Love Isn’t About Being Chosen

“Feeling safe in someone’s energy is a different kind of intimacy. That feeling of peace and protection is really underrated.” ~Vanessa Klas

The first time I said, “I love you” to a romantic partner, I was met with silence.

Nine months into what I believed was a deep, mutual relationship, I felt certain we were on the same page. But when the words left my mouth, he froze. No words back. No reassurance. Just silence. The next thing I knew, he disappeared for weeks, leaving me sitting in the wreckage of my own vulnerability. I was left questioning everything—why had I shared so much? Why had I opened my heart, only to have it shut down?

In that silence, I created a story about myself that followed me for years. I convinced myself I wasn’t worthy of being loved in return, that there was something inherently wrong with me. This belief seeped into every relationship afterward. I started waiting for the other shoe to drop, convinced love was something I had to earn instead of something I deserved.

In college, the pattern continued. I dated someone who treated me like a backup plan. The days he chose me were filled with excitement, butterflies, and joy—but those days were few and far between.

Most of the time, I was left waiting by the phone, hoping to be picked. When he didn’t, I was once again questioning my worth, wondering what I had done wrong. The cycle became so familiar, I didn’t even recognize it anymore.

What I didn’t realize then was that by showing up in relationships this way—allowing myself to be the back-burner girlfriend, staying timid in my love, my confidence, and my desires—I was teaching others how to treat me. I was telling them, through my actions, that I didn’t expect more, that this was enough. But it wasn’t enough. Deep down, I knew I deserved more, but I didn’t yet believe it.

I carried these same patterns into my first marriage, thinking if I just worked harder and gave more of myself, maybe, just maybe, he’d love me the way I longed for. But love isn’t about fixing someone, and it certainly isn’t about fixing yourself. Yet for so long, I believed it was. I convinced myself I’d finally be enough if I could just perfect myself, become the ideal partner.

But after eleven years, I knew I couldn’t keep sacrificing my joy for a relationship that wasn’t right, so I left—not because I had all the answers, but because I knew I couldn’t stay.

It wasn’t until I found myself in my therapist’s office after my divorce that things began to shift. I thought I needed to fix what had been broken in me by my ex-husband, that my brokenness was why love had failed.

One day, I walked into therapy, slapped my hands on my thighs, and cheerfully exclaimed, “I just want to be happy!” Who was I kidding? I treated happiness like a box to be checked off, a goal to master. But my therapist, in her quiet wisdom, simply said, “It doesn’t work that way.”

I was furious—triggered even. How dare she tell me it wasn’t that simple? But deep down, I knew she was right.

You can’t force your way into happiness, and you can’t fake your way into feeling whole. I had spent so much of my life trying to fix others and mold myself into someone worthy of love that I hadn’t stopped to consider that maybe I was already enough. But I had to understand why I kept showing up in relationships with people who couldn’t love me in return.

Why was I choosing emotionally unavailable men? Why was I so convinced that I was the problem?

I see these patterns in myself and in many others. One of my clients once sat across from me and said, “Molly, I’m a hard woman to love.” Those words stuck with me. I could see the weight of that belief in her eyes—the years she’d spent carrying it.

I asked her, “When did you decide that? When did you start believing you were hard to love?”

She paused, and we began to dig into her story. There were moments when she hadn’t been chosen, when she felt she had to earn love through perfection and pleasing others. She brought that belief into her marriage, shaping how she showed up. She was defensive, always expecting rejection, and that created a wall between her and her partner.

It was a self-fulfilling prophecy—believing she was hard to love made it so. Through her healing, she realized she wasn’t hard to love; she was lovable just as she was.

Her story mirrored my own. I had spent so many years believing I had to earn love and prove my worth. In doing so, I allowed relationships that were far from what I truly wanted. I didn’t know it at the time, but by being the back-burner girlfriend and staying small in my desires, I was setting the standard for how I would be treated. I was telling myself and others I didn’t deserve more.

But here’s the truth: we are all worthy of love. Not because of what we do, not because of how perfect we are, but simply because we are.

That realization didn’t come easily for me. It took years of peeling back the layers of limiting beliefs and asking why I kept settling for less. But when I finally understood that I was worthy of deep, committed love, everything changed.

After my divorce, I made a promise to myself. I wasn’t going to settle again. I sat down and wrote a list of twenty-two things I wanted in a partner. Not because I was trying to create an impossible checklist, but because I needed to get clear on what I truly valued. I needed to hold myself accountable so that I wouldn’t fall back into old patterns.

That list became a reminder of my worth, a reflection of what I deserved. I had to hold myself to this to be sure that I didn’t somehow convince myself that four out of twenty-two would do.

Then, I finally met my current husband.

We met in our local grocery store. I kept passing him in the aisles and finally got up enough courage to stop him in the cleaning aisle, of all places. We small-talked for a few minutes, and I walked away both equally excited and embarrassed about my boldness.

We had both been through divorce, so we cautiously entered this new relationship, but before long, we were building something real. Something grounded in truth, in mutual respect, in love that didn’t feel like work. And as we grew closer, we began to heal—both individually and together. He wasn’t perfect, and neither was I. But what we had was real, and that was deeply beautiful.

I remember one moment in particular, early in our relationship. He suggested that I start weight training, and immediately, I felt defensive. The old story came rushing back: “He thinks I’m not enough. He doesn’t like the way I look.

But instead of letting that story spiral, I did something different. I took a lesson from the beautiful author Brené Brown and told him, “The story I’m telling myself is that you don’t like my body.”

His response? Pure love. He reassured me that it wasn’t about my appearance at all; he had recently listened to a podcast about women’s bone health and the benefits of weight training. He was thinking from a place of love about my long-term health and our future together.

That conversation could have gone a completely different way if we hadn’t chosen to be vulnerable, to trust each other enough to speak our truths. It could have gone differently if I had let my narrative spiral and never opened up the discussion.

That’s what real love is. It can be messy, it’s imperfect, and it’s also so easy—when it’s right, it doesn’t feel hard. The beauty is in the vulnerability. The beauty is in realizing that the hurt we’ve carried and the walls we’ve built weren’t ever really about us, and that journey is what brought us together.

The back burner, the infidelity, the lies, the waiting to be chosen—that was never about me. It was about them. It was about their journey, their walls, and their fears. And once I understood that, I was free. Free to love without holding back. Free to accept the love I had always deserved.

If you’re reading this and you’ve felt that same sting of rejection, that same pattern of being put second, I want you to know this: It’s not about something you’re lacking. It never was. The hurt you’ve experienced doesn’t define you. You are not unlovable. You are not broken. You are worthy of a love that sees you fully, that cherishes every part of you.

