Tiny Buddha

Tag: wisdom

  • How I Learned to Be Present—One Sound at a Time

    How I Learned to Be Present—One Sound at a Time

    “Time isn’t the main thing. It’s the only thing.” ~Miles Davis

    When I first read that quote, it hit me right in the chest. Not because it sounded profound—but because it was something I had been slowly, painfully learning over the course of a very quiet, very long year.

    Time used to feel like a race. Or maybe a shadow. Or a trickster. Some days, it slipped through my fingers like water. Other days, it dragged me along like a heavy cart. But always, it was something outside me—something I was chasing or trying to escape.

    I spent much of my life impatient. Not in the obvious, tapping-your-foot kind of way, but in the quiet, internal kind of way: the constant sense that something should be happening, or happening faster, or already have happened by now. I measured life by milestones—achievements, breakthroughs, arrivals. I told myself I was being productive, but really, I was just uncomfortable with stillness.

    The Turning Point: Time Isn’t Linear

    Before all this, I thought of sound as something external—music, noise, conversation. But Nada Yoga transformed that understanding. In the stillness of those long days, sound became an anchor. Even the hum of the heater or the ticking of the clock became companions. When I gave them my full attention, they stopped being background noise and became part of the present moment.

    This is when I began to understand that time isn’t as linear as I had always believed. The past and future were ideas playing out in my mind, but the sound of now—the tone, the breath, the subtle vibration in my chest—was undeniable. And every time I tuned into it, I found myself grounded again.

    Physics agrees in strange ways. Einstein called time a “stubbornly persistent illusion,” and in the language of relativity, time doesn’t pass in the way we feel it does. Some physicists believe that the past, present, and future all exist at once—that time isn’t a straight line, but more like a landscape we move through. What we experience as “now” depends on where we’re standing, so to speak—our frame of reference.

    It’s not that time isn’t real—it’s that our experience of it is shaped by attention, memory, and movement.

    This insight doesn’t make time feel less urgent, but it reframes it. If time is an illusion, it may be less about seconds ticking by and more about awareness itself. What we call “now” isn’t a slice between before and after—it’s a field we enter through presence. That’s why mindfulness and Nada Yoga matter here: they’re not just techniques for coping—they’re ways of seeing.

    In the teachings of the Eightfold Path, this felt most connected to Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration. But instead of striving to perfect these steps, I simply allowed sound to lead me there. Following the thread of vibration was a practice in presence. It didn’t matter what time the clock said. The only real moment was the one I could hear, feel, and meet with openness.

    When Time Moves Too Fast

    Eventually, I began to feel better. My body regained strength, and my thinking was clearer. I started doing more, breathing more slowly, walking farther, making plans. But with that return came a different kind of challenge: the speed of life.

    It’s incredible how quickly we can forget stillness once momentum kicks back in. Emails. Errands. The endless list of things we should’ve already done. I was “back,” but I noticed something curious—I missed the slow time. Not the discomfort, but the spaciousness. The simplicity. The depth I had discovered when life wasn’t asking me to move so fast.

    I tried to hold onto what I’d learned. I’d remind myself that presence doesn’t need to be complicated—listening to a soft drone or resting in the inner hum I could still feel when I paid attention. That tiny ritual became a way to soften the edges of my days. It reminded me that even when life is loud and fast, there is still something quiet underneath, waiting.

    And once again, I turned to the Eightfold Path, this time to Right Effort. Not effort as in struggle, but the gentle discipline to return, to listen, to not forget myself in the rush. Patience, it turns out, isn’t something you master once and for all. It’s something you practice again and again in small, quiet ways.

    The Sound of Patience

    What surprised me most was realizing that patience has a sound. It’s not always silence.

    Sometimes, it’s the low hum of the fridge at midnight. Sometimes, it’s the steady beat of a distant drum in a piece of music. Sometimes, it’s just my own breath or heartbeat or pulse, reminding me that I am here.

    And presence has its own rhythm too. The more I tuned in, the more I saw how much time opens up when I stop resisting it. A few mindful minutes can feel full and rich. A rushed hour can feel like nothing at all.

    We say “time flies” when we’re enjoying ourselves—but I’ve found something deeper: time expands when we’re fully present. When I listen—really listen—to what is here, I don’t feel late. I don’t feel behind. I feel whole.

    This doesn’t mean I’ve figured it all out. I still lose patience. I still check the clock too much. But now, I have a practice to return to—a practice built not on perfection, but on sound, breath, and the quiet trust that everything unfolds in its own time.

    The longer I walk this path, the more I see that my suffering around time wasn’t really about minutes or hours. It was about resistance. It was about the belief that the present moment was never quite enough. That I had to get somewhere, become someone, achieve something before I could rest.

    But through mindfulness, and especially through the practice of listening—whether to the soft whispering tones of the wind in Nada Yoga or to the ordinary sounds of daily life—I’ve discovered a gentler truth:

    The present moment isn’t something we earn. It’s something we enter.

    And when we do, when we stop fighting time and start listening to it, we find something unexpected—not emptiness, but richness. Not waiting, but arrival.

    A Closing Reflection

    There’s a soft drone of reticulated sounds playing as I write this now. A deep tone that barely shifts but somehow holds me steady. It reminds me to breathe. It reminds me to slow down. It reminds me that I am not behind—I am here.

    I think that’s the real gift of both mindfulness and Nada Yoga. Not to help us “make the most of our time,” but to help us feel time differently—not as a pressure, but as a presence.

    And so I leave you with this:

    Next time you feel rushed or restless, stop. Close your eyes. Listen for the quietest sound in the room—or in you. It might not be music, or even beautiful, but it will be real. And in that sound, however small, you might find a doorway to now.

    And now, as Miles Davis said, time is not just the main thing—it’s the only thing.

  • Healing Doesn’t Always Come with Clarity

    Healing Doesn’t Always Come with Clarity

  • I Hope We All Find Peace

    I Hope We All Find Peace

  • From Injury to Insight: A New Kind of Yoga Practice

    From Injury to Insight: A New Kind of Yoga Practice

    “Healing may not be so much about getting better, as about letting go of everything that isn’t you—all of the expectations, all of the beliefs—and becoming who you are.” ~Rachel Naomi Remen

    For years, yoga was my safe space—the place where I felt strong, grounded, and whole. My practice wasn’t just physical; it was my sanctuary, my moving meditation. So, when a shoulder injury forced me to change the way I practiced, I wasn’t just in pain—I was lost.

