Tiny Buddha

“Resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies.” ~Saint Augustine

For years, I was unknowingly poisoning myself in nearly every relationship—whether romantic, work-related, or friendships. It always followed the same pattern: I’d form a deep attachment, throw myself into the relationship, and give endlessly, hoping that if I gave enough, they’d appreciate and value me.

But instead, it felt like they just took and took, leaving me secretly seething with anger and frustration while I smiled on the outside.

I was doing all the running—couldn’t they see that? Couldn’t they see how hard I was trying? Over time, the exhaustion would set in. Eventually, I’d burn out from the one-sided effort and just give up, walking away hurt and angry, convinced they had wronged me.

Each time, I added another person to my mental list of people I couldn’t trust. With each disappointment, I trusted fewer and fewer people.

To protect myself, I started putting up walls, convincing myself I didn’t need anyone. I told myself I was fine on my own. I’d always be the first to step in and help family or friends, but I wouldn’t allow them to help me. I refused to be vulnerable because, to me, vulnerability meant risking rejection. I believed I could do it all on my own—or at least that’s what I told myself.

When COVID hit, isolation wasn’t a choice anymore—it was forced upon me. Suddenly, I was alone, with no one to turn to because I had pushed everyone away. That’s when I realized just how much resentment had poisoned my life.

Fed up with the weight it placed on my life, I decided to confront it head-on. I let myself fully feel the resentment, allowing it to wash over me like a wave. It wasn’t easy—leaning into those emotions was painful, raw, and uncomfortable.

But in that moment, I realized I wasn’t just angry with a few people—I was carrying resentment for almost everyone in my life, even my own mother! The bitterness had been poisoning me for years, and it became clear that it wasn’t just affecting my relationships—it was poisoning my peace.

That’s when I made the decision to stop drinking the poison. I realized that I had been giving so much power to other people—power over my emotions, my happiness, and even my health. But I didn’t have to. I didn’t need to wait for anyone to apologize or change; I was responsible for my own healing, and I wasn’t going to let others’ actions control my life anymore.

Self-Realization: The First Step to Letting Go

Self-realization was the first, and perhaps most difficult, step in battling my resentment. For the first time in my life, I stopped running from the pain and leaned into it instead.

I started using EFT (Emotional Freedom Techniques) to peel back the layers of emotions I had been burying for years. Through tapping on specific points, I was able to release trapped feelings and bring clarity to the surface. Each tapping session was like lifting a weight off my chest, but it was also incredibly uncomfortable.

I had to confront memories I had long avoided and acknowledge the emotions I had hidden from for so long.

What shocked me the most was realizing that I had never given anyone a chance to correct the wrongs I thought they had done. I assumed people knew I was upset, and when they didn’t magically pick up on it, I silently resented them.

Saying that now, it sounds so ridiculous—how could I have expected people to read my mind? Yet for years, that’s exactly what I did.

So, I began reframing the narrative. Instead of focusing on how others had let me down, I asked myself: What could I have done differently in those situations? How could I have influenced a different outcome?

The more I reflected, the more I realized that I had the power to change the dynamics of my relationships. It was a breakthrough—I didn’t need to wait for someone to change or apologize. I had the power to heal myself.

Testing My New Mindset

Soon after this realization, I had an opportunity to test my new mindset. I had invited my mum and sister on a weekend getaway, something that meant a lot to me.

A few weeks before the trip, they both backed out. The old me would have smiled and said, “No problem, that’s fine,” while secretly adding their names to my mental list of people who had wronged me.

But this time, I did something different. I spoke up. I calmly explained how much it hurt that they were canceling on something so important to me.

To my surprise, neither my mum nor my sister had any idea their actions would hurt me. They explained that, because I had always been so independent, they didn’t realize how much this trip meant to me.

For the first time, we had a genuine, open conversation about our feelings, and it actually brought us closer.

Instead of silently seething and letting resentment build, I communicated honestly, and the outcome was liberating.

I realized that so much of the pain I had carried in the past could have been avoided if I had just voiced my feelings. That conversation was a powerful reminder that I have the power to shape my relationships, and that sometimes people just don’t know how we feel unless we tell them.

Moving Forward: Letting Go and Staying Free

After learning to let go of years of resentment, I realized that staying free required new habits. I needed to guard against falling back into old patterns, so I came up with a few strategies to help.

First, I ask myself three key questions:

1. Is this really worth my peace?

2. Did they intend to hurt me, or could there be another explanation?

3. What can I do differently in this situation?

These questions help me pause, reflect, and reframe my thoughts before resentment has a chance to take root. I no longer jump to conclusions or internalize every slight.

And then there’s my secret weapon—whenever I feel those old feelings of resentment bubbling up, I silently sing the Disney song “Let It Go” to myself!

I know it sounds silly, but it’s incredibly effective. The moment I start humming that tune, it interrupts my spiraling thoughts and stops me from obsessing over whatever hurt I’m feeling.

By the time I’ve finished the song in my head, the urge to hold onto those negative feelings has usually passed, and I can move forward with a clearer mind.

It’s a lighthearted strategy, but for me, it’s a reminder that I have a choice. I can cling to the bitterness, or I can, quite literally, let it go.

Letting go isn’t always easy, but it’s always worth it. The next time you feel resentment creeping in, remember, forgiveness isn’t for them; it’s for you. It’s time to free yourself from the weight of carrying that poison.

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

“Stay in the moment. The practice of staying present will heal you. Obsessing about how the future will turn out creates anxiety. Replaying broken scenarios from the past causes anger and sadness. Stay here, in this moment.” ~Sylvester McNutt

For two years, I studied and practiced meditation. I listened to podcasts, chanted mantras each morning, sat quietly while exploring my default mode network, and traversed Eastern mysticism under the guidance of a licensed clinical psychologist who taught me how to use deep diaphragmatic breathing to stimulate my vagus nerve and lower my resting heart rate. This helped me recover from panic attacks, which I started having as a result of existential dread.

After a series of nights with intrusive thoughts about death and dying, and painful memories related to my childhood, I decided to learn how to meditate so my thoughts would bother me less.