But first, you must see it in yourself. You have to believe that you deserve more. You have to make that list—whether it’s twenty-two things or just one—and hold yourself to it. Not because you’re waiting for someone to complete you, but because you know you are already complete, and you want to share your amazing life with someone.

And when that love comes, it will be everything you’ve been waiting for. Not perfect, but real. And in the end, that’s all that matters.

Because love—real love—isn’t about being chosen. It’s about choosing yourself first. And when you do that, everything else falls into place.

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About Molly Rubesh

Molly Rubesh is a life coach and writer who helps women embrace their true power and live heart-led lives. After navigating divorce, grief, and a career change, she now guides others to let go of fear and follow their hearts. Grab her free guide, 5 Ways to Survive Without a Safety Net, to begin your journey to a braver, more fulfilling life.

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How Slowing Down Helped Me Reclaim My Dreams

“For fast acting relief, try slowing down.” ~Lily Tomlin

“Are you the owner?” asks, well, yet another customer at our local Italian eatery.

“Nope—I’m just old!” I reply, all sheepish but pleased.

It’s true. At fifty, I’m not exactly your classic, college-struggling part-timer.

Actually, I’m the oldest employee at our restaurant—the staff “mom,” if you will. I’ve been at this serving gig three years now and haven’t looked back. Which might seem weird considering how I got here in the first place. What a contrast to the world I once lived in.

I co-owned a financial services company with my dad for sixteen years. We had a good thing going. Our clients were well taken care of—we were winning awards, and the money reflected that. At forty-five, I had it all: a full-tilt career, a decent marriage, two kids, and a nice house.

To say that wasn’t enough for me wouldn’t be honest. No, it was more like it was TOO much.

I felt overwhelmed by the life I’d helped build. 

I was stuck on the treadmill of Keeping It All Together, running faster and faster with each passing year, terrified I’d fly off the back end in one spectacular “Sam-Style” crash. I longed to slow down enough to examine my choices, my reality, and myself. The pace was killing me. Whoever the “me” was that I’d become.

Couldn’t I just walk for a while?

My running took me to a thirty-three-day meander on the Camino de Santiago in Spain in May of 2019. It was one of those “sort-out-your-shit” mid-life pilgrimages. I walked in, a pile of cynicism and confusion, but walked out with confidence, clutching one very ballsy answer:

“Quit your career.”

For context, it was driving me crazy. I’d crossed a threshold where it didn’t matter how much money I was making because I was miserable. Investing for others never felt like me—artsy-fartsy “Sam” was drowning in portfolio pressures. Uncontrollables like market returns and regulation built on the assumption that all financial advisors could be out to screw their clients had me on edge 24/7.

Looking back, I am grateful for those years that never felt like me. Because they eventually helped inform a more authentic life. That’s the one I’m living now. It’s a more peaceful, more meaningful existence. Even if I am “just serving up pasta.”

See, when you’re stuck on the treadmill and the universe keeps ratcheting up the pace, it’s all you can do to breathe, let alone hold any other aspiration in your head.

You simply can’t. There’s no time for that sort of fluff.

You’ve got clients and deadlines and responsibilities and targets. Your files come home with you. Your conversations with loved ones center around what ridiculous head office battle you had to fight against today, just to keep up with the demands of your job.

Dream?! Snort. This IS the dream… Isn’t it?!

Apparently, it wasn’t MY dream.

Fast forward to a world where I’m out three or four nights a week, doing a literal (and warmly received) tap dance if the kitchen is backed up. I collect tip pools on Wednesdays. I clock in, I clock out. And when I’m home, I am not thinking about work.

This is a far cry from my Sunday night anxiety, when I would lie awake in dread over what fires I’d have to put out the following morning.

As a server, I’m counted on to provide care, kindness, good humor, and advice for tourists and newcomers on our area, along with the obvious meals prepared to their liking. It’s a curated experience that comes with a smile. A can’t-fake-it smile.

The smile is legit, because I’m happy.

But there’s something else at play here. Taking my foot off the gas—that is to say, making the difficult decision to slow my life down—has allowed me the time and space to dream.

And I am (and always will be) “one of those.” I know, I know, I know; insert eye rolling from my realist peeps in the audience. I am a DREAMER.

I believe our dreams matter. 

How can they not? Why else are we here, spinning on this giant rock? Are we meant to come into the world, then run like hell unquestioningly until the day we die? Methinks, no.

The problem most of us have with dreams is threefold: (1) they’re seemingly impractical, (2) they require courage to get started, and (3) they need time to germinate and take off.

The sad fact is most of us are in survival mode just to exist. We don’t have the time to dream.

Dreaming is a bloody freaking luxury! We have more urgent matters to attend to—like mortgage payments and helping our aging parents understand their cell phone plans.

But I think casting our dreams aside despite today’s survival mode reality is already a slow descent to the grave. We may still be alive, but are we really?

Sure, we can pinch ourselves and feel that pain, looking around at the world’s we’ve built and the treadmills we’re running on to keep it all going. Of course we’re alive. We’ve got the tax bill to prove it!

Inside, though? Our soul might be one breath away from lights out. This happens when we shrug off the whispers it quietly sends to us, succumbing to one of our great failings as human beings: we settle.

Uggg, settling.

Some people might think I’ve “settled” in choosing to swap a lucrative occupation for some part-time job waiting tables.

It’s the opposite.

I’d have been settling if I would have stayed the course in my previous career. And I’d probably be dead by now. That may sound dramatic to you, but I was on the cusp of CRACKING at least quarterly. I just assumed this was something I had to suck up.

It was only when my dreams came at me unflinchingly loud that I realized I had to do something. Thanks to that meander on the Camino, all those “shoulds,” “musts,” and societal expectations that otherwise took up head space dissipated, freeing up fertile ground for my dreams to matter. In essence, my dreams became louder than my misery.

But I thought I was nuts. Who would walk away from security and set off for the great unknown?

An insane person would. At least, that’s what I’d thought. And you can’t blame my distorted thinking; remember, I’d been running at warp speed for years.

It would take that far slower pace for me to see things clearly. To see things for myself.

Today, chasing my dream admittedly comes with frustration, exhaustion, and its own version of disillusion.

I have taken my walk across Spain as inspiration to help other women try and slow down so they, too, can sort out their shit and find themselves. It all sounds good in theory. But anyone who has ever started a business before will tell you it is often a lesson in failing forward.

(Then swallowing your pride with each lesson learned—like, who buys 2,000 custom “thank you” bracelets for a company that hasn’t yet launched anything to thank someone for?! Yeah, I did that!)

I know, though, that if this dream of mine matters, I’ve got to continue to find the money, motivation, and stamina to invest in it. These are all ME problems, but I’m dealing and pleased to see the wins when they come.

