Tag: wisdom
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How to Embrace Your Sensitive Superpower and Stop Feeling Overwhelmed
“With realization of one’s own potential and self-confidence in one’s ability, one can build a better world.” – Dalai Lama
Sensitivity can feel like a gift or a burden, depending on our relationship to it.
If you often feel completely overwhelmed by an overload of stimulation, then your sensitivity probably doesn’t feel like an asset. Maybe more like a liability. But it doesn’t have to be this way.
As an introvert and sensitive person, I’ve navigated these waters my whole life, and I’ve come to realize that sensitivity is more than a gift—it’s a superpower! But first we need to understand what sensitivity is and what it’s not.
What is Sensitivity (the Superpower)?
To keep it fairly simple, sensitivity is essentially the ability to feel. The more sensitive we are, the more we feel.
Sensitivity allows us to be more aware of what’s happening around us—people, conversations, traffic, nature, how a place feels. It also makes us more aware of and in touch with what’s happening inside us—our thoughts, emotions, sensations, and how we react to external things.
I see sensitivity as a foundation for self-awareness. Without the ability to feel, we could never discern what’s really happening and break through the limits of our personality and fears.
Sensitivity is also an aspect of empathy. Because we can feel what others are feeling, it allows us to understand them and connect with them more deeply. Without some degree of sensitivity, we’d be disconnected from people.
On the other side, it can be extremely overwhelming. Too much sensory information coming in all at once can leave us feeling agitated, overwhelmed, and drained. When sensitivity becomes overwhelming, we often pull away from people and retreat to time on our own—a typical trait of an introvert or HSP.
When I was young, wherever my parents took me, I’d be very aware of the spaces around me and how they made me feel. I either liked a place because I felt good there, or I didn’t like it because I felt uncomfortable.
At that time, I didn’t comprehend much more than that—I didn’t know how to—and it’s very clear to me now that I didn’t have a context for it back then. There was too much sensory information passing through me, so when a place felt unpleasant it was just an overwhelming sense of feeling unsettled and unsafe.
I was also very sensitive to people. I would instantly have a sense of the state, or mood, of them as soon as I met them, or even just saw them. When I was young, I didn’t understand what they were feeling, but whatever it was, I’d feel it in myself. Depending on their emotion, this could be very uncomfortable.
I’d find myself feeling frustrated and emotional for no reason when around certain people, but it wasn’t my emotion. Again, at that time, I couldn’t tell the difference because I’d feel it in me and assume it was me, but I didn’t understand why I felt like that. Very confusing.
Later I learned to know the difference between my own emotions and someone else’s, as I was much clearer on what was happening inside me.
This is when I started recognizing the gift, or superpower, that sensitivity brought into my life. In sensing what others were feeling, I experienced a sense of connection to them, which helped me understand them.
This awakened a sense of caring in me. I could feel when people were upset, sad, or hurt, and I found myself wanting to help. If someone was angry, I started to feel beyond the anger and to understand why they felt that way. Diffusing an argument or conflict was easy because I could feel where they were coming from.
It’s so easy to judge people, retaliate, or disconnect when we don’t understand them. The moment we understand, there is opening, heart, and compassion.
Sensitivity, our ability to feel, is a superpower that allows us to understand, connect, and have deep insights about ourselves and the nature of humanity. And the world needs more of this.
What’s Not a Superpower
If we say someone is emotionally sensitive, it could mean they’re sensitive to their own emotions, or it could mean they react emotionally to others’ words, actions, and emotions.
Being sensitive to what’s happening inside ourselves is the basis for self-awareness, and an essential ingredient if we want to grow. A superpower.
If someone says something and we’re hurt by it, we might call it being sensitive, but it’s more an emotional reaction than a superpower. Yes, we may feel the intention behind their words, but feeling it and being hurt by it are not the same thing. If their words have triggered something in us, then it’s more about the stability of our sense of self.
Another example: You’re in a crowded room and you become overwhelmed and drained by the noise and stimulation.
Here your sensitivity gives you the ability to feel everything that’s happening around you. I think this is an amazing gift. It may be a lot of stimulation, but I’d still call this a superpower.
However, when we feel overwhelmed or drained, it’s not solely because we’re sensitive. It’s because we don’t feel grounded or stable internally, as I mentioned in my previous post about how I preserve my energy in groups as an introvert. The good news is, we can proactively foster internal stability.
When we feel overwhelmed and drained in crowds, we often just want to remove ourselves from the situation and be alone. There’s no right or wrong, what we should or shouldn’t do, but when we acknowledge what’s happening inside us, then we have a choice.
Learning Not to Let Sensitivity Control Us
When I was young my sensitivity was too much for me. I would feel the good, the bad, and everything in between. It felt like the world around me was not around me but passing through me; and because I didn’t have a context for what was happening, the world felt unsafe, so the only way for me to function was to shut down.
It wasn’t something I did consciously, as I didn’t understand what was happening. It was something I did on a subconscious level.
