The Silent Struggle: When Saying “No” Is Not That Simple

“The first step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance.” ~Nathaniel Branden

I vividly recall a morning when my son was just five years old. My husband wanted to leave the country we were living in again, this time to escape what he believed was the imminent collapse of society due to COVID.

After years of constant relocations, I had finally started to build a community of friends, my son was settled in school, and I was beginning to feel some sense of normalcy. But he couldn’t stand it. My growing independence seemed to threaten him, and I could sense his unease.

His anxiety about the constantly shifting COVID situation only seemed to intensify his need for control. Approaching me in the kitchen with an intense expression, he declared, “We need to leave the country now, before they close the borders for good,” his voice sharp and urgent. I knew that his desire to relocate us to a non-English-speaking country would not only deepen my isolation but also render me wholly dependent on him once more.

“No, I don’t want to move again,” I responded cautiously. My heart raced as I braced for his reaction. I had experienced this countless times before, moments where a simple “no” would set off a storm.

Sure enough, the guilt-tripping began immediately. “You care more about your friends than your own family,” he snarled, his words filled with contempt. “You’re just selfish, and you’re too scared to see the truth.” He knew exactly how to manipulate my emotions and to make me feel small.

For weeks, he harassed me about the move, following me around the house and bombarding me with articles on “government control.” Eventually, he involved our son in the manipulation. “Wouldn’t you love to move to a warmer country with lots of beaches?” he asked our child. “Tell Mummy how much you want to go.”

The High Cost of “No”

The cost of saying “no” was always too high. It wasn’t just the exhaustion of defending my decisions, but the way he would target my self-worth. He accused me of being weak and too scared to live a full life, and of harming our son by denying him the experiences he deemed essential for his development.

“If you don’t agree, I’ll take our son and go without you,” he threatened, leaving me feeling cornered. There was no room for compromise—only submission.

In these moments, my identity became tied to his criticisms, and I began to internalize the belief that my needs and desires were unworthy of consideration. My self-worth eroded with every encounter, and I started to question whether I deserved the stability and independence I longed for.

The Silent Battle of Coercive Control

At the time, I didn’t realize I was living in a situation defined by coercive control. This form of abuse is often subtle, insidious, and far-reaching, characterized by patterns of manipulation designed to strip away a victim’s autonomy and self-worth.

Coercive control doesn’t always manifest through physical violence, making it difficult for victims to recognize it as abuse. Instead, it erodes your personal freedom, your ability to make decisions, and ultimately, your sense of self.

Saying “no” in a coercive relationship feels like striking a match near gasoline. The abuser thrives on control, and when that control is threatened, they will go to any lengths to regain it. For me, that meant enduring relentless verbal abuse, where my husband attacked my intelligence, character, and mothering.

When insults didn’t work, he turned to emotional manipulation, saying things like, “I just want what’s best for our family. Why are you so against that?” When emotional appeals failed, he reminded me of his financial power, ensuring I was aware of my complete dependence on him.

I used to think if I could just explain my reasoning clearly enough, he would understand. But abusers don’t operate on logic or empathy—they operate on power and control. My refusal wasn’t just an inconvenience to him; it was a direct challenge to his authority.

When “No” Feels Impossible

What many don’t understand is that saying “no” to an abuser isn’t just difficult—it’s dangerous. While my husband never physically harmed me, the psychological torment was equally devastating. Saying “no” was never worth the emotional fallout—the days of walking on eggshells, the cold stares, and the endless nights of lectures designed to break me down.

As domestic abuse expert Evan Stark explains, “Coercive control is the perpetrator establishing in the mind of the victim the price of her resistance.” In my case, every “no” brought with it a whirlwind of accusations, guilt, and threats. His constant barrage of manipulation made defiance feel like an insurmountable risk, leading me to internalize the belief that my resistance would only result in greater harm.

Reclaiming My Power

It took me years to understand that saying “no” in a coercive relationship is never just about a single decision—it’s about power. Every time I caved, I surrendered a little more of my autonomy. But everything shifted when I faced the prospect of moving countries again. Something clicked. I began reaching out to friends and family—something I had been too afraid to do before. I started to recognize the patterns of abuse that had controlled my life.

The turning point came when I started seeing a therapist. She helped me untangle the manipulation I had been living under and see my situation for what it was. For the first time, I understood the depth of the emotional toll it was taking on me. It became increasingly clear that I couldn’t continue in an environment where my needs were consistently disregarded and my well-being compromised.

Ultimately, I made the decision to leave my abusive marriage. It wasn’t easy, but I realized that leaving was the only way to prioritize my safety and reclaim my life. The thought of remaining in a situation that perpetuated my isolation and dependence became unbearable, and I knew that reclaiming my freedom would start with that crucial decision.