    At first, it seemed minor. A nagging soreness, nothing I hadn’t worked through before. I convinced myself that more movement would help, that yoga—my forever healer—would fix it. I stretched, I modified, I doubled down on my alignment. But the more I tried to push through, the worse it became.

    Eventually, even the simplest tasks—getting dressed, washing my hair—became difficult. That’s when I finally sought medical help. The diagnosis: shoulder impingement and frozen shoulder. A combination of overuse, aging (a humbling realization as I turned forty), and factors no one could fully explain.

    I asked the doctor how to prevent it from happening again. The answer wasn’t clear. There was no perfect formula, no guarantee. That uncertainty unsettled me.

    Surrendering to the Process

    Healing wasn’t linear. It was slow, frustrating, and at times, disheartening. I cycled through physical therapists, reluctantly took medication, and spent months modifying my movements. But the hardest part wasn’t the pain—it was the mental and emotional struggle of letting go of what my practice used to be.

    I grieved the loss of my old yoga practice. I felt betrayed by my body, resentful that the thing I loved most had, in a way, turned against me. And yet, somewhere in the frustration, I realized—this was part of my practice, too.

    Yoga isn’t just about movement. It’s about presence. Acceptance. Surrender.

    I started leaning into the lessons my injury was trying to teach me:

    • Ahimsa (Non-harming): I had to stop fighting my body and instead extend it kindness, just as I would for a loved one who was struggling.
    • Satya (Truthfulness): I had to acknowledge that my practice would change—and that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
    • Aparigraha (Non-attachment): I had to let go of my rigid expectations and open myself to a different, gentler way forward.
    • Santosha (Contentment): I had to find peace with what my body could do, rather than mourning what it couldn’t.

    The moment I stopped resisting, something shifted. My body didn’t heal overnight, but my perspective did. I started seeing healing as an ongoing relationship rather than a destination. I gave myself permission to slow down, to listen, to trust.

    Rebuilding with Compassion

    As I modified my practice, I discovered new ways to move that honored my limitations rather than fought against them. My yoga practice became softer, more mindful. I focused on breathwork, grounding postures, and gentle movement. I let go of the idea that I had to push myself to prove something.

    I also realized something deeper: healing isn’t just about getting back to where we were—it’s about growing into who we’re becoming.

    We all face moments where we’re forced to slow down, to reevaluate, to shift. And in those moments, we have a choice. We can resist and suffer, or we can soften and grow.

    If you’re navigating an injury, a setback, or an unexpected change, know this: Your healing doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. You are allowed to grieve. You are allowed to feel frustrated. But you are also allowed to find joy in the process. To discover new ways of being. To trust that even in the slowing down, there is wisdom.

    Healing is not about returning to what was—it’s about embracing what is and finding beauty in what’s possible now.

  • It’s Okay to Rest

    It’s Okay to Rest

  • Your Character Will Outweigh Any Lie Told

    Your Character Will Outweigh Any Lie Told

  • How I Stopped Absorbing Other People’s Energy and Emotions

    How I Stopped Absorbing Other People’s Energy and Emotions

    “And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ~Anaïs Nin

    I used to think something was wrong with me.

    I cried at the wrong moments. I felt anxious before a phone call, only to find out the other person was deeply upset. I could walk into a room and instantly sense who was grieving, who was fighting—even if no one said a word.

    People called me empathic. Intuitive. But mostly, I felt weird. Overwhelmed. Other. Too much.

    I tried everything to make it stop. Therapy helped a little, but only on the surface. I learned the language of trauma, boundaries, and projection—but still, I felt like I was carrying more than just my own stuff.

    After about a year with one therapist, she finally said, “It’s not that you anxiously imagine things—you’re honestly always right. That’s a big difference. And I don’t know how to help you.”

    The truth was: I wasn’t broken. I was energetically wide open. And no one had ever taught me how to close.

    The Moment Everything Clicked

    It was years into my wild, seemingly never-ending personal growth journey, and I was sitting on a date.

    I wasn’t looking up, but I responded to what I thought was a question the man across from me had asked. When I looked up, his face had gone pale.

    “I thought that,” he said. “But I didn’t say it out loud.”

    I had done so much inner work. And yet there I was again—caught in a situation I didn’t fully understand. Feeling as though I had done something wrong.

    When someone in the same room spoke about grief, it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Not metaphorically—my body literally responded. I had no idea where I ended and other people began.

    In a moment of late-night desperation, I Googled something like “how to stop reading people’s thoughts.”

    I ended up on the phone with a woman I’d found online. She greeted me with, “Whoa, you are wide open, aren’t you?” And then she said the words I didn’t know I’d been waiting for:

    “You need to turn this down.”

    Turns out, I wasn’t just sensitive. I had no energetic boundaries.

    My body, my emotions, my intuition—none of it was contained. I had spent my life walking around like an open door, receiving every gust of feeling and energy that came my way.

    It wasn’t empathy. It wasn’t anxiety. It was a lack of containment.

    The Difference Between Love and Enmeshment

    Growing up, I thought being a good friend, daughter, or partner meant feeling everything other people felt. I was prized for silently predicting the emotions of others in a way that often protected me from harm behind closed doors. If someone I loved was sad, I needed to be sad with them. If they were anxious, I would absorb it and try to fix it. If I thought they could hurt me, I stayed and soothed them—not just to protect myself, but to protect everyone else too.

    This orientation toward helping emotionally volatile people didn’t serve me.

    When I was young, I thought it was compassion. Later, I thought it was codependence. But it was actually energetic enmeshment.

    Over time, I lost track of my own inner compass.

    My attraction was confused. My decisions were reactive. My body was tired.

    I couldn’t tell what I needed because I was constantly responding to so many streams of information.

    The cost wasn’t just emotional exhaustion—it was disconnection from myself.

    The Practice That Saved Me

    The almost funny thing is the solution was simple.

    There are grounding practices intuitive people have used for centuries. I just didn’t have anyone in my life to tell me, “Honey, you can turn that stuff off and use it when you want.”

    I often imagine a parallel timeline where I had elders who taught me to close skillfully, rather than using my intuition to tether myself to people who needed to face their own karma—without my intervention.

    It began with a simple image.

    I imagined a grounding cord from the base of my spine, anchoring me deep into the earth. With every exhale, I released anything that wasn’t mine down into the soil.

    Then I called my energy back. I imagined it returning from all the places I had left it—washed through sunlight—like golden threads being rewoven.

