to see your past through an entirely different lens, with a deeper understanding of who and what shaped you and more empathy toward the little version of you who always did their best and has always been deserving of love and respect.

    4. You’ll feel proud of yourself instead of ashamed because, through healing, you’ll be able to forgive yourself for things you could have done better and focus on doing better now.

    As you build that empathy for your younger self, you’ll also grow your empathy for your present self, and your relationship with yourself will transform. You’ll start to focus more on what you’re doing right than what you think you’re doing wrong, giving you more and more reasons to feel good about yourself.

    You’ll simultaneously find it easier to forgive yourself when you struggle, and you’ll start seeing your missteps as opportunities to learn instead of beating yourself up and stewing in regret. This means you’ll bounce back more quickly, with confidence in what you can do differently going forward, which will make it a lot easier to actually make those changes.

    5. You’ll feel more connected to yourself and start to trust yourself more as you make time and space to hear your intuition.

    When you start allowing yourself time to just be—releasing the pressure to constantly do and achieve—you’ll find it easier to hear the voice of your intuition. Which means you’ll get clearer insight into what might be good for you, in all areas of your life.

    As you act on this insight and see (at least some) positive results, you’ll develop a deeper sense of trust in yourself. Trust that enables you to make big decisions you might otherwise avoid in fear of making the “wrong” choice.

    You’ll also spend less time worrying about what other people think because it will feel far less relevant when you’re guided by what you know.

    6. Your relationships will become more of a source of pleasure than pain because you’ll set boundaries with people who hurt you and let them go if they refuse to stop.

    When you put your own peace, happiness, and well-being at the top of your priority list, you’ll start setting clearer boundaries about what’s acceptable in your relationships.

    You’ll also find the courage to speak up when someone crosses your boundaries because you’ll know that protecting your heart and your energy is worth the discomfort of confrontation.

    That’s not to say your relationships will always be effortless and fun. People will still stress and disappoint you, just as you’ll sometimes stress and disappoint them, because we’re all only human.

    But you won’t say, “No worries” when someone’s behavior fills you with fear or “It’s okay” when you know in your gut it’s not. And when someone disrespects or mistreats you for the umpteenth time, you’ll find the strength to say, “No more”—which means you’ll spend a lot less time justifying and recovering from their behavior and more time enjoying people who treat you well.

    7. Your days will feel more enjoyable and exciting because you’ll be using more of your time on things that matter to you.

    The more time and space you allot for yourself, the more energy you’ll be able to devote to the things that matter to you. The things that make you feel excited to be alive. Your passions and interests and new possibilities—or the pursuit of discovering what brings you joy if you have no idea what that might be.

    Because other people also matter to you, you’ll still devote time and energy to them, but you’ll know it’s okay if it’s notjust about them. That you can suggest things to do or places to go or ask for their support at times.

    This isn’t just about filling time you previously didn’t have available to you. It’s also about enjoying more of your time because you’ll no longer feel guilty about doing less for everyone else, or at least you’ll feel less anxious about it because you’ll know you’re honoring one of your top priorities—yourself.

    8. You’ll feel physically stronger, mentally clearer, and more emotionally balanced.

    When you address your needs, invest in your happiness and healing, and make choices to honor and support yourself, you’ll notice improvements in every aspect of your health—physical, mental, and emotional.

    Because instead of merely surviving as you deal with the varied consequences of neglecting and devaluing yourself, you’ll be thriving through the process of taking care good care of yourself.

    And it will become a self-perpetuating cycle—because you feel better, you’ll continually do better, and then feel even better as a result. Unlike the opposite cycle that might be more familiar—when you feel bad, continually do things you feel bad about, and then feel worse as a result.

    This doesn’t mean you’ll always feel great and will never struggle again. You’ll still be human, after all. But you’ll feel a lot more confident in your capacity to get through your difficult times and make the best of every hardship you face because you’ll be acting from a stable foundation of inner strength forged through self-support and care.

    —

    Maybe you’ve already experienced some of these things. And maybe, like me, you feel like the path to valuing and prioritizing yourself has often been a journey of two steps forward and one step back—or one step forward and two steps back.

    Maybe some days you set boundaries and other days you suppress your needs in fear. Maybe some days you make time for exercise and meditation, and other times have one too many glasses of wine because it’s easier than feeling your feelings, or acknowledging what you really need to do or change to feel better.