Lessons for Those Still in the Fight

I remember the countless times I thought, “If I just avoid confrontation, things will be okay.” I often complied quietly, not because I agreed but because it felt safer to maintain the peace. But over time, I realized that this approach wasn’t just eroding my autonomy—it was eroding my self-worth. If you find yourself in a similar situation, know that taking small steps toward regaining your autonomy is possible.

Cultivating internal resilience is one of the first ways to begin. Even if saying “no” out loud feels too dangerous, you can start by protecting yourself emotionally. When my husband belittled me, I would mentally counter his words by affirming my worth, telling myself, “I know my value, and this isn’t true.” Over time, I began separating his harmful words from my inner truth and reclaiming my sense of self from within.

You might also consider setting small, manageable boundaries. Look for moments where you can say “no” to minor requests that are unlikely to provoke a major reaction. It doesn’t have to be about asserting yourself in every situation. Start with boundaries that feel comfortable and build from there. It’s not about winning every battle—it’s about taking back the power that’s been taken from you, one step at a time.

When It Becomes a Matter of Survival

The truth is, when saying “no” feels unsafe, it may be time to question whether staying in the relationship is truly an option. If asserting even the smallest boundaries leads to verbal attacks or threats, your emotional and psychological safety may be at risk. I know how easy it is to convince yourself that the abuse is manageable—that by avoiding certain triggers, you can keep the peace. But here’s what I learned: When you can’t safely say “no,” it’s not about conflict anymore—it’s about survival.

If you find yourself feeling increasingly anxious or afraid, it might be time to consider leaving. I know the decision to leave can feel overwhelming, but reclaiming your autonomy is vital to protecting your mental health. Sometimes, leaving isn’t an immediate, all-or-nothing decision—it’s a gradual process. Gathering resources, building a support network, and planning your exit carefully can be small but essential acts of self-care.

Ultimately, the journey to reclaim your freedom starts with recognizing your worth. The first step is acknowledging that you deserve more than a life lived in fear or doubt. For me, it wasn’t about trying to fix the relationship or hoping my husband would change. It was about prioritizing myself and my child.

You deserve to feel safe, valued, and loved—by yourself and by others. This realization may not come overnight, but accepting the reality of your situation, even when it’s painful, is the beginning of true freedom and self-worth.

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About Samara Knight

Samara Knight is a writer, researcher, and survivor advocating for awareness and freedom from coercive control and emotional abuse. Her personal experiences in a high-control group and a twelve-year coercive marriage fuels her work. With a BSc in Psychology and ongoing MSc studies in the Psychology of Coercive Control, she runs Shadows of Control, a website dedicated to sharing personal narratives and professional insights into coercive control. Find Samara on Twitter and Facebook.

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The Art of Being Flawed in a Perfectionist World

“Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection, we can catch excellence.” ~Vince Lombardi

Okay, let’s be real for a second. As I sit here trying to write this perfect essay about embracing imperfection, the irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve rewritten this opening paragraph about five times now. Old habits die hard, right?

Picture this: It’s 2:37 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. I’m pacing the lecture hall, watching my law students furiously scribbling away at their exam papers. Their furrowed brows and white-knuckle grips on their pens remind me of, well, me, not too long ago.

Flashback to my own law school days. There I was, the quintessential overachiever. Nose perpetually buried in a casebook, surviving on a diet of coffee and sheer determination. Perfect grades, perfect internships, perfect career trajectory—these weren’t just goals, they were my entire identity. The pressure I put on myself was so intense, I’m surprised my hair didn’t turn gray by graduation. (Spoiler alert: It’s starting to now, but I digress.)

Fast-forward to my transition from practicing law to teaching it. I thought I had it all figured out. Professor Kalyani Abhyankar, the flawless legal mind, here to shape the next generation of lawyers. Ha! If only I knew what I was in for.

It was during one particularly “memorable” lecture that my perfectionist facade began to crack. I had spent hours preparing what I thought was a flawless presentation on constitutional law. I was on fire, if I do say so myself, rattling off case citations like a human legal database. And then it happened. I mixed up two landmark cases.

The horror! The shame! In that moment, I swear I could hear the ghost of Justice Brandeis weeping. I stood there, frozen at the podium, waiting for the ground to swallow me whole.

But then something unexpected happened. A student raised her hand and asked, “Professor Abhyankar, are you okay?”

And just like that, the dam broke. All my insecurities came flooding out in front of my class. My fear of not being good enough, the crushing weight of always needing to be perfect, the anxiety that one mistake would unravel my entire career.

