
Tag: wisdom
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How to Break Unstable Relationship Patterns

“Being willing to accept responsibility for the situation you’re in is the first step to a more fulfilling love life.” ~Renée Suzanne
Remember the haunting ballad “Foolish Games” by Jewel?
Jewel wrote the song when she was sixteen. She kept a serious journal, and said in an interview that a verse in the song was “about a relationship that I was dramatically involved in on paper.”
That pretty much sums up my first relationship, which was a dramatic pseudo-relationship in many ways. I was sixteen going on seventeen, hopelessly romantic yet shrewdly skeptical of love at the same time. My emotions were wild and intense, and that was what I thought “real love” felt like.
This drama followed me throughout the few but memorable relationships I had in my twenties. When a partner was rude to me or put me down, I’d think that I somehow deserved it or that it was a challenge to do better with a quick-witted comeback. I’d tell myself that the other person needed “space” to “calm down,” without giving as much care or thought to what I really wanted or needed.
Mind games and second-guessing are part and parcel of an unstable relationship.
As Anita wrote in a forum comment: “Maybe you are testing him each time you withdraw—will he go after me?” In my mind, I’d rationalize it as the need to be “reaffirmed” that I was really what the person was looking for in an ideal partner.
All of the unstable relationships I was in ultimately failed.
In hindsight, it’s no wonder why!
I had constantly attracted and been attracted to partners who lacked commitment, reliability, and emotional stability. Things would blow hot and cold on a regular basis in either direction (“She’s So Cold,” by The Rolling Stones, was yet another song with lyrics I could relate to).
When I reached my early thirties, I started putting in more effort to break out of these negative relationship patterns. I realized that I had to accept responsibility for being in horrible relationship situations that I thought no wise and sane person would ever put up with.
I’d like to share what I learned in the hopes that my experience may help someone else who’s desperately trying to move forward from a troubled dating history.
5 Lessons About Breaking Unhealthy Relationship Patterns
1. Observe your thoughts and their actions.
When I observed myself, I noticed that my own thoughts about love and relationships were full of negative or anxious associations. I believed that it was close to impossible to be in a healthy relationship or that I would always be attracted to unstable types.
This anxiety carried over into my behavior on a daily basis. I was always skeptical to the point of being paranoid. Being too trusting is a fault, but I saw how the other extreme could be just as damaging as it didn’t give me much of a chance to see the good side of others. I couldn’t expect my relationships to improve if I had such low confidence in ever being in a fulfilling relationship.
I also had to recognize when someone’s words and actions didn’t line up. A glib speaker might be able to use words to perfectly express or explain something, but it’s a person’s behavior that really matters at the end of the day. A partner who proclaims they’re the greatest is an egomaniac if they fail to see how their hurtful words or behavior affects you.
2. Get clear on your boundaries.
Think about what makes you feel sad, uncomfortable, drained, or diminished as a human being.
My list of personal boundaries includes the following:
- I need a partner who’s financially responsible.
- I need a partner who won’t resort to belittling my mind and opinions should we have a clash of opinions.
- I need plenty of alone time to rest, recharge, and dedicate to my creative projects.
You need to understand what your personal boundaries are so that you can maintain them. More importantly, it helps you keep a distance from people who don’t respect your limits.
Boundaries don’t exist because you’re selfish or because you want to make life difficult for others. Boundaries are a form of self-care for your mental and emotional health. If this makes things “difficult” for others, perhaps they’re not the people you should be spending most of your time and life with.
3. Get clear on what you want.
When you have a better idea of what you don’t want, shift the focus onto what you do want in your relationships.
Think about the time and energy you’ve poured into unstable relationships. If you spent as much time and energy on seeking a healthy relationship, wouldn’t you have a reasonable chance of success?
To enjoy a stable relationship with someone mature and available, consider the deeper values you and your partner need to be in alignment with.
Do you want to have kids, or are you looking for someone who can also be a stepparent? Are you adamantly childfree and need a partner to respect this choice of yours? How financially responsible would you like your partner to be, and what are your financial expectations in a relationship?
These aren’t exactly romantic questions, and you don’t want to be unrealistic with a never-ending list of points that a potential partner must check off. But knowing what your deal breakers are before entering a relationship can save you a lot of time and heartache.
4. Don’t give up on yourself.
You may feel like your dating history is akin to scorched earth, where there’s nothing but rubble, ashes, and a rancid boatload of chronic low self-esteem.
No matter how bad it is, don’t give up on yourself.
You are a unique individual, and the story of your life is up to you to create. There may be setbacks and failures, but you never have to lose sight of your dreams and goals.
To lose yourself in a relationship is a sad way to feel out of touch with who you really are.
Spend the time to not just get to know yourself, but to know what really motivates you. This self-understanding will serve as a source of inspiration whenever you need to remind yourself of your gifts and strengths.
5. Choose wisely.
You always have a choice at the end of the day.
Instead of self-destruction through an unstable relationship, you can choose self-love and commit to leaving unhealthy relationships behind you. Choose peace over drama and emotional rollercoasters when it comes to romantic partners. Choose relationships where you feel free to be your authentic self instead of needing to walk on eggshells for fear of saying something that will set your partner off.
Above all, choose to be with someone who is kind and respectful toward you.
Your failed relationships help you to recognize the negative patterns that you need to break free from. This freedom allows you to begin healing from within, and it helps you move on in wisdom, not anger. You’re then able to face each day at an optimum level with the knowledge that you’ll be able to handle whatever comes your way.
Realize that it’s not impossible to break free from negative relationship patterns. Know that life has more to offer than unstable relationships, and that you are worth a whole lot more than someone else’s self-destructive tendencies.
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My Pain Was a Gift and a Catalyst for Growth

“Sometimes pain is the teacher we require, a hidden gift of healing and hope.” ~Janet Jackson
I was becoming more and more confused as to what my feelings were toward my husband. Longing for that personal adult male connection, I started to feel trapped in my marriage. However, I still had a very strong sense of our family unit and my commitment to it.
I wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize the family, even if it meant sacrificing my personal happiness. I made a conscious decision that my life was enough. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.
However, within a few months, I knew in my heart that my husband and I were further apart emotionally than even I could accept or ignore any longer. I had to address it, but I had to do it carefully. I wanted to make sure my husband understood that I still loved him; we just needed to work on some things. I believed it would make both of us happier.
I found time one night after dinner. We had just finished cleaning up the kitchen and were standing by the counter. The mood was relaxed and we had some privacy; the girls were busy working on their homework upstairs. It seemed as good a time as any.
I took a deep breath and blurted out, “I think we are not as close as married people should be.”
My husband looked at me funny, first a little quizzically as if he didn’t understand what he had just heard. Then his face relaxed and a look of release washed over it. His response shocked me to my core.
“I agree,” he said with relief. “I haven’t loved you for a long time. I was just pretending.”
“What? What did you just say?!?” I stammered, feeling as if I couldn’t catch my breath.
His words were suffocating. I stood there, motionless, as a torrent of emotions raged inside of me. I looked into the eyes of the person I thought I knew completely, that I had trusted without question. A cold, damp feeling of dread came over me. He was the person I thought loved me unconditionally, the one that I had built my life with.
What did he just say?
Now, I wasn’t expecting flowers and chocolates. But I wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting his response to be more along the lines of “I agree. I feel it too. What can we do about it?”
I was astonished. I was numb. I cried. I pleaded for some explanation. He had none. He said he would have gone on pretending forever, but since I dared to bring it up, he was able to finally be honest. We briefly tried marriage counseling, but his mind was made up. He didn’t love me. He was sorry. He felt guilty for the pain he was causing the girls and me, but he didn’t love me.
We were divorced within the year. Everyone marveled at how civil we were. How well I was handling everything. I went into survival mode during the divorce proceedings.
I had to protect my children emotionally. All of my strength went into doing that. I had to stay calm. I knew they were watching me. I tried not to argue. I tried to act normally. Really, I tried.
I also had to financially protect myself and my children. There were so many things to think about. How could I stay in the house with the kids? They were in high school by then and I didn’t want to uproot them. How could I pay for college? We were just getting by with two salaries and one house. How could I make this work? We eventually figured the financial part out. In comparison, that turned out to be the easy part.
He moved out, we got divorced, and then I fell apart.
This experience exposed some very deep wounds within me. Wounds I had that for many years had been scabbed over. Deep, thick scabs that protected me and allowed me to pretend they weren’t there. Now, without warning, they had been ripped wide open.
Wounds are funny things. We all have them. We respond from them, sometimes consciously, but many times not. They affect our thoughts and behaviors even when we’re not aware of it. If we look close enough we can even see others’ wounds in their actions.