    Healing isn’t a linear process. We grow, we stumble, we disappoint ourselves, then hopefully forgive ourselves so we can get back up and try again, one small step at a time.

    The important thing is that we keep taking those steps, even if we get knocked down for a while.

    That we try to face our pains instead of numbing them. Honor our needs instead of ignoring them. Acknowledge the things that aren’t working instead of settling on them. And most importantly, continually challenge the voice within that tells us we need to do or be more to be worthy of love and care.

    Once upon a time I thought my heart was numb because of everything that had happened to me. Then I realized that was the past, and I was the one numbing it in the present by treating myself worse than anyone else ever had.

    I only came alive when I stopped telling myself I didn’t matter and started working on believing I did—which started with treating myself like I did. One loving act of self-care at a time.

  • 5 Hidden Fears That May Be Secretly Sabotaging Your Life

    5 Hidden Fears That May Be Secretly Sabotaging Your Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    5 Hidden Fears That May Be Secretly Sabotaging Your Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • How I Broke Free from My Toxic Need to Achieve

    How I Broke Free from My Toxic Need to Achieve

    “If it’s out of your hands, it deserves freedom from your mind too.” ~ Ivan Nuru

    “Honey, we’re gonna call you an ambulance.”

    The woman on the other end of the phone at the hospital call center sounded stern as I lay on my bathroom floor in my robe, writhing in pain, barely able to speak.

    I never knew you could hyperventilate from pain, I remember thinking.

    It was December, and I’d just returned home from a stressful international work trip with jet lag and exhaustion as my souvenirs. The sensitive, introverted parts of myself I normally shoved under the veneer of Ms. Capable Can-Do-It-All were overstimulated by the constant activity and overwhelmed by interacting with so many coworkers in a city I didn’t know.

    During the trip, my cousin called me. They never call me.

    “Grandpa died,” they said.

    In my grief, I did my best to find last-minute flights back to see family in the US, but I missed my third connection and slept on the airport floor. I’d been pushing myself for months; by the time I finally walked through my apartment door, I was more than fried. I was burnt out. Then I came down with the worst flu of my life.

    And now, sudden stomach pains pulsed through my entire body, so intense I had to crawl to my phone to dial the hospital.

    As the EMTs arrived at my door, ready to whisk me away in an ambulance like an unglamorous Cinderella, I started being able to breathe again.

    Suddenly, I was much more aware of my surroundings. The awkwardness of two men in unfamiliar uniforms strapping me onto a stretcher and carrying me down the narrow stairwell like a cumbersome, delicate piece of furniture, into the back of the ambulance going only a few blocks away when I could usually walk there, was surreal. I felt detached from my life somehow, as if I was witnessing it from the outside.

    Right then, the whole situation struck me as, for lack of a better word, funny.

    I can’t wait to see what’ll go wrong next! I thought, almost laughing.

    As I sat quietly in my hospital bed with an IV in my arm and my pain finally eased, I realized something.

    In this moment, there was nothing I could do about my health. Whatever diagnosis the doctor was going to walk in and give me, I couldn’t change it.

    All I could do was be present. And I found that incredibly…freeing.

    I’d spent the better part of three years burnt out, mostly miserable, and continuing to push through, no matter how exhausted I was, or how much everything in my body and the back of my mind was telling me to STOP.

    However, I didn’t listen. I was too focused on succeeding in my dream job, the job I’d worked myself to the bone for years to land. I was damned if I’d let something as silly as my body get in the way of my dreams.

    But right then, in my blue-and-white-striped hospital gown, I had a gut thud of knowing that things had to change.

    I needed to let go. Of the dream that wasn’t really mine anymore. Of holding on so tight to what I knew that I wasn’t letting myself breathe or acknowledge what was true for me.

    I needed to let go of the idea that I could force myself into happiness by achieving more. It wasn’t working. I just felt empty.

    I needed to start trusting myself more. Not the loud inner dictator part of me who constantly scolded me for not working hard enough—I’d been trusting that part too much already. No, I needed to start trusting that gentle voice inside that whispered, “Hey, take a break…it’s okay to rest. It’s okay to just let yourself be.”

    I also realized I needed to start taking up more space in my life instead of giving it all away to work and other people. I wanted to live in a way that brought out my softer, more compassionate, more authentic self, not just the tough, competent leader part of me who fulfilled everyone else’s expectations first. I wanted to figure out how to be who I actually was, not just who I thought I should be.