What’s important here—and this is part of my self-talk when feeling frustrated—is that I’m not ignoring what matters to me.

I’m not shoving it down, beating it into submission, or deluding myself that it doesn’t exist in the first place.

If Slowing Down Is Key—Then How?

My answer here isn’t going to sound like rocket science or some earth-shattering discovery. It’s easy: get out and walk.

I will forever champion the slowed-down art of moving your body, one foot in front of the other, on the cement sidewalk of your urban jungle or the mossy loam of your backyard forest. Walking IS the answer. If we can tear ourselves off that treadmill for twenty to thirty minutes a day, we’ll begin to see a shift.

Stress levels decrease, and this is documented scientifically.

With less of that pesky stress hormone “cortisol” coursing through our veins, we’ll feel better without even trying. You show me a person whose mood isn’t lifted after a walk, and I’ll show you the millions in my bank account. (Ha! There’s no such thing as either!)

Walking has been a time-honored tradition of problem solving, creativity-fueling, and dream-catching for years. Beethoven would set out for long walks, pen and paper in hand, ready to capture those melodies as they came to him.

So, I’m not saying go out and quit your job. I’m just saying, get outside for some deliberate movement. Which brings me to my next point.

The Importance of Conscious Decision-Making

Aiming for a life with no regrets takes decision-making to the next level.

If that means tightening up our purse-strings while I work on my dream, or relying on my husband to carry the bulk of the financial torch, or going out and getting a serving job to help take the pressure off—so be it. I make these choices willingly and with the fortunate support of people who believe in me.

“Conscious” decision-making requires us to weigh the options and think about others in the fallout of our choices. How does my desire to go after this dream impact those I love? What do I need to consider? What’s my downside, and how does that inform any decisions we need to make as a family?

Those Who Are Watching

A by-product of going after our dreams is the message it sends to those who follow. In my case, we want to show our two daughters that their dreams are important. I’d have been selling out completely if I’d never left my career; that “your dreams matter speech” we parents often dish out would have otherwise felt like flavorless gruel. At least for us.

Over the last four years, I’ve seen how my tenacity (read: head-banging, stubborn persistence) has inspired my kids.

My eldest will shoot for the stars with the loftiest expectations. And while talking her off her ledge over NOT being accepted into the most competitive university in North America felt daunting, I secretly loved that she tried.

Because why not shoot for the stars? Her playing large will net a guaranteed number of disappointments, but it also fuels her grit. And on those few occasions when she swings hard and knocks one out of the park—how great does that feel because she took the chance to begin with?

Don’t Aim to Be the Example of Success—Aim to Live the Dream, Failures and All 

I judge myself harshly. And those midnight, panic-stricken voice messages I send to my friend Carolyn are proof. Nothing happens quickly. Nothing is easy. Nothing goes the way we think.

But in the end, if we’re breathing life into those dreams of ours, we’ve already won. We aren’t merely going through the motions. We are in the arena, taking chances, learning lessons, failing forward, getting back up, and squeezing the juice out of how we want each moment to feel.

And I’ll keep it even more real for you.

I sometimes feel as though I’ve traded one treadmill for another. It’s in those moments when I back away slowly from my laptop, shove my feet into my hikers, and hit the trails. When I’m feeling overwhelmed and unclear, I literally walk away.

A full-tilt life is exciting (and exhausting), but it’s not always the one best aligned with our souls. We need to slow down—meander, even—so we can recognize when things are spinning out of control. Our walking can even lead us to our dreams, if only we take the time to put one foot in front of the other.

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About Samantha Plavins

Sam Plavins is a Gen-x mom, wife, adventurer, writer, and recovering over-sharer. In 2019, she hiked 800-km across Northern Spain and had the epiphany that her career in finance was killing her. So she decided to walk a new path, launching She Walks the Walk to help women like her lead more authentic, inspired lives. She wants you off society’s treadmill, or at the very least to question it! Find her at shewalksthewalk.com, Instagram, YouTube, or her travel blog, and check out her podcast here.

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Finding Light in the Shadows of an Invisible Illness

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” ~Albert Camus

Life has a way of throwing us curve balls when we least expect them.

For years, I had been managing the usual ups and downs of life when I was blindsided by a diagnosis that would forever change the way I lived: psoriatic arthritis. It’s one of those illnesses that most people don’t quite understand because it doesn’t always show on the outside. I looked fine, but inside, my body felt like it was on fire. The pain was constant, an unwelcome guest that wouldn’t leave, and it was compounded by the invisibility of it all.

I’d wake up each morning, bracing myself for the pain that would greet me like a familiar adversary. Simple tasks like getting out of bed or opening a jar became monumental feats. My energy levels were erratic; some days I could barely make it through the afternoon without needing to lie down. It was as if my body had declared war against itself, and I was caught in the crossfire.

The Burden of Silence

One of the hardest parts about living with an invisible illness is the isolation that comes with it. People around you can’t see what you’re going through. They see you smiling, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy, and they assume you’re okay. But inside, there’s a storm raging.

I didn’t want to be seen as weak or as someone who complained all the time, so I put on a brave face. I pushed through the pain, ignored my body’s pleas for rest, and pretended everything was fine.

But the truth was, I was struggling. I felt like I was on a sinking ship, frantically trying to bail out the water with a teacup. The pain and fatigue were unrelenting, and the emotional toll was even greater. I found myself withdrawing from social activities, avoiding conversations, and slowly shrinking into myself. The vibrant, energetic person I once was seemed like a distant memory.

The Turning Point: Embracing Vulnerability

One day, I reached a breaking point. The pain was so intense that it felt like my entire body was on fire, and I could no longer keep up the facade of strength. I realized I couldn’t do it alone anymore. I needed help. So, I decided to open up to my family and friends about what I was going through. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done—admitting that I was struggling and needed support.

To my surprise, my vulnerability was met with compassion and understanding. Sharing my pain didn’t make me weaker; it made me stronger. It allowed me to let go of the burden I’d been carrying and made room for love and support to enter my life. My loved ones rallied around me, offering help in practical ways—whether it was preparing meals, helping with chores, or just being there to listen when I needed to vent.

Finding a New Normal

With the support of those around me, I began to navigate my new reality. I learned to listen to my body and honor its needs. I started meditating and practicing mindfulness, which helped me find a sense of peace even amidst the chaos.

I realized that while I couldn’t control my illness, I could control how I responded to it. I shifted my focus from what I had lost to what I still had—a loving family, the ability to write, and a deep desire to help others.