It’s important to examine our feelings and emotions in order to determine what to do with them. While meditating, as you nonjudgmentally observe your thoughts, the goal is to let the thought pass and then go back to the present moment with a mantra. However, after your meditation session is over, it’s also important to catalog for yourself if a thought or memory keeps surfacing, and what feelings or emotions might be present with that experience, so that you know what to work on in your personal development.

For myself, I found that many of the childhood memories that kept surfacing during meditation were related to my mother. Not surprisingly, much of my early writing as a poet includes themes and ideas related to my mother and other family issues. It was only once I started to really tackle these memories that I realized that they were attached to painful emotions directly linked to my childhood.

Once I gave myself the space I needed to examine my memories as artifacts from my life—ones to be accepted and not ones that I wanted to give power to—I was able to work through them and come out on the other side.

In order to do this, I started journaling, speaking about my experiences more with trusted advisors and through my creative work, and keeping up with meditation practices, which I did judiciously for three to four hours every morning.

One childhood memory that used to bother me a lot before I worked through it was from a time when I was about seven or eight years old. I remembered it vividly, as the memory would keep resurfacing each day.

A friend of mine and I were sitting on the floor of my bedroom, talking, when my mother came into the room. She commented sternly about how my clothes weren’t put away yet, since she’d told me having my friend over was contingent on that.

She then, without saying another word, picked up every article of clothing and proceeded to throw each of them at me while I was on the floor. My friend and I were speechless. Afterwards, when my mother left the room, my friend helped me pick them up.

What I realized by nonjudgmentally accepting my memory is that this experience had become a trauma point for me, one that I carried with me into my adult life until I started dealing with the emotions that were hardwired into my brain related to the event.

Only once I started meditating and kept seeing this memory resurface again and again—thereby noticing that I even had the memory and emotions in the first place—was I able to deal with the fact that this instance caused me to feel wronged because of how unfair it was. I felt humiliated. I felt ashamed. How could she have done something like this, I wondered?

However, once I began naming my feelings one by one, I found that the bodily sensations and experiences of the emotions surrounding the memory began to fade. I even found the courage to speak with my mother about my childhood using nonviolent communication strategies as discussed in the book Nonviolent Communication, written by Marshall B. Rosenberg, PhD with a foreword by Deepak Chopra.

The most rudimentary format of nonviolent communication entails communicating about conflict by saying, “When I hear you say X, I feel Y, because I need Z,” which makes the other person more likely to be able to receive your communication without being reactive or defensive.

I found great success with this approach, and while my mother and I are not close by any means, this communication approach strengthened our relationship and my relationship with myself. Now, most, if not all, of my painful childhood memories are no longer traumatic for me, including the one about my clothing.

This memory and the emotions that used to be attached to it are literally nonissues for me now, years later. And yet, the most important form of communication that I found for myself is the communication with the self, all brought on by a healthy meditation regimen.

So, how does one meditate with the goal of nonjudgmentally observing one’s thoughts, letting them go, and returning to the present moment in order to be successful with processing painful childhood memories and to gain more self-awareness overall?

The technique that my psychologist taught me is that, at the same time as doing deep diaphragmic breathing to stimulate the vagus nerve and promote inner calmness (eight seconds in, pause, then eight seconds out), it’s good to have an intention in mind that you can chant in your head as inner dialogue.

He also suggested audiating for stronger results, or putting the mantra to music in your mind, which I found was even more intellectually stimulating and led to greater mental clarity.

The idea is to try to clear your mind of all thoughts except the mantra, which you have going on repeat. I chose the mantra “Hamsa” for each breath, which means “I am that which I will become,” representing personal development.

When my thoughts wandered while I was chanting “Hamsa,” as soon as I noticed this happening, I acknowledged the stray thought, gave it permission to exist in a nonjudgmental environment, and then consciously turned my focus again to my mantra while letting the thought go.

Each time I went back to the original mantra, I was using the mental muscle of intentional focus to do that, which got stronger each time, just as a physical muscle would.

Eventually, by using this technique of observing thoughts nonjudgmentally, letting them go, and returning to the present moment, you begin to master more control over your thoughts as you increase your self-awareness of those thoughts in the first place.

Meditating this way gives you more mental and emotional clarity, which improves self-awareness, helps you get in touch with disempowering narratives and emotions, and gives you new pathways forward to reinvigorate experiences that can be dissolved or renewed in ways that work for you.

In other words, when you give yourself permission to exist within yourself, to notice your own being nonjudgmentally, and to work through painful memories and feelings, even the very act of noticing your own patterns of thinking improves self-awareness in all areas of your life. This can help you move toward better ways of thinking and existing—a critical component for personal development. You can then begin to notice painful or traumatic memories in order to face them head-on, process them, and let them go.

I found that after I was able to successfully process this childhood memory fully, I was healthier, stronger, and sturdier as an adult. I understood myself better and why I am the way that I am. I became more refined, had better inner clarity, and was able to tackle even worse memories and trauma points after that. I was able to have difficult discussions that I never thought possible with many people, using nonviolent communication techniques, spearheading me into a stable sense of self and personal discovery.

While meditating and practicing deep breathing, if you notice uncomfortable thoughts and memories, it’s likely that those thoughts represent something from your past that’s worth working on so that you can process your life and let those things go. As you relieve yourself of those burdens, you’ll open yourself up to more pleasant thoughts about better things on the other side of those hills.

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

“If you force yourself into forgiveness before fully feeling and moving through the layers of anger and hurt, it won’t be a clean and true forgiveness but rather a pseudo-virtuous form of bypassing and suppression.” ~Cory Muscara

A while back, I was invited to a birthday party, and I was genuinely excited to go. But then I learned that someone I no longer associate with—a former best friend—would also be attending. The news stopped me in my tracks.

This wasn’t just an “ex-friend.” She had once been one of the most important people in my life, but that changed when I went through a painful experience involving a narcissistic individual. When I needed her most, she didn’t stand by me. Instead, she stayed silent, offering no support as I endured gaslighting, invalidation, and manipulation.

Letting go of the narcissist was clear and necessary, but recognizing that my best friend was no longer safe for me was much harder. It took more than a year of reflection, emotional processing, and painful physical symptoms for me to accept that this relationship was no longer healthy.