    Because that part was so, so tired. Frankly, she needed to lie down and take a nap. And figure out who she was when she wasn’t performing.

    So ultimately, that’s what I did.

    (Yes, the nap. But also the figuring out.)

    Maybe you know what I mean. Maybe you’re at a crossroads where you don’t know where to go next, you just know it’s not where you are. Maybe you feel torn between your ambitious side and the part of you that knows that how you feel on the inside is more important than how your life looks on the outside.

    If so, here are a few things that helped me, and might help you, too.

    1. Embrace the pause.

    When you spend your whole life being rewarded for ignoring your body’s signals and pushing through for work, it can feel like sacrilege to give yourself a moment to rest. Do it anyway.

    Lie on your bed, breathe, and stare at the ceiling for five minutes. Commit to doing absolutely nothing, no matter how strong your urge is to be productive. And then do it again. Work can wait—your well-being is worth it. And ultimately, the more you include yourself and your needs in what you do, the more successful and productive you’ll be, even if it takes a little longer to get there.

    2. Listen to your inner nurturer.

    See what happens when you tune in to your inner world, and if you can hear the gentle voice inside that whispers, “Take a break; it’s okay to rest.” It might not be there right away; that’s okay. Being kind to ourselves is a practice, and it can take time to develop.

    How can you tell the difference between your inner dictator and your inner nurturer? The dictator, when you listen long enough from the place of mindful observation, usually starts to sound like your parent or teacher or middle-school volleyball coach. Your inner nurturer sounds like you, or if you grew up in the eighties, maybe like the Empress from The Neverending Story.

    You’ll know the difference because when you hear the first one, your body will tense up; when you hear the second one, your body will relax.

    3. Get curious about your self-worth.

    Sometimes as kids, we learn that we have to earn love and approval by working really hard, being responsible, or being good. When we grow up, this can translate beautifully to the working world, because there’s always a new way to improve, something else to do, or someone else to impress.

    But what if your sense of confidence didn’t depend on being the best, the most responsible, or the hardest worker? Take a moment and sit with the question: Who could I be if I felt loved and accepted just as I am, even when I’m relaxing and doing nothing? Even when I’m mediocre at something? Even when I’m just being? 

    Bring some curiosity, with as little judgment as you can muster, to when you feel most “worthy.” If it’s usually when you’re doing something for someone else, or in achieving mode, I invite you to see if you can expand your sense of worthiness to when you’re not doing anything at all. Or even, gasp, when you make a mistake. It can be a long road to finding peace and feeling worthy of love and connection just as you are, but in my experience, it’s worth it.

    4. Redefine success on your terms.

    Challenge the conventional definitions of success that may have guided your life so far. You can even journal about it: what does success actually look like for you based on your values, passions, and commitment to personal growth?

    True fulfillment comes not from meeting external expectations but from aligning your achievements with your authentic self. It doesn’t matter how fast you’re going if you’re headed in the wrong direction.

    We often get caught up in the pursuit of success, attached to goals that might have lost their relevance along the way. Just like I did. It’s easy to ignore the signs when our bodies are screaming for a pause, a moment of relief. But, as cliché as it might sound, life is pretty short, and it’s not worth it to sacrifice our well-being on the altar of ambition.

    So allow yourself the freedom to reassess your dreams when you need to, and adjust how you’re spending your time and energy at this stage in your life. See what it might be like to let go just a little bit; to trust that it’s okay to change, to evolve, and to prioritize your health and happiness over what others expect of you, or even what you used to expect from yourself.

    See if, in moments of overwhelm or uncertainty, you can take a breath, tune in to your body, and listen to your deepest knowing, trusting that the path you walk in every moment can be fulfilling in and of itself.

    Because isn’t that what life is all about?

  • Bulletproof Self-Love: How to Build an Unshakeable Relationship with Yourself

    Bulletproof Self-Love: How to Build an Unshakeable Relationship with Yourself

    “Before you put yourself down, please consider everything you’ve accomplished to get to this point, every life you’ve touched, and every moment you’ve pushed beyond your fears. You are a champion, a fighter. You are worthy of nothing less than the deepest love you have to share.” ~Scott Stabile

    It seems that we’re being bombarded daily with heart-felt messages to love ourselves more. It’s everywhere—from our Instagram newsfeed to handprinted tote bags to the “You are worthy” mural at your local coffee shop.

    I appreciate the society-wide agreement we seem to have made to remind ourselves to choose self-love.

