Tag: wisdom
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The Value of Doing Nothing in a Hyperproductive World
“Allow yourself to be bored a little. In our world full of distractions, create some space for nothingness.” ~Unknown
My roommate sat in the kitchen, eating his late home-cooked dinner, and commented with a half-mocking smile, “Ah, you’re still living.”
The words hung in the air, awkwardly playful but sharp enough to sting. They echoed something larger: the subtle judgment that creeps into our culture of relentless productivity.
Confusion bubbled up inside me, followed quickly by shame. My cheeks turned red. I had spent most of this sunny Saturday alone in my room—reading books, listening to music, writing a little, and, to be honest, staring out the window, feeling restless.
“What do you do all day?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Yes, what I felt was definitely shame. In a world that glorifies busyness, I often feel like a criminal for spending an entire day at home, or for strolling through the city without real plans. The implicit expectation to do something, to make the day “count,” feels suffocating.
“Reading and writing,” I replied, suppressing the urge to explain myself.
He looked puzzled. “You can’t fill a whole day with writing, can you? Isn’t that boring?”
Here it was: the quintessential clash between introversion and extroversion. He didn’t understand me, though, in fairness, I think he wanted to. I was tempted to agree, to downplay my day and say, “Yes, it’s boring sometimes.” But I stopped myself.
Because recently, I’ve realized something important: I need that stillness.
The Shame of “Doing Nothing”
His confusion wasn’t just personal; it felt like a question society constantly asks people like me: What are you doing with your time? In a culture that glorifies constant productivity, the idea of having unstructured time is almost heretical. If you’re not ticking off items on a to-do list or working toward a measurable goal, then what exactly are you contributing?
This shame runs deeper than personal insecurity—it’s rooted in a culture that values productivity above all else. The industrial revolution reinforced the belief that time is money, a resource to be maximized. Today, even our leisure activities are judged: hobbies are monetized, vacations become opportunities for curated Instagram posts, and relaxation feels like something we must earn.
For me, this shame shows up in subtle ways. If I spend an afternoon reading or writing without a clear goal, I catch myself justifying it: It’s practice for my craft. When a friend asks how my weekend went, I feel compelled to list the “productive” things I did—chores, errands, something quantifiable—before admitting that I spent hours simply being. It’s as though I need permission to slow down, even from myself.
But this obsession with busyness comes at a cost. It fuels burnout, anxiety, and a relentless sense of inadequacy. It leaves us disconnected from ourselves and the quiet, unstructured moments that bring clarity and peace. What happens when we’re always striving to prove our worth through what we achieve? We lose the ability to simply be.
Stillness as a Portal to Creativity
What I’ve come to understand is that restlessness isn’t the enemy. It’s the hum beneath the surface where creativity brews. When I sit still or let myself feel bored, something unexpected arises: a fleeting thought, a fresh perspective, or a spark of an idea. Those unhurried moments, I’ve learned, are where the magic happens.
Our culture teaches us to fear downtime, to see it as wasted hours. However, it’s often in those “empty” moments that our most meaningful insights emerge. I’ve had some of my best ideas while folding laundry or lying on the couch doing nothing in particular.
As Julia Cameron writes in The Artist’s Way, creativity requires spaciousness. She even prescribes a full week of media deprivation—no social media, no podcasts, no books—to help artists reconnect with their inner world. By removing distractions, she argues, we create the room to truly sit with our feelings and thoughts.
In my own life, I’ve noticed this truth. Some of my favorite moments are not grand or planned—they’re the small, unexpected joys that arise during quiet days. When I’m doing dishes, I’ll start humming, then singing, and maybe even dancing. What felt like a mundane chore transforms into a moment of aliveness.
Why We Need Unstructured Days
The irony is that the days I spend without clear plans often end up being the most productive—not in a traditional sense, but in the way they nurture my inner world. These are the days when my thoughts settle, untangle, and expand. They’re not lazy days; they’re spacious ones.
In fact, I’ve started to see quiet time as a quiet rebellion against a world that demands constant output. When I allow myself to slow down, to let go of the need to perform or produce, I’m pushing back against a culture that equates worth with busyness.
But this isn’t easy. Society tells us to fear idleness, to run from it with endless distractions: a scroll through Instagram, a new TV series, a side hustle. Slowing down feels countercultural, even indulgent. But I believe it’s necessary.
The next time someone questions how you spend your time—or when you catch yourself feeling guilty for slowing down—try reframing the question. What if restlessness isn’t wasted time, but the soil where creativity and self-discovery take root?
A New Definition of Productivity
So, was my roommate right? Is it boring? Sure, sometimes. But that quietness isn’t a problem; it’s a gift. It’s the pause between notes in a symphony, the blank page before a story. It’s not laziness; it’s space where something always stirs.
What if we saw stillness differently—not as something to avoid, but as a doorway to clarity, creativity, and reflection?
Maybe it’s time for your own experiment. Turn off the noise, let yourself stare out the window, and see what stirs in the quiet. You might be surprised at what emerges.
What about you? How do you feel about unstructured time? Is it something you avoid, or have you discovered its unexpected value? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
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When Love Isn’t Enough: The Lessons I Learned from my Breakup
“This is not where your story ends. It’s simply where it takes a turn you didn’t expect.” ~Cheryl Strayed
He had the courage to say what I couldn’t.
“It’s not working anymore.”
It didn’t make any sense that we were breaking up. We loved each other so much. We had been talking about getting engaged. Our couples therapy was moving in a positive direction, even when it was really challenging.
When he said those words, I knew I wasn’t going to argue with him. As much as we loved each other, we had taken the relationship as far as it could go.
But this isn’t a story about lost love. It’s about all the love you can find when it leaves.
I knew our relationship had felt off for a while.
Earlier in the day before the breakup, when he went to the bar to watch the football game, I got down on my knees and prayed for clarity. I felt lost about whether I should stay and fight for the relationship or if it was time for it to end.