It wasn’t until many years later, after doing a lot of work on myself, that I was able to realize what I’d done. I’m now able to reconnect with my sensitivity and wield it while feeling safe.
Sensitivity is a gift, but if we don’t have a stable center within us, then our ability to feel becomes stressful and overwhelming, and ultimately begins to control us. In a sense, we become a victim to the power of our own sensitivity, as if it’s wielding us.
To embrace our superpower—to be able to feel for and connect with others deeply without feeling overwhelmed or easily hurt and reacting emotionally—we need to find stillness inside ourselves. A stable center.
If we can’t find stillness and quiet amidst the noise of our own mind, we’ll never be able to find peace and quiet amidst the noise of the world.
Our thoughts amplify how we react to the overstimulation of our sensitivity. We pick up on what’s happening around us, it creates a space inside us—a landscape of emotions and feelings—and this triggers thoughts. The thoughts then reinforce the emotions, anchoring them further. The emotions continue triggering more thoughts, in a vicious cycle that goes on and on.
For example, if we’re in a loud, crowded room we may feel anxious as a result of all the sensory input—the noise, people’s energy, and the energy of the place. We may start thinking thoughts like “Why did I come here? I knew this would be a bad idea.” Then we start feeling trapped and overwhelmed, triggering more thoughts of perhaps how you blame your friend for inviting you, or “How am I going to just disappear?” This all amplifies the anxiety.
Or, if someone says something that triggers us emotionally, we may feel insecure, then start thinking about how we always say the wrong things, and then feel more insecure.
After starting a meditation practice, I realized that when I’m more still and quiet inside myself, I react less and less to external stimulation. I’m no longer at the mercy of my superpower. In fact, the stiller I become, the more I feel, but without it becoming chaotic or overwhelming.
The Problem Isn’t Our Sensitivity; It’s Our Lack of Stability
I still value time on my own. I always have and always will. But I now have a more stable center, so I’m able to use my sensitivity as a superpower.
You can do the same by prioritizing activities that help you create a sense of internal stability, such as:
After meditation, I particularly like spending time in nature. We can walk outside and let our mind run, and there will still be a calming effect. But when we consciously tune into our surroundings as we walk—using the superpower of our sensitivity to feel nature’s stillness—our own stillness becomes more tangible and stable.
When we feel stable inside ourselves, we have a solid foundation to feel deeply, so the outside world has less power to control us. The stillness inside is unwavering, regardless of what’s happening outside of us.
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Our sensitivity is a gift in that it opens the door to a more connected world, but we need to proactively foster internal stability so we’re not at the mercy of the chaos around us. The more we embrace our superpower and live in it from a space of stillness and stability, the more at peace we will be inside ourselves—creating a greater capacity to help others, and in turn creating a more connected humanity.
Find stillness. Find your superpower.
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Before You Send That Message to Your Ex, Consider This
“If the hurt comes so will the happiness. Be patient.” ~Rupi Kaur
What if I said instead of messaging our ex, we had a different choice, a choice that will be even more fulfilling than acting on the urge to share whatever we’re feeling right now?
It’s been over a year since I last spoke with my ex. While I’ve thought about him and missed him, I’ve known that getting in contact wasn’t the right thing, and so I haven’t taken any action to reconnect.
For the past few weeks, however, my thoughts have been seeping in, focusing on the good times, the fun times, and how, when we were at our best, he made me feel like the most important person in the world.
What’s been different this time is that these romanticized thoughts have coincided with a period in my life when I’ve been having a difficult time, and with that, my willpower to abstain from reaching out has been weaker.
Recently I felt a knot in my stomach, an overwhelming urge, like I couldn’t get through another moment without speaking with him. My chest tight, heart thumping, unable to relax, tears flooding, a messy anxious feeling that needs him.
In my moment of weakness I took to notes on my phone to write everything I wanted to say. I imagined how he’d be there for me and give me the love and support I’ve been craving. Tears flowed as I typed, the anxious pit in my stomach now at bursting point waiting for me to send the message to become relaxed once more.
But what if our need for connection is leading us to the wrong places? What if we are seeking the familiar, but it’s actually chaos, dysfunction, and drama—not something positive or healthy?
Within our brains are neurotransmitters called dopamine, which act as messengers communicating reward, motivation, and body regulation. What’s interesting is that dopamine is not only released from pleasurable experiences—say for example love, hugs, and kisses—but also when we’re trying to get out of a difficult experience. So, that feel-good chemical is not only released during the good times, but can also be released during the bad.
Growing up with alcoholism in my family, violent outbursts and drama were a regular occurrence. It’s only in hindsight that I’ve realized I’ve been drawn to relationships full of extreme highs and lows, the exact replicas of chaotic times of my past. I’m not a scientist, but I’d guess that I’ve been reaping the benefits of a whole lot of dopamine during those roller coaster relationships, like my mind is addicted to drama!