To my utter shock, instead of judgment, I was met with… understanding? Empathy, even? One of my students actually said, “Wow, Prof. We always thought you were this untouchable legal genius. But this… this makes you human. It’s kind of inspiring, actually.”

Inspiring? Me? The one having a meltdown in front of her class? But as I looked around the room, I saw nodding heads and relieved faces. It was as if by showing my own vulnerability, I had given them permission to be imperfect too.

This was the beginning of my messy, often frustrating, but ultimately liberating journey toward embracing imperfection. And let me tell you, it wasn’t a smooth ride.

At first, I tried to schedule “imperfection time” into my day. Yes, you read that right. I, Kalyani Abhyankar, recovering perfectionist, tried to perfect the art of being imperfect. The irony is not lost on me, I assure you.

There were setbacks galore. I’d resolve to be more laid-back in class, only to find myself obsessively color-coding my lecture notes at 2 AM. I’d promise myself I wouldn’t overthink my students’ questions, then spend hours agonizing over whether my off-the-cuff answer about tort law was comprehensive enough.

But slowly, oh so slowly, things began to shift. I started to pay attention to my classroom with new eyes. I noticed how the most engaging discussions often arose from questions I couldn’t answer right away. I saw how students learned more from working through mistakes than from memorizing perfect responses.

Here are some of the changes I stumbled my way through:

1. Practicing self-compassion

Instead of berating myself for every perceived failure, I tried to treat myself with the same kindness I’d offer a struggling student. This meant acknowledging my efforts, regardless of the outcome. And yes, sometimes it meant looking in the mirror and saying, “You’re doing okay, Kalyani,” even when I felt like a total impostor.

2. Setting realistic goals

Rather than aiming for an impossible standard of perfection, I learned to set challenging but achievable goals. This allowed me to celebrate progress and maintain motivation. Novel concept, right?

3. Embracing the learning process

I started to view mistakes—both mine and my students’—not as failures but as valuable teaching moments. Each setback became an opportunity to deepen understanding and foster critical thinking. Who knew that “I don’t know, let’s figure it out together” could be such powerful words in a classroom?

4. Cultivating a growth mindset

Instead of seeing legal aptitude as fixed, I began to emphasize to my students (and myself) the capacity to develop skills through effort and practice. This made us all more willing to tackle challenging legal problems, even if we didn’t always get it right the first time.

5. Letting go of comparison

I realized that constantly measuring myself against other professors or legal scholars was about as productive as trying to teach constitutional law to my cat. Instead, I focused on my unique strengths as an educator and mentor.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I still have days where my inner perfectionist rears its meticulously groomed head. I still occasionally find myself up at midnight, agonizing over a single word choice in my lecture notes. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and recovering perfectionists aren’t cured overnight.

But here’s the kicker: As I’ve learned to embrace my imperfections, I’ve actually become a better professor. Free from the paralysis of perfectionism, I’m more creative in my teaching methods, more willing to tackle controversial legal topics, and more open to feedback from students and colleagues.

My students seem to prefer this new, slightly messier version of Professor Abhyankar. They’re more engaged, more willing to take risks in their thinking, and—dare I say it—they seem to be having more fun. Who knew that constitutional law could actually be enjoyable?

To those still caught in the grip of perfectionism, whether in law school, legal practice, or any other field, I offer this hard-won wisdom: Your worth is not determined by flawless performance. There is profound strength in vulnerability, in admitting that you’re still learning and growing.

Embrace your imperfections. They’re not weaknesses to be hidden but unique aspects of who you are as a professional and human being. Let go of the exhausting chase for perfection and instead, chase growth and authenticity.

In doing so, you may find that you achieve things far greater than perfection—you achieve a life that is fully and beautifully lived. And if you happen to mix up a few Supreme Court cases along the way? Well, you’re in good company.

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About Kalyani Abhyankar

Kalyani Abhyankar is a professor of law and mindset coach, specializing in administrative law and consumer protection. She is passionate about helping others cultivate a limitless mindset and personal growth through her work on LinkedIn and beyond.

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How to Stop Living in Perpetual Guilt and Forgive Yourself

“I have learned that the person I have to ask for forgiveness from the most is myself. You must love yourself. You have to forgive yourself every day. Whenever you remember a shortcoming, a flaw, you have to tell yourself, ‘That’s just fine.’ You have to forgive yourself so much until you don’t even see those things anymore. Because that’s what love is like.” ~C. JoyBell C.

Have you ever wondered why, despite doing your best to heal and grow, you can’t seem to shake off the feeling of inadequacy and only see minimal results for all your efforts?

Maybe, like myself, you don’t know you live with a very subtle yet perpetual feeling of guilt.