Some wounds can lie dormant for many years and only return to taunt us when we are faced with the very thing that wounded us. And the funniest thing of all is that wounds don’t heal on their own, regardless of how much we pretend they are not there. We have to heal them ourselves.
My personal wounds had to do with self-love and my relationships with others. And they were deep, deeper than I had ever realized. When they resurfaced, I was surprised not only by their presence but by their intensity. There had been signs through the years, but they were easy enough to ignore.
My wounds might surprise you. I believe most people consider me to be a smart, attractive, capable woman with many accomplishments in my life. “Capable” as a nice way to say assertive or a take-charge kind of woman.
But there is also another side to me, a side that has deep-rooted feelings of not being “good enough” or not being “worth the effort”. My thoughts would go something like “I’m pretty, just not pretty enough. I’m thin, just not thin enough.” I’m smart, but intelligence wasn’t something celebrated in a girl growing up during the sixties and seventies. We were told to make sure we weren’t smarter than our future husbands, because men didn’t find smart women attractive, and God forbid of all things, don’t be capable.
But the traits not celebrated were the ones I clung to. I believed they were all I had to offer. I was the smart and capable one. My intellect and the sheer force of my will allowed me to succeed in most endeavors. I became goal-oriented and proved my worth by accomplishing my goals. I never allowed myself to fail, because success was expected, it was the only thing that I believed validated me.
That, however, didn’t translate into healthy personal relationships. I didn’t find value in myself as a whole person, so in turn, I never believed that the whole of me could be embraced, cherished, and loved. I was the only the “smart” and “capable” one.
Why couldn’t I love myself? Why didn’t I feel I was worth the effort? Why didn’t I see the whole person and celebrate my strengths, laugh at my weaknesses, and cherish the little girl in me that was just doing the best she could?
Eight years ago, I didn’t know. Today, after having lived through deep pain and more personal self-reflection and inner work than I care to admit, I believe I have some understanding of the larger journey.
Pain was my catalyst. Deep, aching pain that stopped me in my tracks and made me choose between exiting this lifetime (yes, I considered it) and seeking deeper answers to heal the ball of hurt I had become. I chose to seek deeper answers and that was the beginning of my spiritual journey.
Over the years I have learned to open my heart to myself and look at my experiences with a wider lens. I see my divorce and subsequent pain and depression as a gift that transformed my life and me along with it.
I’ve traveled back into my childhood and identified the core trauma that I experienced that shaped the personality (the smart, capable, one) and the embedded belief (I had to succeed to have value) from the essence of who I am. That took a lot of work because the personality traits and beliefs we create are so intertwined into who we think we are that it is difficult to separate them, as they have been ‘us’ for our whole lives.
In our defense, much of the ‘less than’ beliefs we hold are a result of the negative, punitive language that is deeply embedded in our religious and spiritual constructs. Many of us have come from a traditional religious belief system of ‘original sin and karma that we need forgiveness for’ and move to a spiritual belief system of ‘we need to learn our lessons and repeating our lessons until we finally get them.’
What if there is nothing to learn and no penance to do? What if everything in life is an experience for us to feel emotion and live from that deep space? That every emotion is an opportunity for us to expand our awareness and embrace the magnificence of who we are.
Deep emotions shake us out of our complacent lives and spur us into action.
In the experience is the emotion and in the emotion is the gift.
Keep digging because the real you is in there.
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Inside a Panic Attack: What It’s Like When Anxiety Strikes

“Those who suffer from mental illness are stronger than you think. We must fight to go to work, care for our families, be there for our friends, and act ‘normal’ while battling unimaginable pain.” ~Unknown
It’s strange having a panic attack while surrounded by people. I’m experiencing something so private and so personal, but unless I externalize it, they are completely unaware. It’s almost an art to be able to hide it—to train myself well enough to function in front of others to the point that, if I do reveal to them the nature of my anxiety, they reply, “I had no idea.”
If you’ve never experienced a panic attack, they are almost impossible to explain. But I’m going to try.
Panic attacks are often pre-verbal, animalistic, and very, very private. No two people experience a panic attack in the same way.
It’s not always rocking back and forth in the fetal position (though I’ve been there). Some people zone out and become almost catatonic. Some can’t breathe. Some have chest pains. Some become aggressive. What happens to all of us, though, when we have a panic attack is the feeling or thought that either something catastrophic is about to happen or we are going to die. And as far-fetched as it sounds, I can assure you that it is very, very real.
It often starts with feeling dizzy or woozy. The room doesn’t spin, but I feel off. Like the earth is tilting. My blood runs cold and I get a chill up my spine. I feel like I’m going to pass out. The thoughts that run through my head are almost incomprehensible—a steady stream of screeching and wailing. My brain flips its switch and I go from being able to think and function logically to oh god I’m going to die I’m about to die I have to get out of here I’m going to die this is it oh god oh no no no no.
I have to sit down, or I have to walk, depending on how close I am to fainting. Typically, my fight/flight/freeze response is flight, so I usually want to get the f*ck out of there—wherever “there” is. I want to be alone, but I’m terrified of being alone.
No one can see me like this.
What if I pass out? What if I die? Will anyone find me?
But what if it’s just a panic attack? Then you’ll feel stupid.
Should I get help? Should I call 911?I walk out if I can, and if not, I fake needing to go to the bathroom and text my husband.
I’m about to pass out. I don’t know what to do. I’m freaking out. Can you come home?
I’m crying by this point and I’m having a hard time taking a deep breath. I hug myself and rock if I’m sitting down or I shift my weight from leg to leg if I’m standing up. My throat is closing. Everything is too loud and too bright. I’m pinging between sheer panic and despair.
When I’m on the panic side of the spectrum, I go off instinct. My instinct is to escape. When I’m on the despair side of the spectrum, I’m able to form thoughts. Real sh*tty thoughts.
What is happening? Is this a panic attack or am I dying? Am I going to faint? Do I have a heart problem? What if it’s something really bad that’s undiagnosed? I haven’t eaten anything in a few hours, maybe it’s diabetes. HOW CAN EVERYONE ACT SO NORMAL CAN’T THEY SEE I’M DYING???
I flip-flop between panic and despair for the duration of the attack. It never lasts longer than ten minutes, but the effects of it last the rest of the day. I’m exhausted, but I’m on guard in case it comes back. I’m wary. Is this just a random panic attack or am I about to go through another season of hell?
I know it can be hard to imagine a panic attack if you’ve never had one. It gets portrayed in a humorous way on TV, usually involving breathing into a paper bag, and it can seem a little dramatic. I’ve had someone tell me that they used to think people who had panic attacks were weak (why couldn’t they just pull themselves together and snap out of it?) until they had one themselves.
If you’ve never had a panic attack, first I want to thank you for reading this far. Either you love someone who has had panic attacks, or you’re genuinely curious, and both make you an awesome person. Let me paint a picture for you.
Imagine you’re driving your car in the mountains of Tennessee. It’s a sunny day and you’re listening to your favorite band as you steer your car around the bends. You’re enjoying the ride and thinking about your family or friends or whoever you’re going to see.
Then, out of nowhere, your power steering goes out and you plow straight through the railing. You grab the e-brake just in time, but the front end of your car is hanging off the mountain and the back tires are hanging by the railing you ran over. One wrong move and your car will slide off of the edge toward a 200-foot drop, and you will die.
Do you try to climb out of the back? Do you sit still and wait for rescue? Do you accept your fate? What do you do? The car seems to be sliding forward slowly. Or is it? It’s hard to tell. You can’t think. You have to get out of here, but you can’t move. You’re helpless.
This is a panic attack. It comes out of nowhere usually, which makes it so cruel. We aren’t expecting it. We are living life. Then, in a matter of a second, we truly feel that we are on the brink of death. I can’t stress enough just how utterly real this feels to us.
Our bodies believe we are about to die. Our brains send a flood of adrenaline into our bloodstream. Our heart beats fast, sending more blood to our muscles. Our breathing becomes shallower, allowing us to take in more oxygen. Our blood sugar spikes and our senses sharpen. Our body is trying to help us confront danger or get out of harm’s way, but it doesn’t realize that there is no real danger.
That’s why panic attacks are so exhausting. We are having a near death experience. We aren’t facing the reality of death, but we are facing our perception of it.
Eventually, it passes. It always does. We are left feeling drained or numb or depressed or ashamed. I tend to get angry.
This is BULLSH*T. I HATE this. Why does this keep happening? I was a therapist, for Christ’s sake. I should not have panic attacks. F*CK THIS.