As I sat thinking about the text message I wanted to send, my mind raced with anxiety and questions. What would his response be? Would I even receive one at all? Would he say loving, supportive words like during our good times? Or would he be annoyed that I’d made contact? Ruminating, ruminating, ruminating, the what if’s, is this the right thing?
In one moment of clarity (and luckily before hitting send), with the guidance of my therapist, I took a step back from the situation to see what was really going on. My brain, now hardwired for drama, was seeking a hit, the perfect distraction from feeling the sadness of what’s currently going on in my life. Dealing with the anxiety and drama of making contact with my ex felt a lot easier than just sitting with my emotions.
Being in this state, I gave myself permission; I could still send the message, but on one condition: I had to wait as long as I could, at least overnight and if possible a few days. Then, if I still wanted to send it that would be completely okay because I’d be doing it out of choice rather than impulse.
Using the time wisely, I spoke to someone trusted, who I could rely upon. They didn’t offer advice; they just sat and listened to everything I had to say about what I was going through.
Slowly, the anxiety dissipated and that bursting pit in my stomach subsided. And I cried. That big ball of emotion I’d been stuffing inside was finally released. Even more beneficial, I didn’t have any of the worry about how he would react or be with me, which allowed me to concentrate on fully feeling.
The next morning, filled with clarity, I chose not to press send. While I had the perfect vision of what I had hoped to get from contact with my ex, I knew I couldn’t control his response.
I also realized that making contact would have only been a short term ‘fix’, and when the initial feeling of anticipation subsided, I would be left feeling the exact amount of pain that had led me there in the first place.
You might not be addicted to drama as I was, but there’s a good chance that your desire to text your ex is really an attempt to stop feeling whatever uncomfortable emotions you might be feeling—sadness, disappointment, or maybe fear of what’s down the road.
Texting your ex might seem to help temporarily, but those feelings will still be there after you hit send. And you may even feel worse if they don’t respond, or don’t respond how you hoped they would.
There are no right or wrong answers when it comes to what we should do. But we need to give ourselves the opportunity to act out of choice rather than impulse, or as I nearly did, due to a need for to drama to distract me.
In the time we take to make our decision, we can do what we need to make ourselves feel nurtured, and if necessary reach out to a trusted person who we know will 100% have our backs. After that, it might be a lot easier to make the healthier choice.
Be kind to yourself.
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Why Compliments Made Me Cringe and How I’ve Learned to Accept Praise
“Even when the sea is stirred up by the winds of self-doubt, we can find our way home.” ~Tara Brach
What is it about praise that’s so hard to hear sometimes?
You know the drill. You do something noteworthy, like cooking a meal for your friends or getting on stage to do a talk. Assuming things go okay, your friends or colleagues tell you a bunch of nice, encouraging things afterward:
“This meal is delicious!”
“You did great up there!”
And suddenly you feel uncomfortable.
Maybe you deflect those nice, encouraging words (“Oh, it was nothing, really”). Or worse, you graciously accept their praise, but inside you feel strangely empty, like you’re getting credit for something someone else did.
So what’s that all about? Why can’t we just let praise sink in?
To begin with, we’re often very good at dismissing people’s praise. We see all the angles, the reasons that someone’s praise doesn’t really count.
“They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“They’re just being polite.”
Me? I often experience praise as a kind of pressure. It’s why, if I’ve made a good first impression on somebody, I want to leave the room immediately. (“Uh oh. They think I’m this charming all the time? Now I have to keep this up.”)
Through this lens, we can even turn praise into criticism:
“They think I need special encouragement.”
“Yikes. If they think that was good, they must have a really low bar for what they think I’m capable of.”
It’s like a superpower that makes you feel awful. Even when people are being nice.
This is how I imagine praise works for some people:
Do a good job -> Praise happens -> Fills up the praise vase -> They think, “I’m doing okay at this life thing!”
But this is how it often works for me:
Do a good job -> Praise happens -> I notice the glaring discrepancy between the praise and my feelings about myself -> I think, “I’ve fooled them again! I better not mess this up!”
Sound familiar?
The problem may actually be that you’re overusing your strengths. When you second-guess someone’s praise, searching for the hidden meaning of their words, you’re actually using a highly developed communication skill. You’re reading between the lines of what they’ve said. This is often a really useful skill, but if you’re like me, you may have honed that skill a little too much.
Recently a friend of mine put it this way:
“Part of the reason that I can find things hard is because I overuse my strengths. I’m really smart at looking for the nuance in things, but I look for the hidden message in *everything*. It makes my life a bit complex, and I’ve learned I need not to be so diligent at using my strengths.”
Yep yep yep.
When we second-guess every positive interaction, we turn potentially nourishing moments into a launching pad for further self-interrogation and doubt. I call this “praise-shaming”: the act of taking well-intentioned positive feedback and using it to highlight your own shortcomings.
So how do you learn to relate to praise in a more nourishing way?