    Next, I zipped myself up. Literally.

    I visualized a golden zipper running up the front of my body, sealing in my energy field. I imagined a soft dome of light around me—just my size. Nothing could come in unless I invited it.

    I was still loving, still intuitive, still me.

    But now I was also separate. Not shut down—just held.

    Grounding and Choosing

    Grounding, closure, and choosing when to open and when to put my “closed” sign up are now part of my everyday life. If something feels even slightly off, I know I’m pulling in information that likely isn’t mine to hold.

    The truth is, without a container, an agreement, and consent, diving into someone’s emotions, fears, or thoughts isn’t good for me or for them.

    Today, using my gifts is something I save for my work.

    The world needs sensitive, intuitive people—but not ones who are depleted and lost in other people’s pain.

    The most powerful thing you can do for others is stay in your own energy and listen with integrity.

    I still feel things deeply. But now I know how to feel from within myself—not from inside someone else’s story.

    And that has made all the difference.

  • Health Does Not Always Come from Medicine

    Health Does Not Always Come from Medicine

  • How I Stopped Hiding Myself for Love and Approval

    How I Stopped Hiding Myself for Love and Approval

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post includes a brief mention of childhood physical abuse and may be triggering to some readers.

     “The person who tries to keep everyone happy often ends up feeling the loneliest.” ~Unknown

    It’s Christmas morning. I’m seven years old. I sit on the hardwood floor with my sisters, in my nightgown surrounded by crumpled wrapping paper. I grab the next present to open. I tear off the paper. It’s a ballerina costume with a pink leotard, tutu, and pale pink tights.

    As soon as I thank my adoptive parents, I leave the room with my new gift, keeping it hidden behind me. I get upstairs to my bedroom and stand in front of the mirror, rushing to get it out of the package and put it on, struggling to get the different fabrics to cooperate.

    When I finally get it on my body, I run back downstairs with a big smile, excited to surprise everyone and maybe even earn some laughs. My heart races with excitement. I enter the living room. My adoptive parents look at me. I scan their faces for smiles. The smiles don’t come.

    “What the hell did you do! You ain’t supposed to put it on yet!” Mom yells.

    My heart’s beating loud. Why are they angry? I can’t understand the mean words my parents hurl at me. Dad gets up from his chair and attacks me. When he’s done, my face is hot and my hair disheveled. I hang my head and go back upstairs to my bedroom to change out of the costume. I look in the mirror at myself. ‘I’m so stupid.’ I think. I will never misread them again.

    I was taken from my birthmother at ten months old and placed with foster parents who abused me, and despite this being common knowledge, they were allowed to adopt me.

    Adoptees, even without abuse from adoptive parents, become experts at adapting. We know our family arrangement came to be because our birth parents weren’t up for the task of holding onto us; the reason doesn’t matter because children can only point inward. Beneath the surface, many adoptees carry an unconscious belief that sounds something like this:

    “I am bad and unlovable. That is why I was not worth keeping the first time. If I can become whoever my adoptive parents want me to be, I will prevent being abandoned again.”

    So, adoptees learn to bend and shift, careful not to incite disappointment or anger from their adoptive parents. For example, I didn’t dream of being a dancer as a child. I’d never taken a ballet class or even expressed an interest in it. So when I opened that costume on Christmas morning, I saw it as a clue. My eagerness to be a show pony in a ballet costume was an instinctual reaction because it meant earning a higher approval rating from my scary adoptive parents. But obviously, I read it all wrong.

    This life-saving skill of adaptation permeates any relationship that poses a risk for leaving adoptees with a broken heart. It can become so pervasive that by the time adoptees enter adulthood, they’ve had little to no experience exploring their own needs, wants, or desires—because they’ve spent their entire lives becoming who the person in front of them wanted them to be.

    My husband and I gave our daughter a “yes day” a couple of years ago, where she created a list of fun things to do, and within specific parameters, we had to say “yes.” This involved her choosing our outfits for the day, a trip to Dave and Busters, a silly string fight, designing specialty chocolates at the Goo Goo Cluster shop downtown, and a candy buffet for dinner. My husband and I delighted in her joy that day.

    Later, when my daughter asked, “Mom, what would you want to do if you had a ‘yes day?’”

    I felt a burning in my chest, realizing I couldn’t answer her. And when an idea did come, like seeing a concert or dining at a specific restaurant, I knew I’d feel guilty for asking the rest of my family to join me because it wasn’t their thing. My inability to tell my child what I like was a powerful teaching moment, and a call for change.

    I began therapy in my early thirties, intent on resolving the thick layers of trauma and loss that created this barrier between the me that operated out of fear of abandonment, and my true self. Traditional talk therapy with a therapist specializing in trauma, EMDR, EEG neurofeedback, and accelerated resolution therapy slowly chipped away at that barrier. With every victory, I learn more about myself and feel more at ease in the world.

    Resolving trauma is dissolving shame. For me, shame has kept me from knowing myself and focusing solely on the happiness of the people around me for fear of being left or in danger if I fail.

    Loneliness is a consequence of being a chameleon who doesn’t know who she is. How can I expect genuine connection if I’m not allowing people to accept the real me? As a shame-filled person, I chose relationships with people who mirrored my low self-worth back to me. How can I expect genuine connection in relationships like that?

    Authentic relationships are a natural consequence of dissolving shame. Being seen, loved, and accepted for our true selves is the antidote to loneliness.

    For anyone out there who bends and shifts to maintain connection with the people they care about, ask yourself, “If I had a yes day, how would I spend it? Do the people in my life care enough about me to come along and delight in my joy?”

    If that question feels uncomfortable—if the people who come to mind would groan, flake, or dismiss it—I see you. I’ve been there. But healing begins with allowing yourself to imagine something different. Imagine being surrounded by people who celebrate and cherish the real you. Imagine what it would feel like to be loved that way.

    Because that kind of love is possible, and you deserve it.

  • How I Learned to Trust Myself One Small, Simple Step at a Time

    How I Learned to Trust Myself One Small, Simple Step at a Time

    “Sometimes, the hardest person to trust is ourselves. But when we do, everything changes.” ~Unknown

    For a long time, I thought the key to changing my life was out there—somewhere.

    I thought that if I just found the right program, the perfect plan, or the expert with all the answers, then I’d finally feel in control and like I was doing it “right.”

    So, I chased every plan, bought the books, signed up for the courses, and followed all the steps.