We recover, though, and that’s exactly why people who have panic attacks are warriors. We fight battles every day. We know the nature of The Beast. We don’t always know when he’ll strike, but we know that we will survive whatever he throws at us. We’ve faced death in our own way, and it hasn’t beaten us yet. We survived the last panic attack, and we’ll survive the next one. We have no choice.
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Honor Your Progress and the Path That Led You Here

“In time and with water, everything changes.” ~Leonardo da Vinci
This is a story about our past and progress. It’s about holding on and letting go, moving forward by moving inward, and time. And like any good story, it’s a love story in the end. I’m talking about the kind of love that eases suffering and restores peace. The love we show ourselves through patience and unconditional acceptance.
It begins with a box in the back of my hall closet, tucked neatly beneath the snorkeling equipment and board games we always forget about. I’ve moved that box from Texas to Tennessee and back again, to California and Arizona.
I last opened the box eleven or twelve years ago. I lived in Memphis then in a bright but lonely third-story apartment. There was a thunderstorm that day, and something about the dark afternoon and Clueless playing in the background made me nostalgic.
I spent hours poring over old family photos and so many trinkets I’d forgotten about. An old nametag from my college dorm, programs from past performances, marching band gloves, complete with cut-out fingers. All proof that I was here.
I’d unearthed a time capsule of cherished keepsakes mixed with hastily stored pictures of people I used to know. Good memories and bad ones greeted me, both softened and warmed with time.
I pulled out a caricature of me and my high school boyfriend and braced myself for a punch in the stomach I always felt seeing his face. I’d vowed to wipe him from my memory. “I’ll never be that person again,” I’d promised. And here was evidence that we happened. That, too, had softened.
It’s a bittersweet mix of pleasure and pain to revisit the past. Compartmentalization and sentimentality, like why would I want to remember this, but also why would I ever want to forget? Our lives are made of days we long to linger in along with those we’d like run from, burning the bridge and the whole city behind us if we must. Both tell the story of us.
I’m happy to remember what I want to remember. Graduations and award ceremonies, laughing on the swings outside my apartment, sleepovers with the friends I’d grow into an adult with. I want to acknowledge the things I’m proud of, that clearly speak of my strengths.
I’ve spent many wishes on extracting the other times from my story…the lows and illnesses, ridiculous relationships and naiveté. CTRL+X, like it never happened. Paste in something prettier.
Opening that box and feeling my heart open just a little wider made me wonder if my past deserves more respect than that. And so much more love. I was out there trying my best and living. Even when I didn’t know where to turn or understand what I was looking at, I managed to find my way through.
It’s interesting, too, that as much as I wanted to leave behind many aspects of my past, I’d found something worth holding on to in it. Did I know that one day I might see things differently? Maybe. Or maybe I was just as idealistic then as I am now, listening to love songs and hoping the box would keep the good times alive.
I’ve considered taking the box out and showing it to my kids, but something’s always stopped me. Part of me wants them to hold a little slice of their family legacy, and another wants to leave it alone. Best not disrupt the balance I’ve found. I’ve grown up and moved on, but the fear about what I might unleash opening up the past remains.
So, I suppose this is a story about trusting in our progress, too.
I’ve made more peace than I give myself credit for. The hang-ups I thought I’d never get over and the heartbreaks I thought would haunt me forever, shoved down dark and deep, don’t hurt me in the same way. I’m not afraid of the same things anymore. It’s true, I have new fears now. But now, I also trust that they’ll change. My whole relationship with fear is different. I’m not perfect at it, but I’m a lot less judgmental of my fears and their origins.
This is also the story about the wisdom and peace we seek. And it’s about life, legacy, and forward momentum.
We want to move forward and grow stronger, braver, and wiser. We’re all caught in that pull between holding on and letting go.
We can act like moving forward means bottling it all up or leaving it all behind, as if that will make us faster. Sure, we’ll outgrow things. Space will ask for clearing. We’ll bury hatchets, set dreams free, and so on. Parts of us will be reborn many times over. None of this moves us very far into that peace and wisdom we desire if done in anger, rejection, or shame, though.
Pain becomes wisdom and life becomes legacy through respect for the path that led us here and gratitude for our progress, in whatever form it takes. And transformation happens through our daily decisions. Making amends, apologizing, setting boundaries, or just taking better care of ourselves eases suffering and brings us closer to peace when made from a place of caring.
It’s not instantaneous, of course. And it’s okay to keep a “box.” We need a place to put those things that we don’t know what to do with or make sense of. But we also owe ourselves the honesty about what happens inside that box.
The box isn’t magic, and hiding things doesn’t make them disappear. Yet here’s the paradox of it all: time has healing properties. It eases the intensity of old wounds through perspective. Over time, we make sense of our past and reach a new understanding of how it all fits together. The path we’ve traveled often looks clearer through the rearview mirror.
We don’t move forward by packing everything away and never looking back. Part of the growing process is taking that box out and sorting through it. Letting some things go with compassion and holding some closer to our heart, then breathing a sigh of sweet release as the box grows lighter.
Above all else, then, this is a story about suffering and compassion. (In the end, it’s always a love story.)
Whether we’re holding on or letting go, love is the path through. Love may be tender, but it’s so strong. Love gives us resilience. Grit. With love comes acceptance and patience. Love breeds openness.
Love reminds us of why we’re trying in the first place.
It speaks to us of our courage.
Love makes us willing to look at the parts that hurt with kindness.
Sometimes we need to see the ugly parts to find the beauty again. Sometimes confusion is the first sign of clarity. It’s our willingness to be present with whatever arises that gives us the strength to keep going.
Dear Traveler, we all have a box of one kind or another. What’s the story that yours tells? What form has your progress taken?
It’s eleven years later, and I’m still learning how to be more intentional about the holding on and easier about the letting go. I’m learning that I don’t need to rush so much, and I sure don’t need to try so hard to escape where I’ve been.
I’m seeing for myself that it’s okay to let go of shame. It’s okay to hold on to the positives, too. (Even in the painful times.)
I’m learning how to nurture the small moments of joy and appreciate the everyday things that tell my story.
As for the pain, I’m learning to meet that with love. Fear, too. When I’m ready to face it, I face it with as open a heart as I can manage. If it burns, I ease up. When I’m not ready, I give myself permission to set it aside for a while, this time closer to the light. I promise it I’ll be back when I’m a little older and wiser.
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Acceptance Is Not Passive; It’s the Path to Peace

“The price of our vitality is the sum of all of our fears.” ~David Whyte
Acceptance by its very nature is imperfect; it’s messy and often unpleasant, while ultimately leading to a place of growth, a sense of freedom, and a life familiar with ease. I know this because I have had a lot of painful acceptance in my life, and it has been crucial to helping me move beyond the stuckness of fear and suffering.
Years ago, being the natural striving, fun-seeking, achievement-oriented person I was, I ignored the fact that my body felt like a truck had run over it. I pushed, faked, and hid what my body was really feeling… until it all came to a screeching halt.
Diagnosed with lupus, an autoimmune disease, and a future of chronic pain or worse, I had to give up the impressive job, the active social life, and the self-image that had all propped me up in the world. And then what was left?
Instinctively, I wanted to go back to the way things were, to repatch it all back together again. Fortunately, I inherently felt the impossibility of all of that, and so the work began.
I started taking a meditation class and then a Buddhist practice, and one day sitting silently, feeling my body breathing, listening inwardly to what was there, the hard, guarding shell around my heart broke. I had to accept there was no going back to normal, there was only being with what is and opening to where that might lead.
Acceptance is not resignation. It is not passively giving up. It takes courage and strength.
I feel it more of a falling inward, dropping into the sensations of what is, recognizing and acknowledging what’s there. A place of empowerment and choice instead of feeling like a victim to chance. It is a beautiful sense of coming home to the body in the present moment, a feeling of wholeness and strength to better face your circumstances, whatever they may be.
That being said, there were a lot of tears and a lot of pain; in other words, it was messy. A series of small steps, it took a while.
I had to accept that I could no longer keep up with my carefree, energetic friends as they traveled around the world and partied around the clock.
I had to accept I would no longer create interesting buildings as an architect or participate in gallery shows as an artist.
Most difficult of all, I had to accept that I could no longer be the fun-loving, happy person my husband needed—at least not right away.
I had to accept my life had suddenly taken a new direction and be receptive to the possible changes that this might bring. Receptivity was the key to opening toward inner growth and inner intimacy, as well as a place of gentleness, all new territory for me!
So what is your experience of acceptance really like? Maybe there is an image or metaphor that best viscerally says “acceptance” to you. To me, it feels like a slow-motion fall into an undercurrent that sweeps me away.