    But endless commandments like “Put yourself first!” and “Remember your worth!” rarely explain how to actually follow through with it. We talk about self-love and self-worth as though it’s a matter of remembering to floss your teeth at night—as if you can choose better relationships, set healthy boundaries, and take care of your body by just remembering to do so.

    If it doesn’t come easily, loving yourself might feel like walking into a new job with no training and being expected to figure it out without a manual or supervisor. Through no fault of your own, you may not have developed the muscle for self-love and care.

    I know this because I’ve had in-depth conversations with people who flat out told me, “I don’t know how to have compassion for myself.”

    You don’t have an arduous, uphill struggle to feel worthy and self-loving because you lack the inner capacity for it.

    If you know how to feel hand-on-chest, lower-lip-puckered-out sympathy and compassion for others—even if it’s for endangered polar bears—then you have the capacity to cultivate this feeling for yourself. And it’s not your fault if you feel lost on where to begin.

    Working with Your Unloved Parts

    The culprits that thwart your best efforts to practice self-love often come from your shadow—an unconscious receptacle that safeguards all the parts of yourself that’ve been rejected and pushed away. Your shadow deploys a lot of unconscious strategies to make sure you keep sabotaging yourself and avoiding your rejected parts.

    Because laziness was deeply entrenched in my shadow, I learned early in life to cope with my unlovable parts by overworking myself. Every nook and cranny of my calendar was chock full of social outings, chores, hurried “leisure” walks, and things to occupy my mind. I only felt good enough when I was constantly busy, so I developed a wicked good avoidance strategy that kept the inner scarcity just below my level of awareness.

    Eventually, I noticed this endless game of tag between me and the horrific emptiness. I learned to stop pushing it away and instead developed a capacity to be with the sensations it stirred up in my body.

    There are remarkable benefits to working with any fear or disgust you have toward your shadow parts, but a lot of folks run into roadblocks because we’re wired to avoid pain and move toward pleasure.

    When the terror of shadow parts arises in the body, our visceral reaction is often to push it away, lodging it further away into our psyche.

    Neuroscience has also shown us that negative self-talk can actually give you a dopamine hit if it’s what your brain thinks is “correct,” even if the beliefs are negative and sabotaging.

    This leads us to push away our unloved parts and berate them.

    Thankfully, there’s another option.

    Integrate your shadow parts by creating a safe space for them—more specifically, for the uncomfortable emotions that emerge around them. For example, if you habitually feel anxious in social situations because you think of yourself as being awkward, you can practice integrating your “awkward self” by creating space for the disgust or fear associated with it.

    Being with difficult emotions means being with the sensations without feeding them negative thoughts. This actually sends signals of safety to your brain and nervous system that lowers the internal red flags. With continued practice, your brain loses a reason to push the pedal to the metal on stress responses like anxiety, and the uncomfortable sensations begin to subside. This is the true meaning of “facing your fears.”

    When you reach the other side of a difficult emotion, it often feels divinely euphoric and empowering—like you’re walking across the finish line of a marathon. Allowing emotions to pass through your body builds resilience. Every time you practice the art of allowing, it becomes easier to anchor back into your power.

    Practicing Self-Love

    Nurturing your capacity to think self-loving thoughts, be self-loving, and feel the sensations of self-love is also a necessary practice.

    You might be surprised to learn that you could be projecting all your love onto other people. Whether it’s a romantic partner, friend, or tv character, if you shower them with adoration, there’s love inside you, but perhaps it doesn’t feel quite at home. Parts of you might feel deeply flawed or incomplete—whether you’re conscious of it or not—so you’re shoving your love into the hands of someone else instead. Projecting love onto others is a way of defending yourself against inner parts you’ve deemed unlovable. Everyone does this in some form or another.

    The remedy to this situation is taking back those projections and investing time and energy into finding and loving those qualities in yourself.

    We all have a negativity bias in our brains, so we pay more attention to what’s wrong, unsafe, or not good enough about ourselves and the world around us. If this default setting is left unchecked, it leads to major brain ruts—and well, we’ve all met a curmudgeon before!

    If you want to lean into what’s radiantly loveable about yourself, you have to shamelessly focus on what you want to love about yourself. If you’re not sure what that is, then choose something and nurture the hell out of it. Tenacity goes a long way when you want to reverse old patterns.

    Around the time I began learning to face my own inner void, I took myself on a journey of self-love and self-care through embodied sensual movement and pole dancing.