    And for a while, it felt good—safe, even. But deep down, I still didn’t trust myself. Because no matter how much I followed, I was still outsourcing my power. I didn’t believe I could create lasting change without someone else telling me how.

    It wasn’t until I hit a moment of pause—when life got quiet and the excuses disappeared—that I finally asked myself: What do I actually want? And can I trust myself to go after it?

    The honest answer? I didn’t know. I’d been listening to everyone else for so long, I’d lost the sound of my own voice.

    And that realization was equal parts terrifying and freeing.

    Because if I didn’t know what I wanted, I had to figure it out for myself—and that meant letting go of what everyone else thought I should be doing. It meant tuning out the noise and tuning in to something I hadn’t prioritized in years: me.

    Self-Trust Doesn’t Come from Thinking; It Comes from Doing

    That was the turning point.

    I realized that self-trust isn’t something you just wake up with. It’s something you build. And for me, that started with the smallest steps.

    I began showing up for myself in tiny ways—drinking water first thing in the morning, walking for ten minutes, writing for just a few minutes a day. Nothing fancy. But they were promises I made to myself—and kept.

    Each small habit became a tiny brick in the foundation of self-trust.

    And slowly, those micro-wins turned into momentum. I didn’t need a full plan anymore. I didn’t need someone to tell me what came next. I was proving to myself, day by day, that I could count on me.

    When I first committed to writing ten minutes a day, it didn’t feel like a big deal. But doing it every day—even when I was tired, or uninspired, or unsure—was quietly revolutionary. It wasn’t about how good the writing was. It was about showing up for myself and keeping a promise. That shift became a building block not just for my creativity but also for my confidence.

    That consistency created a ripple effect. If I could trust myself to write, I could trust myself to move my body. If I could move my body, I could nourish it better. If I could nourish my body, I could speak more kindly to myself. Each action reinforced the belief that I could do this—that I didn’t need to be fixed; I just needed to believe.

    And let’s be honest—it wasn’t always easy. There were days when I didn’t feel like doing any of it. Days I wanted to hide, to go back to following someone else’s checklist. But I reminded myself that this time, I was building something that belonged to me.

    Consistency Builds Confidence

    It wasn’t perfection that changed me. It was consistency.

    Every time I kept a promise to myself—even something as small as sitting in silence for two minutes instead of reaching for my phone—I sent a powerful message: I’ve got you.

    And the more I showed up, the more my mindset shifted. I stopped asking, “What should I do?” and started asking, “What feels right for me?”

    That’s when everything changed. Not in a dramatic, fireworks kind of way. But in a grounded, real way.

    And that realness is what made the change last.

    I wasn’t becoming someone new—I was returning to myself. And it felt like coming home.

    You Don’t Need Another Plan; You Need to Believe in Yourself

    We live in a world that constantly tells us we need to be fixed. That someone out there knows better. That the answers are just one step away—if only we buy the next thing, follow the next leader, or change just a little more.

    But here’s what I’ve learned:

    You don’t need more noise. You need more trust.

    You need to know that you already have wisdom inside you. You just have to give it room to speak—and find the courage to act on it.

    And that starts with showing up for yourself in small, meaningful ways. Not perfectly. Just consistently.

    When you build a solid relationship with yourself—when you become someone who keeps promises to yourself—that’s where the shift happens. Not because you’ve mastered some fancy process, but because you’ve started living in integrity with the person you’re becoming.

    And in doing so, you step into a quiet kind of power—one that doesn’t need to prove itself to anyone.

    Start Small, Stay Honest, and Keep Going

    If you’re in a season of doubt, or if you’ve forgotten what your own voice sounds like, you’re not alone.

    Start with one tiny habit that reflects the person you want to become. Let that be your anchor. Let that be your proof.

    Because self-trust isn’t a lightning bolt. It’s a quiet build. And one small shift at a time, you’ll hear your voice again—and this time, you’ll believe it.

    And when you do, you’ll find something even better than the perfect plan—you’ll find your power.

    And that’s where real change begins.

  • Accept Rejection

    Accept Rejection

  • Kindness Makes You the Most Beautiful Person

    Kindness Makes You the Most Beautiful Person

  • DBT Wise Mind is the Best Skill for Highly Sensitive People

    DBT Wise Mind is the Best Skill for Highly Sensitive People

    “Feelings come and go, like clouds in the sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    On the day my daughter Zoe turned seven weeks old, she burst into tears while I was changing her diaper. But why? What had I done? I remember panicking, confused, scared, and instantly guilty.

    Eventually, I noticed her pinky was twisted up in her pony-print pajamas. I freed the little digit like my life depended on it and tried to kiss her pain away. As I gently rocked and soothed my wailing child, big tears poured down my own cheeks.

    That’s when my wife entered the room. I felt caught and spiraled deep into shame. Emotional thoughts kicked into overdrive: Oh my God, I hurt Zoe. I’m a terrible mother and I traumatized my daughter and my wife knows it. How could either of them ever trust me again?

    In that vulnerable moment, I was deep in my Emotion Mind and far from Wise Mind, which is what I needed to access to navigate this situation effectively. These “mind states” are concepts from Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), which supports people in regulating their emotions and improving their relationships.

    DBT teaches us that, at any given moment, our thoughts, feelings, and actions are influenced by three different potential states of mind: Emotional, Reasonable, and Wise.

    To illustrate these mind states, I will provide examples of responses to the following situation:

    You’ve been trying to hang out with one of your best friends for over two weeks. She hasn’t responded to your text or DMs. When she finally gets back to you, she writes, “Hey. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately. Can we check back in next month?”

    In Emotion Mind, you’re ruled by feelings. Your emotions are in charge, dictating how you act and react. Things feel intense, critical, and urgent in this mind state. As a result, you might make impulsive choices, say things you don’t actually mean, or feel consumed by intense emotions.

    Example: You take it personally, immediately feeling hurt and rejected. Your inner voice blurts out, “She doesn’t care about me” and “You are such a loser.” Your anger may tell you to respond with a sassy remark, or your sadness may encourage you to hide under the covers as you think, “I’m never good enough for anyone.”

    In Reasonable Mind, logic and facts steer the ship. You calmly analyze the evidence and try to solve a given problem on an intellectual level. Sounds great, right? But there’s something missing. Reasonable Mind is inherently colder, more detached. In this mind state, feelings get denied and emotional nuance gets missed.

    Example: After receiving the text, you may think, “She doesn’t want to hang out right now. I’ll text her next month.” You might respond with, “You need space. I’ll send you a text message in one month.”