Our relationship felt like a back-and-forth struggle for months. We even took a long weekend trip to New Orleans to reignite our spark. But when we got back home, it seemed like one minute he was my one-man cheering section at my half marathon, and the next we were yelling at each other sitting in our parked car.
The minute I prayed for help, I knew that the relationship needed to end. But I wasn’t willing to be honest and admit that to myself. I wasn’t really ready to say those words out loud. I didn’t want them to be true, even though I knew deep down that they were true.
A few hours later, he walked in the door and said the words no one wants to hear, “We need to talk.”
And then began a two-hour-long conversation about ending our relationship and honoring what we had shared together. We had dated off and on for almost five years, living together for two. And it was over.
While we had fun together and had undeniable chemistry, our compatibility never fit together. He had plenty of trauma from his past, and he questioned me when I encouraged him to have a life of his own outside of the relationship. He feared that if he was fully himself, I would yell and try to control him.
And I had my own issues where I tried for so long to twist myself into being the perfect girlfriend. Eventually I got tired of pretending to be someone I wasn’t, but he didn’t seem to like who I really was. So, I made myself as small as possible, trying to be pleasing and acceptable but struggling to also be myself.
It seemed that we loved each other, and we managed to bring out the worst in each other, despite all our best efforts.
Loving someone isn’t always enough for a successful relationship. In our situation, we really were each other’s biggest cheerleader. And we wanted success and happiness so much for the other person that we masked our true selves.
I can’t speak for him, but I was afraid if I stepped into my full, powerful self that I would be rejected and told I was too much. I feared being abandoned once he saw me for who I really was.
I learned too late into the relationship to let myself be vulnerable and real. By the time I did, our dynamic patterns had already been established, and the change was too much. He reacted in ways that reinforced my worst fears—that I was unlovable, that I was asking too much, that my real self wasn’t worthy of love.
I deeply regret not being myself from day one in the relationship. But the pain of regret is a powerful teacher.
I don’t know if our relationship would have gone differently if I had been real from the beginning. Maybe it would have never started. Or maybe it would have gone the distance. There’s no way to know.
But that’s not a lingering question I’m willing to have in the future. I knew this relationship was teaching me that I DO matter, and I needed to learn how to be myself without the masks.
It took me a lot of deep inner work to rebuild my confidence after that relationship ended. I needed to believe that I would be okay no matter what happened if I revealed who I am at the beginning of a relationship.
I practiced picking myself up after rejection and letting myself feel those really icky feelings that I had been trying to avoid—feelings like despair, disappointment, embarrassment, and shame.
One of the hardest parts of mourning the breakup was that no one had done anything wrong. I had to learn to live in the paradox that we love each other and breaking up was the right thing. I learned that it’s enough that I don’t want to be in that relationship dynamic anymore.
Pain is here as our teacher. It shows up to let us know what not to do.
Most people want to rush through the pain as fast as possible. It’s not comfortable to allow the pain to be there without trying to make it all better.
But when you learn how to sit with the pain and befriend it, there is so much wisdom to learn.
My pain showed me all the ways I avoid being with myself and all the ways I had already abandoned myself—before any boyfriend could even have a chance. I was so quick to blame my problems on everyone else and then complain to my friends over glasses of rosé. I numbed my pain with wine, partying, hookups, nights out with friends, and Netflix.
I see now that when I do that repeatedly, I end up not receiving pain’s wisdom. And instead, my life keeps giving me the same lesson over and over until I’m ready to learn it.
I signed up with a therapist, a coach, and a women’s embodiment group. Each one brought a different way of guiding me to the lesson I was really avoiding:
No one can abandon me if I don’t abandon myself first.
I had to learn to love all of me. Even the parts that I think aren’t worthy. And I’m not writing this because I’m done learning, and I figured it all out. But I’m willing to learn, and I’m trying to be a bit more loving every day.
I remember being on a retreat in Mexico with my women’s group in the final moments of our time together. I raised my hand for coaching in front of everyone for the first time. I brought my messiest self and braced myself for shame.
Instead, I let myself look in the eyes of the women around me as I shared my messiest self, and I saw nothing but love being reflected to me.
My messiest self was lovable. I can bring her with me. I don’t have to be perfect, and I don’t have to show up how I think other people need me to be. I can just be me.
I still struggle with this, honestly. I still try to be perfect and have it all figured out. But I remember back to the version of me in that relationship, and she seems so different from the woman I am today. I look at her with so much compassion because she’s trying so hard to be lovable.
She hasn’t accepted the truth that she’s already lovable as she is. And that kind of love is always going to be enough for me. There is peace and power in loving myself.
If my ex hadn’t broken up with me, I don’t think I would have let myself be totally broken open and vulnerable. And as painful as it was, I am forever grateful he was brave enough to break my heart.
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How I Found Confidence and a New Path When I Felt Inadequate
“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.” ~Arthur Ashe
It was a quiet evening at Boat Quay. The sun was setting, casting warm golden hues over the water, and the air smelled faintly of salt and street food. I was sitting on the riverbank with a close friend, my head heavy with thoughts that refused to settle.
“I’m thirty,” I said, breaking the silence. My voice quivered with frustration. “I haven’t achieved anything. Look at Joseph Schooling—he’s younger than me and a gold medalist! My other friend started his own business. And me? I’m just… here.”
The words tumbled out of me, raw and unfiltered. My friend looked at me with a mixture of concern and helplessness. I knew I was being hard on myself, but the feeling of inadequacy clung to me like a second skin.
Deep down, I believed that being hard on myself was necessary, a way to spur myself into action. “If I don’t push myself, who will?” I thought. But no matter how much I pushed, nothing seemed to click. I felt like I was flailing, desperate for traction but stuck in the same spot.
Biting the Elephant
For a long time, I obsessed over big achievements. I wanted to make a splash, to prove that I was capable and worthy. But every time I set my sights on something monumental, I froze. The sheer size of my goals overwhelmed me.