First, you need to understand why praise can sometimes feel like it’s not really about you. And it’s not just an issue of self-esteem; it has to do with the nature of praise itself.
The thing about praise is that it’s a form of judgment, and it tends to be very definitive. Let’s say you’ve just done something difficult, like speaking in front of a crowd. Afterward, your friends might say…
“You were amazing!”
“Oh my god, that was so good!”
Lovely stuff, but not all that nuanced.
Our inside experience is usually so much more complicated. “I think I mostly did a good job, but also there are ten things I’d change, and I’m still not sure if that one particular person in the third row was hating every minute.”
It’s not that praise is false; it’s just too simple.
If you spend a lot of time in your own head, wondering why the world seems so simple for other people while your brain is going at a thousand miles an hour, then it’s no wonder that praise can often feel like a gross simplification of your inside experience.
The praise feels false, not because the person praising you is lying, but simply because it doesn’t match your inside reality.
And since praise is so black and white, if that praise doesn’t ring true, it kind of makes sense that our reaction to it is to go drastically the other way. We think, “Well, if it’s not actually that great, then I’m some kind of fraud, right?”
Strangely, the first step to accepting praise may actually be to take it less personally.
A funny thing started happening for me about a year ago, at the tender age of thirty-five. When someone would tell me they liked my work or they enjoyed my company, I stopped taking it so personally.
I’d think to myself, “Oh, that’s nice that they think that about this idealized version of me they have in their head. He sounds lovely.”
Doesn’t sound all that uplifting, does it? And yet, strangely, it helped me feel a lot less uncomfortable with the praise that came my way.
It took the pressure off. Suddenly there was room for that praise to be what it really is: simply an expression of how my friend is feeling in that moment when they think about me.
By not taking praise personally, I wasn’t doing any favors for my self-worth, but that was kind of the point. If every bit of well-meaning praise sparks an internal referendum on your worthiness as a human (do I really deserve this praise?), that’s not exactly a recipe for inner peace.
I couldn’t yet accept that I deserved to be praised. But by not taking praise so personally, it helped me at least accept that my friends thought I was deserving of praise (even if I privately thought they were crazy).
I tried this approach for about a year. I got better at relaxing when people would tell me nice things. I stopped worrying so much about living up to the idealized version of me that friends and colleagues had in their heads. It helped.
But there’s another step, one I’m just beginning to master. Because the truth is (as I am slowly realizing), the people in your life probably know you better than you think. In fact, your friends know you in a way you struggle to know yourself because they’re not focused on all the things you think are wrong with you.
Sure, the nice things your friends tell you might not be the whole truth, but they are still true.
Praise is what the people who care about you see when they look at you without all the layers of self-judgment.
There’s something very encouraging about this, I think. That the people around me are willing to look at me and see the good stuff, even when I’m convinced it’s not the whole story. That they are willing to focus on my strengths, not my flaws.
Through this lens, praise isn’t some kind of deception. Nor is it some kind of well-meaning misunderstanding. It’s an act of love. It’s a willingness to see the best in you, even though life is always more complicated. And these days? I’ll take that.
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How Embracing and Loving My “Negative” Emotions Helped Heal My Pain
“Do not fight against pain; do not fight against irritation or jealousy. Embrace them with great tenderness, as though you were embracing a little baby. Your anger is yourself, and you should not be violent toward it. The same thing goes for all your emotions.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh
For a long time, heaviness and dark feelings were very familiar to me. In a strange way they were comforting; I felt safe in darkness. The light felt more painful to me, but I also wanted to change because I wanted to free myself from the limitations of staying in the dark.
I first started struggling with depression when I was young. From an early age my mother told me there was something wrong with me, particularly when I dared to express “negative” feelings, like anger. It became a mantra that filled my mind all the time. This one statement pervaded my entire life and dramatically affected the choices I made and didn’t make, well into adulthood.
In my early forties, after much searching, I hit rock bottom. I was lying in bed, wanting to die, my thoughts telling me how wrong I was as a human being, when another thought popped into my mind: “What if depression is a gift?”
Depression had felt like this never-ending darkness that clouded everything in my life. Even at times that I should have seen as positive, the depression prevented me from enjoying them. Depression was an old friend, one I not only tolerated but believed was the whole of who I was.
I found my identity in feeling like a failure, and not moving forward meant that my identity was correct; I was confirming that this was who I was—until I understood that I was meant to be so much more than this depressed woman, sad, sorrowful, constantly grieving and frustrated. There had to be more to life.
Instead of looking at what was wrong with myself, I started looking at the feelings that came up, noticing that my aversion to them was not only perpetuating them, but was affirming that I was not worthy of love, acceptance, or even acknowledgement.
I could no longer fight who I was. I had to start looking at myself as a whole, including the pain and trauma, so I started to imagine that my repressed emotions were small children—and not just any small children, but orphans.
They lived in a large orphanage, where nobody cared for them and the only adults that came in to see them were mean, critical ones who would beat them if they showed anger or leave them to cry if they were sad.