It can feel quite beautifully poetic as a surrender into what is present, which floods me with a feeling of relief. It is more honest, more pure, less tinged with the shoulds of daily life—as in the pressure to be more productive, to be energetically outgoing, to follow through on all of my perceived responsibilities as a daughter, a wife, a friend.
Allowing myself to actually be the way I felt, without the weight of someone else’s expectations, was the beginning of moving toward physical and emotional health.
Rilke writes, “Gravity is like an ocean current that takes hold of even the strangest thing and pulls it toward the earth. We need to patiently trust our heaviness—even a bird must do this before it can fly.”
Trusting that the earth will support all of our weight, all of our heaviness, the physical pain and the mental anguish too, brings us to a place of feeling grounded, a place that’s ready to respond with wisdom and compassion, though this does take practice.
Pulling away from our pain or ignoring a life difficulty is a kind of resistance, a fighting of gravity, and an easy habit that will not heal our difficulties.
This tiring cycle of the push and pull of resistance makes everything difficult and takes a lot of energy, draining you of anything positive. It’s exhaustive like continuously having a really bad day.
Resisting that all aspects of my life had changed made the changes much more emotionally painful. Stuck in this place of denial, I was unable to connect in the ways that nurture deep friendships and that create authentic appreciation for life’s small pleasures.
Recognizing the inner discomfort, it’s worth asking, “What am I resisting?” And even better “Do I want to be in acceptance mode or resistance drain?” And finally, “What is it that I need to accept?”
We all hold onto some kind of emotional pain by pushing it away in an effort not to be hurt, which ultimately and ironically keeps this pain very close. But what would it take to let it go? What is it that wants to be acknowledged and ultimately accepted?
And this pain, whether physical or emotional, leads to tight muscles and tight mental habits, a pattern of tenseness, a pattern of protectiveness that sucks the joy and spontaneity out of your life. Again, not much fun, not much pleasure. Trying harder and harder, like pulling on a necklace or shoestring that is knotted, will only make things worse.
Embracing life, not just the edited parts of it but all of it, is a place of wisdom and grace. I can find this place sometimes in movement or in meditation, and often these are the same, because as quiet as your body/mind can get in meditation, at all times it is gently moving with every breath. This is the movement that grounds your learning into the very tissues and neurons that make you tick.
If you can find your learning in the body, feel it in the body, you will not forget your experience or the glimpses of insight just discovered. The dancer Augusta Moore once told me “The breath is the music in the body.” I love this—the dance of life unfolding with each breath.
So why do we try to hold on so tightly to what was, even though it creates nothing but frustration and pain?
Once we find the means, whatever this might look like, it feels so damn good to drop the efforting, to accept, to fall apart a little, or perhaps a lot, and then move on, move forward with our new reality and all it has to offer. It can feel so good to allow this deep relaxing in the body, find that place of peace and feeling of liberation.
And embracing life is what it is all about. We want to respond whole-heartedly, not with dullness or avoidance or anger. The danger lies in blocking too much of our self, guarding against the pain, the fears, or sense of being trapped in denial.
Staying true to our entire experience allows us to loosen our responses, drop the guard, and be in a place of acceptance. As David Whyte writes, “The price of our vitality is the sum of all of our fears.”
I have heard it said, and reluctantly have felt this truth, that the body cannot lie. So I invite you to find a quiet moment and listen deeply to what it is your body really wants to tell you, the inner wisdom it wants to share in healing; whether it’s an illness that has taken you down or a broken relationship that feels like it has left you stranded, your body/mind knows how to heal, and acceptance is the key to opening that door.
With an open heart and a willing mind, really hear what your strongest ally, your body, wants you to know: that this partnership, between the mind and the body is a strong one, it is a relationship that will guide the winds of change with grace and ease. Acceptance helped me learn to listen within, and then trust what I heard, trust just what my personal world was asking me to respond to, and step peacefully forward into that vibrant flow of life.
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Your Emotions Will Not Drown You; They Will Save You

“You weren’t built to be calm, cool, and collected all the time. If you were, it wouldn’t feel so exhausting.”~Ryan O’Connell
There’s a lot of talk nowadays about “highly sensitive people” and “empaths.” It can be difficult for people who don’t relate to these labels to understand, or even believe what more sensitive folks experience. As a culture, we’re just beginning to grasp what sensitivity is and how to manage our energy.
What Sensitivity Actually Is
It’s easy to get caught up in cultural biases and stigmas concerning personality traits, and sensitivity has always been a part of that. This is why I believe it’s important to define sensitivity in the most objective way possible.
Sensitivity is simply about attunement, which is a fancy word for how much attention your nervous system is paying. Sensitive folks have more highly attuned nervous systems than others.
For this reason, our nervous systems are both in a position of advantage and vulnerability at the same time:
1. You will likely be the first to recognize a genuine threat in the environment. That’s a great evolutionary adaptation! In other words, sensitive people are pretty much designed to outsmart danger and stay safe in the world. (Contrary to the stigma that sensitivity is weakness, sensitive people would probably make the best Jedis ever.)
2. You will be more susceptible to stress-related symptoms, exhaustion, and mental health issues. In other words, threats that aren’t worth considering will still be considered threatening by the sensitive person because they may struggle with discernment.
If my nervous system is signaling a threat, how am I supposed to ignore that?!
Imagine tuning a guitar; as you turn the knob, you create a higher pitch. The string becomes tighter and the notes higher.
I think this is the perfect metaphor for sensitivity, and one I discovered in college after reading the work of a troubled 1800s poet, Charles Baudelaire. He said, “My nerves are strung to such a pitch that they no longer give anything but piercing and painful vibrations.”
He wrote this after describing a beautiful landscape he was looking at. He loves it, only, as he takes more and more of the scenery in, it begins to overwhelm him. His nervous system is easily overstimulated by the sights, even positive ones. Lacking the wisdom to glide with this energy, he is tormented by it.
In all of my angsty college depression, I thought, “This guy gets it!”
Back then, I was brand new to adulthood and had no idea how to use my sensitivity in any advantageous way. As a result, I developed chronic symptoms doctors couldn’t explain, did poorly in school, and attracted negative relationships with people who didn’t experience the world like I did.
I simply believed there must be something wrong with me—and so all my efforts went toward fixing myself. I tried developing new skills, making new friends, and applying for various types of jobs. My assumption was that as soon as I figured out how to be “valuable” and well-liked, I’d finally be happy.
But these pursuits never quite panned out. After college I found myself confused and depressed, and much like Baudelaire, tortured by my sensitivity to the world. I started looking elsewhere for answers and stumbled upon yoga and meditation for the first time.
In the years following, I worked from home more and more, increasingly turned down parties and unfulfilling trips to the bar, and settled into a healing phase in which I kept to myself.
The depth of this phase surprised me. There was so much baggage, so much pain to sort through, and so many confusing emotions to sit with. But the more I sat, the more the emotions spoke, revealing my guilt, grief, dissatisfaction, and many more realities I was unaware of. Life was hard because I wasn’t listening to their feedback.
The more I let them speak, the more positive they became, inspiring new emotions and new behaviors that moved me forward in life.
Wielding Your Power
Thankfully, we no longer live in an age that demonizes sensitivity. We are, in many ways, free to arrange our lives in ways that support us, rather than pull us deeper into the currents of overwhelm.
Imagine walking down the street and realizing that every little stimulus is an invitation—an invitation to feel an emotion, experience a memory, or share in the emotional stream of others’ conversations, etc.
It’s no wonder sensitive people shut themselves away from the world! It’s so much easier to just avoid all stimuli and hyper-control your environment.
Unfortunately, doing this 24/7 actually enables the sensitive person to avoid practicing their power. It helps us stay stuck.
Imagine if Luke Skywalker simply said, “Man, the force is too draining! I think I’ll just stay inside forever.”
As a newly awakened sensitive person, you may need to hibernate for a while. However, this is only part of the growth path.
The tough truth is that those with highly attuned nervous systems must master emotion… or suffer. Mastering emotional fluency is an extremely fulfilling journey because you get to experience the full spectrum of human emotion. Whereas many people are just going through the motions, you feel everything, which gives you a unique power and ability to handle anything.
But for those at the starting line, it can seem like a punishment.
Why me?
How to Master Emotional Fluency
It is unlikely that any of the following points I make will shock you. In fact, they may frustrate you because you already know them. They’re just so hard to implement!
The thing is, the human nervous system has evolved through many, many centuries. This means that the patterns you are now trying to change or guide in your body are very well established.
It’s important to not look at this as you trying to work against or change your tendency to become stimulated in uncomfortable ways. When people get caught up in this mentality, they adopt the notion that they are unwell, victims of their own bodies, broken and powerless to direct their own lives.