One day, I stumbled across an old adage: How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.
It hit me like a lightning bolt. Maybe I didn’t need to tackle enormous goals all at once. Maybe I could start small—just one bite at a time.
I decided to test this theory. My first “bite” was a simple commitment: wake up thirty minutes earlier each day and spend that time reading a book on personal development. It wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was manageable.
To my surprise, this small step gave me a tiny boost of confidence. I was keeping a promise to myself, however small. That feeling of accomplishment, no matter how minor, was something I could build on.
From there, I started layering on more small commitments. I took on one short online course, then another. I applied what I learned in small ways at work. Slowly but surely, these small actions began to stack up.
Fixing Everything and Going Nowhere
For years, I believed that the key to success lay in fixing my weaknesses. I spent countless hours analyzing my flaws and trying to “fix” them. I wasn’t assertive enough, so I took assertiveness training. I wasn’t organized enough, so I read books on productivity.
But no matter how much I tried to improve, I felt like I was running in place. The more I focused on my shortcomings, the more they seemed to define me.
Then, one day, a mentor said something that shifted my perspective: “What if you leaned into your strengths instead?”
It was such a simple idea, yet it felt revolutionary. I realized I’d been so focused on what I lacked that I hadn’t stopped to consider what I already had
I started asking myself: What am I good at? What comes naturally to me?
One of the answers that surfaced was communication. I’ve always been good at connecting with people, whether through conversation or storytelling. So, I decided to lean into that. I volunteered to give presentations at work and started reaching out to potential mentors for advice.
As I leaned into my strengths, something incredible happened: momentum. The more I focused on what I was good at, the more opportunities seemed to appear. I wasn’t just fixing flaws anymore; I was building something meaningful.
Walking the Unbeaten Path
As I began to gain momentum, I realized that part of my frustration stemmed from comparing myself to others. I was measuring my progress against the paths others had taken, but those paths didn’t belong to me.
I was forging my own path, one that was unfamiliar and full of uncertainty. There were no roadmaps or guarantees—just a lot of trial and error.
Walking this path required me to confront self-doubt daily. “What if I fail? What if I’m not good enough?” Those thoughts still visited me, but I learned to greet them like old acquaintances. “Ah, there you are again,” I’d say to my doubts. “Thanks for your input, but I’m moving forward anyway.”
Each step forward brought new challenges, but it also brought growth. The unknown, which once terrified me, became a space for discovery and creativity.
The Overarching Theme: Seeking Validation
When I look back on those years of self-doubt and striving, I see a common thread: I was chasing validation.
I wanted to prove my worth—to myself, to my family, to society. I thought that achieving something big would finally make me feel whole. But the truth is, no external achievement could fill that void.
The turning point came when I began to let go of the need for validation. I realized that my worth wasn’t tied to what I achieved or how others saw me. It was inherent, unchanging.
This wasn’t a switch I flipped overnight. It was a slow process, one small step at a time—just like eating an elephant. But as I released the need for external approval, I felt freer and more grounded than ever before.
Becoming a Teacher
Today, I’m a teacher. It’s not the flashiest career, but it’s one that feels deeply aligned with who I am. Teaching allows me to use my strengths—communication, empathy, and a knack for seeing the big picture—to help others navigate their own paths.
I didn’t get here by chasing big, flashy goals. I got here by starting small, focusing on my strengths, and trusting the process.
Lessons Learned
If you’re feeling stuck or overwhelmed, here are a few things I’ve learned that might help.
1. Start small: Big changes don’t happen overnight. Focus on small, manageable steps that you can build on.
2. Lean into your strengths: Instead of fixating on your weaknesses, identify what you’re naturally good at and find ways to use those strengths.
3. Let go of comparisons: Your path is your own. It doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s.
4. Trust the process: Growth isn’t always linear, and that’s okay. Have faith that each step forward, no matter how small, is bringing you closer to where you want to be.
5. Release the need for validation: Your worth isn’t tied to your achievements or how others see you. It’s inherent, just as you are.
Closing Thoughts
As I sit here reflecting on my journey, I realize that I’m still a work in progress. And that’s okay. Life isn’t about reaching some final destination; it’s about learning, growing, and finding joy in the process.
If you’re feeling stuck or overwhelmed, know that you’re not alone. Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. One small step at a time, you’ll get there.
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When You’re Ready for More: How to Access Your Inner Wanderer
“Not all who wander are lost.” ~J.R.R. Tolkien
Sometimes as humans we lose sight of our profound inner resourcefulness—the wellspring of creativity and strength that has kept humanity reinventing itself over and over again.
It happens to everyone. We get lost in comfortable routines, become discouraged from trying new things, and forget how to play.
When life feels disappointingly status quo, it’s easy to keep floating downcurrent as you tell yourself, “Welp, I guess this is as good as it gets.”
I don’t know about you, but I’ve definitely caught myself in a trap of wondering if the best is behind me.
Thankfully, one of our instinctual superpowers is knowing how and when to start over or ask for more.
Found deep in your psyche, you have an archetype known as the Wanderer who carries a wisdom on how to help you let go of misaligned, limiting, or outright unhealthy situations in pursuit of something better—whether it’s a job, relationship, or lifestyle.
Archetypes are universal personality types and instinctual behavior patterns that we inherit from our ancestors that cut across all cultures. They’re inherent structures found deep in our psyches that offer us gifts and strengths that make us whole and well-rounded.
Archetypes are especially useful as inner allies that help us grow through different phases or challenges in our lives. Becoming a parent, solving a unique problem in your industry, or rediscovering yourself in mid-life are all occasions where a certain archetype may emerge.
The Wanderer is about leaving behind the familiar and entering the unknown. We see the Wanderer making an entrance when someone undergoes big transitions, such as getting a divorce, changing careers, or initiating a spiritual journey.