    While this thought process is logical, it may feel almost robotic because it does not take into consideration the hurt you are likely processing at that moment. Feeling rejected, worried, or experiencing a pang of loneliness or anger—those are perfectly valid emotional responses that are typically inaccessible when in Reasonable Mind.

    Wise Mind is where the magic happens. Wise Mind synergizes the best of Emotion Mind and Reasonable Mind. It’s the ability to balance emotional intuition with rational thought. Wise Mind helps you pause, check in with yourself, and make decisions that align with your feelings and the facts of the situation.

    Example: You accept the sting of your friend’s text (“I am really sad that she wants space”) and acknowledge the circumstances outside your control (“Maybe she’s dealing with something difficult that she is not ready to talk to me about”). You pause for long enough to determine the best next steps. You may decide to respond to your friend’s text by saying, “I’m sorry you’re feeling overwhelmed. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to support you. I will check back in with you next month.”

    Why Is Wise Mind Important for Highly Sensitive People?

    Have you ever reacted to a situation in a way that felt justified at the moment, only to look back later, embarrassed, and think, “Whoa, maybe I read too much into that”? How about fixating on a small mistake you made until you’re completely overwhelmed and irritable, only to realize later that nobody else even noticed the error?

    Conversely, have you responded to difficult circumstances by suppressing your emotions? For example, you find yourself beginning to worry about a mistake you’ve made, so you quickly distract yourself from the thoughts with food, drugs, exercise, work, video games, and/or social media. Or maybe you’ve developed such a strong ability to detach from your emotions that you find yourself disconnected from yourself and others?

    As an HSP therapist (and a highly sensitive person myself), I can assure you that these experiences are quite common for sensitive people.

    Wise Mind is one of the foundational skills of DBT, which is an evidence-based treatment that can help HSPs navigate the moments when pure emotions or overly logical thinking would otherwise take over. When we access Wise Mind, we tap into an intuitive part of ourselves underneath the emotional noise and analytical mind chatter, which allows us to set boundaries and engage in valued action.

    How to Access Wise Mind

    In order to become automatically skillful in accessing Wise Mind, you need to practice. First, start trying to tap into this mind state when you are feeling regulated. In a context with very wild activation, ask yourself, What would my Wise Mind say?

    With practice, you will develop a better sense of what it feels like to be in Emotion Mind, Reasonable Mind, and Wise Mind. This preparation will set you up for success. You will be better able to access Wise Mind during heightened emotional experiences.

    1. Pause and notice.

    When emotions feel intense, the first step is to pause and check in with yourself.

    • Ask: What am I feeling right now? Label the emotions (e.g., sadness, anger, guilt, or anxiety).
    • Notice the accompanying physical sensations (e.g., tightness in your chest, racing thoughts, or a lump in your throat).
    • Identify any urges you are feeling (e.g., to lash out, shut down, or avoid the situation).

    2. Name the facts.

    Next, separate the facts of the situation from the story your emotions might be telling you. This helps ground you in reality while still honoring your feelings.

    • Facts: Your friend canceled dinner plans. You’ve been friends with her for eight years. She hasn’t canceled on you in the past.
    • Feelings: Angry. Disappointed. Sad. Lonely.
    • Wise Mind Integration: I’m disappointed because I was looking forward to seeing her, but I don’t know what she’s dealing with on her end. I’m going to send a check-in text to make sure everything’s okay.

    3. Breathe.

    The simplest way to access Wise Mind is through your breath. When you are in Emotion Mind, your body tenses, and your thoughts race. When you are in Rational Mind, your emotions get relegated to the dustbin. Deep, intentional breathing will help bring you to the present moment so that you can observe your thoughts, feelings, and physical sensations.

    Try this: Inhale for four counts, hold for four counts, exhale for six counts. Repeat three to five times.

    As you breathe, ask yourself:

    • What mind state am I in?
    • What does my Wise Mind know to be true in this moment?
    • What matters most to me in this situation?

    How I Found My Wise Mind

    Let’s revisit the story I shared at the beginning of this article about my daughter. I had only bent her pinky a bit while putting on her pajamas, but she was crying, and suddenly so was I, awash in pure panic. My Emotion Mind had completely taken over: I hurt Zoe! This will damage our bond! I’m the worst mother alive!

    Only when my wife walked in did I recognize how blindly I’d been arrested by my Emotion Mind. Yes, even as an HSP therapist, my emotions can get the best of me. I paused, took some calming breaths, and tried to articulate the facts:

    • Fact: Zoe cried for about a minute.
    • Fact: She was not injured in any way and did not require additional care.
    • Fact: I have been a mom for less than three months—this is a new experience for me.
    • Fact: I love my daughter with my whole heart.

    Those facts provided the rational perspective I had lacked when in the whirlwind of Emotion Mind; however, naming those facts helped to tip the scales back towards equilibrium.

    I accessed the comforting clarity of Wise Mind, and in that state was able to remember self-compassion: I am a human. Mistakes happen. Zoe is okay, and I’m learning every day. I’m doing the best I can. From this position, I could soothe Zoe and myself and move forward, free from the shame spiral.

    —

    Wise Mind allows sensitive people to navigate their mental experiences with clarity and self-understanding. With practice, anyone can access Wise Mind, which encourages the healthy coexistence of both their emotional depths and rational thoughts.

  • What Happened When I Stopped Ignoring My Body

    What Happened When I Stopped Ignoring My Body

    “When we listen to our body with kindness, we honor the present moment and give ourselves the care we truly need.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    It started back in middle school for me—the need to feel thin in my English riding breeches. I’d compare myself to others at the barn—the ones with the long, slender legs and tiny waists. My thirteen-year-old self wasn’t willing to be chubby; though, looking back, I realize that was only in my own eyes.

    What I didn’t know then was that by ignoring my hunger, my cravings, and my body’s messages, I was also silencing my own voice. It would take decades before I learned that listening to my body was not just about food—it was an act of love.

    At first, I learned to override my body’s cues—hunger, cravings, thirst, even sadness.

    Slowly, over time, I tuned out every signal my body sent me.

    When I look back now, I see that I was restricting “just enough” to fly under the radar, but honestly, I’m not sure my parents would have noticed. Not noticing was the theme of my adolescence.

    In college, I was a vegetarian and an athlete. Rowing seemed like the logical next step from horseback riding. I loved being on the water, and I loved the challenge. And I needed to be distracted. What better way to avoid myself than a full course load, twice-a-day practices, and a part-time job?