So, I declined the party invitation, explaining to my friend that for my own well-being, I needed to skip the event. But instead of understanding, I received a lecture about forgiveness. “You need to hear the other side,” she said. “There are two sides to every story.”

Her words stung. Not because forgiveness hadn’t crossed my mind, but because they dismissed the boundaries I had worked so hard to establish. Why is it that when we try to protect ourselves, others feel compelled to challenge our decisions?

The Problem with Prescriptive Forgiveness

In our culture, forgiveness is often upheld as the ultimate solution to pain. We see it in inspirational quotes and self-help advice:

• “Forgiveness is a choice you make to move forward.”
• “Not forgiving is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”
• “Refusing to forgive keeps you chained to the past.”

While these ideas sound wise, they often oversimplify the complex process of healing. Forgiveness is not always something you can will yourself into. For those who’ve experienced deep and profound trauma, the mind and body don’t always align. You can tell yourself to forgive, but your emotions and physical responses may resist.

A More Compassionate Perspective

For me, the turning point came when I discovered a different definition of forgiveness by Teal Swan:

“When you’ve experienced profound trauma, the focus shouldn’t be on forgiveness but on healing by creating resolve and experiencing the opposite of the harm. As you heal and find love, safety, and protection elsewhere, forgiveness often arises naturally, as the disruption within you resolves on its own.”

This shifted everything. It reminded me that forgiveness isn’t something you force; it’s something that flows naturally when healing has occurred. And healing often requires us to focus on what was missing during the hurtful experience.

How to Support Someone Who’s Healing

When a friend or loved one shares their pain, the best thing you can do is meet their needs in the moment, not prescribe forgiveness or reconciliation. Instead, offer actions that help counteract the harm they’ve endured:

• If they feel unsafe, help them feel secure.
• If they feel unheard, listen deeply.
• If they feel betrayed, show them loyalty.
• If they communicate a boundary, honor it.
• If they feel dismissed, validate their emotions and experiences.
• If they feel abandoned, stay consistent and present in their life.

These actions create the foundation for healing, which makes forgiveness—if it comes—authentic and meaningful.

Let’s Change the Conversation

The next time someone shares their struggle, resist the urge to suggest forgiveness. Instead, focus on understanding their needs and providing genuine support. Healing doesn’t come from empty platitudes; it comes from connection, empathy, and actions that restore what was broken.

Forgiveness isn’t a prerequisite for healing. It’s a byproduct of it. And when it happens naturally, it’s far more powerful than anything forced or prescribed.

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

“When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment it grows in, not the flower.” ~Alexander Den Heijer

I remember the girl I used to be. Light, full of life, and constantly in motion—like a little twirl of joy spinning through the house. There was this rhythm inside me, an effortless dance between curiosity and wonder. I’d tap dance through the kitchen, counting how many twirls I could do before I lost my balance.

The world felt vast, endless, and open. I didn’t just see beauty in big, grand things. I found it in small moments and delicate objects, like that little glass bird on the sofa table, a tiny piece of my world that always felt so fragile, so full of wonder.

As a child, I never doubted that there was more to life than what I could see. I had this deep connection to the world, to the beauty hidden within it. I would hold that bird in my hands while doing my chores, dusting around it with care. It was simple, transparent, nothing extraordinary, but in my eyes, it shimmered with significance.

That lightness, that sense of awe, stayed with me for a long time. But somewhere along the way, things started to shift.

By the time I was in my thirties, I had built a life that looked perfect on the outside. I worked hard to create it. I was meticulous, structured, dedicated. I followed the steps I thought I was supposed to: high-paying corporate job, beautiful house, two kids, vacations—the kind of life people admire.

On Facebook, we looked like the ideal family, smiling on beaches, posting about our Florida trips, standing in front of our towering house with that sparkling SUV in the driveway. But beneath the surface, I was crumbling.

The lightness, the sense of wonder that had once danced so freely within me, was gone. I had replaced it with structure, control, and a constant need to keep everything in check.

I would lie awake at night, my mind spinning with numbers, running the calculations over and over. The debt we had accumulated was crushing, and every bonus I earned was already spent before it even hit the account. I would total up the bills in my head, again and again, hoping that if I recalculated just one more time, the numbers would somehow change, the debt would somehow shrink, but it never did. I was suffocating under the weight of it all.

On the outside, I kept up the facade. I went to work, managed my family, kept the smile in place. But behind closed doors, I was breaking.

I’d cry in the shower so no one could hear me. I’d cry in the car, on my way to work, during moments where I was supposed to be “on,” a career woman with it all together. And then at night, after my husband and kids had fallen asleep, I’d lie in bed, silently crying into my pillow, overwhelmed by the crushing realization that despite everything I had built, I was miserable.

There was a day, driving to work early one morning, when I saw the sun just beginning to rise. The sky was that deep, almost-black shade of pre-dawn, and then, there it was—the light. The same light I had seen thousands of times before, but this time, it hit me differently.

I remember thinking, At least one day I’ll die. At least one day, I won’t have to feel like this anymore. The idea of my mortality didn’t scare me—it brought me comfort. The idea that this pain, this life that felt like a trap, wouldn’t last forever… it felt like relief.

In that moment, a quiet truth began to take shape: something had to change. I couldn’t keep living this way, reaching for comfort in places that only deepened my pain. Somewhere, I had lost myself, drifting in an unhappy, unstable marriage, bound by a fear of judgment, a lack of self-worth, and the overwhelming weight of needing to please everyone but myself.

The thought of leaving felt paralyzing, so I searched for solace anywhere I could find it. In moments of darkness, thoughts of my own mortality, and even fleeting thoughts about my husband’s, seemed to offer a strange sense of release. But I knew these weren’t answers—they were signals of how lost and trapped I had become, craving a way to ease the suffering but not knowing how.

The truth was, it wasn’t freedom from my life I needed; it was freedom from the suffering within it. What I wanted wasn’t an escape but to find my light again, that part of me that once danced through life, open and filled with joy.