The Wanderer is one of my favorite archetypes because it’s helped me stay in touch with my heart, mind, and body during tumultuous periods of my life. In particular, there’s one leap of faith that I couldn’t have taken without the aid of this powerful archetype.
A few years ago, I was working a nine-to-five job in international education for university students, where I would send students across the world for a semester or summer. It was a deeply fulfilling and enormously fun job, but eight years into the field, I started struggling with the lack of flexibility of a forty-hour office job, and my body rebelled against the sedentary nature of desk work.
I ended up on partial disability due to computer-driven repetitive stress injuries in both arms. For eight months I suffered from severe inflammation. It gradually got better, but my doctor told me I would likely never fully return to normal.
No longer physically able to work at a desk full-time, I had to reimagine my future.
As a highly sensitive person with a history of chronic pain, I was determined to find a new line of work that wouldn’t require me to sacrifice myself. With a plan in mind of building my own business, I decided to leave my desk job permanently.
I didn’t need anyone’s permission.
I wasn’t waiting for a sign.
I just made up my mind with the hard-headed tenacity that’s typical of the Wanderer—it was time to go.
I had a vision for how I wanted to shape my future. It felt like an uncontrollable itch I needed to scratch. Even though I loved the security of a salaried job with benefits, I couldn’t ignore the flashing warning lights coming from my body. Admittedly, my gut had also been nudging me to go work for myself long before I ended up on disability.
I considered the next couple of steps to leave my career, but I didn’t have a detailed long-term plan. I felt a sense of inner trust and authority that I would land on my feet. I was ready and willing to make a humble living in the service industry as I built my business in my spare time. So, with a lot of courage and plenty of unknowns, I started over.
I thank my inner Wanderer for making it possible.
I can point to several other occasions in my life where I made a sudden change following a period of feeling lost or unmotivated. One of the hallmarks of the Wanderer is that it often becomes “activated” after you’ve endured a period of misalignment in your life that becomes intolerable.
It often feels like a courageous awakening when you realize what you must do for yourself. Everyone needs a fire under their ass from time to time, and the Wanderer is precisely good for it.
The hallmark quality of the Wanderer is that it takes responsibility for creating change.
It doesn’t blame other people or circumstances for their predicament.
It doesn’t mope or complain.
It doesn’t flounder needlessly.
The Wanderer is about taking risks.
Whether you’re considering leaving an unhealthy relationship, a toxic job, or a lifestyle you’ve outgrown, you have to take risks. It might be an emotional risk, a financial risk, or a risk of vulnerability.
I like to think that the Wanderer is here to remind me of who I’m becoming. When I start to think to myself, “I made it!” I’m always amazed to discover that I still have far to go. But I know I can count on my ingenious Wanderer to support me in taking the next necessary risk.
If you’re teetering on the fence in a certain aspect of life, here are some tips on how to partner with your Wanderer to rediscover what’s possible.
Tips for Partnering with Your Wanderer
Start small and move slowly.
I am not a proponent of rapid, overnight growth and change. Most people crash and burn when they rush into new experiences.
The truth is that you can only move as fast as your body will allow you—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. There are no shortcuts. Start where you are. Use the skills and resources you have. Grow your capacity to do big, extraordinary things little by little.
The easiest way to do this is by identifying the next smallest step one at a time. You don’t need to worry about what step ten is or how you’ll manage step twenty when you haven’t even taken the first step. Just focus on what you can do right now.
Choose your mindset wisely.
The Wanderer’s perspective is that there are no failures in life, only feedback and learning. Embodying this mindset will save you countless hours wasted on self-sabotage, pointless self-blame, and stewing in a victim cycle.
The key is staying curious. When you try something new that feels risky and it doesn’t go the way you want, get curious. Self-loathing is cheap and easy, but practicing curiosity and self-kindness is the admirable, high road.
If you feel yourself spiraling into thoughts and emotions that are abusive or critical, you won’t find a shred of useful wisdom that will help you pivot and move forward. Negative thoughts are neural pathways that become stronger the more you reinforce them. But you don’t have to forcibly plaster shiny, positive thoughts on top of them.
Instead, focus on regulating your nervous system.
A triggered nervous system sees the world through a lens of danger, disappointment, and hopelessness. If you arm yourself with a few tools to self-regulate, you’ll find it easier to return to the curiosity and kindness of the Wanderer mindset.
The best self-regulating tools are simple and quick. Here is a favorite go-to of mine. Start by gently tapping around your collarbone with your fingertips. Then, bring in breath. Take in an inhale for a count of four and exhale out twice as long. Repeat at least twice more, or continue for as long as it feels good.
When you’re done, take a break from what has triggered you and do something that feels kind and nurturing. Revisit the situation at hand when you’re feeling resourced and have access to a completely different perspective. The best insight and creativity come when you’re grounded and regulated.
Nothing can guarantee you a soft landing into the next chapter of your life—which is to say, the road can get pretty bumpy and uncomfortable.
In fact, you can pretty much count on it.
But the mishaps and curveballs will make you sharper and lighter on your toes. You don’t need to nail every risk you take. Let yourself fall apart so you can put the pieces back together better next time.
The Wanderer is ultimately about self-discovery. What do you find out about yourself when you re-enter the dating world after twenty years of marriage or when you pitch your creative writing to ten different publishers?
You can’t possibly know what you want in life or what you’re capable of if you keep floating downstream passively.
Life is an adventure, so keep asking yourself: What would the Wanderer do?
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Healing Through Reparenting: The Greatest Act of Self-Love
“When you reparent yourself, you can step in and give your inner child the deep love and attention you may not have had when you were young.” ~Victoria Albina
Reparenting is not for the faint of heart, but the journey can surely be described as the greatest act of self-love. It’s a gift—a chance to redo some of the painful aspects of childhood and adolescence, but with the awareness of an adult mind. It is also an opportunity to connect much more deeply with ourselves and those we wish to connect with in a more authentic way.
What is reparenting?