    I asked a lot of my body during this time, while still locked in full-blown disordered eating. I ran on quick-burning, simple carbohydrates—donuts, Pop-Tarts, and a whole lot of Swedish Fish. And on weekends? Alcohol and pot took over. I numbed, I ran, I ignored.

    When I moved to Montana at age twenty, I packed up my disordered eating and body dysmorphia and took them with me. Rowing had made me bulky, with big lats, huge arms, and solid thighs. So, in the only way I knew, I restricted fully—until I felt light in my body again. Not too thin, just enough to stay unnoticed.

    Settled in Montana, I ate one meal a day—if you could call it that. Honey on white toast, a latte with two pumps of vanilla. I was walking around in a fog, going to class, working, partying, drifting without direction or self-awareness. When I look back on that time, I want to hug the girl I was. My body, my heart—they were doing everything they could to keep me going.

    I wish I could say there was a single, defining moment that changed everything. But healing wasn’t a sudden revelation—it was a slow unfolding, like the first light of dawn after a long night. A gradual awakening to myself, one small act of listening at a time.

    The shift began, almost unknowingly, when I joined the local food co-op. Fresh food was abundant, and unwittingly, I found role models in the shoppers around me. They looked vibrant, grounded. Healthy. I wanted that.

    I began noticing things. My usual cow milk latte left my heart racing, my stomach bloated, rashes appearing on my arms. So I experimented. I learned to cook. I added in different foods. I started eating meat again.

    One day, I realized that the fog in my brain had lifted—just slightly. And I wanted more of that. I was craving something new—something I had never craved before. Health. Clarity.

    For the first time, I didn’t see cravings as something to fight but as information.

    My sugar cravings weren’t a moral failing; they were my body begging for nourishment after years of restriction.

    My exhaustion wasn’t something to push through; it was a plea for rest.

    When I approached my body with curiosity instead of judgment, I finally started to hear what it had been trying to tell me all along.

    And so, I went along. I met a lovely man who lit me up, and we married. Years later, we had a son, the apple of my eye.

    Being in a relationship, caring for another human—it was tricky at first. I was still a fledgling cue reader, still learning how to listen to my own needs while meeting the needs of others.

    Before I met my husband, I had slowly begun healing from childhood wounds. It was a bumpy road, full of missteps, but I kept at it. I practiced tuning in, listening with curiosity. Noticing when judgment arose—because judgment had always been my first language—and replacing it with compassion. Asking my body what it needed and, for once, responding with care.

    I began caring for myself as I would care for my child—with tenderness, patience, and deep love. I swapped sugar for whole, nourishing foods, not out of punishment but because my body wanted them. I stopped running myself ragged and, instead, allowed myself to rest.

    Now, at fifty, my son has flown the nest, and my husband and I are celebrating twenty-four years together. My old friends—disordered eating and body image struggles—still visit sometimes, especially as I navigate menopause. But now, I meet them differently.

    I don’t fight them, and I don’t let them take over. I simply ask, What are you here to tell me?

    Because now I know: Listening to my body isn’t about control or discipline. It’s about love.

    And in that listening, I find my way home to myself, again and again.

  • The 5 Qualities You Need to Change Your Life

    The 5 Qualities You Need to Change Your Life

    “In any given moment we have two options: to step forward into growth or step back into safety.” ~Abraham Maslow

    Have you ever wondered what true personal development requires? What it truly takes to change your life?

    I have, and it’s a question I have been asking myself for years.

    As someone who was on a journey that could better be described as personal decline than personal development, I felt stuck living a life I hated.

    Around two years later, after having improved or completely changed every aspect of myself that I didn’t like, I can honestly say I am a totally different person.

    My confidence went from not being able to go to my local supermarket to speaking to hundreds of people every day.

    My self-belief went from thinking I’d never leave the job I hated to believing and striving for financial freedom.

    My discipline went from being unable to stick to any exercise routines and diets to being in the best shape of my life.

    I don’t share all this to brag—I share it to inspire anyone who feels stuck to finally become the person they know, deep down, they can be.

    It’s not only from personal experience that this obsession of mine has grown but also from seeing people around me who are always attempting to change for the better but just can’t seem to make it last.

    From my own experience and observations of others, I’ve learned that certain qualities are essential for lasting change.

    Having all five will not guarantee you’ll be successful, but not having all of them guarantees won’t succeed.

    Without further delay, here are five things you’ll need to finally become the person you want to be.

    1. Responsibility

    Without the ability to take responsibility, all other principles are useless.

    By not taking responsibility for your situation, you give all your power to the external factors or people that you blame, leaving yourself helpless.

    If you can’t take responsibility for something, you can’t change it.

    Taking responsibility isn’t blaming yourself; it’s taking accountability for whatever situation you find yourself in now, regardless of how you got there.

    I used to blame my childhood for who I was, but how does this help me in any way? It didn’t. Instead, it kept me the same—a person I wasn’t proud of.

    I didn’t blame myself for it, but I took responsibility for how I was going to deal with it moving forward. This allowed me to finally take action, and my life improved greatly as a result.

    2. Self-belief

    If you don’t believe you can change, are you even going to try?

    That’s why, to grow, you must first believe you’re capable of it, and to do this, you have to take action.

    If you’re anything like I used to be, doubting your ability to break free from your situation and tired of endlessly repeating affirmations to yourself in the mirror, it’s time to get some evidence.

    This teaches the brain that really you are capable of achieving the goals you set. Without evidence, you’ll never truly believe that anything has changed, because without it, what makes this time any different from the last?

    But how do we get that evidence?

    This is all about starting small. It’s setting smaller goals or challenges, ones that you may even doubt you can achieve, and then working diligently until you succeed.

    This could be anything from waking up an hour earlier every day to taking daily cold showers. Whatever it may be, do it until you’ve gained irrefutable evidence that you’ve succeeded at something you didn’t think you could do.

    From here, you set slightly bigger goals, achieve them, and repeat.

    Eventually, you’ll prove yourself wrong so many times, you’ll have no choice but to believe you can do anything.

    3. Discipline

    Personal development is hard, and if you quit when things get hard, you’ll never succeed.

    As I said, my levels of discipline used to let me down constantly. Whenever something got difficult, I’d let the uncomfortable feelings overwhelm me until I’d quit altogether.

    With anything worth pursuing, there will come a time when continuing feels challenging. This is unavoidable. Therefore, being successful with personal development requires the ability to feel uncomfortable but keep going anyway.