There were many children in there, cowering in their cribs, with no one to hold them or reassure them that they were safe.
Some of my “orphaned children” were shame and embarrassment. I’d felt these feelings many times in my life, and they’d prevented me from sharing my skills or even recognizing that I had any at all.
I also had angry orphaned children who had been made to believe that anger was negative and bad, not positive fuel for creativity and healthy boundaries.
And then there were my sad orphaned children, who had not properly grieved the loss of their father, who’d passed in my late twenties.
These parts of me didn’t need to be alienated; they needed my love, care, and attention.
I’d orphaned these feelings because I didn’t want them to be part of me, but because of this, I lived a half-life for a long time. Rejecting my feelings, ironically, fueled my depression, because you can’t selectively numb your emotions. When you numb any, you numb all.
Instead of embracing these suffering children, I’d created diversions to avoid them.
As a child, I used food to avoid feeling lonely, rejected, and broken. In my teens and early twenties, I was a binge drinker, consuming huge amounts of alcohol four days a week to repress my emotions. As an adult, this meant too much coffee and sugar, or I overworked to avoid feeling anything.
At one point I used “positive thinking” to distract myself from these neglected aspects of myself. This was probably the most powerful distraction, because by thinking I needed to be grateful and happy all of the time, I was automatically rejecting all other emotions.
It was easier to pretend than to make friends with these aspects of myself.
I eventually realized that I couldn’t do this to myself anymore. I no longer wanted to lie or consider a huge part of my nature, my shadow, wrong.
Self-compassion and self-acceptance are so important if we are to be balanced human beings. If we are unable to acknowledge and accept the pain inside of ourselves, how can we ever expect that things will change? How can we be less judgmental of other people if we judge ourselves harshly most of the time?
Embracing pain isn’t easy. It takes courage and commitment to take this transformative path, to begin to reframe depression and other mental health issues as a gift, as an awakening, to help us return to who we really are, which is loving, kind, compassionate, and accepting.
Though the darkness had felt safe, I eventually realized that I was afraid of the light because it illuminated those dark corners where my orphaned emotions live.
It was time to stop fighting my feelings and give them a new home in my heart. Here’s how I did just that.
Embracing My “Orphaned” Emotions
1. Acknowledge.
The first thing I had to do was to acknowledge that I had been avoiding my pain, and to accept that it was okay that I did this. If I beat myself up for deserting parts of myself for so long I’d just be putting further shame or blame into that orphanage.
I had to accept that sadness, fear, anger, and rage were healthy emotional experiences, sometimes necessary, and that I’d previously rejected these feelings as a way to protect myself until I was ready to face who I truly am.
If you’ve also abandoned your most wounded, fragile parts, decide to break the cycle now. Acknowledge what you did but also why, and have compassion for yourself.
2. Get to know your feelings.
Take the time to get to know these pain feelings, but do so as an unconditional mother would, without judgment, without needing to fix or make the feelings anything other than what they are. When sadness or sorrow comes up, take a quiet moment to witness this child within with loving attention.
3. Accept them as gifts.
Our feelings are not there to make our lives miserable; they’re there to show us what may not be working in our lives, or what needs to change.
When I accepted that depression was a gift, I began judging myself less harshly and embracing the feelings I’d repressed for so long. Essentially, I started accepting all of myself.
I’d gotten comfortable viewing myself as a failure, and I thought my unconventional life confirmed that’s what I was. I was living with my best friend who was in his seventies. I was single, poor in my eyes, and unattractive. I believed that because I didn’t have my life together in my forties—I didn’t have a home of my own, a partner, or a successful career—I wasn’t acceptable or enough as I was.
My depression was a sign that I needed to change how I viewed myself. This enabled me to see not only that I am enough as I am, but others are enough, exactly as they are right now.
Instead of stuffing down your depression, anxiety, shame, loneliness—or whatever emotion you’re tempted to resist—ask yourself: What message is it trying to send to me? What would I do differently in my life if I listened to this emotion instead of suppressing it?
4. Remember it’s not a race.
When I first started owning my shadow I found it challenging to stop my avoidance practices, but I initially tried to rush through this process. I thought I could immediately accept all feelings, whenever they arose, without ever giving in to my old habits.
I eventually realized I had to be kind to myself and to take each new step as mindfully as possible. I also had to understand that I would probably fall back into old habits at times and accept this was all part of the healing process.
It takes regular practice and persistence to welcome those unwanted emotions time and time again. It takes time to internalize that it’s not about getting rid of any feelings, but about welcoming them as part of self-love and personal growth.
5. It’s all about trust.
Becoming aware of our painful emotions is only one step. Until we are able to fully welcome and embrace them, life will trigger us to love them further. Things will happen that evoke all the feelings we want to avoid—challenges in our work, relationships, and other aspects of our lives.