Reparenting is the process of unpacking childhood wounds and conditioning and getting in touch with our deepest needs, using them as a guide to create a life that’s intentional and aligned with our essence.
Unfortunately, many of us are born into families, or systems, laden with pre-existing programming, rules, and norms. On top of this, our parents often carry their own wounds, some unaddressed, which can inadvertently pass to us.
As impressionable children, what we need most is to be seen, nurtured, and loved, to receive guidance and attunement. Without these, conformity begins, shaping us into programmed versions of ourselves that align more with the expectations from our environment rather than our true selves.
This disconnection breeds inner conflict, leading us to adopt survival strategies to keep safe from perceived dangers like unmet parental desires or wounds. This process is entirely on a subconscious level, which is why it is so destructive.
When parents choose to bring a child into this world, the expectation is for them to nurture and guide this life in line with what the child needs, but that requires attunement and egos to be left at the door. Unfortunately, many parents live vicariously through their children or remain unaware of their nature, focused solely on their own survival. Worse than that, a lot of parents are emotionally immature and cannot embody true compassion or hold space for views that are different from theirs.
Curiosity and learning are not values at the forefront. This results in a child losing their essence over time in order to conform and stay safe and accepted in the system. With that comes the erosion of self and the birth of survival mode as we know it. The child loses some of their curiosity and zest for life, which in some cases is replaced with hard rules and expectations. In worse cases, it is replaced with abuse.
Reparenting is about rebuilding.
As my therapist vividly described, reparenting is akin to being a contractor, architect, and designer of my existence—deciding what parts of my past to keep, renovate, or dismantle entirely. This metaphor of remaking a house resonated deeply with me after years of suffering from patterns misaligned with my essence.
In the rebuilding process, I kept aspects of the “home” that I loved. I started to discern what did not fit, what was dated, and what needed a fresh coat of paint. In some instances, I took the proverbial sledgehammer to many walls and started again.
I started this journey after years of suffering—attracting people and circumstances that weren’t in alignment with my deepest self. I kept reliving childhood wounds because, as they say, “our wounding does the picking until we choose to heal.”
This doesn’t mean our parents didn’t love us or that they did not do their best. It simply means that we will all be called to dive deeply and, at some point in our journey, ask: Who am I? Who am I without the labels, the roles, the expectations?
Trauma is not always obvious. It can be as simple as a harsh tone or an unmet expectation. That moment in time is frozen, and the young mind that has not fully developed may create a story that “I am not loveable.”
In the words of Gabor Maté, “Trauma is not the event; it’s what happens inside of you as a result.”
This quote captures the journey from trauma as a disconnection from self, toward healing as a return to self.
Academic pressures in my own life equated grades with worthiness, manifesting in the “good girl” persona. I carried that persona into adulthood, and it manifested in my codependent, people-pleasing ways. I learned to be agreeable and reasonable. That persona kept me ‘safe’—until it didn’t.
I shrank myself, silenced my voice, and accepted less than I desired. This caused deep unfulfillment and a lot of internal discord. Do not rock the boat was the theme of my life. Be likable and avoid conflict. Fall in line and make sure that what you do and say is seen as “acceptable.” I am exhausted from reading that. That was me for a very long time.
Tired of my compromises and yearning for authenticity, I wanted to bring my true self to life—no more diluted versions.
Reparenting begins with one powerful question: Who am I?
From there, we ask: What do I want to create? What are my values, needs, and deepest desires? These are not light questions and may take a while to answer, but we have to start somewhere. These questions guided me to explore my triggers—those disproportionate reactions rooted in the past. They serve as guides pointing us to our wounds.
As my therapist taught me, “If it’s hysterical, it’s historical.”
Triggers are “normal” responses to unresolved trauma, but they often cause us to react or shut down in ways that don’t serve us. We may never completely eliminate triggers, but we can reduce their charge and effect in our lives.
By observing my reactions and stories in my everyday life, I was guided to reconnect with younger parts of myself—the parts that had been rejected, buried, or disowned. “What do you need?” is what I asked over and over again.
I began to act like a loving and present parent with no shame, guilt, or judgment. I just started to listen. I learned about all the ways I needed to love myself more, where in my life I needed to rest, where I needed to speak, where I needed to play, and what I deeply wanted to experience in this life.
There were many tears and deep pain and shame. I allowed myself to feel it all. I had conversations with many versions of myself, and I vowed to gift the young me with a life built on truth—our truth.
I also had to get very comfortable with being uncomfortable. I knew that living in truth meant tearing down many delusions and speaking up. This would undoubtedly create chaos in places and circumstances where delusion is the preferred way to live. This meant that I would lose connections. which is a huge hit to our inner child, who will do anything to stay connected to others because it’s familiar, even if it means self-betrayal.
Inner child work involves acknowledging all of our parts with love and compassion while giving them what they need. This process brings us closer to wholeness and self-understanding. I now have a picture of a young me, who I connect with often. I promised her that I would keep creating a life in line with our core and desires.
To this day, one of my biggest triggers is anything that represents inequality and unfairness. This stems from many layers of my own wounding, which created a story that “what happens to me is unfair, and I am not worthy.”
I have learned that there are some battles that are not mine to fight. There are battles that belong to other people. When something affects me personally, I have learned to set boundaries and to express my displeasure in a mature way. I do not need to project my past onto my present or onto others.
I had to learn about boundaries—a hot topic these days.
Without boundaries, we cannot be real, nor can we create our best life because our energy is indeed finite. Our time and energy are precious, and we have the right to manage them in line with our values.
The inquiry begins with: What do I need in this moment given my current capacity? And how can I express that as gently as possible? In some cases, gentleness will not be possible, and in other cases, especially with intimate relationships, you may be called to explain why you are setting a particular boundary.
This is a highly nuanced process. It takes time and trial and error, and it is ongoing forever! It may feel uncomfortable at first as we get to reconnect with ourselves. Boundaries change over time as we dive deeper into our inner world and we make adjustments along the way. There are no hard and fast rules. But I will note that, to me, boundaries are not passes to act crass and reckless. They are not to be used as electric fences. That will cause more damage and isolation.