I also began exploring alternative therapies. Meditation became a daily practice, allowing me to find a quiet place within myself, free from pain. On days when the pain was unbearable, I would meditate, focusing on my breath, letting go of the tension in my body, and visualizing myself surrounded by healing light. This practice didn’t take the pain away, but it gave me the strength to endure it.

Lessons Learned: Finding Light in the Darkness

1. Embrace vulnerability.

Opening up about my struggles was a turning point for me. It’s okay to ask for help. Being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. Allowing others to see your pain can create deep and meaningful connections.

2. Listen to your body.

For years, I ignored my body’s cries for help, pushing through the pain and fatigue. I’ve since learned the importance of listening to my body and honoring its needs. Rest when you need to. Take breaks. It’s not about being lazy; it’s about being kind to yourself.

3. Find your anchor.

Life with a chronic illness is unpredictable. Having something to hold on to—whether it’s a hobby, a spiritual practice, or a passion—can provide a sense of stability. Writing has always been my anchor, my way of processing the world around me. Finding something that brings you joy and peace can be a lifeline during difficult times.

4. Focus on what you can control.

Living with an invisible illness can make you feel powerless. I’ve learned to focus on the things I can control—my attitude, my response to pain, and how I treat myself. By focusing on what I can control, I’ve found a sense of empowerment.

5. Be kind to yourself.

Living with a chronic illness is hard. There will be days when you feel like you can’t go on. On those days, remember to be kind to yourself. Treat yourself with the same compassion you would offer to a friend. You are doing the best you can, and that’s enough.

Moving Forward with Grace and Resilience

Living with psoriatic arthritis has taught me more about myself than I ever thought possible. It’s taught me resilience, patience, and the power of vulnerability. It’s shown me that I am stronger than I ever knew. While the pain is still there, I’ve found a way to coexist with it, to find moments of joy and peace amidst the struggle.

To anyone reading this who is battling their own invisible illness, know that you are not alone. There is light in the darkness, even if it’s hard to see sometimes. Hold on to hope. Reach out for support. And remember, you are stronger than you think.

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About Shurbelle John Baptiste

Shurbelle John Baptiste promotes a holistic approach to well-being that incorporates physical health, emotional resilience, and spiritual depth. She provides readers with practical tools and insights that can help them lead more fulfilling, mindful lives. Shurbelle holds a business degree despite the challenges of learning in cookie-cutter environments while having autism. She has extensive experience in writing, teaching, and creating digital content that supports personal growth and spiritual development. Learn more at Belle of the Light Books.

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Free Offer: One year of the Happier Meditation App

Since you follow Tiny Buddha, I’m guessing you might be familiar with the benefits of meditation and perhaps have already experienced many of them yourself.

I first found meditation through yoga, which I initially started at a gym solely because I was curious.

I didn’t know then that meditation can help with depression, anxiety, stress, and insomnia (all of which I’ve experienced); that it can literally rewire the brain to help with healing from trauma (also a battle I know very well); or that it can help prevent and heal numerous physical conditions.

Now here I am, over two decades later, armed with all the evidence I need to make meditation a top priority, yet I still struggle with consistency, especially when life gets busy or hard—which is, of course, when self-care is often needed the most.

If you can relate—if you’ve ever felt like you’re doing meditation wrong or somehow failing at your practice—I have a feeling you’ll appreciate today’s offer: a free year of the Happier meditation app, which is valued at $99.99. (Offer ends October 31^st.)

Happier (one of this month’s site sponsors) is the meditation app that meets you where you are—whatever you’re dealing with, whatever time you have available, and whatever time of consistency you can manage.

With a monthly check-in experience that enables you to reset your interests and intentions, the app is highly flexible, growing or scaling back with you and offering personalized recommendations that meet your needs. No pressure, no judgment. Just a massive collection of calming, healing practices from insightful, world-renowned teachers, delivered to you in the way the best serves you at any given time.

You could say this is the app for “bad meditators,” or rather the app that realizes that the goal isn’t to be good at meditation but rather to nurture a practice that works for you.

Not feeling seated meditation today? No problem—you can watch a short video or enjoy a gratitude practice through the app.

Struggling to take your mindfulness practice off your cushion? The app has you covered with a variety of on-the-go practices, including mindful movement, breathing exercises, and immersive audio experiences.

You can also search by topic—e.g., “parenting,” “money,” or “anger”—for instant access to the peace and perspective you need to make meaningful changes in your life.

With the Happier meditation app, you don’t have to meditate perfectly or daily—the app emphasizes progress over perfection and supports you in the messy, imperfect journey of being human. And because the Happier team believes so strongly in their adaptable approach, they’re offering the world’s first ever Meditation Make-Good campaign, with a five-year money-back promise if the app isn’t helpful to you.

When I first opened the Happier meditation app, I felt a wave of calm wash over me. Offering a wide assortment of courses and on-demand meditations, led by joyful, supportive instructors, Happier feels like a little bit of peace in my pocket. It’s quite literally a breath of fresh air, which is sometimes the most important step toward health and happiness.

Whether you’re looking to start or reinvigorate your practice, I highly recommend you give the Happier meditation app a try. You can sign up for a free year of the paid subscription (valued at $99.99) here. This offer is only good until October 31^st,  so be sure to sign up soon if you’re interested!

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About Lori Deschene

Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha. She started the site after struggling with depression, bulimia, c-PTSD, and toxic shame so she could recycle her former pain into something useful and inspire others do the same. She recently created the Breaking Barriers to Self-Care eCourse to help people overcome internal blocks to meeting their needs—so they can feel their best, be their best, and live their best possible life. If you’re ready to start thriving instead of merely surviving, you can learn more and get instant access here.

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How 10 Days of Silence Brought Me Perspective and Peace

“Removing old conditionings from the mind and training the mind to be more equanimous with every experience is the first step toward enabling one to experience true happiness.” ~S.N. Goenka

I just spent ten days sitting in absolute silence with about 100 strangers, time I previously thought I should’ve spent networking and applying for jobs as an unemployed twenty-something with little savings and no assets, living in a completely new country with no network or job prospects.

There were no conversations, no eye contact, no listening to music, no exercise, no reading or writing—just silence, with twelve hours of meditation each day.

I applied to the program on a whim, was accepted off the waitlist the day before it began, and bought my plane ticket impulsively the night before. With little time to prepare and even less certainty about what lay ahead, I couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps this was exactly where I was meant to be, even if it wasn’t what I originally had planned.

This retreat is a course on Vipassana meditation, a practice I discovered through Dhamma.org, taught by the spiritual guru S.N. Goenka. This ancient technique, deeply rooted in the teachings of Buddha, requires intense focus on the physical sensations of the body, observing them without attachment or aversion.