The first time I became familiar with this chronic guilt was when I learned about self-awareness. At the beginning of my healing journey, I knew that to change anything, I must first be aware that it is there.

Although this sounds good in theory and might work when we look at it from a logical standpoint, often it doesn’t apply when we are in the arena, going through the imperfections of the healing process.

In his book Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself, Joe Dispenza explains how our bodies become addicted to certain chemicals we release based on the thoughts we think and the emotions we feel.

If you are used to feeling guilt, your mind will unconsciously look for it in everything you do, so the body gets the hit.

Going back to self-awareness, let me ask you this:

What do you do when you discover a pattern you want to change or a toxic habit you want to heal—for example, that you people-please? Do you reach for understanding and compassion or judge yourself, feeling like you “should” act differently?

Exactly.

It’s almost like we think if we are harsh enough with ourselves, we will do better next time, soldier up, and do it “right.” While in the process, we are crushing our souls, unconsciously sabotaging our healing, and feeling smaller each day.

As I dove deeper into exploring my guilt, sometimes the things I judged myself for blew my mind. I judged myself for how I felt, and once I observed it, I judged myself for judging myself for how I felt. Or I would use guilt to unconsciously validate the belief that I am not enough.

Even when I made healthy decisions, like distancing myself from people who weren’t good for me, I would judge myself for bailing out and not staying around and trying harder. There was always a reason to feel guilty.

It took me a long time to discover these patterns, and I still spot them today. It was and still is a part of my self-talk, although not as often as it used to be. However, while developing a more loving approach to my guilt, I realized that only a healthy dose of love, compassion, and understanding could heal me.

We may find it challenging to spot chronic guilt since its presence is very subtle. If guilting and judging ourselves is our way of life, we may think, “This is how I always feel. It’s normal.”

But it isn’t. We weren’t meant to swim in the waters of inadequacy or not-enoughness. If you think, “But what if I let the guilt go and relax, and then don’t feel the drive to do more, heal more, grow more?”

Although guilt may seem like a fuel that pushes us forward, from my experience, it keeps our healing at bay. It takes away the feeling of being alive, motivated, inspired, and courageous. It makes us shrink and brings uncertainty and self-doubt.

I remember a time when I started to have digestive issues right after I left my marriage and began the process of a divorce. The hardest things for me to overcome were the anger and guilt I felt for the things I’d allowed, although I wasn’t aware of this at that time. All I knew was that I was pissed. This, of course, made my digestive issues even worse.

During this time, I began learning more about the connection between my gut and my mental and emotional health and how my anxiety, sadness, and stress affect the health of my physical body.

One day, as I spoke to a friend on the phone, I broke down crying, knowing that I was responsible for how I physically felt.

After I calmed down, we sat in silence for a few moments after she said, “Maybe it’s time you forgive yourself for it.”

Her words immediately touched my heart, and I knew that I had to come back to the basics of my healing, which so often lay in forgiving myself. Since then, I’ve approached my digestive flare-ups and healing with an attitude of forgiveness. This has allowed me to ease into the moment and has helped me look at the whole situation with more love and understanding toward myself.

I’ve realized that living with the attitude of forgiveness isn’t a one-time event but a mindset. And from everything I understand about this sacred and soulful practice, these are four steps I always follow.

1. Get curious. 

When you observe a behavior about yourself that you don’t like or experience what I call a healing relapse (the time when you act in old, unhealthy ways), instead of immediately reaching for judgment, get curious.

Healing relapses are real, and they happen to all of us. You will take one step forward and two steps back. Eventually, it will be two steps forward and only one step back. At some point, you may move back to your old ways. You say yes when you want to say no and don’t reinforce your boundary, then feel a sense of resentment. It’s okay. Give yourself permission to be imperfect.

A simple affirmation I use to remind myself to live a judgment-free life is, “Although I see myself going back to judgment, people-pleasing, seeking validation, etc., I choose to stop here, stay away from judgment, and get curious instead. It’s okay to make mistakes as I heal.”

2. Ask yourself challenging but healing questions. 

When you notice judgment or guilt and get curious instead of resentful or judgmental, turn inward and try to understand. Explore deeper aspects of your self-talk and see where you are still choosing guilt over kindness and compassion.

Here are three common questions I ask myself:

“How can I better understand the part of me that I want to judge?”

“If receiving forgiveness is difficult for me, what wounds or pains do I need to attend to more to open my heart to healing?”

“How can I see this moment of judgment as an opportunity for growth? What can I learn from it?”

3. Use meditation as your self-forgiveness tool.  

Meditation has been my number one tool in healing my wounds. I’ve used it for self-forgiveness, inner child, self-love, and more.