In some situations, a harsh boundary is appropriate when someone clearly does not respect you or what you are expressing. But on the extreme side of the spectrum, I see a lot of people just cutting off others and burning bridges in the name of “self-love.”
To truly love, one has to take another person into account and try to work with that person’s edges to come to a place of acceptance. This, of course, does not apply to abusive situations. I am referring to personal relationships. We also have to remember that our truth is not the only truth.
Loving authentically means balancing our needs with others’, recognizing that we all deserve grace, and offering compassion in delivering our truth if the goal is true connection.
The goal of reparenting is a more authentic life.
It’s about forgiving our parents—not to erase the past, but to free ourselves from its hold. Forgiveness means releasing resentment, whether we maintain relationships with them or not, and choosing to focus on the life we are building. And where appropriate, we can extract the good that was passed on and capitalize on the lessons learned. Even if the lessons lead to the discovery of who you do not want to be. That has value too.
Reparenting involves loss—shedding old identities and relationships built on personas rather than authenticity. But it also involves immense gain—the freedom to align with our true desires and essence. In the words of Gabor Maté, “Healing is a return to self.”
This journey requires radical honesty and accountability. It means asking hard questions, releasing blame, and embracing connection with ourselves and others. On the other side of the pain lies authenticity, fulfillment, and a life that reflects who we truly are.
I can confidently say that because of this work I am gentler with myself, I use my voice where appropriate, and I am more authentic. In other words, I live in truth.
Where in your life can you begin to parent yourself? Start with the question: What do I need to feel seen, safe, and nurtured?
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How to Work Mindfully with Pain and Illness
“Can I sit with suffering, both yours and mine, without trying to make it go away? Can I stay present to the ache of loss or disgrace—disappointment in all its many forms—and let it open me? This is the trick.” ~Pema Chödrön
At forty-seven years of age, I have experienced chronic illness in some form since my mid-to-late twenties. This past year, I’ve also encountered chronic pain on a level I have never experienced before. Part of that is illness-related, and part of it is simply my body getting older, coupled with the effects of repetitive motions from sitting and working with my hands for several years.
It is worth mentioning that I had a massive spiritual awakening about three years ago. For the first time in my life, I realized that what I believed was no longer true. It was a time that shook me to my core, a period of great emotional healing and discovering who I am.
The real me, not the curated me constructed by trauma, upbringing, and societal norms. I’m a weirdo to my core, and I now fully embrace that (haha). During that time of navigating my tumultuous awakening, I noticed a subconscious dynamic at play and one that certainly was without ill intent.
There can be a fine line between ignoring or suppressing pain or chronic illness and focusing on positive thinking and manifesting health.
While there is merit to both positive thinking and manifesting health, it can feel like society views pain or chronic illness as a sign of doing something wrong, or of being deficient in some way. When there’s a disconnect from what’s happening in the present moment, shame can arise—not just from not meeting ourselves where we are, but for not “manifesting” health or happiness, either.
I found myself in that stream of thought subconsciously. It wasn’t until I heard a teaching by Tara Brach, in which she spoke about the importance of honoring the reality of what is, that I became aware of it. It was such a light bulb moment! I realized that I was completely ignoring my pain and chronic illness, somehow believing that if I didn’t speak it out loud, it would simply go away.
When that awareness came, I found that I could accept my reality in each moment, as well as see that my practice was working. I met myself not with shame or judgment but with vast compassion and a willingness to turn toward the suffering.
What mindfulness teachings and practices encourage is a gentle acceptance of each moment—whatever it may hold, without judgment, and if is judgment there, to include it. When we draw our attention to respond skillfully to pain and illness, rather than reacting out of fear or denial, it fosters inner peace, resilience, and a deeper connection to ourselves.
It’s powerful to simply name the felt sense of what’s happening when pain and illness come to visit—even if it’s just to yourself. Naming is witnessing, and witnessing brings what is hidden to light. When I practice this, a tender softening and an embodiment of compassion arise.
Another helpful practice for mindfully meeting pain and illness is a meditation practice known as “titrate and pendulate.” To practice this, the invitation is choosing a neutral spot on the body, such as the top of the head, the forehead, or even the sensation of your hair. After you choose that neutral spot, if it feels supportive, turn your kind attention to the pain or discomfort for a moment or two.
Acknowledge it, breathing with it, without getting caught up in the story of why it’s there. Then, shift your attention back to the chosen neutral spot. This practice can help to create spaciousness, and you may even notice some ease.
There are times when great pain and illness make this inaccessible, and that’s completely okay. It’s okay to put your practice to rest for a time, or to practice in ways that create a sense of ease, peace, or happiness within the mind and body.
This might look like talking to a friend, going for a walk if you’re able to, drinking a comforting tea, watching a beloved show, resting, or sleeping. Mindfulness has no judgment about missed days—or even months.
For the past three to four months, due to physical pain and work-related busyness, I’ve been unable to maintain my daily seated meditation. My practice lately looks less formal and shorter than it did at the beginning of the year. It might look like a few moments of gratitude, noticing my breath, or doing a mini RAIN practice (Recognize, Accept, Investigate with curioisity, Nurture). The beauty of having a mindfulness practice is that it’s always here for you, in whatever ways feel supportive.
I deeply appreciate Jack Kornfield’s description of pain and illness as “energies that come to visit.” Pain and illness, especially if chronic, do not define who we are, and they do not remain static, even when it feels that way.
Before mindfulness became my way of life, I made my chronic illness and its circumstances my identity. In my mind, I was a victim—angry and stuck in that mindset. There was deep-seated hatred toward my body and often a feeling that the universe was against me.
These past few years of regular practice have completely changed my perspective! I now see myself as more than my body and its abilities. I understand the foundation of impermanence: everything changes, and nothing stays the same—not even pain or illness.