She was still there, buried beneath years of silence and strain, waiting to be rediscovered. I knew that if I didn’t make a change, I risked losing her—losing myself—forever. And so, that realization became a turning point, a call to rise from within and seek out the light I thought I had lost.

It took years—therapy, coaching calls, long coffee dates with friends, journaling, crying, and rediscovering who I am—but slowly, I started peeling back the layers. The walls I had built around my heart, the ones I thought were protecting me, were actually suffocating me. Piece by piece, I took them down, and with every wall that crumbled, more light began to shine through.

Then, I met my now-husband. He wasn’t part of the plan. I had been so focused on fixing myself, on healing, that I didn’t expect to find someone who would see me, truly see me, in the midst of it all. But there he was, with love and patience, willing to walk alongside me on this journey. And with him, I learned to let even more light in.

But life wasn’t done testing me. After all the healing, all the rebuilding, I lost my dad. His death was like another wall coming down, not in the way the others had fallen—this one was different. It wasn’t a wall I had built, but it was one that kept me tethered to the past, to who I was before.

Sorting through his things, going through the house I had grown up in, I found that little glass bird. Still intact. After all these years, all the moves, all the changes, that tiny, fragile bird was still there. And I realized something: I’m still here too.

I had been through so much—divorce, rebuilding, loss—but my light, the one that had been buried for so long, was still there. It had always been there. And now, after all the pain, after all the walls had crumbled, that light was finally free to shine again.

I am the light. The light that had been hidden, buried under years of expectations and pain, was always within me. And now, after all the healing, all the self-work, I can see it so clearly. The light is me, and it is you. We all have that light within us, no matter how deep it’s buried, no matter how dark it feels. It’s there, waiting for us to let it shine.

This is your moment. Your light is waiting, just like mine was. It’s always been there, and it always will be. All you have to do is let the walls come down, piece by piece, and watch as your light shines brighter than you ever imagined.

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

Hi friend! Today, I’m excited to share with you an extraordinary upcoming event (from this month’s site sponsor) that could be a bucket list experience for many—the International Yoga Festival, taking place in Rishikesh from March 9^th-15^th next year.

Situated in the foothills of the sacred Himalayas, Rishikesh is known as the Yoga Capital of the World and believed to be the birthplace of yoga—the place where the sage Patanjali wrote the yoga sutras over 2,000 years ago.

The annual International Yoga Festival at Parmarth Niketan attracts thousands of participants from nearly 100 countries every year since it first launched decades ago. It’s an opportunity to connect with like-minded, conscious yogis and supercharge or kickstart a journey of personal transformation.

In this 7-day immersion and celebration, you’ll experience every major style of yoga and learn from enlightened spiritual leaders, master yoga teachers, evolutionary thought leaders, and wellness specialists from around the world.

I’ve always loved the word “namaste,” which we say at the end of our yoga practice, because it means “I bow to you,” or, as I was told years back, “The light in me honors the light in you.”

I believe the world would be a much kinder, more loving place if we could all set the intention to ignite our inner light and learn to see and honor the light in each other.

Though you don’t need to leave your city, or even your own home, to do this and experience the many benefits of yoga—including pain relief, heart health, stress reduction, and improved sleep—a shared experience in a beautiful spiritual haven can be truly life-changing.

The festival will take place at Parmarth Niketan Ashram, the largest ashram in Rishikesh and one of the largest interfaith yoga institutions in India.

Throughout your week there, you’ll have the opportunity to participate in over 70 hours of yoga classes in multiple styles, as well as spiritual and philosophical discourses by renowned masters, and you’ll also be able to enjoy cultural song and dance, ecstatic kirtan, and enlightened entertainment, with a schedule that you can fully customize to meet your needs.

If you’re itching for adventure and eager to awaken and connect, I highly recommend you consider attending the International Yoga Festival this March. And if you do, I hope you’ll share some pictures with this mother of two young sons so I can live vicariously through you!

You can learn more about the International Yoga Festival here. Be sure to use the promo code Holiday15 to get 15% off!

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

“The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle.” ~Steve Jobs

In 2017, I stood at a crossroads. Armed with a law degree but burdened by uncertainty, I faced a future that felt both daunting and uninspiring. The path I had chosen—the one society had essentially prescribed for me—suddenly seemed hollow because the path did not align well with my values and a vision of fulfilling life.

I knew I needed a change, but the prospect of starting over terrified me. Today, I wake up every morning filled with purpose and excitement. I’m a passionate educator, inspiring students and shaping futures.

The transformation from confused law graduate to fulfilled teacher didn’t happen overnight, but it did occur in just one year. Here’s how I navigated this life-changing career transition, and how you can make a change too, regardless of your starting point or destination.

The first step was reframing my mindset. Instead of viewing my career change as a risky leap into the unknown, I decided to treat it as a year-long experiment in self-discovery. This shift allowed me to approach each day with curiosity rather than fear.

I set a simple goal: learn something new about myself or a potential career path every single day. Some days, this meant reading articles about different professions. Other days, I attended networking events or conducted informational interviews.

The key was consistency. I committed to doing something every day, no matter how small.

One of the biggest hurdles I faced was the weight of others’ expectations. Friends, family, and even strangers had opinions about my choice to leave law behind. “But you worked so hard for that degree!” they’d say, or “Lawyers make such good money; why would you give that up?”

I had to learn to silence these voices—not just externally but internally too. I realized I had internalized many of society’s expectations about success and prestige.

Letting go of these allowed me to truly listen to my own desires and intuitions.

Each evening, I spent fifteen minutes journaling about my experiences and feelings. This simple practice became a powerful tool for self-discovery.

I asked myself questions like: What energized me today? What drained me? What am I curious to learn more about? What fears or doubts came up, and where did they come from?

I also began noting moments of gratitude, no matter how small—like a kind word from a friend or the warmth of the evening breeze. These reflections not only helped me understand my emotions but also shifted my focus toward growth and possibilities.

Over time, patterns emerged. I noticed how my energy soared when I helped others understand complex topics and how I lit up when discussing ideas rather than legal statutes.

Leaving the familiar world of law behind was uncomfortable. There were days filled with doubt and anxiety. But I learned to lean into this discomfort, recognizing it as a sign of growth.