    Discipline allows you to do just that; it frees you from the prison of discomfort.

    Just like self-belief, you can build discipline by starting small and working your way up.

    Choose something difficult, something uncomfortable, and do it anyway.

    You can kill two birds with one stone here by using something like a daily cold plunge or exercise to grow your self-belief and build discipline simultaneously.

    Discipline is like a muscle; it can grow, and the bigger it gets, the more it can handle.

    4. Consistency

    Without consistency, your chances of creating meaningful results are slim.

    I used to expect results instantly. I wanted results the moment I began something. This was not only unrealistic but often impossible.

    It was the lack of discipline and the inability to remain consistent that contributed to most of my quitting.

    Over time, I realized it wasn’t the luckiest, smartest, or even most talented people who were the successful ones. The people who showed up every single day and refused to quit were the ones with all the success.

    One single water drop hitting a rock does absolutely nothing, but eventually, it carves and shapes the rock. The same can be said for going to the gym or anything else in life; it’s the consistent effort over time that gets you in shape.

    And so, I applied it to my own life and finally started seeing the results I desired.

    If you want change, you have to trust the process and show up every single day. Once you see the results that consistency gets you, you’ll no longer be relying on faith but on concrete evidence, making it much easier to show up when you least feel like it.

    5. Focus 

    In today’s world, it has become extremely difficult to avoid all the noise. With a pocket full of distractions, remaining focused has never been so hard.

    With social media, endless notifications, and more content than we could ever possibly consume, it’s enough to derail even the most focused among us. This is why it’s essential to ensure your thoughts and actions align with your goals.

    If you’re easily distracted, you’ll find yourself buying into new shiny opportunities over and over again, keeping yourself at the starting line.

    You’ll either be too distracted watching useless content or too easily influenced to stick to one thing at a time—and both will keep you from succeeding.

    The longer I spent doing just that, the more I realized that every path is hard, and for every path come hundreds of differing opinions on which way is best. Only when I stuck to one thing and focused on doing it well did I finally see results.

    So, if you want to finally become the best version of yourself and achieve your goals, you’ll need to limit distractions, stay committed to your journey, and focus on mastering one thing at a time.

    —

    So there you have it, the five fundamentals of personal development. It’s time to go take action and become your best self, one small step at a time.

  • You Aren’t the Problem

    You Aren’t the Problem

  • The Truth About Rainbows: Hope Doesn’t Always Look Like We Expect

    The Truth About Rainbows: Hope Doesn’t Always Look Like We Expect

    “If you have ever followed a rainbow to its end, it leads you to the ground on which you are standing.” ~Alan Cohen

    There’s nothing more exhilarating than riding in a Jeep through masses of standing water. With each push forward, my friend Angela expertly maneuvered through enormous puddles, sending fountain-like arcs of aquatic glory past my passenger-side window.

    This was joy to me.

    It was a welcome reprieve considering the past couple of years had unraveled in ways I never saw coming. In fact, this watery wonder, cruising through the quaint streets of the beloved beach island I called home, was a rare outing for me.

    I wouldn’t call myself a shut-in exactly, but if you had spotted me out and about in recent months, you might have likened it to a unicorn sighting—rare and a shock to the system. Rare, because leaving my house required something other than pajamas. Shocking, because it meant I had somehow rallied after a morning of ugly crying.

    These days, the ugly cries came less frequently, but getting out the door still required careful planning and a healthy dose of positive self-talk. Angela, sensing all I had been through, didn’t attempt to fill the space between us with mindless chatter. She let the air breathe, allowing our hearts to settle into a comforting silence.

    And wouldn’t you know it? In that silence, as we rolled forward over the waterlogged road, a rainbow appeared.

    It was magnificent. A full curve stretching across the sky, untouched by a single cloud. We both took it in, wordless at first, until Angela finally spoke the thought we were both holding:

    “This has to mean brighter days are ahead.”

    I nodded, hoping with everything in me that she was right. Not just for our community, which had been pummeled by weeks of relentless storms, but selfishly, for me. I needed this to mean something. The universe wouldn’t place something so breathtaking in my path if life wasn’t about to shift in a meaningful way… right?

    At that moment, although I wasn’t ready for it, a tiny doorway of hope cracked open in my heart.

    Angela pulled into my driveway, gave me one of those deep, soulful hugs she’s known for, and I stepped onto the sand-packed pavers, feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time: the possibility of relief.

    But relief never came.

    The next morning, I woke up expecting transformation. I brushed my teeth, looked in the mirror, and waited for the shift. And then it hit me. Nothing had changed.

    Worse yet, everything that had once shattered me remained intact, as if locked in a forgotten pause. My father was gone—forever. And instead of the clarity or closure I had hoped for, I was left with the unsettling reality that some pieces of life can never be fully mended.

    By some unknown force of grace, the years, months, and weeks leading up to our last conversations allowed them to be light, even warm. A reminder that the love we shared, though imperfect, continued to move freely in both directions. And still, his sudden departure sent shockwaves through my family, shifting fault lines in ways I couldn’t control. Unable to bear it, like a sea turtle stunned motionless after a sudden freeze warning, I collapsed inward and began my retreat from the external world.

    Then, there was my future looming over me, a blank slate waiting to be filled. My identity had been tethered to raising my boys, but soon, my nest would be empty.

    I had no roadmap for what came next. I had tried to carve out a new path through writing and building a mindful and self-compassionate community, but since my father’s death, that dream and the energy for it had faded.

    My reflection met my gaze, uncertain and hesitant. Fifty years etched into my skin, fine lines tracing both laughter and worry, a strip of silver roots marking the passage of time, yet I felt invisible in a world that had seemingly moved on.

    What now, rainbow? What now?

    And beyond the grief, beyond the exhaustion, there was something else.

    Anger.

    How dare that rainbow give me hope? How dare it let me believe, even for a moment, that things were about to get better? I felt tricked, betrayed by my own willingness to believe in something beyond my suffering.

    But as I spiraled deeper into my chasm of despair, something else took shape on the edges of my soul. A truth so simple, so unshaken by my sorrow, that it stopped me in my tracks.

    I finally learned the truth about rainbows.

    Rainbows do not exist to change our lives. They do not come with promises or guarantees. They are not here to tell us whether things will get better or stay the same.