We can turn back and ignore the triggers, or we can trust that whatever shows up is meant to teach us unconditional love. It takes faith and trust to love shame, anger, and fear. We need to trust that this is worthwhile and that we’re capable of re-parenting ourselves in a more wholesome way.
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I know that my old ways of avoiding and distracting myself from the pain never worked—that I had to go through it to go beyond it, and that going beyond it does not mean I will never feel sad or despairing again. I will, but I can do so from a place of trust, knowing I will be okay, because I now understand that all of me is lovable, and I am enough exactly as I am right now.
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Why We Close Ourselves Off to Friendships and How to Open Up
“If you accept a limiting belief, then it will become a truth for you.” ~Louise Hay
Picking the flimsy gold lock on my groovy denim-covered childhood diary, I’m instantly transported back to my ten-year-old life.
Each page duly describes what I what I ate for dinner that day as well as what my two best friends and I got up to. It was 1976 and we were obsessed with Charlie’s Angels, cruising around “undercover” on our bikes, solving fresh crimes around the neighborhood.
Every couple of weeks I’d report the latest drama amongst the three of us. Either my two friends had inexplicably turned against me, or one of them had coerced me into siding with them in a never-ending series of turmoil.
By the time we were teenagers, we’d drifted apart and I’d started struggling to form female friendships that weren’t fraught with gossip or backstabbing
When I got to university I’d firmly made up my mind that girls weren’t to be trusted and I only wanted guy friends. I made an exception for one girlfriend who felt the same, and we went on to be roommates, priding ourselves on our fun circle of male-only friends.
It’s fascinating to reflect on how belief systems are formed. The more I told myself this story of females being intrinsically bad news, the more I avoided getting close to any. As I grew into an adult, my theory was again proven as I got sucked into more dramas and gossip.
Once I got married, my husband became my best friend. He was never jealous of my male friends, and we enjoyed a great social life with other couples. However, after we started a family I found myself navigating fresh female waters: the mothers at the school gates!
I immediately sensed a minefield of gossip and competitiveness. It would have been easier to drop my kids off and go, but I had their social lives to think about too.
Thankfully, I got back into journaling around this time, and I used it as a way to get to know myself better. I explored my struggles on paper and tapped into my wiser, all-knowing self to discover that, for me, the secret to having great female friendships was to see special ones individually, never forming a group.
I turned down all invitations for ‘Girls Nights Out’ or weekends away, as that dynamic wasn’t appealing. I now had a small handful of genuinely lovely girlfriends whose company I cherished and who shared my values of trust and openness. I made a point of seeing them one-to-one and never introduced them to each other, treasuring our meaningful conversations.
One day I heard about a series of life coaching workshops and felt immediately drawn to sign up. I invited a dear friend to join me, but she couldn’t make it, so I invited another special friend who eagerly accepted. How fun to have a once-a-week date together to focus on our lives. But then something ‘terrible’ happened. The first friend I’d invited called back and said she’d rearranged her schedule and was excited to now be able to join me after all!
This sent my head into a spin. I decided my only choice was go with them both.
Although we all lived on the same street, I’d deliberately never introduced them to each other because of my flashbacks to the three-way friendship dramas of my childhood. “One-to-one friendships only” had become my rule.
Together in the car on our way to the first workshop, I endured small talk and introductions, rather than delving into meaningful subjects as I normally did with each of them. But by the time we left the workshop venue, we were all riding on a high of inspiration, so we headed straight to a restaurant to download our insights over lunch.
We did the same thing again every week and by the time the course ended, we’d agreed to form a monthly meet-up for the ‘soul’ purpose of working on our lives together.
That was in 2008, and we’ve met every month since.
Our Power Posse is based on absolute openness and deep mutual trust. Having our monthly check-in to share on how each area of our life is going helps us clarify our intentions and goals. It gives us accountability and motivation to live our best lives.
We’ve even run retreats together, inviting other women with a growth-mindset to join us. I’d have never imagined this back when I was still telling myself the false story that females aren’t to be trusted.
In my case, I held myself back with the limiting belief that group dynamics among women were dangerous. Perhaps you hold a different belief that prevents you from forming and maintaining friendships, for example:
- No one really gets me.
- I ruin all my relationships.
- I’m too intense or too sensitive for people.
- People always disappoint you eventually.
- You can’t ever really trust anyone with your personal life.
- I can’t relate to any of these people.
- Everyone already has all the friends they want at my age.
We form many of these beliefs out of direct experience from our past. When something painful happens, we draw a conclusion about why it’s happened in an attempt to avoid that same situation in the future. That conclusion feels like a fact, and it then forms a belief that we carry through life. This affects how we think, act, and feel—about ourselves and others.
Limiting social beliefs are often amplified by a fear of rejection, criticism, ridicule, or betrayal. We proceed with undue caution in order to protect ourselves from getting hurt. This leads to limiting decisions. We cut ourselves off from what’s possible by painting ourselves into a box that feels safe. We miss out on opportunities that would enrich our lives.