The aim is to cultivate a deep sense of equanimity and insight, leading to a more balanced and peaceful state of mind. It’s a journey inward, stripping away the layers of noise and distraction to reveal the true nature of our existence.

Of course, the website paints a serene and enlightening picture. While it truly is all those things, there were moments when I questioned my decision. At times, the retreat felt less like a sanctuary of peace and more like a self-imposed prison.

This retreat was undoubtedly one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it was also one of the most transformative. It completely rewired my brain and changed my relationship with myself.

After those ten days, I emerged as the most present and clear-headed I have ever been. Vipassana is often touted as a path to enlightenment, and it proved to be more than just a meditation technique. It is a rigorous self-confrontation, an unfiltered dialogue with the incessant chatter of one’s thoughts. In this space of relentless introspection, I came face to face with the raw, unedited version of myself.

This experience came at a crucial time in my life, having recently quit my stable and glitzy job in entertainment to pursue a dream of living abroad, devoid of job security, a support network, or friends. The insights and clarity I gained through Vipassana meditation arrived at a moment when they were most needed, clearing a mental fog that seemed to have clouded my vision for years.

And here I am to share the lessons and revelations from those transformative ten days.

The Experience 

The retreat took place in a hostel nestled in a remote village in Austria in late winter. When I arrived for the Vipassana meditation course, the cool and crisp air that was often shrouded in mist buzzed with anticipation.

It was “day zero,” and we participants chatted lightly as we checked in, handed over our belongings, and met our roommates.

As our vow of noble silence commenced after the 9 p.m. orientation, the sense of solitude set in. We knew that starting at 4 a.m. the next day, our routine would be drastically different.

The first three days were dedicated to Anapana meditation, focusing on the sensations of the breath at the nostrils and upper lip. While the concept was straightforward, the challenge for me was substantial, especially due to the physical demands.

Having just learned to ski the day before, I suffered from severe aches in my shoulders, neck, and back from repeated falls on hard snow, making it difficult to maintain a single sitting position for extended periods. The pain was a constant distraction, and looking around at the quiescent participants in the meditation hall, I felt acutely alone in my discomfort.

Despite feeling isolated in my struggles, I soon noticed something uplifting. After each meditation session, relieved by the sweet sound of a gong, everyone would rush outside to stretch and shake off their stiffness. Some even sneaked in a few yoga poses or aerobic stretches behind trees (which is usually prohibited). Watching everyone stretch and move, I realized that even in our quiet, solitary struggles, we were all finding our own ways to ease the tension and feel a bit of relief.

By the fourth day, we transitioned to the core practice of Vipassana meditation, which involved a more intricate mental process of scanning each part of the body with “unwavering equanimity” to feel sensations throughout.

The early days of this practice felt like a mental battlefield. Repressed emotions and thoughts that I had long distracted myself from now screamed in my mind, creating a cacophony of emotions swirling in my mind.

I thought I’d only struggle with wanting to leave when I felt negative emotions. However, I found that even positive emotions like inspiration, hope, and motivation were just as unsettling. These uplifting feelings made me want to run home and take action just as much as feelings of shame or sadness did.

By midway through the fourth day, however, I experienced a significant breakthrough. My mental focus crystallized; the incessant chatter quieted, and for the first time, I managed to sit motionless for a full hour.

This newfound calmness was soothing, and I was convinced it heralded a smoother path ahead. However, day six proved to have other plans. At 4 a.m., I was jolted awake by a panic attack, my heart racing and a nagging tightness in my chest, plunging my mind into turmoil and shattering the calm I had found. The serenity I had felt was replaced by a torrent of negative thoughts that felt inescapable.

After this, I considered asking to leave during my next daily consultation with the assistant teacher. However, when the time for my consultation arrived, I reflected on my experiences and noticed a small but meaningful shift in my mental state. This glimmer of progress gave me the strength to persevere and stay committed to the process.

The teacher, noticing my distress, offered reassurance that my intense emotional experience was a normal part of the process, advising me to face these emotions with equanimity rather than judgment.

This pivotal conversation reminded me that experiencing a range of emotions is an inherent part of being human.

The retreat, though intensely challenging, taught me valuable lessons about the transient nature of emotions and the strength found in communal endurance. By the end, I not only gained insights into my own psyche but also developed a deeper compassion for others, recognizing that despite our individual struggles, we share a common journey of growth and discovery.

Insights and Reflections

Emotions

From that pivotal sixth day onward, my approach to my emotions and to meditation itself evolved profoundly. Rather than being overwhelmed by my feelings, I learned to observe them from a distance, recognizing their transient nature and gaining insights that I could apply to my life beyond the meditation cushion.

Previously, I had a profound misunderstanding that I wasn’t just experiencing feelings—I was enshrining them as immutable truths, anchoring my identity and decisions to their fleeting presence. I had been using my emotions as a barometer for reality, attaching unwarranted significance to each emotional wave without recognizing their transient nature.

For example, if I felt anxiety about a decision, I might interpret that anxiety as a sign that the decision was wrong rather than as a natural response to uncertainty. This led me to avoid potentially beneficial but challenging opportunities simply because of the discomfort they invoked. Similarly, if I experienced joy in a situation, I might overly commit to it without critical assessment, mistaking transient happiness for long-term fulfillment.

However, through mindful observation, I began to understand the ephemeral nature of emotions—they come and go, often influenced by myriad external and internal factors that do not necessarily have a direct correlation with the objective reality of the situations that provoke them.

This insight led me to a more nuanced understanding that while emotions are valid experiences, they are not definitive guides to action. They are, rather, one component of a broader decision-making process that should also involve rational analysis and reflection.

Self-confidence 

Moreover, I came to understand that seeking external validation for my decisions was unnecessary. The concept of a “best” decision is elusive; what truly matters is making choices that resonate with my personal beliefs and values.

This profound period of self-reflection allowed me to become more comfortable with myself and to trust my own judgment. This shift was incredibly liberating, particularly at a pivotal moment in my life where I faced the daunting task of choosing between two vastly different paths, each enveloped in its own uncertainty.

I realized how much of my past behavior was driven by a need for external validation. It wasn’t always about seeking approval, but rather looking for someone else to affirm my choices, to nod in agreement, or to give me the green light to proceed with my plans. Unbeknownst to me, I had been stifling my own instincts and insights, inadvertently relegating the authority over my life to others.

Each choice I make, grounded in self-awareness and self-compassion, leads me down a path that contributes to my growth and learning, regardless of the outcome.

This perspective shifts the focus from fear of making a “mistake” to an understanding that every step taken is part of a larger journey towards personal fulfillment and wisdom. By being present and committed to myself, I can navigate life’s uncertainties with confidence, knowing that all experiences are valuable and that my inner guidance is a reliable compass.