I started small, challenging myself to do one thing outside my comfort zone each week. Sometimes this meant attending a meetup group alone; other times it was reaching out to a stranger for career advice.

Each small step built my confidence and resilience.

The pivotal moment came when I volunteered to teach a weekend workshop on basic legal concepts for high school students. Standing in front of that classroom, watching eyes light up with understanding, I felt a spark I’d never experienced in law.

This experience led me to seek out more teaching opportunities. I tutored, led study groups, and eventually secured a position as a teaching assistant at a local community college.

With each experience, my passion for education grew stronger.

My year of self-discovery wasn’t just about passive reflection. It was an active cycle of learning and doing. I’d learn about a potential career path, then find a way to experience it firsthand.

This hands-on approach accelerated my growth and helped me quickly identify what resonated with me.

Looking back, I realize that the most crucial factor in my successful career transition wasn’t innate talent or lucky breaks. It was consistency. By committing to daily action and reflection, I made steady progress even when I couldn’t see the end goal.

This consistency put me ahead of 99% of people who dream of career changes but never take sustained action. It’s not about making huge leaps every day; it’s about small, consistent steps in the direction of your dreams.

My path led me from law to education, but your journey might look entirely different. The beauty of self-discovery is that it’s uniquely yours. The “right” path isn’t always obvious or immediate, but by giving yourself permission to explore, you open the door to possibilities you might never have imagined.

As you embark on your own journey of self-discovery, remember:

1. Reframe challenges as experiments and learning opportunities.

Each hurdle is a step closer to understanding yourself and what you’re capable of.

2. Practice daily reflection to uncover your true desires and motivations…

…perhaps using the questions I shared above to identify what energizes and drains you, what excites your curiosity, and what might be holding you back. Writing your thoughts consistently will create a map of your inner world.

3. Embrace discomfort as a sign of growth.

The moments that feel challenging often signal transformation. Lean into them with trust and courage.

4. Seek out hands-on experiences in fields that interest you.

Whether it’s through volunteering, interning, shadowing, or simply having conversations with people in those spaces, the exposure can illuminate paths you hadn’t considered.

5. Stay consistent, taking small actions every day.

Progress doesn’t require giant leaps; steady steps compound into meaningful outcomes.

6. Be patient with yourself and the process.

Meaningful change and self-discovery don’t happen overnight. Celebrate the small wins, and remember that setbacks are part of the journey.

Lastly, cultivate gratitude and curiosity. These are the twin forces that fuel resilience and creativity, helping you see the beauty in both the process and the unknown.

The only way to fail in this process is to never try. So, I encourage you: start your year of fearless exploration today. Your future self will thank you for having the courage to seek a life and career that truly fulfills you.

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

“Take a little time to be amazed by something you won’t enjoy unless you consciously choose to focus on it. See the things you can’t see when you’re rushing. Hear the things you can’t hear when you’re stressing.  Get so caught up in your senses that everything else seems to stop for a moment—because things don’t actually stop. So we have to be the ones who do it.” ~Lori Deschene

As December unfolds, I’ve made a conscious choice that feels both liberating and true to myself: I’m celebrating a quiet Christmas at home with just my best friend.

While my family lives far away, and tradition might dictate buying plane tickets and planning an elaborate holiday visit, I’m listening to a deeper wisdom this year—one that honors my personal growth, sense of balance, and need for peaceful reflection as we approach 2025.

This decision wasn’t made lightly, but it feels right. Instead of navigating crowded airports, juggling the stress of travel logistics, and potentially diluting my focus on what truly matters to me, I’m creating space for an intentional end to 2024. It’s not about loving my family any less—it’s about loving myself enough to recognize what I truly need right now.

Examining What Matters

The path to this decision became clear when I started examining what truly matters to me right now.  While my family gatherings are always wonderful, they also come with different expectations and dynamics—competing priorities and well-meaning but sometimes overwhelming input about each other’s life choices.

By staying home, I’m creating a sanctuary where I can remain deeply connected to my own inner compass as I prepare for the year ahead.

My best friend shares this vision of a peaceful holiday. Like me, his family also lives far away, so we’ve embraced the opportunity to enjoy each other’s company this holiday season, celebrating our friendship and shared values. Together, we’re planning simple but meaningful celebrations that focus on joy, rest, and genuine connection.

Our plans include a holiday movie marathon at home, filled with plenty of festive classics and rom-coms.  We’re also trying out new recipes and baking to our hearts’ content, transforming the kitchen into a festive hub of delicious treats. There’s something powerful about choosing to celebrate differently—about saying yes to what feels authentic rather than what’s expected.

I’m fortunate that my family demonstrates a beautiful kind of understanding, though it didn’t come without a touch of disappointment at first. When I shared my holiday plans, I could sense their initial sadness at us not being together. But that feeling quickly morphed into compassion and love as they recognized how important this choice was for me.

Their response reflected the very love and support that make our relationship special. They get it—they understand that sometimes taking care of yourself means making choices that look different from the traditional script.

This conversation helped me embrace my decision even more deeply. It reminded me that love and connection don’t depend on proximity or performance but thrive when we trust each other to honor what we need. 

New Possibilities and Intentional Celebration

This simplified holiday season is already opening up new possibilities. Without the usual rush of travel preparations and extensive gift shopping, I’m finding time to reflect deeply on my goals and aspirations.

My best friend and I are looking forward to savoring time together. What feels especially refreshing is the quiet spaciousness of this season. It’s not just about what we’re doing—it’s about what we’re not doing. There’s no rushing, no overextending, and no pressure to meet anyone’s expectations but our own.

What makes this setup truly special is how we’re blending celebration with intention. From Christmas through New Year’s Day, we’re creating a space for reflection and renewal. This isn’t just about savoring the holidays; it’s about entering the new year with a clearer sense of what matters most.

Whether we’re brainstorming dreams for the future or simply enjoying the aroma of freshly baked cookies, this intentionality feels like the perfect way to honor the spirit of the season. It’s a reminder that peace and joy aren’t things we find—they’re things we create.