Though I still have some forms of chronic illness, I’m not where I was. There’s an ebb and flow to everything in life, including this. I’ve cultivated compassion for myself and now see my body as wise and communicative. I listen and meet myself where I’m at.
At our core, we are conscious, present awareness. We aren’t our names, jobs, or roles. We are so much more. We are light. We are love. We are goodness. No matter our abilities or disabilities, we are inherently worthy. Our worth is 100% NOT determined by our productivity.
Mindfulness bridges the divide between ignoring pain, shame, and self-hatred. It offers great wisdom: pain and illness are energies that come to visit. There is an ebb and flow. They do not define us.
They can coexist with peace, joy, gratitude, contentment, and compassion, teaching us to embrace the full spectrum of the human experience with its 10,000 joys and 10,000 sorrows. These experiences, met with mindful compassion, empower us to find meaning and growth in our experiences.
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What Happened When I Stopped Blaming and Embraced Radical Responsibility
“I can respect any person who can put their ego aside and say, ‘I made a mistake, I apologize, and I’m correcting the behavior.’” ~Sylvester McNutt
I remember I was a teenager when I went through this horrible breakup. I had never experienced heartbreak before, and the pain was excruciating, impacting many areas of my life. For years, I blamed him for the end of our relationship and for not appreciating my love.
My friends told me it was his loss and that I deserved much better. I nursed that breakup for longer than necessary. I never took responsibility for my part in the breakup and blamed only him for the type of person I became—guarded, insecure, and afraid to love.
Years later, I realized I had fallen into the common trap of the victim mentality that we all experience at some point in our lives. To be honest, I think I felt like a victim till I was almost forty.
I was young, and I had to go through all the feelings of grief, betrayal, and disappointment to slowly heal over the years because it always takes time, especially when you are not aware or not ready to admit that “Yes, I did play a part in what happened and how it made me feel.”
That is radical responsibility. Radical responsibility theorizes that we are 100% responsible for our lives, feelings, and personal growth in response to events.
This can be misinterpreted as absolving others of responsibility for their actions. However, holding others accountable for their actions is a separate and important process. Radical responsibility focuses on our own internal responses and choices while acknowledging the actions of others. It is a sign of personal growth when we accept our role in what happened instead of solely blaming others.
For instance, instead of immediately reacting defensively in a conflict, we can pause to examine our contributions to the situation. Did I miscommunicate? Did I react impulsively? Did I mess up?
Understanding our role allows us to communicate more effectively and constructively resolve conflicts. In relationships, radical responsibility encourages us to take ownership of our needs and boundaries, communicate them clearly, and respond to challenges with self-awareness and compassion rather than assigning blame.
By embracing radical responsibility, we begin to understand the valuable lessons that can be learned from even the most difficult experiences. It was very challenging for my ego to admit that I had been wrong so many times and that it was not always other people’s faults.
Experiencing the dark phases in life is necessary to grow and learn that there is more to every story. It’s easy to blame others for everything that goes wrong in your life, and it happens in all relationships, whether family, friends, coworkers, or even strangers. Some of us play the victim more than others because I know I did and still do, and I have to constantly remind myself that I am not an innocent bystander with no say or control in the situation.
It’s easier to blame others (“She’s terrible,” “Why me?”) than to examine my own role in the situation, acknowledging that I made choices within the context of my circumstances. It takes courage to acknowledge past behaviors like tolerating mistreatment to maintain approval, remaining silent out of fear, or prioritizing social acceptance over self-expression.
It doesn’t mean everyone is out there to get you or that every time you get hurt, it is only your fault, but that when something happens, we play a big role in what we do or feel.
For decades, I saw myself as a victim because I told myself that it was always other people’s fault when something went wrong in my life. I never wanted to admit that I also played a role in this. Initially, examining past situations and acknowledging my role wasn’t easy. It was painful to admit to myself that I made those mistakes and decisions because it is always easier to blame others and find fault in anyone but myself.
My graduate school experience was a prime example. I told myself I went there solely because my then-boyfriend wanted me to. I focused on his driving me to and from classes and his requests for constant contact, framing these as controlling actions—which they were.
But the truth, however painful to admit, was that I chose that school. I isolated myself from my classmates because that was what he wanted. He didn’t force me to do or not do anything. They were my decisions, made in a desperate attempt to salvage a relationship I feared losing and to avoid conflict.
Acknowledging this truth and recognizing my role in creating my unhappiness was a long and difficult process.
At first, I found this self-examination difficult. However, the more I analyzed my role in those situations, the more empowered I felt because I learned how much control I have over the things I do, say, and feel moving forward.
Reflecting on my role in past situations provided valuable lessons for navigating future challenges. Acknowledging my responsibility, despite external circumstances, brought a sense of freedom and a deeper understanding of my humanity. I felt this sense of freedom and relief because I had been carrying this burden for decades.
I know myself more because I called myself out on my choices because of my fears and insecurities, and other people may or may not have influenced my decisions. In the end, I did that.
I knew I was growing up when I was able to admit my mistakes in front of other people.
Accepting radical responsibility doesn’t mean others won’t try to influence you; it means you’re responsible for your responses. Radical responsibility is a conscious act of personal freedom in which we choose to look at ourselves rather than always pointing fingers at others.
Embracing radical responsibility is a journey of self-discovery that empowers us to navigate life’s challenges with greater awareness and resilience. By acknowledging our role in shaping our experiences, we move beyond the limitations of victimhood and cultivate a deeper understanding of ourselves and our relationships. This journey fosters self-awareness, improves communication, and ultimately empowers us to create a more fulfilling and authentic life.
(It’s crucial to acknowledge that radical responsibility does not apply in cases of abuse, assault, or trauma, where individuals are not responsible for the actions perpetrated against them. Survivors of these traumatic experiences may experience guilt, shame, and remorse, which are complex and distinct emotional responses that require specialized support and understanding.)