Love

 Formerly, I saw love as a destination, a goal to be achieved, wrapped in expectations and specific outcomes. This perspective treated love as something to be received passively—a feeling handed down rather than actively cultivated. My approach was centered around control, trying to steer love toward a preconceived notion of what it should look like, often ignoring the dynamic and evolving nature of genuine connections.

Love as an act, rather than just a feeling, transforms it from a passive state to an active engagement with life and the people in it. It’s about pouring into relationships freely and generously, not intending to receive something in return but to foster a genuine connection and mutual growth.

This shift in perspective has taught me to appreciate love’s subtle presence in life—how it’s not just found in grand gestures or declarations, but in the quiet, everyday actions that bind lives together. Understanding love as a fluid, evolving force rather than a static goal has freed me from the burdens of expectation and control.

True love is about being solid and sturdy with someone without needing to define every moment or cling too tightly. It’s about letting love for others—romantic, familial, friendly, even for strangers and animals—flow without possession.

Contribution

This evolved understanding of love profoundly influences how I approach my career and contributions to the world. Previously, I saw my career mainly as a way to chase personal fulfillment, driven by the often-cited advice to “follow your passions.” While this was empowering, it also kept me in a bubble of self-focus and entitlement, where I was more concerned with finding the perfect job that would maximize my happiness.

However, as my concept of love matured, so did my view on my professional life. I began to see my work not just as a means for personal achievement but as a chance to contribute to something bigger than myself. This shift in thinking about love—as something you give without expecting a specific outcome—has mirrored in my career approach.

Now, my career decisions hinge not only on what brings me joy or utilizes my skills but also on how I can use those skills to positively impact others. It’s about leveraging what I know and can do for the greater good, not just for my own success.

Embracing this broader perspective has made me more conscious of the interconnectedness of our actions and our collective well-being. Just as love builds bridges in personal relationships, a career grounded in contribution and service can foster connections that lead to community growth and improvement. It’s changed how I set professional goals: instead of just aiming for personal milestones, I focus on creating value that uplifts others.

Connectedness

On day ten, we finally broke our vow of noble silence after breakfast. After speaking with the other participants, a profound realization emerged—although our individual narratives and life experiences were markedly different, the emotional outcomes and insights we arrived at were astonishingly similar. This fascinating contrast highlighted that, despite our unique paths, at our core, we feel the same fundamental human emotions.

This commonality in our emotional responses underscores a deeper, universal truth about the human condition in that we are more interconnected than we might believe. The emotional threads that connect us do not vary greatly from one person to another; joy, sorrow, fear, and hope are universal experiences that transcend individual circumstances.

Vipassana meditation, focused on observing one’s own mind and body, amplifies this realization by stripping away the superficial differences and revealing the underlying uniformity of our emotional nature.

This realization served as somewhat of an ego death, where the sense of being profoundly unique or a special case diminished. It brought to light the collective human experience, suggesting that while our life stories add richness and variety to the human experience, the emotional landscape we navigate is shared. We are not isolated in our feelings; rather, we are part of a vast continuum of human emotion that binds us together.

Embracing this understanding fostered a profound sense of empathy and solidarity. It diminishes the ego’s insistence on our separateness and highlights the shared journey of growth and understanding that we all undergo.

The Return to the World

The morning after day ten was another humbling moment. I got my phone back, and turning it on was overwhelming. In just ten days, life had moved on without me—friends got promotions, planned trips, made big career jumps, ended relationships, and began new ones.

It was sad to miss out yet heartening to return to positive developments in their lives. This contrast served as a poignant reminder of the impermanence and relentless pace of the world around us and the importance of finding grounding in our inner selves.

Upon returning to the real world, I felt a profound alignment between my mind and body that I hadn’t experienced before. I could see things as they were, not just as reflections of my internal dialogue. I wasn’t stuck in my head anymore; I could slow down, be with myself, and actually enjoy my own company—something that used to terrify me.

It’s almost as though the experience altered my brain chemistry. For the first time, I felt normal in my own skin, a sensation that was entirely new to me. Growing up in the digital age, I rarely, if ever, had the opportunity—or the need—to sit with my thoughts for more than ten minutes. Allowing myself the space to sit, feel, and think deeply was not just valuable; it was a profound and rare experience that I believe many people deny themselves in our fast-paced, modern world.

Overall Reflections

Reflecting on my recent Vipassana retreat, it has become evident how such experiences are profoundly relevant in today’s fast-paced, often superficial world.

During these ten days of deep introspection, I confronted layers of myself that were cluttered with unresolved emotions and unexamined thoughts.

In a world where action is prized, stillness can be revolutionary. It’s not just about silencing the chatter of the outside world—including the instant feedback loop of social media that we rely on for our self-esteem and decisions—but more importantly, understanding the internal dialogue that shapes our perception of ourselves and our lives.

Recalling my initial reservations about spending precious time in silence when I could have been networking or job hunting, I now see how misplaced those concerns were.

My Vipassana experience did not magically solve all my challenges or answer all my questions. However, it profoundly reshaped how I view my journey through life. It wasn’t about finding a perfect job or even perfect peace, but rather about learning to navigate the inevitable ups and downs with a bit more grace and a lot more self-awareness.

This deeper understanding has not only helped me appreciate the quiet moments of reflection but has also prepared me to engage more meaningfully with the bustling world around me.

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About Sophia Reeder

Sophia is a proud UCLA alumna and a public relations professional in the entertainment industry, working with top artists and agents. When not navigating the fast-paced world of PR, she writes about holistic health and wellness, while practicing yoga and mindfulness. Recently, she completed a four-month journey through Europe, volunteering on self-sustaining farms, embracing a lifestyle that blends her love for travel, wellness, and personal growth.

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Tiny Buddha’s 2025 Day-to-Day Calendar Is Now Available for Purchase

Hi friends! I’m excited to share that the ​2025 Tiny Buddha Day-to-Day Calendar​ is now available for purchase!

Uplifting and healing, this calendar offers daily reflections from me, Tiny Buddha contributors, and other authors whose quotes have inspired and encouraged me.

Featuring colorful, patterned tear-off pages, the calendar is printed on FSC certified paper with soy-based ink. Topics include happiness, love, relationships, change, meaning, mindfulness, self-care, letting go, and more.

Here’s what Amazon reviewers had to say about the 2024 calendar:

“I love how the quotes are diverse and relevant, offering something for everyone regardless of where they are on their personal journey. It’s a wonderful way to start each day with a positive mindset and a reminder to live in the present moment.”

“I used the 2023 calendar and absolutely loved it! The 2024 is turning out to be just as great! So many wonderful quotes, and the decorative paper makes them easy to cut off the date and save for display or give to people the quotes make me think of. Wonderful daily calendar!”