A few years back, I was part of a weekly coaching group. Each month, we worked through different subjects, and at that time, the topic of the month was forgiveness. The person leading the group invited us to meditate together. I got comfortable in my seat and closed my eyes. We started with a series of breathing exercises to get grounded and relaxed. Then he asked us to repeat after him. The first thing he said was, “I forgive myself.”

The moment I mentally uttered these words, I broke down crying while feeling an immense release. It’s like a giant burden fell off my chest. This was my first practice of self-forgiveness, and it made me realize how much guilt and judgment I carried around on a constant basis.

Since then, using self-forgiveness meditation has become one of my favorite tools to work through my guilt.

4. Heal negative self-talk with self-compassion. 

As I mentioned earlier, living with the attitude of forgiveness is a way of life, not a one-time event.

At first, you may find yourself going back and forth between judgment and understanding. This is a part of the process, so don’t feel discouraged. Instead, every time you notice that you are judging yourself, pause. You can also say “pause” to yourself mentally or out loud. This will interrupt the thought pattern of judgment that’s taking place.

Then, attune to your negative self-talk and don’t resent it. You can use this compassionate statement, “I know you,” referring to your mind, “are here to protect me by offering thoughts that are known and familiar and feel safe. However, I choose to approach myself differently moving forward. I am worthy of compassion and forgiveness and choose to treat myself kindly.”

—

Healing from guilt isn’t a quick fix but rather a process of changing the core of the relationship you have with yourself.

Be patient while navigating this journey, and when you notice yourself going back to your old ways, just take a deep breath and declare with all your heart: I am worthy of a guilt-free life, and this time, I choose forgiveness.

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About Silvia Turonova

Silvia Turonova is a women’s mindset coach who leads women toward emotional healing while empowering them to live a life of wholeness, balance, and inner resilience. She loves writing and serving women through her blog. You can find out more about working with her and her 1-on-1 coaching program COACH Intensive here or get her free self-coaching worksheet here.

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I Had Enough: What’s Happened Since I Quit My Job

“Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away from the things that no longer serve your growth or well-being.” ~Unknown

I’ve always been a very independent person with an adventurous spirit, so no one was surprised when I moved away from my small town in Ontario, Canada, to become a nanny in Spain the second I graduated from high school.

It was a whole new world with ancient streets, delicious food, and friendly people. I knew that I had made the right choice to adventure away from the place where I was raised.

I’m someone who has itchy feet. It’s been difficult to stay in one place for any length of time. Over the last twelve years, I’ve lived all over the map, from Spain to Calgary, Alberta, and most recently in Vancouver, British Columbia.

The town where I grew up is known for its brutal winters, quiet neighborhoods, and having “not much to do” there. So naturally, I spent my twenties looking to live in any place that was as different as possible from that boring town where I was raised.

The first time I had visited the west coast, I thought: Why would anyone live anywhere else in this country besides here? The mountains, the ocean, the active lifestyle, the endless options for outdoor adventure… I fell in love with it and ended up spending almost a decade of my life as a West Coast girl.

During this time, I got a university degree and, shortly after, landed a job at a tech company, where I was earning a salary that I didn’t ever think would be possible for me.

At first, the job was a positive feature in my life: I learned all kinds of skills I hadn’t had the opportunity to develop before. I was given promotions and eventually was put in a position to lead a team, something I ended up really enjoying. But over time, I started to notice little things that made me question whether I was really happy.

I remember having a conversation with a close friend about a year and a half into the job, where I expressed strong discontentment for my work. My friend, the wise woman she is, immediately validated my concerns and gave her opinion that I should really quit this job.

I remember thinking, how shortsighted of her. Doesn’t she realize if I quit, I won’t be able to make this salary again? I have bills to pay and people on my team at work who need me.

Fast forward; another year flew by, and things only got worse. I was working ten-hour days consistently, and I developed stomach pain and started having migraines. My weekends were bogged down by thoughts of the mess I would return to on Monday morning.

My friends and family continued to call out how this job was not constructive for me and let me know that I wasn’t the same “light” person I used to be. My mother in particular did not like that I was no longer writing or doing anything creative anymore as a result of my energy being sucked away by this job.

After many nights of sleeplessness due to the nature of this massive decision, I finally decided to act. Now, in case anyone is reading this and is in a similar situation, I want to share just how difficult this decision was for me.

I wasn’t able to hear feedback from my family and friends and immediately quit my job. No, there were many months in the middle where I would flip-flop. I think leaving a job is the same as leaving a relationship—only you will know when you are truly ready.

Quitting this job was one of the most difficult things I’ve done in recent years. I had spent countless days and nights weighing the pros and cons of my decision, thinking about the team members involved. Who would I be putting in a tough situation? Would the company be able to replace me? Would I be upsetting team members, my boss, the CEO? Was I a failure for quitting? Did this burnout say something about my value as a worker, as a person?