Choosing to forgo the usual holiday hustle has also given me an unexpected gift: the freedom to focus on what truly fills me up. Instead of stretching myself thin trying to do it all, I’m finding joy in the simple pleasures—a heartfelt conversation, a home-cooked meal, and the sense of ease that comes with slowing down.

It’s remarkable how small shifts can create waves of change in so many areas of life. This choice has reminded me that less truly can be more.

Creating Your Own Meaningful Holiday

For anyone considering a similar choice, here’s what I’ve learned about creating a meaningful holiday season on your own terms.

1. Trust your instincts about what you need.

Sometimes the greatest gift you can give yourself is permission to break from tradition when it serves your well-being.

2. Simplify your celebrations.

A meaningful holiday doesn’t require elaborate plans or expensive gatherings. Often, it’s the quieter moments that bring the most joy.

3. Set loving boundaries.

If family members express hurt or disappointment through guilt trips or emotional pressure, remember that their reaction often comes from a place of love. You can validate their feelings while still honoring your decision, using phrases like “I know this is different from our usual tradition, and I understand why that’s hard,” followed by a clear, kind explanation of your choice.

Consider suggesting specific ways to make the holiday special despite the distance, perhaps by having a virtual gift-opening session or planning a dedicated family celebration for another time. This shows your family that you’re still committed to maintaining meaningful connections with them.

4. Embrace creativity.

Whether it’s trying out a new tradition, experimenting with a recipe, or simply finding new ways to connect, creativity can infuse the holidays with fresh meaning.

5. Prioritize rest and reflection.

The holidays can be an emotionally charged time, so give yourself space to recharge. Whether it’s taking a long walk, journaling, or meditating, moments of stillness can bring clarity and peace.

6. Create your own traditions.

A personal ritual, like lighting candles, writing a gratitude list, or hosting a movie night, can be a comforting and grounding way to honor the season. Or create something completely unique that reflects what matters most to you. The point is that you get to choose.

7. Focus on experiences over material things.

Instead of stressing over gifts, embrace the simple joys of the season; for example, savoring a favorite holiday meal, watching movies that bring you comfort, or taking a mindful moment to appreciate the little things around you.

8. Stay flexible.

Life rarely goes according to plan, and that’s okay. By letting go of rigid expectations, you leave room for unexpected moments of joy and connection.

Grateful for Change

As 2024 draws to a close, I’m grateful for this choice to celebrate differently. This low-key Christmas isn’t about what I’m giving up. It’s all about what I’m gaining: clarity, peace, and the joy of honoring my own path.

In choosing this simpler celebration, I’m not just preparing for a better start to 2025; I’m practicing the art of living authentically right now. And that, to me, feels like the greatest gift of all.

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

“Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves, even when we risk disappointing others.” ~Brené Brown

On a recent day trip to the Yuba River with my daughter and two friends, unexpected tensions arose, offering me a chance to reflect on a lifelong pattern that has often complicated my relationships. It was a beautiful day, and I’d been looking forward to soaking up the sun and relaxing by the water—but my friend had a more adventurous day in mind.

Though a footbridge led to a clear trail, she suggested we take a more difficult route over steep boulders. Despite my initial hesitation, I went along, wanting to be open to her plans. But as I navigated the rocks with weak knees and slippery Birkenstocks, I started to regret my choice.

Each step required more balance and focus than I’d anticipated, and as I struggled to keep my footing, I worried about disappointing my friend if I suggested another path. I often find myself accommodating others at the expense of my own comfort—a pattern I’ve been working to untangle for years. Eventually, I did speak up, and as we turned back, I felt pleased reflecting on my growth in honoring my own needs, even though it felt vulnerable.

However, just as we reached the stairs that would take us to the footbridge, my friend pivoted again. This time, she suggested wading across the river and scaling the rocky bank on the other side. The idea didn’t make sense to me, and I really didn’t want to take this route—but guilt crept in, knowing I’d already resisted one of her suggestions. Feeling that familiar tug of people-pleasing, I once again overrode my own preference.

So, we waded across, balancing our backpacks and climbing over slippery rocks to reach the opposite bank—which was steep and hazardous. My daughter scrambled up the cliff-like bank with my friend’s help, but as I struggled to find my footing, I could see the anxiety in her eyes.

In that moment, I realized I was pushing myself to do something that didn’t feel safe for either of us. What was I trying to prove? Why was I putting myself in this stressful situation when it would have been so much easier to just cross the footbridge?

Ultimately, rather than risk the steep climb, my other friend and I decided to turn back. We waded across the river again and took the stairs to the footbridge I had wanted to follow all along. Reuniting with my daughter and our friend on the other side, we finally embarked on the trail.

I felt a sense of satisfaction in once again recognizing my pattern of people-pleasing and choosing to change course. However, irritation soon followed—despite passing many perfectly nice spots, we continued hiking as our friend was determined to find a pristine, isolated area to swim. While I appreciated her vision for an adventurous day, I began to feel confined by it, realizing I was still prioritizing her desires over my own.

We wound up stumbling upon a crowded nude beach—and while I have no judgment against nudity, the situation was uncomfortable for my teenage daughter. My friend tried to convince us to swim past the bathers to find a quieter place, but I knew this wasn’t right for my daughter. This time, I didn’t hesitate. It felt incredibly uncomfortable, but I firmly said no.

I told my friends I wanted us all to enjoy ourselves at our own pace. So, I encouraged them to keep adventuring while my daughter and I turned back to where we’d started—a spot that had always felt perfectly fine for swimming. My friend seemed disappointed, and guilt once again crept in, but I felt grateful for my decision.

How often do we let ourselves be swept up by others’ desires, ignoring our own?

Years ago, I might have felt annoyed or even resentful that my day wasn’t unfolding as I’d imagined. I might have blamed my friend for being “pushy” and not listening. This time, however, I focused on observing my inner reactions rather than letting them take control.

Each obstacle became an opportunity to examine my responses. I noticed again and again how easily I slip into accommodating others, even at the expense of my own comfort—a pattern rooted in a fear of losing connection.

I felt no resentment toward my friend; I know she’s simply adventurous and eager to create memorable experiences. Alongside my love for her and trust in her good intentions, I’ve engaged in considerable shadow work. I recognize that judgment and blame are often projections, ways we avoid taking responsibility for our own feelings and needs.