As someone who has been through that pain, I want to tell you: That is so far from the reality of your situation.
You are not here to make yourself less sensitive. You are not here to be like everyone around you.
You are here to:
1. Heal your own recurring trauma patterns so that you can lighten the load for your nervous system.
In essence, this means reducing unnecessary triggers that disrupt your day and cause a full-body stress response. Start to notice things that continuously upset you and catch yourself in those moments. Simply stop and watch the reaction. What specific emotions create a downward spiral in your day?
It will help you to write down each time you feel triggered so the underlying issues can slowly reveal themselves. For example, you may find that each time you feel anxiety, you’re in a crowded space, or you recall the same painful memory. (This is not only lightening the load on your nervous system, but your adrenals and hormones as well.)
2. Start cleaning house—what has to go?
Whereas step 1 is about past trauma that keeps haunting us, this step is about recurring present-day stressors. These have the same, if not more of a detrimental effect on you because they influence daily stress levels.
This step often takes sensitive folks the longest because they must find ways to restructure their lives (leaving behind toxic relationships and jobs, letting go of old routines, etc.) This may require creativity and outside-the-box thinking because the world is currently designed for less sensitive people, which research shows is the majority.
Grabbing a stimulating coffee, running off to a stressful job, taking care of your kids with little support, eating stimulating foods—all of this stimulation is “normal,” but for you, it is not sustainable. These habits will lead you in a downward spiral of mental and physical exhaustion.
For me, this meant finding more flexible jobs that didn’t demand much from me emotionally. Inevitably, it also meant distancing myself from people who were not right for me – even when it was painful to do so.
3. Rebuild, rebuild, rebuild.
Begin welcoming in that which fuels you, and begin creating a life that is lighter, simpler, and freer. This life will lack drama that distracts you from who you are. By learning and exploring what matters to you, you will move closer and closer to a reality of true joy.
Your heightened emotions can come along with you in this new life. Only, you will experience a new side to them—the positive. You will finally begin to feel the ups along with the downs, and it will reveal how more and better was always possible for you.
This is a slow, challenging process, and by no means have I reached the finish line. For me, refueling has been about getting back to the root who I am and moving toward my genuine goals without rushing myself. The rebuilding phase is all about how you spend your time. Do what feels replenishing and step away from what feels draining.
No matter how many hurdles you see ahead, you have more power than them. You are not here to bear the weight of society’s chaos. You are here to bring it into order so your sensitivity can work for you, not against you.
Are you ready to begin?
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When It’s Hard To Be True To Yourself, Remember These 7 Things

“Sometimes when you’re in a dark place, you think you’ve been buried, but you’ve actually been planted.” ~Christine Caine
The phrase “personal growth” has always felt counterintuitive to me. Personal growth feels less like growth and more like stripping away—of peeling back the expectations, fears, and shame that we’ve been conditioned with since birth. Beneath these layers lies our truest nature—our inner divinity—our most aligned selves. I view my work on this Earth as getting as close to that aligned self as I can.
Despite the barrage of positive affirmations and uplifting memes encouraging us to “live our truth,” learning to live in alignment can be deeply uncomfortable. Hundreds of requisite growing pains accompany the process. We shed skins that no longer serve us, which at first leaves us raw and exposed.
Over the years, I’ve worked to break addictive patterns and speak my truth against enormous inner resistance. When I began to live in alignment, I experienced seismic discomforts. This new territory was entirely uncharted, and with it came bouts of newfound anxiety, fear, and hyper-sensitivity.
I worried that these unpleasant emotions were signs of “doing it wrong.” Of course, judging my reactions only exacerbated my discomfort—which eventually passed, on its own, in time.
At first, living in alignment is tough. It gets harder before it gets easier. Here are eight reminders to help you trust your gut and keep going.
1. It’s normal to break up with partners, friends, and acquaintances.
Living in alignment looks different for everyone. For me, it largely meant quitting drinking, changing careers, and setting firmer boundaries around my time, space, and body. The first thing I noticed was how many of my relationships—relationships that fit like puzzle pieces with the old me—now felt inauthentic, empty, or downright wrong.
One of the most important parts of my journey was leaving relationships that no longer served me. This meant “breaking up” with four to five friends over the course of a few months, a process that left me feeling guilty and lonesome at first.
The flipside? Now, relationships formed on the basis of people-pleasing, codependency, obligation, and guilt are not a part of my life. These “breakups” leave room for authentic, nourishing, reciprocal relationships to blossom. Be patient as they form.
2. It’s normal to feel a boatload of guilt.
For me, living in alignment meant giving up old people-pleasing behaviors. Suddenly, I wasn’t the person who others could count on to go along with the flow. I spoke up. I set boundaries. I stayed in when I wanted to stay in, cancelled plans when I needed to, and set non-negotiable expectations for my relationships.
In other words, I no longer prioritized other people’s comfort over my own feelings.
If you’re not used to putting your own needs first, doing so can spark an avalanche of guilt. You might feel unforgivably selfish. You might wonder if you’re a bad friend/mother/colleague/[insert role here].
Guilt in the early stage of living in alignment is totally normal. Understanding this helps you to notice and accept the guilt instead of reacting to it. Talk through it with trusted friends, a coach, or a therapist. Learn what it feels like in your body. Write about it in your journal. Over time, meeting your own needs will feel second-nature.
3. It’s normal to feel hyper-sensitive and/or need more solitude.
Giving credence to my feelings, emotions, and needs was like breaking a dam. Once they started flooding, they keptflooding. And flooding. And flooding.
By honoring my anger, I began to realize how painful certain relationships felt. By honoring my need for time and space, I began to realize how energetically draining some environments were. By honoring the ebbs and flows of my body, I began to notice when I needed more sleep or a change to my diet.
As a result of these sensitivities, I needed more time to myself, more naps, fewer plans, and more space to process my emotions via journaling and meditation. At first, this baffled me. I thought living in alignment with my inner self would make me feel more resilient…. not less!
Keep in mind that what feels like “hyper-sensitivity” may just be “sensitivity,” and it is a completely normal reaction. You are giving your feelings and needs space to surface, maybe for the first time ever. You might be surprised by how many feelings you have—or by how forcefully they arise—when they’re no longer under lock and key.
4. It’s normal to freak out after setting a boundary or speaking a difficult truth.
Once, shortly after I’d made the decision to quit drinking, a housemate of mine made a rude, taunting comment about my sobriety. Instead of brushing it off, I turned to him and said forcefully, “That was really inappropriate. I don’t appreciate it.”
I had never stood up for myself so confidently. I went upstairs to my bedroom with a grin, feeling righteous and strong. Five minutes later found me hunched over in a sobbing fit. Everything in my body screamed, “You are mean! You’re an *sshole! Take it back!”
In a frenzy, I ran down the stairs, threw open my housemate’s bedroom door, and gasped “I’m-so-sorry-I-said-that-I-got-out-of-hand-Please-forgive-me.” He accepted my apology, bewildered, and thirty minutes later, back in my bedroom, I threw up my hands in frustration.
Yes, I redacted an appropriate boundary. Yes, I confused the hell out of my housemate. And yes —it was progress.Baby steps, baby.
It’s totally normal to freak out after setting a boundary. If you grew up in an environment where you were punished or neglected when you expressed your true feelings, learning the art of honest expression is a radical act. In adulthood, your heart, mind, and nervous system is learning how to process, hold, and express difficult emotions. Fear may accompany this process, especially fear of retaliation or fear of abandonment.
Remember: the simple act of setting a boundary may feel like an enormous emotional upheaval. You’ve just done some serious emotional work. After setting a challenging boundary, hold yourself with compassion in those moments and give yourself permission to rest and recuperate. With time, your muscle of authentic expression will strengthen.
5. It’s normal to experience previously unaddressed trauma.
When I lived out of alignment, I drank too much, slept around, and chased the reckless highs of my compulsions. In hindsight, it’s easy to understand that, because my reality was so painful, I used any means possible to escape it. Unfortunately, when I began to live in alignment, I realized that the means I had used to numb my pain were painful, too.
My body and heart carried the scars of my compulsions gone awry. Living in alignment meant giving those buried pains and traumas voice. I was bewildered when my healing journey became home to unexpected triggers, panic attacks, and hypersensitivities. At first, I felt more broken than I’d felt before.
Little did I know that part of healing it was feeling it in the first place—something I’d never let myself do. As they say: it gets dark before the dawn.
Especially if you find yourself experiencing previously unaddressed trauma, seek support from your partner, friends, or a therapist. Letting your trauma surface and heal allows you to integrate the many parts of your story that may have been disparate and disconnected before. This is part of your journey to wholeness.