In order to break free from these limitations we need to act against our self-protecting instincts. It’s okay to take baby steps if you need to. Start by setting an intention. What aspects of your social life or a specific friendship make you feel unhappy or disconnected? Which limiting beliefs may be hindering you? What would you need to believe instead to welcome more people into your life?
For example, “I can’t really trust anyone with my personal life” could turn into, “There are people out there than I can trust—I just haven’t met them yet.” This positive expectation shifts the energy around it. Now you can begin to collect new evidence to back up this belief by opening up more regularly, sharing more authentically, and increasing the likelihood of making a solid connection with someone you can trust.
Our belief system is powerful, so it’s important to pay attention to when you might be telling yourself a limiting story. The more awareness you bring to your beliefs, the quicker you’ll make the shifts needed to let them go.
Shedding my own limiting beliefs has opened the door for a multitude of incredible females to come into my life over the past ten years. They’ve shined a light on my own greatness, and we’ve inspired each other to reach even higher for our biggest dreams. The same can happen for you.
What stories from your past have carried on into your present life? Are you willing to let go of any limiting beliefs that aren’t serving you so you open yourself up to new people and experiences?
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My Needs Matter Too: How I Started Speaking Up and Setting Boundaries
“Setting boundaries is a way of caring for myself. It doesn’t make me mean, selfish, or uncaring just because I don’t do things your way. I care about me, too.” ~Christine Morgan
In my early twenties, I could shout into a megaphone at a political rally of thousands, but I couldn’t decline drinks from strangers at the bar. I could perform original music for an attentive audience, but I couldn’t tell my friends when I felt hurt by something they’d said. I could start a business, advocate for new laws at City Hall, and share deeply personal poetry on Facebook, but I simply couldn’t speak up for myself in moments of conflict.
At the time, I had no idea that boundary setting and speaking up were systemic issues millions of people struggled with. I didn’t understand that my inability to set boundaries probably originated in my childhood as the cumulative result of my untended emotional needs.
I just thought I wasn’t trying hard enough.
I judged myself mercilessly for being unable set boundaries. I spent many mornings scribbling viciously in my journal, unpacking the previous day’s events. These are unedited excerpts:
“She asked to reschedule our meeting, and even though I promised myself I’d never schedule an early-morning phone call again, I did—for 7:00am. Ugh. Why didn’t I just ask her to reschedule?”
“I resent him so deeply for how he treated me, but when I saw him in the coffee shop yesterday, I acted like everything was peachy keen. What the hell? I’m so frustrated. How do I get better at standing up for myself??”
Woven tightly around my self-judgment was a thick mesh of confusion. I was the type of person who looked forward to therapy, hoarded self-improvement books, and spent evenings with girlfriends unraveling the scrappy tangles of our psyches. I liked understanding myself. You can imagine, then, that I was totally and completely flummoxed by my inability to understand—never mind remedy—my people-pleasing habit.
Most of the time, the thought of saying no—to friends, family, lovers, and colleagues—simply didn’t enter my mind space. No matter how uncomfortable or unsafe I felt, the only future that felt available to me was one in which I pleased the offending person and later felt victimized and resentful.
Other times, when I felt brave enough to simply entertain the notion of saying no, I felt a heaviness in my chest and a closing in my throat. The words literally couldn’t escape my mouth.
My friends who had no issues setting boundaries were wary of my explanations. To them, setting a boundary was like swatting an annoying gnat. But to me, it was like battling a saber-toothed tiger.
I wish I’d known then what I know now: that boundary setting isn’t a simple box to check off of your self-care to-do list. It represents a complicated matrix of issues related to one’s family of origin, socialization, limiting beliefs, and, most importantly, one’s relationship with oneself. Setting boundaries is the final step on an extensive journey of self-reflection and diligent practice. Had I understood this years ago, I would have been able to reassure myself:
You are not weak.
You are not stupid.
You are doing the best that you can.
We set boundaries to protect ourselves. In order to protect ourselves effectively, we need to know what we’re protecting. Developing a rich understanding of our own needs, desires, values, and vision gives us the firm sense of identity we need to keep from wavering in our commitment to speak our truth.
When I didn’t have a clear sense of who I was or what I wanted, it was easy to let others define me; wait for others to speak up for me; resent people who didn’t proactively predict or meet my needs; prioritize others’ needs over my own; and seek value from external sources, like whether others liked me or found me attractive. Combined, these tendencies were painfully disempowering. I often felt like a shadow of myself.
I first began to build a solid sense of identity after I went through a devastating breakup with a long-term partner. My codependency had been a contributing factor to our separation, and I was finally beginning to understand that I couldn’t expect others—lovers, parents, friends, or colleagues—to be my purpose for living.
I also couldn’t allow external measures of success—like climbing the career ladder, losing weight, or winning awards—to be the driving forces behind my behavior.
I had to go deeper. Here’s how I did it.
Step 1: Meet your fundamental needs.
At first, I wasn’t sure where to begin. I mean, how do you build an identity?