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Two Reasons We Sabotage Our Joy and Success and How to Stop
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ~Rumi
Have you ever held yourself back from going after what you truly want, or from enjoying what you have, because of a lingering fear that it might be taken away from you, or because you felt guilty for having more than others?
For years, I found myself unintentionally sabotaging moments of pure joy and personal success without being able to embrace them fully.
For example, when my son was born, a rush of panic would flood me every time I even imagined the possibility of losing him, and I felt guilty even having a family knowing that my friend was struggling with infertility due to her health issues.
Also, the money that flowed into my life always seemed to vanish as if I was in a rush to get rid of it, feeling torn between my gratitude for what I’d earned and the unease of knowing that others were barely getting by.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the constant sense of dread that lingered. One moment, I’d feel exhilarated and at peace, only to be hit with a wave of fear and guilt, as if my mind was plagued by relentless, unsettling static.
It felt like an endless cycle of scarcity. A pattern of having and sabotaging. But it was something deeper that made me question my beliefs of my own worthiness.
It took years of reading, researching, and learning to realize that this feeling wasn’t just a behavior—it was a belief that traced back to my childhood.
I grew up in a dynamic, happy family that traveled often, cared for me, and always made me feel safe and loved. But when the war came and everything changed in an instant, my life of safety and my carefree days turned into a desperate fight for survival.
That abrupt shift of losing freedom and the life I had before that moment left a deep mark on my young mind. It taught me that nothing is guaranteed and that having too much joy was dangerous and it could vanish in a flash.
Later on, this belief seeped into every corner of my adult life. When I built a vibrant career, guilt kept creeping in because I knew there were others who were struggling. Even in moments of personal growth and healing, the weight of this belief made me feel as if I was betraying all the suffering and destruction I had witnessed as a child.
It was exhausting, and for the longest time, I had no idea why I felt this way. But holding onto this belief didn’t help anyone. It certainly didn’t help me. And especially not those still fighting for survival. It kept me small and limited, trapped in a cycle of guilt and fear.
While this mindset once served as a form of protection, I had to accept that loss is an inevitable part of life—and that fearing it only kept me from truly living.
As I started my healing journey and helped other souls find their path to healing, I began learning about the subconscious mind and how early childhood experiences, cultural conditioning, and unresolved emotions shape us.
When I allowed myself to acknowledge the origin of this belief without judgment, I knew I had started the healing process. I gave myself permission to grieve for the child I was and for everything I had missed experiencing as a twelve-year-old girl.
Then I started working on how I see the world and how I, just like everyone else, am responsible for the energy I send out into the world. I started to see my joy, success, happiness, and achievements as gifts and opportunities, not things I had stolen from others.
I reframed my story and embraced an affirmation that I still use nowadays—The more I thrive, the more I can give back. This whole new perspective shifted my energy from guilt to gratitude and inspired action.
I changed my inner narrative through energy healing and the deep soul alignment my being was craving. I am worthy of happiness, just like everyone else, and I deserve abundance in every aspect of my life.
Over time, these words became my truth, which I now believe deep in my core.
It’s no surprise that, of all the emotions I worked on during the process, guilt was the hardest one to let go, because I couldn’t give up thinking and feeling what other people who were going through the same struggles felt. But when I decided to channel my abundance into acts of service, I realized I could help others without sacrificing my own joy.
Limiting beliefs can be tricky because you may not even realize you have them. And even if you’re aware of some, they might not be the ones you actually need to work on. The root cause isn’t always easy to spot, but there are steps you can take to get there.
1. Start by identifying areas of your life where you face challenges.
Write down the belief you feel is contributing to your struggles. Putting it all in writing can give you the clarity you need to move forward.
2. Explore the origin of this belief.
Did you hear it from someone? Was it an event in your life that started it? Understanding where this belief might have started can help you detach from it.
3. Challenge limiting beliefs with empowering truths.
For example, you could replace “I’m not worthy of success because others are struggling” with “My success empowers others. By thriving, I create more opportunities to help and inspire.”
Find examples from your own life when this was true and write them down. As you shift your perspective, you’ll begin to see things in a new light—one that is healthier and more uplifting.
While affirmations can be a powerful tool, please note that they may not be sufficient if you’re dealing with deep-rooted patterns of fear, doubt, or trauma. Simply repeating the words may not be enough if you struggle to truly believe them.
To more effectively heal these limiting beliefs and rewire the brain, a more holistic approach is often needed—one that integrates mind, body, and energy healing. This can include guided meditation to access subconscious patterns, breathwork to release stored emotions, somatic practices to reconnect with the body, and inner child work to address the root cause of past wounds.
By combining these methods, you allow healing to happen on multiple levels, creating deeper and lasting transformation.
4. Create a daily practice where you meditate and visualize yourself thriving to reinforce your new narrative.
Meditation helps quiet the mind and clear energetic blockages, while visualization allows you to embody the feelings of your new reality.
To fully integrate this shift, take aligned action each day that supports your growth. Set boundaries by saying no to commitments and situations that no longer serve you, speak your truth by expressing your needs, and engage in new experiences by exploring new places. Celebrate small wins by acknowledging and appreciating every step you take toward becoming the person you are meant to be.
It might also help to find a guide or a coach who can help you navigate the deeper layers of limiting beliefs. You might realize that an outside perspective is what you need to break free.
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If you find it hard to let go of your conditioning, be patient with yourself. It’s not easy to get out of your own way, even when your soul is feeling a strong pull and an immense desire to break free and to awaken to a life filled with meaning, light, and purpose.
But if you keep at it, you can let go of the limiting beliefs that hold you back. Then, when you believe that you are worthy of receiving and fully experiencing all of life’s blessings, you’ll be able to embrace each gift with gratitude while you have it, knowing that both gain and loss are natural parts of our journey.
And remember, embracing joy and success is also a gift to everyone around us. When we honor our worth and embrace our light, we align with a higher vibration that radiates into the world.