6. It’s normal to get angry AF.
For years, I shrunk myself for the sake of others’ comfort. I hid my voice. I settled for less. I participated in imbalanced relationships. I stomached unkindness.
When I began to live in alignment, I started to see with new eyes all the s%&# I’d settled for over the years. I became resentful and enraged. I felt white-hot anger toward the individuals who had taken advantage of me.
Like a captive animal released from her cage, I pounced with a vengeance. I vented to my friends. I shook my fist. I wrote searing poetry and wrathful songs. I let it out.
That anger was holy. It was the righteous indignation of my innermost self coming alive. Over time, feeling it and expressing it led me to an equilibrium: I could hold my anger while also understanding the part I’d played in subjecting myself to these toxic patterns.
Honor your anger. It will not annihilate you. The more familiar you become with your resentment, the more you can use it as a signpost to set boundaries in the future.
7. It’s normal for your dreams to shift rapidly.
As we strip away our conditioning and get in touch with our innermost selves, dreams that others have for us lose their glossy appeal. We may find ourselves bucking opportunities for fame, fortune, and legacy in favor of dreams that illuminate us from within. Our intrinsic desires become paramount.
That sounds awesome—in theory. But when it happened to me, I had a major identity crisis. I had spent countless hours, thousands of dollars, and a college education following a very specific dream of a career in politics. For years, I’d told anyone who would listen that my dream job was a seat in the Senate. Without this societally sanctioned goal, who would I become?
Especially for those of us who live out of touch with our innermost selves, we rely heavily on external roles and rewards to feel a sense of purpose and identity. As we begin to live in alignment, those external rewards begin to matter less. Sometimes, we realize we never really wanted them at all.
It’s normal if your dreams, desires, career, or values shift rapidly. It’s normal if your work suddenly feels deflating, boring, or downright awful. It’s normal if you suddenly feel the need to quit your venture or back out on your business plan. It’s normal to cease your involvement in organizations, boards, or volunteer roles that no longer resonate with you.
You’re not being impulsive. You’re not “wasting” anything. You’re not crazy. You are adjusting your external world to align with your newfound inner world — and that is an act of self-love and self-respect.
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Despite my work as a life coach and my proclivity for collecting self-help books, the best piece of advice I’ve ever gotten is, simply: You’re right where you’re supposed to be.
So often, we get in our own way by judging our (very valid) reactions to unfamiliar circumstances. In a culture that lauds the shiny, happy, green-smoothie version of personal growth, we forget that self-care can be fearful, anxious, and downright painful.
Keep going. That fear, anxiety, and pain is all part of your process. Hold it with compassion and watch who you become when you reach the other side.
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What Helps Me Put Things in Perspective

“The fact that we live at the bottom of a deep gravity well, on the surface of a gas covered planet going around a nuclear fireball 90 million miles away and think this to be normal is obviously some indication of how skewed our perspective tends to be.” ~Douglas Adams
The Buddha famously said that life is full of suffering. While I acknowledge there is much suffering in the world, for my privileged life in the West, I like to think of it more as life being full of challenges. You see, sometimes the suffering part is optional.
Now again, I’m not talking about war, famine, trauma or other life-threatening or intolerable living situations. I’m talking about your regular developed world problems.
The hot water stopped working.
The subway is over-crowded.
Your child has the flu.
You didn’t get the job we thought we deserved.
Your friend isn’t talking to you.
You can’t afford a new car.Those regular sort of problems that we encounter on a regular basis that interrupt our well-being. We get annoyed by them, ruminate about them, and make them bigger than they need to be. Our minds tend to go straight to the negative, and that is usually to beat ourselves up in some way or predict the worst-case scenario.
Suddenly our temporary irritation becomes a BIG problem.
I’ll never find a plumber who is reliable.
I hate this subway ride—I can’t keep doing this.
How am I going to keep my job if I have to keep taking days off? What if it is something more serious?
I’ll never find a good job.
I’m a terrible friend / they’re a terrible friend.
I need more money.Our brains are incredibly unhelpful. We have this negative bias that is designed to keep us safe, a useful characteristic for our ancestors, but not so functional in these modern times. We don’t need our minds to play out to the worst possible outcome and we certainly don’t need it to keep reminding us of our perceived inadequacies.
I was reminded of this recently when I had a falling out with my youngest child. I kept replaying it over and over in my head.
What if we never sort this out?
What if she doesn’t want a close relationship with me anymore?
Where did I go wrong in my parenting that she could behave like this?
She hates me!
I am a bad mother.Yep. Over and over again in my head either going to worst case scenario or beating myself up.
And all the while making the situation much worse than it needed to be.
And then I remembered: A problem is only a problem when we decide it’s a problem.
We could also decide it’s not a big deal.
It was time to get some perspective.
I made a choice to get out my own head and take a step back. And then I asked myself the following questions:
What would my best friend tell me about this situation?
She would tell me that my daughter is stressed and tends to get emotional when she is stressed. She would tell me not to take it personally.What would I tell my best friend if they were going through this?
I would tell her that her daughter is a teenager behaving like a teenager and we don’t have to go to every argument we are invited to. I would reassure her that this is a small issue that will be resolved quickly.What would someone you admire say about this?
This too shall pass…What would a judge and a jury tell you?
You have a good relationship and this is just a small matter.Is this going to matter in five minutes, five days, five months, five years from now?
Yes, no, no, no.Suddenly I felt much better. Putting it into perspective and getting outside views on the situation is so helpful in getting our minds back to the real issues. And removing ourselves from the situation has a way of really allowing us to see what is important and what it not.
And it allows us to reduce the size of the problem significantly.
However, to me, that only goes so far.
I like to keep moving further and further back.
And I remind myself of the following reality:
We live on a little blue planet literally in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know how we got here but whatever your beliefs, it is some kind of miracle.
We are the perfect distance from the sun to have temperatures that we can not only survive but thrive in.
And this planet we get to live on is truly magnificent. If someone asked me to create a planet for humans to live on that was not only life -sustaining but also the most beautiful planet imaginable, I could not create something more magnificent than Earth.
If that weren’t enough, we get to live in the 21st century. Imagine how much more difficult life would have been for us if we had been born 100 years earlier? 200 years earlier? It’s difficult to fathom the hardships we would have had to go through just to survive.
And if you’re still not convinced that that is enough, think about this: If you are reading this you have access to a computer and the internet, something most of the world does not.
You are probably living in a somewhat developed country where clean water, fresh food and shelter are all in abundant supply. You also probably don’t have to worry about war, famine or natural disasters on a regular basis.
In other words, you have won the lottery. The only lottery that really matters, anyway.
And the opportunities that come with that privilege are mind-blowing.
We can do anything we want in this life.
We are free to choose any life we can imagine.
I don’t know how we got here or why we are here, but one thing is for sure, I’m going to hang on and enjoy the ride.
Suddenly the petty distractions of life become even pettier.
Do I really want to be arguing with my daughter?
Do I really need to make a big deal out of this?
And the bigger question: Do we really want to waste this life worrying about things that don’t really matter?
I know what my answer will always be…
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Finding the Courage to Go After What You Want Out of Life

“Just because you’re not doing what other people are doing, that doesn’t mean you’re failing or falling behind. You’re charting your own course and staying true to yourself, even though it would be easier to join the crowd. You’re creating a life you can fall in love with instead of falling in line. You’re finding the courage to do what’s right for you, even though it’s uncertain and scary and hard. Give yourself some credit, because these are all reasons to be proud.” ~Lori Deschene
I wouldn’t call myself a laid-back person. I have anxiety that leads me to catastrophize, and I struggle with perfectionism. That said, I do pride myself on being a person who’s able to go with the flow, who’s open to just about anything—a person who is, in a word, agreeable.
Where do you want to go to lunch? I’m okay with whatever. Which movie should we watch? I can probably find something to enjoy in most of them. What should we do this weekend? I don’t know; what do you want to do?
If I have a really strong opinion about something, I’ll speak up, but what I really enjoy is being in the company of people I care about. I’m usually most happy when everybody around me is happy. As far as I’m concerned, the details of what we’re doing don’t matter as much as the fact that we’re doing it together.
This attitude is rooted in a number of different things.
For one, I was raised in a mid-sized, West Coast, seaside town where slow movement and a languid approach to decision making were part of the local culture.
In addition, I usually took on the role of passive peacemaker in my family of origin, making sure the stress level was manageable for all involved by avoiding conflict at every turn.
Finally, I grew up immersed in a religion that believed humans were inherently bad and it was essential for each of us to follow God’s will, as opposed to our own, in any given moment.
Thanks to this combination of influences, I learned to tune out my own desires (to the point where, after a while, I couldn’t even hear them anymore) and take every reasonable opportunity offered to me as a potential good.