In that fragile state of post-breakup unknowing, questions like “Where do you see yourself five years from now?” or “What direction do you want to take your business in?” were enough to reduce me to tears. I didn’t know what direction I wanted my career to go in. I didn’t even know how I would get through the weekend.
What I did know was that I wanted Kava tea before bed, and that I couldn’t sleep without lavender oil in my diffuser, and that going on long walks around the park with my best friend made my heart feel lighter.
As I explain in my previous post about discovering what you want when you’re a people-pleaser, these mild, uncomplicated wants were sacred whispers from my innermost self. By pursuing these small desires, I learned to trust myself.
Maslow’s hierarchy of needs gave me a helpful roadmap as I became more accustomed to taking care of myself.
Recovering people-pleasers like me rarely meet our own needs and/or prioritize others’ needs instead. Oftentimes, we neglect even our most elementary needs at the bottom of the hierarchy.
In the past, for example, I regularly cancelled dentist appointments and annual physicals, though I fiercely encouraged others in my life to take good care of themselves. I didn’t get enough sleep and postponed trips to the grocery store.
Only when I began to meet these primary needs did other, more complex desires arise. We must meet our own fundamental needs on a regular basis in order to construct the firm foundation upon which our sense of identity will be built.
Step 2: Uncover your core identity.
Over months, I slowly climbed Maslow’s hierarchy, continuing with basic self-care as more vibrant desires surfaced. I began to crave rich social connections, meaningful bonds with family members, travel, and dancing. My natural curiosity, which I hadn’t felt connected to in years, awakened.
Ultimately, I found myself considering how I could make the most of my life—how I could self-actualize and “become the most that one can be.” I considered the following questions during my morning journaling sessions:
- Vision: What do I want my future to look like?
- Identity: Who am I and what roles do I play?
- Values: Which principles or morals most resonate with me?
- Skills: What abilities do I possess?
- Desires: What do I crave?
Exploring my identity across multiple planes gave me the chance to learn how expansive I actually was.
For starters, I possessed far more skills that I’d ever given myself credit for! I was uniquely empathic, a good listener, organized, and great at designing systems.
I learned that I valued personal freedom, self-expression, financial responsibility, and playfulness.
As someone who was recovering from a codependent romantic relationship, I was stunned to remember that I was sister, a daughter, a coach, a community leader, a best friend, and more.
Wide-eyed, I realized that I was so much more than the shadow-self I’d felt like months before.
I’d spent so much time defining myself by others that this simple exercise—putting my pen to paper and exploring myself for thirty minutes—was a milestone: not only because of what I discovered, but because I took the time for myself to do it at all.
Take some time to explore your own roles, values, morals, abilities, and desires. It’s easier to set boundaries to protect the things that matter to you most when you’re clear on what those things are.
Step 3: Bring your authentic self to your relationships.
In retrospect, that early period of self-discovery was the most profound period of my life to date. It was characterized by the uncompromising commitment to prioritize my innermost self. Most importantly, those months provided me the firm foundation I needed to bring my authentic self to my relationships with others.
Boundary setting is like working a muscle—difficult and exhausting at first, but eventually, second nature. With this new understanding in hand, I began to tentatively set firm and healthy boundaries in my relationships.
At first, simply saying no to a party invitation was a challenge. But I did it.
Not long after, I set non-negotiable work hours and withdrew from a few extracurricular commitments that no longer served me. It was hard, but also felt totally righteous.
As I pocketed these small successes, setting harder boundaries felt less impossible. Eventually, I told best friends when their actions upset me; terminated romantic partnerships that weren’t meeting my needs; and unpacked old childhood hurts with my parents. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t dance around my kitchen once or twice—okay, definitely twice!—totally overjoyed that boundary setting was coming more easily to me.
After each difficult conversation, rocky though it may have been, a weight lifted from my chest. In the absence of that weight, I could navigate the world more freely. I noticed that I was more present for my clients, more playful with my friends, and more authentic with my family. Relationships that had once been a source of resentment finally felt nourishing because I was bringing my full self to the table.
Notice when you’re being inauthentic in your relationships so can you start creating this same freedom for yourself. Practice communicating what you think, want, and need and sharing how you honestly feel. Once you start working this muscle, it becomes much easier to set boundaries in all areas of your life.
It’s A Lifelong Journey
Putting my truth into action is a lifelong journey because my truth is always changing. My relationships grow, my needs shift, and my identity—the very bedrock of who I am and what I’m protecting—transforms.
Years later, I still occasionally find myself challenged by moments of confrontation. In those moments, I always harken back to the fiercely empowering truth that I set these boundaries to protect the vibrant inner self that I’ve come to know and respect.
I like to remember that this journey may not be linear.
I like to remember the progress I’ve made so far.
Most importantly, I like to remember to have patience and compassion for this inner self of mine. She has become so brave. She exposes herself to the elements, and risks being seen, known, and loved by herself and by others.