So, when that familiar pull to please others arose, instead of giving in to resentment or going along just to keep the peace, I practiced something different: listening to my inner voice and aligning my actions with what I truly wanted.

It took three instances of going along before I finally gained clarity. While openness and flexibility are valuable traits, we must also be willing to risk disappointing others to honor our own needs. Far from weakening our connections, this kind of self-honoring fosters genuine relationships with ourselves and others.

My daughter and I ended up having a relaxing time in our chosen spot while our friends enjoyed their adventure. When they returned, we all took a final swim together, diving into the cool water and drying off on the warm, sunbaked rocks. On the way home, we shared a fun conversation and even stopped at a roadside stand for some of the best key lime pie any of us had ever had. It turned out to be a wonderful day filled with connection after all.

Reflecting on this experience highlights common patterns we often encounter: the tendency to please others, the fear of disappointing them, and the guilt that can arise when asserting our needs.

My relationships and enjoyment of life have significantly improved as I’ve learned to witness and navigate these conditioned responses, ultimately becoming more authentic. This doesn’t mean I no longer face challenges, like the ones I encountered on my day at the river. However, I now navigate these situations with greater ease, and my increased self-awareness has led to continuous growth and a deeper sense of freedom beyond old patterns.

Based on my experiences, here are some insights that may support you in similar situations—especially when you feel torn between your own desires and the fear of disappointing those around you:

Pay Attention.

Notice what’s happening internally and get curious about what triggers you. Identify your inner conflicts—such as discomfort with disappointing others or fear of being seen as selfish. This self-awareness is crucial for navigating your responses authentically.

Stay Present.

Focus on the current moment rather than your expectations. Embracing what is allows you to align your choices with reality instead of how you wish things would unfold. Redirect any frustration from unmet ideals into fully engaging with the experience at hand.

Take Responsibility.

Avoid blaming others, focusing instead on your own feelings and needs. This empowers you to advocate for yourself in alignment with your values, free from resentment or guilt. By slowing down and reflecting on your choices, you gain clarity and self-compassion. Ask yourself: What do I truly want now?

Speak Up with Grace.

Clearly and kindly express your needs and preferences to foster open communication while maintaining connection. Speaking up may feel daunting, but setting boundaries is a vital act of self-love. Trust that your needs are valid and worth sharing and it’s okay to voice them.

Navigating our experiences in a way that honors our true selves is an ongoing practice. By listening to our inner voice, staying curious about our reactions, and letting go of blame, we create space to pursue our desires without guilt. Each choice becomes a step toward authentic alignment, freeing us from the weight of others’ expectations.

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

“Part of the ingenuity of any addictive drug is to fool you into believing that life without it won’t be as enjoyable” ~Alan Carr

“I’m okay, thanks.”

See that? I just turned down a Tony’s Chocolonely from our family advent calendar.

I don’t care that it’s a white raspberry popping candy flavor I have never, ever tried before.

I don’t care that I remember being a kid, opening chocolate coins from my stocking.

I don’t care!

Because this year, I’m going into the holiday month already sugar-free. And I am tentatively walking on air about it!!

I’m forty-five, and it’s taken a lot of bingeing and secret eating, regret, and shame to get here.

Shame when the kids accused each other of having stolen bits of their Easter eggs. (I kept my head down, unstacking the dishwasher.)

Shame when I found a whole box of Green & Black’s bars in my husband’s office, because if he buys a treat, I won’t leave him any.

Shame when I had my head in the fridge, scooping teaspoonfuls of Eton mess into my mouth last birthday, while everyone else was enjoying the barbecue in the garden.

Shame because being forty-five and still being silly about kids’ treat food feels ridiculous. Trivial.

But I bet I’m not alone.

I bet I’m not the only middle-aged woman who has Googled “addictive personality,” “food,” and “overeating.”

I bet I’m not the only person who has worked from home, kidding herself that she ‘needs’ a few tiles of 85% chocolate “for the energy boost.”

I expect I’m not the only perimenopausal gal allowing disrupted sleep to turn her into a cookie monster.

I know I’m not the only one who has quit alcohol only to fixate on sugar.

So, if you’re struggling with sugar addiction right now, I feel your pain. I was obsessed too.

But right now, it’s like a switch has flipped in my head, and doing holidays without sugar seems possible. What’s changed? I gifted myself some new beliefs.

Let me share the little self-talk phrases I started to use in case you’re struggling with sugar too.

Maybe you’re not ready for sugar-free holidays. I admit it’s kind of radical, and I’m not saying anyone else ‘should’ do it. But maybe you’re thinking of giving it up next year. Or you’re wondering if it’s possible to let go of some of your attachment to it.

If so, here are twelve brand new phrases to say to yourself.

1. “Holidays are just days of my life.”

I was always trying to allow sugar in my life because I wanted to eat it normally. But ‘normal’ never stayed that way for long.

Every time there was a holiday—Valentine’s, Easter, summer, Halloween, Christmas—I’d start having loads of tiny ‘treats’ that added up to a ton of rubbish and a spiraling habit.

From my first morning honey-laden cocoa until my last secret (what’s in the kids’ treat drawer? Broken Oreos!) self-reward for cleaning the kitchen after dinner, sugar would overrun my days like an invasion of ants.

Eventually, I admitted my position was wishy-washy. I was trying to have my cake and not eat it.

It was a relief to finally be decisive and make a clear code of conduct for myself around sugar, based on what I could realistically expect myself to handle. One way of behaving every day. Including holidays.

2. “I’m deciding what I think about this now.”

The government pays subsidies to the sugar industry. It does international trade deals. We get advertised to, and so we get the message:

“Buy more sugar.”

But their health messaging is the opposite:

“Individuals should make better decisions.”

I realized I was asking a ton from my own free will to resist it, given how ‘everywhere’ it is. I wasn’t being fair to myself when I called myself a willpower weakling. The odds aren’t stacked in favor of resistance.

It was time to stop trying to please society and listen to my own messages.

3. “This is just a commercial product.”

When I looked at the shelves of shiny treats in the supermarket, I saw how clever the marketing is.