I have rarely said “No” in my life—not because I didn’t want to be offensive or hurtful, but because I didn’t want to miss out on what that experience might have to offer. And, there’s also the fact that I had no trust in my own imagination or sense of personal direction.
These aren’t always bad traits to have. I’ve met a lot of interesting people, seen a lot of gorgeous places, and tried some very unique foods (fried sheep brains, anyone?) because I was open to what the people around me had in mind. Deferring to the whims of others can have its perks.
Plus, it is true that sometimes other people know better than we do about certain things. I’ve found myself on many an unexpected but fruitful detour in my life thanks to an idea someone else gave me that I never would have thought of myself.
Of course, there are also some major drawbacks to letting life just happen. The biggest one for me is the fact that I don’t get much closer to my goals and dreams when I’m ready to say yes to whatever invitation or opportunity comes along.
Much like wandering around a big, unknown city with no map in hand will lead you to some novel experiences but is not a good way to get you to all of the places you actually want to see, going through life open to every option you’re offered might lead to some fun times but it can also leave you standing nowhere in particular in the end.
And I don’t know about you, but I want to be somewhere in particular. I want to be a full-time artist. More specifically, I want to be a full-time writer.
It’s a destiny that’s been calling me ever since I was young. When I was in middle school, my humanities teacher was so taken with a writing project I did that she went out of her way to tell my parents about my talent. I won the all-school writing day scholarship prize when I was a senior in high school. Imagining the future of our class on graduation day, our valedictorian gave a speech that listed a handful of students by name and their predicted successes. “Grete Howland,” he said, alongside the words “famous author.”
I was surprised to hear it. I was not a popular kid—there was no reason for him to think of, let alone mention, me out of the hundreds of people with whom I graduated on that day. Unless I really was that good. Unless this was something that was feasible for me.
However, like I said before, I am not the kind of person who’s inclined to choose a goal, set a path toward it, and make decisions that will keep me on that path until I reach my intended destination. As much as I felt flattered, it didn’t occur to me that what my classmate said on that day to the hundreds of people gathered was something I could try to make a reality with a little bit of confidence and some good old fashioned planning.
Life just went on. I did study English in college, but only because it was what I loved most, not because I had a specific use for the degree in mind. Out of college I moved back to my hometown and worked a mind-numbing data entry job while I figured out what I wanted to do next.
Traveling the world seemed exciting, and I knew friends who belonged to a global missionary organization who got to do it. Still very much devout to my faith at that point in my life, I applied for the program, raised the money, and then spent six months in New Zealand, Australia and Vanuatu just doing what I was told by the people who were leading the trip.
When I returned to the States, I was once more directionless. Graduate school seemed like a natural next step, and I had a few friends in seminary, so, yet again, I poured a lot of time and money into an interesting thing I saw the people around me doing while having no particular goal in mind.
The only thing I knew when I graduated from seminary was that I wanted to keep living in the community I’d formed during my time there, so I found a job close by and stayed in southern California. That job, as an administrative assistant at a small independent school, was particularly fortuitous because I fell in love with their progressive philosophy and decided that I wanted to teach English. Thankfully, a position opened up, and I set off on what would end up being a 7-year foray into middle school education.
There are no words to express the love and gratitude I have for the time I spent in those classrooms and the relationships I developed with students and colleagues. I witnessed seventh and eighth graders find their voices, discover deep connections across multiple subjects, and develop passionate convictions about social justice. At the same time, I also discovered after a few years that pouring all of my mental, emotional, and physical energy into helping others become better writers and thinkers left me too depleted to work on my own creative writing outside of my job.
I adored teaching, and took pride in the identity of “teacher.” But I also had to consider whether I really wanted that to be my vocation forever, working in service of others’ creativity at the expense of my own. Half-done writing projects were whispering in my ear, calling me back to them, asking me to forgo my pleasant but aimless wandering in favor of a strategic path of my own.
So I did it. Earlier this year, I walked away from teaching with the goal of finding a job that leaves space for my writing to flourish. It was a decision both scary and exciting. And even though I’m still learning to have the courage not to settle for any job I can get simply because it feels safe, I know I made the right move.
Thankfully, my spouse and some very wise friends have kept me accountable to holding out for what will move me forward on my journey. As they encourage me to make space for my destiny, despite all the risks, I am beginning to see the value in identifying and prioritizing my own dreams and desires. I think I’m finally starting to believe in my own potential—or at least believe that exploring it is worth an honest try.
It can be very comforting to take on the role of being the agreeable one. There’s no risk of rejection or failure when you’re happy to do what everyone else is doing, and when you’re willing to take whatever life hands you without holding out for more. What if more never comes?
Taking the time to consider what you really want for yourself is scary because it can feel like a good opportunity might pass you by. But the other side of that is the fact that you can just as easily miss out on something better because you decided too soon, because you didn’t have the faith that you’d actually be able to achieve what it is you really want.
So be flexible, yes. Be open-minded. Be selfless where it counts. But don’t make a habit out of letting other people make decisions for you. Don’t live your life settling for what’s in front of you just because it’s there.
Take the time to learn what it is you want to do with your life. Chart a course toward it, and go. Get somewhere in particular, or as close as you possibly can. Practice being picky. This is your life, after all.
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How to Set Boundaries in Awkward Situations with Strangers

“Boundaries aren’t about punishing. Boundaries are about creating safety for yourself.” ~Sheri Keffer
The person sitting beside you at the bar keeps talking to you despite your obvious disinterest. The flirty Uber driver mentions—three times—how beautiful you are. Your cousin’s new boyfriend gives you a too-long hug with wandering hands.
In awkward situations with strangers, we tend to hope that non-verbal cues will be sufficient to set a boundary. We use silence, crossed arms, uncomfortable laughter, and glares to communicate discomfort. But some folks cannot—or will not—take the hint.
Here, we find ourselves at a crossroads: We can either set clear verbal boundaries or tolerate the uncomfortable behavior indefinitely.
For the longest time, I struggled to set boundaries in awkward situations with strangers. Throughout childhood, I was taught how to be kind, nice, and open-minded—but never how to have difficult conversations and advocate for myself. I worried that setting firm boundaries was mean, so I tolerated uncomfortable behavior in silence, which allowed the awkward situations to escalate even further.
Eventually, I realized that setting firm boundaries is a form of verbal self-defense. It is our responsibility to advocate for, and protect, our time and space.
My goal for this article is to demystify the process of boundary-setting and offer concrete suggestions of language you can use to be clear and direct. These are phrases I’ve crafted, edited, and re-crafted over years of boundary-setting practice. My hope is to help you make awkward situations as not awkward as possible.
Before we dive in, let’s get clear on five key principles for boundary-setting:
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When we refuse to set a boundary, we prioritize other people’s comfort over our own needs. Setting boundaries is a courageous act of putting ourselves first. It’s a great way to break the people-pleasing habit and practice the art of self-care and verbal self-defense.
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Difficult honesty is not unkindness. It’s not mean to stand up for yourself. It’s actually the most truthful and authentic way to interact with others.
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You can manage your boundaries or manage other people’s feelings, but you can’t do both. The bottom line is, your boundaries might make people feel frustrated or resentful. That burden is not yours to bear. As the saying goes, “The only people who get upset about you setting boundaries are the ones who benefited from you having none.”
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It’s not your job to protect people from feeling uncomfortable. Remember: the folks imposing on your space aren’t giving your comfort a second thought—so don’t twist yourself into knots trying to protect their feelings. As Registered Clinical Counselor Jordan Pickell says, “It makes sense for people to feel bad and weird when they have crossed a line.”
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Safety first. If you ever feel unsafe or threatened, do whatever you need to do to get to safety. Don’t be a boundary-setting hero.
For consistency, the examples below use “Bob” as the generic name of our boundary-violator. However, folks of all genders, ages, races, etc., violate boundaries.
Certain suggested phrases are direct and firm. Others are lighter and playful. Experiment with the language to find the tone that works best for you.
Case #1: The Handsy Hugger
Maybe it’s an eager fan who approaches you after an open mic performance. Maybe it’s your step brother’s uncle who you see twice a year at family barbecues.
Handsy Huggers comes in many shapes and forms, but they all have one thing in common: they hug you for an uncomfortably long time with wandering hands.
My recommendation: In a scenario that runs the risk of uncomfortable physical contact, it’s better to avoid a hug altogether. Next time a Handsy Hugger approaches you, give yourself permission not to enter his outstretched arms. Hang back, offer a smile (or not), and when he looks at you quizzically, say, “I’m not in the mood for a hug today, Bob.” In the next breath, redirect the conversation to literally any other topic.