When I finally turned in my resignation, I was stunned to learn that nobody really cared. I thought for sure I would hear from the folks I worked with after I left, but it has now been several months, and I have heard from no one.

In the middle of this decision-making process, I was in close contact with my mother. She is an amazing woman who lives on her own in a quaint, lovely house in the small Ontario town where we’re from. The town that I spent years dreaming about leaving. So, when she heard I was thinking of quitting my job and suggested I could move back home and live with her, naturally, I was offended she would even suggest the idea.

Move back in with my mom? What would everyone think of me? Thirty-one, jobless, and living at home?

But over time, to everyone’s surprise, especially my own, I started to warm up to the idea. Living alone in a big city, working a difficult job, and providing everything for myself for the last fourteen years was catching up to me. I was exhausted and lonely.

So, in March this year, I packed up my apartment in beautiful North Vancouver, fit what I could into my Toyota Corolla (including my border collie mix, Rex), and drove across the country, back to small town Ontario.

In a lot of ways, being back in my hometown is weird. There is definitely less to do here than in big Canadian cities. Instead of spending my weekends with friends, I usually spend them with my mom’s friends or my siblings. Instead of hiking epic, world-famous mountains, I walk in the trails along the street where we live. It is a quiet life, much different than what I’ve left behind.

But at thirty-one, after the last decade of independent living and the last few years of this difficult job, I welcome the quiet life with open arms.

I traded long days and late nights working remotely, feeling stressed and isolated, for sleep-in mornings with my dog and forest walks where I’m not checking my watch because I need to make sure I get back for a meeting at 1 p.m.

Now, instead of trying to find time in the day to eat a meal, I cook big dinners that I get to share with family and friends. I now get a hug from my mother every morning instead of only once a year at Christmas.

We’ve all heard the cliches about life being short, time with family being invaluable, money isn’t everything, etc.. But isn’t it true that cliches are cliches for a reason.

We know that days on this earth are not promised for any of us. I didn’t want to be thirty-one years old, working in a lonely apartment, giving my energy to a company that didn’t care about me for another ten years.

While the decision was difficult, especially in this economy, I will say it is amazing how many doors open when you free your mind from the mental gymnastics of a toxic job and the decision-making of whether you should leave it.

My life looks different now: I’ve started writing again (look, you’re reading one of my articles now), I’ve started a master’s program, and I’ve got plans to become a fitness instructor, something I’ve always wanted to do but haven’t had the time.

Of course there are unknowns in my life, and I don’t know if I will live in this small town forever. But for now, it’s given me invaluable time with my mother and family, a place to rest and recover from years of working a very stressful job, and a chance to start a few new projects that make me feel like “me” again.

If you are in a similar predicament, and if you are lucky enough to have some of the same privileges that I do, I recommend that you allow yourself a break. This doesn’t have to mean moving back in with your parents. It could also mean leaning on your partner for a while if that’s an option. Or utilizing savings for a bit, if you have any, to give yourself time to focus on what really matters and figure out what’s next.

Family, health, and happiness should always come before the corporate grind, society’s expectations of you, or any amount of money. I hope this serves as a reminder.

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About Rachel Laura White

Rachel White is a writer from a small town in Canada. She likes to make comics and write poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. She enjoys the simple things in life like meeting new dogs, a hot tea, and trips to the mountains. You can tag along on her adventures and keep up to date with future publications by following her on instagram @rach_4ever.

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How I’ve Found Relief from Panic Attacks

“Don’t assume I’m weak because I have panic attacks. You’ll never know the amount of strength it takes to face the world every day.” ~Unknown

I was just eighteen when it happened. Sitting in a crowded school assembly, my heart pounded, my chest felt constricted in a vice, and the air seemed to vanish from my lungs. As my surroundings closed in on me, my inner voice muttered, “I think you are dying.”

That was the day I experienced my first panic attack.

Terrified, I fled from the hall. “I need to see a doctor now,” I gasped tearfully to the school secretary. “Something is wrong! I can’t breathe properly!”

The secretary, recognizing what was happening, reassured me that what I was experiencing was a panic attack. Taking my hand in hers, she explained that it would soon pass.

Her guiding me through a few rounds of slow, deep breathing eased the panic. Drenched in sweat and drained from the experience, I called my mom to fetch me.

After that first terrifying experience, panic attacks became a regular, unwelcome presence in my life. I lived in constant fear, always on edge, dreading the next one.

The fear wasn’t just about the physical symptoms; it was also about the overwhelming sense of doom, the fear of collapsing in public, of losing control, or even dying.