    A rainbow’s only purpose is to illuminate what already exists. To take the ordinary and, for a fleeting moment, drench it in color. It does not erase the rain, nor does it undo the storm. But it shifts our perception. It allows us to see the world, and ourselves, in a way that feels momentarily brighter.

    And maybe, just maybe, that is enough.

    Maybe healing is not about waiting for life to change but about learning to be with life exactly as it is. Maybe it’s about making space for the full spectrum of our emotions—grief and wonder, despair and hope, pain and beauty—without needing to force one away to make room for the other.

    Maybe the rainbow was never a promise of transformation. Maybe it was simply an invitation to see my life, my grief, and even myself through a different lens.

    And so, instead of cursing the rainbow for failing to fix me, I let it teach me something else.

    That I am still here.

    That even in grief, I can experience awe.

    That even in uncertainty, wonder can still find me.

    That even in the hardest moments, light doesn’t disappear. It refracts, scattering in ways I might not have expected but still can choose to see.

    And maybe, just maybe, hope isn’t about believing something external will come along to save us. Maybe hope is simply the courage to keep going, even when we don’t yet see the path ahead.

    So, I will keep going.

    Not because I know what’s next.

    Not because I believe everything will suddenly fall into place.

    But because there is still light in this world. Light that is beautiful, redemptive, and multi-faceted, and I want to keep searching for it.

    Even in the rain.

    Even in the in-between.

    Even in me.

  • Love It While It’s Here

    Love It While It’s Here

  • How to Change Your Bad Habits by Accepting Them

    How to Change Your Bad Habits by Accepting Them

    “If you don’t like something, change it; if you can’t change it, change the way you think about it.” ~Mary Engelbreit

    “So, what do you think?” my husband asked, the dinner table lit by the soft glow of the overhead light. He’d been talking for a while, and I knew I should have been listening.

    “What do you think?” he repeated with a hint of frustration.

    My mind raced trying to piece together the last few minutes. All I could say was a weak, “Huh?”

    It was the worst possible response. Normally, I’d be right there with him, sharing my thoughts. But this time, my attention was elsewhere: I was scrolling mindlessly on my phone.

    The frustration in his eyes was a clear reminder of how often I was missing out on the present moment.

    I realized that my phone was robbing me of genuine connection. I knew then I needed to change.

    The Struggle with Bad Habits Is Real

    We’ve all been there battling habits we know aren’t good for us. Mine was the endless scrolling and checking social media.

    After that dinner incident, I was determined to reclaim my attention and be present. My first move? Deleting all my social media apps.

    The first week was tough. I wasn’t on social media, but my phone still felt like an extension of my hand. I’d instinctively reach for it, ready to open Instagram, only to remember it was gone. This happened every hour. I was trying to change, but the craving was intense.

    Weeks later, my motivation went away. “What’s the point?” I thought. I felt like I was missing out and losing touch with friends.

    I justified checking my phone during “downtime,” like waiting in line, or after a long day when I needed to “relax.”

    The more I told myself, “Don’t use your phone,” the stronger the urge became. It was like telling yourself not to think about sleeping… you just become more aware of being awake.

    Inevitably, I reinstalled the apps and fell back into my old patterns. I felt defeated and frustrated. I also labeled myself “lazy.” I thought I had failed.

    Discovering A New Approach: Acceptance

    One day, while browsing the library, I stumbled upon the psychological concept of an “extinction burst.” This describes the surge of a behavior after you try to stop it.

    Think of it like this: you decide to give up sweets, and for a few days, it’s fine. Then, suddenly, you devour an entire box of cookies.

    That’s what happened to me. I thought willpower was the answer, but resisting only intensified my cravings.

    Instead, I learned about accepting bad habits. This means acknowledging their presence without judgment.

    When I shifted my perspective, everything changed. My anxiety decreased, and I stopped stressing about “doing the right thing.”

    I realized that falling back into old patterns didn’t make me a failure. It meant I needed more time to understand my habits better.

    Practical Steps for Accepting Bad Habits

    1. Create space for observation.

    Accepting bad habits begins with understanding them. I started observing my phone use with a new level of awareness.

    • I used mindfulness techniques to become more aware of the triggers that led me to reach for my phone.
    • I also started journaling to track when and why I wanted to scroll. What emotions or situations prompted me to seek the distraction of my phone? What needs was I trying to fulfill? For example, did I feel lonely, bored, or stressed?

    2. Change the narrative around your habits.

    Instead of a harsh “Don’t use your phone,” I began to use a gentler approach. I tried saying, “Don’t use your phone now.”

    This acknowledged the urge without completely denying it. It gave me a moment to pause and breathe, to consciously decide whether checking my phone was necessary.

    This simple shift in language created space for mindful decision-making.

    3. Reframe ‘bad habits’ as signals.

    Instead of labeling habits as ‘bad,’ consider them signals. Ask yourself: What need am I trying to meet? What am I feeling now?

    For example, I learned that checking my phone was a signal for a need for connection or a fear of missing out.

    Once you understand the message behind your habit, respond with compassion and understanding. Instead of criticizing yourself, acknowledge your needs and explore healthier ways to meet them.

    This shift transforms habits from enemies into valuable insights about your inner world.

    4. Replace, don’t just eliminate.

    Instead of simply deleting social media apps, I looked for healthier alternatives. I started saying, “I noticed I want to use my phone; instead I’m going to read one page of that book.”

    Finding substitutes helped me fill the gap and made the transition smoother.

    For example, if I felt the urge to scroll when bored, I would reach for a book, walk, or listen to a podcast instead.

    5. Treat yourself with kindness.

    Beating myself up for slipping back into old habits only made the process more difficult. I learned to practice self-compassion, reminding myself that change takes time and that setbacks are a normal part of being human.

    I desired this change the most, so I needed to be patient and kind to myself. And I made more progress by offering myself the same understanding and support I would offer a friend.

    Moving Toward a New Relationship with Your Habits

    Habits are complex, and breaking them isn’t easy. But understanding them is the first step to changing them.

    Accepting bad habits is a powerful tool for transformation. Instead of fighting them, we can observe, understand, and redirect them.

    I’ve learned that accepting your habits doesn’t mean giving up—it means you are gaining control. You’re acknowledging your humanity and approaching change with compassion and understanding.

    You have the power to reshape your relationship with your habits and create a life that aligns with your values and aspirations.

    What habits are you working on? Share your experiences in the comments below! Or share this post with someone who could benefit from it. Let’s support each other on this journey.

  • How to Understand and Process Your Emotions

    How to Understand and Process Your Emotions