Case #2: The Flirty Uber Driver
I have been asked, by two separate Uber drivers, if I would consider marrying them. I’ve sat in the backseat as Uber drivers have commented on how much they liked my clothing and eyed me from the rearview.
When you’re in someone’s Uber, you can’t exactly escape to the ladies room. Some drivers will continue bantering with you even if you put headphones on and stare blankly out the window.
My recommendation: Depending on your mood, you can use a casual or direct approach.
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Casual: “It’s been nice talking with you, but I’ve had a long day and don’t really feel like talking right now.”
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Direct: “To be honest, your comments are making me uncomfortable. I’d prefer not to talk right now.”
(Note: If your rideshare driver makes you feel unsafe or threatened, report them through the app immediately.)
Case #3: The Non-Stop Texter
You meet a nice man named Bob at the bar or on a hike. You exchange numbers. Within hours, your phone begins buzzing. Bob asks you a litany of questions. He sends a greeting every morning. Throughout the day, your phone erupts with Bob’s favorite Youtube videos of tap-dancing cats.
You don’t reply, but your silence doesn’t deter Bob from sending text after text after text. You consider ignoring his messages wholesale, but you’re concerned that if you run into Bob in public, you’ll feel guilty and awkward.
My recommendation: Despite the rising popularity of cell phone boundaries, some folks seem to feel entitled to your time and space via your inbox. They’re not. You’ve got two options:
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If you hope to keep this person as a friend but adjust how often you text, try this: “Bob, I like to have healthy boundaries with my phone and I’m not interested in texting this often. Next time we meet up, let’s have a conversation about our expectations for communicating when we’re not together.”
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If you feel overwhelmed and want to cut the cord entirely, try this: “Bob, I’m not open to a friendship with you at this time. You’ve been reaching out a lot recently and I feel overwhelmed by it. I have no hard feelings toward you and I wish you the best.”
Case #4: The Person At the Bar Who Won’t Stop Talking To You Despite Your Obvious Disinterest
I like to write in my journal at bars. I’m a sober lady and I don’t drink, but I love feeling comfortably anonymous in a social atmosphere.
Despite my hunched posture, downcast eyes, and scribbling hand, many a barstool neighbor attempts to strike up a conversation with me. The first one or two questions are fine—a pleasantry, really—but often, my bar neighbor will continue on, chatting at me despite my obvious disinterest.
I can’t count the number of times I have diverted my eyes and offered muttered “uh huhs” and “yeahs” before throwing a twenty onto the bar and escaping into the night, feeling resentful.
My recommendation: Especially when alcohol might be involved, it’s best to set a firm boundary as clearly and directly as possible. Turn to your barstool neighbor and say, “I appreciate the chance to chat, but I don’t feel like talking right now.”
Case #5: The “Harmless Older Person”
Ah, yes. The older lady or gentleman who uses your age difference to justify being “harmlessly flirty” with you. Any of this sound familiar?
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“If I was your age, I’d have swept you off your feet by now!”
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“You’re a real beauty, you know that?”
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“I just love the sight of a spry young man.”
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“As my father used to say: Just ‘cuz you’re married doesn’t mean you stop lookin’.”
It doesn’t matter if the speaker is 20 or 200—if someone’s flirtation makes you uncomfortable, you have every right to shut that commentary down.
My recommendation: Keep it simple. Try this: “I know you’re trying to be kind, but please don’t make comments like that. They make me feel uncomfortable.”
Case #6: The Uninvited Mansplainer
There’s nothing quite like the particular fury of having a man 1) assume you know nothing about a certain topic because you’re a woman, 2) explain said topic authoritatively, indefinitely.
Merriam Webster defines mansplaining as “when a man talks condescendingly to someone (especially a woman) about something he has incomplete knowledge of, with the mistaken assumption that he knows more about it than the person he’s talking to does.”
Ladies, you might be familiar with mansplaining if you’ve ever bought strings at a guitar store, watched a sporting match, or discussed anything related to cars, electronics, or grilling. Opportunities for mansplaining abound.
My recommendation: Make it clear that not only do you know this information already, but you’d really like them to stop. Try this: “I’m really familiar with (insert topic here) and I don’t need any more information. Thanks anyway.”
Case #7: The Personal Space Invader
You’re standing on the subway, or in the check-out line, or at the club, and someone’s body is too close for comfort. Maybe it’s intentional, which is creepy. Perhaps they aren’t aware of the space they’re occupying. Regardless, you’re not enjoying their front near your back / the smell of their breath / their odor.
It’s time to set a boundary.
My recommendation: “Excuse me, could you please move back and give me some space? Thanks.”
Case #8: “Can I Have Your Number?”
You’ve been chatting with a stranger, Bob, for a few minutes. As he gets up to leave, he asks for your number. You’re not into it.
This circumstance tends to elicit boundary-white-lies, such as “Sorry, but I have a partner,” or “Oh, I don’t give out my phone number to strangers.”
I understand that white lies might be your most comfortable entry point into boundary-setting. I am, at heart, a boundary-setting pragmatist. That said, when you’re ready, experiment with a firmer approach. It might be scary, but it will certainly be empowering.
My recommendation: “I’ve enjoyed chatting with you, but I’m not going to give you my number. Have a nice rest of your day!”Bringing Boundaries To Life
By now you’ve probably realized that, in each of the cases above, the words you can use to set boundaries are pretty straightforward. It’s actually saying them that’s the hard part.
With this toolbox of phrases in hand, you can bring these boundaries to life using three simple steps:
Step 1: Practice boundary-setting aloud.
Many of us have never fathomed speaking up this directly. Our ability to boundary-set is just like any other skill: it takes time, effort, and practice.
In the comfort of your own home, practice stating your boundaries aloud. Get used to wrapping your tongue around the words. Consider standing in front of a mirror and using a firm, confident tone.
At first, it will be uncomfortable and strange—guaranteed. You may find yourself worrying about being “mean,” “rude,” or “harsh.”
These reactions are totally normal and totally surmountable. Practicing your boundaries alone makes them easier to retrieve when you’re feeling burdened by the tension of an uncomfortable situation.
Step 2: Role play with your friends. (Yes, really.)
Once you’ve developed an arsenal of failsafe boundary phrases, practice with a friend or two.
Give each other feedback. Tell your friend when she sounds overly apologetic. (“Stand in your power, girlfriend!”) Tell your friend when she’s sounding like a huge, mean jerk (“Okay, maybe take that down a notch.”) Have fun with it.
If you want to uplevel your boundary-setting game, ask your friends to push back against your boundary. (Psychologist Harriet Lerner refers to this as a countermove: a “change back!” reaction.) Practice re-asserting yourself in the face of annoyed reactions. This way, when you begin setting these boundaries out and about, it will feel natural and familiar.
Step 3: Practice
As with all new skills, don’t expect perfection immediately. Your first few boundaries in the real world might be clunky, awkward, or embarrassing. Maybe you’ll speak too quietly and the offender won’t be able to hear you. Maybe you’ll boil over in rage and feel terribly guilty afterwards.
All of this is normal. Be patient with yourself as you strengthen your boundary-setting muscle.
P.S.: What About Silence?
Is silence ever an effective form of boundary-setting? To answer this question I like to refer to writer Courtnery J Burg’s take, which she published on Instagram this year. She writes,
“I’m all about boundary work. But sometimes the healthiest, best way to keep your sanity is to just walk away. To not respond. To not answer that text or that call. Sometimes the answer is no answer at all. This isn’t the same as avoiding. It’s acknowledging what is yours to carry + what isn’t. It’s remembering that not all situations must be handled with delicate gloves and deep, heartfelt energy. That occasionally, no response CAN BE your response and that you have nothing to feel guilty for and no one to explain yourself to for it.”
Generally, I advocate verbal boundaries because 1) they’re most effective, 2) I spent many years trying to be “good” and “quiet” and I’m rebelling, and 3) they’re a great way to practice your boundary-setting muscle. However, certain awkward situations with strangers are most effectively curtailed with silence.
As a rule of thumb, I use silence as a boundary with:
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Catcallers. Silence or the middle finger tends to do the trick.
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Strangers who message me insistently through social media. Most folks with public social media profiles will occasionally receive a deluge of creepy messages from strangers. Don’t engage. Block the account.
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Arguers. Suppose I set a firm boundary and the stranger argues my point — asking me “Why?”, urging me to reconsider, etc. You do not owe a stranger any justifications or explanations. Your work is done.
With time, boundaries that once felt impossible or too-awkward to assert will be second-nature. By practicing this skill of verbal self-defense, you will give yourself the gift of moving confidently and powerfully through the world. You deserve it!
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