“I have been buying these calendars for years. I buy one for each of my siblings. The calendar has a lot of great quotes and encouraging messages. I have been going through some difficult times and I look forward to reading this every day and finding ways to apply the message to my life.”

“Every single day is something that inspires me and helps me along my journey of healthier living. I will buy again and again—absolutely a wonderful addition to my day!!”

“This is one of the very best page-a-day calendars that I have ever purchased. Each day offers a meaningful paragraph that really provokes some deep thought. I totally love this purchase and would definitely recommend it.”

Stay inspired, motivated, and encouraged through the year ahead—​grab your copy here​!

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About Lori Deschene

Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha. She started the site after struggling with depression, bulimia, c-PTSD, and toxic shame so she could recycle her former pain into something useful and inspire others do the same. She recently created the Breaking Barriers to Self-Care eCourse to help people overcome internal blocks to meeting their needs—so they can feel their best, be their best, and live their best possible life. If you’re ready to start thriving instead of merely surviving, you can learn more and get instant access here.

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The Perspective Shift That Helped Me Overcome My Perfectionism

“Perfectionism is the exhausting state of pretending to know it all and have it all together, all the time. I’d rather be a happy mess than an anxious stress case who’s always trying to hide my flaws and mistakes.” ~Lori Deschene

When I got my start as a math teacher, it was 2012, and I had not been in a classroom in over ten years. I really wasn’t sure how teaching got done anymore.

I came into my first class with a piece of paper and many examples to share. I got up and started writing the examples on the board for my students. When I looked at the board after my lesson, what stood out to me was that my handwriting was sloppy. It looked like a third grader wrote it.

I also noticed that many students laughed during my lessons, so, determined to find the cause of the laughter, I started to look at other teachers to see if I could come up with any ideas to improve my lessons.

What stood out to me is that almost every teacher in the school was using some kind of multimedia display, and I was just writing with a marker. So, at that point, I decided to make a change to create all my lessons on multimedia.

I spent considerable time and effort typing the examples before my lessons so I would not have to display my messy handwriting for all to see. I was very proud about how clear and easily readable my multimedia presentations were.

Three years passed, and I was at a new job. About a month went by, and I was sure that I was impressing everyone with my beautiful multimedia lessons. But one day my manager brought me in and said that there was overwhelming consensus amongst my students and their families that I should handwrite my examples.

Upon hearing this, my heart sank. In my mind, I was “tech savvy” and in control when I taught. With this new mandate, I was going to become the low-tech teacher who wrote like a third grader and had black marker ink all over his hands.

During this time, I could not sleep very well. I also spent time searching online to see if there were other non-teaching jobs that I was qualified for. I couldn’t get the picture out of my mind of that whiteboard from 2012. I could just see how sloppy it looked, and I could hear the laughter of those students.

As I started to make the requested changes to my teaching, not only was I uncomfortable, but I didn’t believe my students would want to learn from someone who had such sloppy handwriting. As time went on, I began to realize that handwriting the calculations made me much more nervous than just displaying them. I very often made mistakes and then had to erase and fix them.

After a few weeks’ time, a light bulb went off inside me. If I, the experienced and degreed teacher, got nervous and made mistakes during my teaching, then how much more likely would it be that my students would make the same mistakes?

I decided to change the tone of my teaching to not just handwrite the examples but to also explain my thinking process. I could tell the students exactly where they were likely to make errors during their work. Since I was working through problems and making myself vulnerable in the same way my students were expected to, we all had more of a common connection.

My overall confidence as an instructor rose. I became more authoritative as a teacher. I wasn’t just the reader of the lesson; I was the author. Students didn’t ask anymore how our books define concepts; they asked me directly how I defined them.

Today, nearly twelve years later, I still handwrite my examples live in the room with my students. At the end of a recent lesson, I looked at the board. My handwriting is still rather sloppy, but I just don’t pay attention to that anymore. Instead, I see effort, thought, expertise, and willingness to put myself in the shoes of my students.

At the beginning of my teaching career, I was so fixated on one of my bad qualities that I went to great efforts to try to hide it. In turn, that blinded me to a multitude of other good qualities.

How many relationships and marriages end because the only thing we can see in our partner is their ‘sloppy handwriting’? How much depression is there in this world because when we think about ourselves, the only thing we see is some bad quality?

In truth, if we took the time to catalog a list of our good qualities, we’d likely see they far outweigh the bad. So often we just can’t see these qualities because we tend to focus exclusively on our negative qualities and our mistakes. We think that is all that we are. We want to destroy our bad qualities in the same way I almost destroyed my teaching career by quitting it.

I recommend taking a small piece of paper and writing down all your good qualities and the good things that you do. Carry this paper with you everywhere you go. Take time throughout the day to read this list and add to it. Any time you think of or worry about one of your negative qualities, bring the list out. You will soon find that the truth is easier to see.

Our list of bad qualities is a short list. Our list of good qualities is a long list. With some training, we can learn to recognize when we are focusing exclusively on the short list. Then we can change our focus to the long list. When we get this true and properly balanced picture of our lives, they flow much more smoothly.

When we don’t focus on or worry about the bad qualities on our short list, we are free to reinvent them for our own purposes.

On one occasion, I was working with a group of students, and one student was picking on another about his bad handwriting. I ran over to stop this potential bullying. I observed his handwriting, and it was true this student had lousy handwriting. Without any forethought, I said, “Well, doctors are known for having bad handwriting, so it’s really a sign of intelligence.”

That student really appreciated my insight. Then I looked at him and said, “See, we both have something in common. We write like doctors.”

It’s very possible to take things from our short list of bad qualities and move them to our long list of good qualities. Sometimes we just need a different way of looking at things.

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About Wayne Simmons

Wayne is a licensed teacher who has spent 15 years traveling the world. After transforming his own life through learning Buddhist principles, he has pivoted to supporting and assisting those who are struggling with anxiety, depression, and work-related burn out. For daily inspiration follow him at x.com/dhammagia.

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Why People Ghost and Advice for Coping (or Stopping)

“Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.” ~Rumi

A few months ago, someone I had dated briefly seven years ago reached out to apologize for his past behavior.

Many of us know how being ghosted can evoke a mix of frustration, bursts of anger, and an underlying sense of utter powerlessness. Degrees of intensity can vary, of course, depending on the depth of the relationship and personal circumstances. This was not one of those heart-wrenching cases, and in a way, an apology seemed excessive. I had long forgiven and forgotten.

Nonetheless, I almost immediately realized I was wrong: He still felt it was essential to address how he had ended our brief involvement by abruptly cutting off all communication.