Whenever panic struck, my immediate response was to escape, to flee from wherever I was. I would phone my mom or dad, hoping their voice would anchor me until the terror subsided.

This pattern cost me countless experiences. Movies, parties, shopping trips—anything that could trigger a panic attack—became something to avoid. My world shrank as the panic attacks took over my life.

Locked in Panic’s Cycle

Panic attacks can manifest in various ways. I have experienced them all. Multiple times. Racing heart, shortness of breath, chest pain, dizziness, sweating, tingling in my arms and legs, dizziness, nausea, stomach cramps, sweating or chills, or detachment from reality.

Even though I knew rationally that these were all panic symptoms, I sometimes found it hard to accept that nothing else was wrong. I know many people share this sentiment.

In the beginning, panic was a lonely experience for me, as I was ashamed to talk about it to friends. This meant quietly suffering. It was a dark place to be. I ached within and longed for this condition to disappear forever.

My once colorful world quickly morphed into a choking gray. Thankfully, in time, I chose to share my condition with others.

In doing so, I created a supportive lifeline. People whose gentle, caring aid helped me to navigate the panic attacks when they felt too overwhelming to manage alone.

Decoding the Trigger: The Nervous System’s Hidden Role

I sought the help of a psychologist who helped me to understand the panic attack cycle. I consumed books on panic to understand the condition that had turned my world upside down.

Panic attacks were foreign words to me when I first experienced them. However, I quickly learned how common they are.

Through therapy, I realized my panic attacks were not random or a sign of weakness; they were the result of a dysregulated nervous system. Through various life experiences, my body’s natural alarm system—designed to protect me from danger—had gone haywire.

My nervous system was stuck in a constant state of high alert, responding to threats that didn’t exist. This realization was a turning point in my journey.

With this new understanding, I began to change how I approached my panic attacks. Instead of fleeing or resisting, I started to face them head-on. I learned to breathe through the discomfort.

I had always been aware of the delicate interplay between mind and body and realized that my thoughts needed attention. My catastrophic thinking had become my nemesis, flooding my body with increased panic symptoms.

I worked hard at changing my thoughts, and, over time, the booming negative voice was replaced with a more reassuring, positive one.

Progress took time. Patience was an important lesson. I learned to be gentle with myself and to celebrate the small victories. When setbacks occurred, I encouraged myself to persevere.

Panic Tips for Immediate Relief

Grounding Techniques: I use the “5-4-3-2-1” technique when panic strikes. This entails naming five things I can see, four I can touch, three I can hear, two I can smell, and one I can taste. This is a powerful method, as it helps distract my mind from the panic symptoms.

Conscious Breathing Rounds: This technique involves breathing in for four counts through my nose, holding for four counts, and then breathing out through my mouth for four counts. I do several rounds of these. The positive effect this has on my nervous system is evident after this exercise.

Positive affirmations: Memorize a few positive affirmations to repeat to yourself during a panic attack. Affirmations such as “This is just a false alarm” or “I am safe, and these feelings will pass” are very useful. These gentle affirmations invite the nervous system to quieten.

From Fear to Freedom: A Bold New Journey

Today, panic attacks no longer rule my life. I’ve learned to manage and understand them. Their occurrence is far less frequent.

If you suffer from panic attacks, know this: With the right tools and mindset, you can also regain control of your life.

Find a caring therapist. Allow yourself to be vulnerable. You may temporarily require medication, in which case your therapist will guide you. Most importantly, do the internal work.

Today, unlike forty years ago, when my struggles first started, panic attacks are widely discussed. And with access to the Internet, information on the topic is merely a click away. I wish I’d had that luxury back then.

Facebook offers access to many free groups. Join an anxiety support group that resonates with you.

Connect with your tribe. A shared space of meaningful interaction and empathy offers hope and encouragement.

What could be more healing than the collective energy of your tribe cheering you on every day?

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About Elana

Elana, a dedicated BodyTalk practitioner and anxiety coach, inspires holistic wellbeing through her global practice and writing. Passionate about holistic living, she recently launched her blog, "Inspired Wellbeing," to motivate others to prioritize their wellbeing. Let Elana inspire you on your journey to a healthy, purposeful life! You can find her at bodytalkbalance.co.za and on Facebook here.

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How Gratitude and Mindfulness Gave Me My Life Back

“Train your mind and heart to see the good in everything. There is always something to be grateful for.” ~Unknown

I used to rush through life, constantly ticking off to-dos, feeling like I was always chasing something just beyond my reach. My days were a blur of deadlines, errands, and commitments. And yet, in the quiet moments—when I finally lay my head on the pillow at night—there was this heaviness, this emptiness I couldn’t shake.