    I call it my divine intervention.

    Seemingly out of nowhere, I instinctively knew one day I wanted to become a pole dancer. Even though I had literally zero background in dancing or physical exercise in general, I realized that I had a dancer’s heart inside of me. As luck would have it, a brand-new studio had just opened up in my city six months earlier.

    I signed up for an assortment of classes, but it was the feminine movement pole dancing class that captivated me. I’d been in a rush my whole life—for no particular reason at any given moment—but this slow-as-honey practice forced me to start paying attention to myself in ways I never had before.

    I invested in myself by taking these classes. It allowed me to stop feeling guilty for being lazy. I didn’t need to overstuff myself with work, relationships, or other outside sources of validation anymore. I learned to slow down, feel my body, and take better care of myself.

    Learning to love yourself and know your worth is like having direct access to your inner authority. The self-doubt, sabotage, and low self-esteem lose their power and you finally get to take the helm. If you’re ready to stop second-guessing and minimizing yourself, here’s how to get started.

    5 Ways to Start Loving Yourself

    1. Expand your capacity to be with your unloved parts.

    Every time you create space for an unloved part, you’re changing the relationship between you and that part. Even if you have lots of deep wounds, your relationship to yourself is always changing. The key to creating safe space for your parts is staying with the sensations of fear or disgust and away from stories. If you allow thoughts of worry or self-judgment to run the show, the unloved parts won’t get reconditioned.

    The best way to do this is to work with emotions in real time. Find a quiet place to breathe through the sensations. Emotions run a lifespan of ninety seconds at most if you don’t retrigger the emotion with negative thoughts.

    2. Open up your nervous system to receive love.

    This is about practicing the art of receiving goodwill and kindness in all forms—positive feedback, compliments, and words of affirmation.

    How often do you fully accept a compliment? How often do you pause to let kind words—whether it’s a thank-you email from a friend or gratitude from a stranger—land in your body? We’re so quick to brush off affirmations, so what if you rewarded yourself by unapologetically receiving them instead? Make a practice of slowing down enough to take it all in. When you do, you’re reinforcing the pathway to connection and self-love in your nervous system.

    3. Affirm yourself with the love you give to others.

    If you already have the capacity to love others, then there’s an existing pathway to self-love. It just needs to be rerouted back to you.

    On a neurological level, if self-love feels like a stranger to you, the neural networks related to your self-image probably have a poor association with the biochemicals related to emotions around love and worthiness. Thankfully, neurons that fire together, wire together!

    Try this exercise in front of a mirror. Think of someone you deeply love and would describe as being super “loveable.” Close your eyes, see that person in your head, and think about why you love them so much that you can literally feel the tingly sensations coursing through your body. Then quickly open your eyes and repeat to yourself while looking in the mirror, “I am so loveable” with an extra emphasis on “I.” Make sure to work up the feeling on a visceral level in your body before you open your eyes. You’re “borrowing” the feel-good neurons while activating the self-image neurons to create new neural pathways.

    Have fun with this and change out “loveable” with other qualities you want to feel toward yourself in each round. Repetition matters, so make this a regular practice.

    4. Create actionable self-love.

    If you truly loved yourself in the way you wanted to, what would you do differently? Make a list of specific behaviors you want to change. For each one, ask yourself, “What’s the absolute smallest step I can take to work toward creating this behavior—something so small, I can do it right now?”

    Hint: the smallest step is always smaller than you think. For instance, if you want to ask for the pay raise you deserve, you might think the next smallest step is writing a letter of justification. If you feel head-to-toe inspired to do that right now, by all means, please do! But give yourself permission to start even smaller if the thought of drafting a letter immediately gives you anxiety. The goal is to start building momentum right NOW, so keep the steps super small and easy to do.

    5. “Drop in” to your embodied self-worth.

    You have access to your self-worth any time you want because it’s inherent. There’s nothing you ever need to do to earn it. Even if you’re not sure what it feels like, your worthiness is always there, waiting for you to reconnect to it.

    Getting into your body senses is a fantastic way to find where dignity lives in your body so that you can deepen your relationship with it. Make it a regular practice to take a few minutes to turn inward and “get to know” your non-negotiable worthiness. Where is it located? If it was a color, what color would it be? If it was a shape, what shape would it be? What’s the texture, movement, and sound of your self-worth? Bring it to life and revisit it often. Remember that every good relationship requires nurturing.