Shiny wrappers. Expensive boxes. It reminded me of how cigarettes boxes suggest luxury—how misleading that now looks!

Seasonal flavors keep us wanting ‘new’ experiences: “Look, Mum, this Ferrero Rocher is like a giant Christmas tree bauble. Can we get one?”

I’ve spent my life believing these foods mean treats, fun, celebration, “I love you,” “Let’s relax and share something,” and “life is good.”

But if you look past the wrappers, it’s just stuff. Chocolate is just brown stuff, like wax. Candy is just colored chewy stuff, like putty. It means nothing.

4. “‘Fun’ looks like freedom.”

I imagined chocolate Brazils wrapped in newspaper instead of shiny purple foil.

I visualized all the shops for miles around stacked with sweets, and I could see that they weren’t rare or special but in endless supply.

And I stopped telling myself they were ‘fun.’ Sugar addiction is about as much fun as having a constant snotty head cold. It’s with you everywhere you go, ruining your concentration and making you feel ever so slightly physically gross.

Sure, it’s less life-threatening than other addictions. But it’s misery-making, and that’s serious.

5. “Having more just makes you want more.”

I dove into research on whether sugar is actually addictive. Short answer: It is.

You get withdrawal, receptors in your brain become sensitized… All the markers are there. That’s why my urge to have a second treat is always even stronger than the idea to go get the first one!

I had tried to normalize sugar many times. I had kept snacks stocked at home to stop them feeling off-limits. But they never lost their charm.

Now I understood why eating more of it didn’t make me more blasé, as I’d hoped.

6. “I stop when I decide to stop.”

I also read up on whether our bodies can actually send signals of ‘satisfied’ around sugar.

Surprise, surprise: They can’t.

(Speedy science lesson: Our bodies break down sugar into glucose and fructose. It’s about 50/50. The glucose digestion process has an enzyme, PFK-1, to prevent us from overconsuming it. But the fructose part doesn’t have any signal to stop.)

I began to wonder whether eating sugar intuitively was even achievable.

I decided to keep listening to my hunger and fullness around other foods, but not expect them to help me out much around treats.

7. “I only eat edible food.”

I love the idea that all foods are morally neutral. So I didn’t think of sugar as ‘bad’ or tell my kids they shouldn’t have any. I just quietly switched my perspective to no longer thinking of sugar as an edible substance.

Just because it doesn’t kill you doesn’t mean it’s edible.

I ate toothpaste as a kid: Survived. Not edible.

I once drank aftershave at a party in my teens to try to get drunk. Wasn’t even sick. But it’s still not on my menu of drinks for humans.

Sugar is a thing, not a food. That’s how I think of it now.

8. “I’m not a dog, and I don’t need a treat.”

My overeating is largely emotional: the harder I work, the more I rely on food to give me a feeling of reward.

With sugary snacks, I was treating myself like a pet, giving biscuits for good behavior. Sugar-coating my toxic habit of overworking.

Then, during the holidays, when I couldn’t get my usual dopamine hits from ticking off achievements at work, I was at a loss for how to properly relax and was more vulnerable to receiving reward feelings from sugar.

I learned to start giving myself inner high fives instead. And I now expect the first few days of any holiday to feel a bit empty too. That’s normal while I adjust.

9. “Let me see how quickly this passes.”

This was fun.

I felt as though once I had an idea like “leftover banana bread!” I couldn’t settle or focus on my work until I’d scratched the itch.

I’m pretty experienced at surfing urges—I mentioned I gave up drinking a few years ago, right? That was good practice.

But with sugar obsession, my ‘urge tolerance muscle’ felt very limp indeed.

To my amazement, as I made my way through my first two or three days without sugar, the urges died down unbelievably quickly.

I realized my brain sent up thoughts of sugary treats like a puppy that’s used to begging. But puppies are really trainable. They adapt quickly once you stop feeding them under the table.

10. “I’m the authority on feeding myself.”

Nobody told me to.

I didn’t do it to lose weight.

I didn’t do it because I thought I ‘should.’

I didn’t do it out of fear for my health or my teeth.

I didn’t preach about it (or even dare to announce it) to my family.

I didn’t join an online challenge that made me accountable to a community.

I did it so that I have less food noise in my brain. That’s enough of a reason.

11. “Ha ha, brain, nice try!”

I made a previous attempt to give up sugar last January. February 1st, bang! I fell for my brain’s BS.

“I wonder what that dark chocolate tastes like. I can’t remember.”

“You’ve done so well; having just one little bit won’t hurt.”

“Maybe you can eat it normally now—just have a bit from time to time.”

Then, before I knew it, I was having a little all the time again. Throwing handfuls of chocolate chips at my face while the kettle boiled. A ‘dessert’ item after every meal.

This time, I’m ready for the persuasion attempts. I get it, brain. You remember the taste. But, lovingly, no.

12. “I already walked through a doorway.”

Last February, it was as if I’d gotten to my mental finish line, so then I thought I could relax.

Relax, relapse, collapse.

So this time, I decided not to imagine an end point.

I imagined walking through a doorway, and that my life with sugar was already behind me, and I was moving forward one day at a time.

So far, so good.

It actually felt refreshing to tell myself the truth about it all.

I don’t know if it’s forever. I haven’t made a vow or gotten a tattoo.

Don’t label me the ‘no-sugar’ person and then call me a hypocrite if I change strategy later on in my life.

Because I’m not saying I’ve found the way and that you should do what I do. I truly believe that how we eat shouldn’t be about listening to other people’s magic solutions or expert advice.

For me, it is a matter of trial-and-error, evaluating, refining my system, and finding habits and lifestyle choices that I can sustain.

So, this is what I’m doing this holiday. It’s an experiment, and it feels fun to me.

This year, I’m actually looking forward to connecting with the people more than the food.

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

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

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

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

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

Their absence left a void that seemed impossible to fill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grief Changes Everything

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

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

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

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

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

The Realization

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

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

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

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

Steps Toward Freedom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Healing Through Action

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

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

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

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

Moving Forward

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

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

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

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

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

Embracing Self-Acceptance

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Healing Process

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

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

See more posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.