As he talked, I realized that we shouldn’t dismiss someone’s efforts to do “the right thing” or downplay the fact that we’ve been mistreated, even if we don’t care anymore or even if it didn’t seem that bad at the time. Recognizing and valuing these gestures of reconciliation nurtures a culture of accountability and healing.

During the first stages of our conversation, I could see the effort and difficulty; it was awkward and strange but also kind of fun—some moments were genuinely hilarious! Since then, I spent a lot of time thinking about this experience because of its uniqueness, and ultimately, I consider it one of the highlights of my year.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, getting such an apology has also made me value this person a lot more. I started thinking of that behavior as exceptional, which, in turn, started a new line of thought: Shouldn’t this be the norm? Don’t we want to hold ourselves and our friends to higher standards? Is ghosting bad? Is our reaction to it bad? Of course, we all know how “convenient” ghosting is, but isn’t it also really embarrassing for the ghoster?

(Note that I used the word “ghoster,” not “ghost,” to discuss behaviors without implying they are unchangeable aspects of a person’s identity. This distinction is important because it avoids labeling individuals in a way that suggests permanence, thus allowing for the possibility of growth and change.)

It’s one of those “the king is naked” things; we all, and I mean ALL, see through it. So, what’s underneath it? And why do people do it so much?

• Fear of confrontation: Many people find direct confrontation uncomfortable or anxiety-inducing, so ghosting allows them to avoid the discomfort of having a potentially awkward or difficult conversation.
• Lack of accountability: In some cases, avoiding the conversation and disappearing makes it feel like you’re not accountable for your actions because, to the ghoster, ghosting has no immediate consequences. It’s a seemingly easy escape route.
• Emotional avoidance: Some individuals go through phases where they lack the emotional tools to handle relationship endings or difficult situations maturely. Ghosting becomes a way to avoid dealing with their own emotions.
• Reduced empathy: Ghosting allows you to feel even more remote, making it easier to dismiss other people’s feelings and the impact of your actions. Digital communication exacerbates this detachment, as the lack of face-to-face interaction diminishes your sense of empathy and connection to the person being ghosted.
• Overwhelm response: Sometimes life gets overwhelmingly hectic, and people react in clumsy, often unconscious ways. They might ghost friends, family, or partners, not even realizing why. It’s a misguided attempt to simplify things when everything feels too much to handle.

Alright, so we’ve thrown around some ideas about why people might ghost. Now, let’s talk about what we can do with this insight. Whether you’re the one doing the ghosting or the one left deciphering silence, here are some tips that could help navigate these tricky situations.

A Gentle Reminder for Those Critical of Themselves

Before anything else, let’s get something out of the way. For those who are critical of themselves, for those who feel they don’t even deserve an apology, for those who feel worthless due to the ghosting behavior of a partner or a friend, it’s crucial to remind yourself that you are not the problem.

Yes, there might be something about your actions that your ghoster is not in alignment with at the moment; you might have some faults, but nothing is proportioned to the lack of recognition and invisibility that being ghosted imposes on a person. That is never warranted.

Other people’s actions reflect their own inner state; they’re not a measure of your value. Your self-worth remains untouched and undiminished by external actions. Recognize that you are fundamentally worthy, regardless of how others treat you, and live up to your worth.

Strategies for the Ghoster

If you find yourself ghosting someone, it’s important to be aware that you’re indulging in a behavior that needs to be temporary. It’s crucial not to stigmatize yourself in the moment but also to realize that ghosting is a reflection of a lack of alignment between you and other people, the world, and your own emotions.

Instead of feeling self-righteous or beating yourself up, or worst of all, cycling between these extremes in a relentless loop, consider giving yourself a time limit. You might not be able to handle the situation right now, but you need to commit to addressing it within a set timeframe.

Avoiding difficult situations means missing out on important moments. While friends might not always call you out on this behavior, consider this advice the gentle nudge you need. Acknowledge not only that your ghostee might not deserve this treatment but also that you don’t deserve it.

Setting a time limit might be an easy way to get a little breather, knowing that you’ll handle it. There is another Alan Watts saying that I particularly enjoy: “The more a thing tends to be permanent, the more it tends to be lifeless.”

Ultimately, you shouldn’t act differently just to make other people feel better. Instead, you should act differently because you deserve to feel better and because with your actions (and thoughts and emotions), you’re adding to the world. What do you want to add?

Strategies for the Ghostee

If you’ve been ghosted, here are a few things to keep in mind to navigate through this experience.

First, avoid becoming self-righteous or harboring anger or resentment. Being ghosted often leaves you feeling hurt, invisible, and incredibly frustrated. It’s natural to want to lash out, driven by a deep need to be acknowledged. Sometimes, anger can feel like a powerful antidote to the helplessness and depression that ghosting can trigger. So, if you’re feeling helpless, reaching out to anger can be a way to regain a sense of control, and if anger is helping you cope right now, that’s okay. Embrace it as a necessary step in your emotional journey.

However, there will come a time when moving past anger and resentment is crucial for your growth. As Malachy McCourt said, “Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

Second, avoid toxic positivity. Sure, I just said avoid harboring negative emotions, but you don’t have to pretend everything’s sunshine and rainbows either. Pretending that it doesn’t hurt isn’t going to do you any good. We can safely acknowledge that it hurts if it does. But remain honest with yourself and keenly aware of all the nuances of how you feel. Sometimes your ego is more hurt than your heart.

Third, focus on activities outside of yourself. When you’re feeling down, upset, or angry because someone you care about has ghosted you, shifting your focus outward can be incredibly therapeutic. It might sound cliché, but devoting your time and energy to activities that aren’t centered on your own problems can distract you and even help rebuild your sense of self-worth.

When we obsess over our own issues, we tend to narrow our focus to a tiny part of the universe. By engaging in hobbies, helping others, or immersing yourself in new projects, you expand your perspective and find a renewed sense of purpose and fulfillment. Think of it as mental stretching—include more of what feels good in your focus.

When you’re ready, try to see ghosting not as a reflection of your worth nor as an inherent trait of the person ghosting you, but rather as a reactive moment—a spasm—from someone grappling with their own unresolved issues. And know that this experience can lead to emotional growth if you use it to better understand yourself and your own wounds and triggers. This shift in perspective can help you release the hurt and begin to heal.

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About Marta Castella

Marta Castella is an accomplished linguist and educator with a Ph.D. in Formal Linguistics. She has dedicated her career to enhancing early education and promoting multilingualism, designing bilingual immersion programs and customized learning plans for young children, integrating mindfulness, cooking, gardening, and music. Marta's professional journey includes roles as a Natural Language Analyst, AI training and prompt design. When not immersed in research or teaching, Marta enjoys practicing sports and meditation.

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