I kept telling myself that once I finished the next big project, once I achieved the next goal, I’d feel better. But that “better” feeling never came.

Then one afternoon, something changed. I was sitting in my car after an exhausting day at work, staring blankly at the traffic in front of me. The world was loud and chaotic, and I felt disconnected from it all. I couldn’t even remember what I’d eaten for lunch or if I’d really been present during the meeting I’d spent hours preparing for. I was just… existing. Going through the motions.

It wasn’t a big event that shifted things for me. There was no grand revelation or life-altering moment. It was something as simple as the song playing on the radio. It was a song I’d heard countless times before, but in that moment, it hit differently.

The lyrics spoke about pausing, about breathing in life, about seeing the beauty in the ordinary. For the first time in what felt like forever, I noticed the warmth of the sunlight streaming through my car window. I noticed the steady rhythm of my breath and how it calmed the rising tide of anxiety in my chest.

It was as though my mind had cleared a little, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of what I’d been missing. That fleeting moment was my “ah ha” moment, the one where I realized I had been living my life on autopilot, never truly appreciating the present. I had been running, running so fast I forgot to feel the ground beneath my feet.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the start of a deep transformation for me. The next morning, I decided to try something different. Instead of reaching for my phone the second I woke up, I lay there in bed, just breathing, just being. I looked around my room, feeling the softness of the sheets and hearing the gentle hum of the world outside. It was a small shift, but it felt monumental.

Over time, I started practicing gratitude. I kept a small notebook by my bedside, and each night, I wrote down three things I was grateful for. At first, it felt like a forced exercise, like I was trying to convince myself to be positive. But slowly, the practice became more natural. I found myself appreciating the little things—the crispness of the morning air, the smile of a stranger, the sound of rain tapping against the window. These were moments I had once glossed over, but now they felt like treasures.

Mindfulness was the next piece of the puzzle. It wasn’t about meditating for hours or trying to reach some enlightened state. It was simply about being present. Whether I was walking, eating, or just sitting quietly, I learned to focus on the now instead of worrying about the past or the future. I started savoring my morning breakfast, not gulping it down as I rushed out the door. I noticed the colors of the sky, the shapes of the clouds, and the sensation of the cool breeze on my skin.

My relationships began to shift, too. I was more present with the people I loved, truly listening when they spoke instead of planning my response or getting distracted by my thoughts. I laughed more freely, connected more deeply, and most importantly, I started showing up for myself, fully and completely.

I kept returning to the realization that life was happening right in front of me, and I was missing it. As the weeks passed, my new habits of practicing gratitude and mindfulness began to weave themselves into the fabric of my daily routine. Each day felt a little lighter, a little more grounded, and I found myself noticing things I had taken for granted before.

I used to think gratitude was reserved for the big things: promotions, holidays, or achieving something significant. But as I began to explore the deeper meaning of it, I realized how wrong I had been.

Gratitude, I discovered, lives in the tiniest moments, in the details we often overlook. It’s in the way my morning drink warms my hands on a chilly day, in the way my cats greet me with excitement as though we’ve been apart for weeks, even though it’s only been a few hours.

One morning, after weeks of practicing this new mindset, I stood by my window and watched the sun slowly rise. I’d seen hundreds of sunrises in my lifetime, but that morning, it felt different. The sky was painted with shades of pink and gold, and the air was cool and crisp against my skin. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the moment settle into me. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly alive. Present. Connected.

That was when I realized something profound: gratitude isn’t just a practice. It’s a way of living. It’s a lens through which I now view the world. And through that lens, everything feels more vibrant, more meaningful. The more I gave thanks for the little things, the more little things there were to be thankful for. It was as though my life, which had once seemed dull and routine, was now sparkling with possibility.

One of the biggest shifts I noticed was how my perspective on challenges changed.

Life didn’t suddenly stop throwing difficulties my way. There were still tough days, stressful deadlines, and moments when things didn’t go as planned. But now, instead of getting swept up in frustration or self-pity, I found myself pausing, breathing, and asking, “What can I learn from this?” or “What is this teaching me?” It wasn’t always easy, but each time I reframed a problem, it felt like I was reclaiming a bit of my peace.

One particularly difficult day stands out. It was one of those mornings where everything seemed to go wrong from the start. My alarm didn’t go off, I spilled my water all over me on the way to work, and by lunchtime, I had already faced a series of minor disasters that left me feeling frazzled and defeated.

Old me would’ve spiraled into a cycle of frustration and negativity, but something stopped me in my tracks. I took a step back, quite literally. I walked outside, feeling the sun on my face, and I asked myself, “What can I be grateful for right now?”

At first, it felt forced. My mind resisted the question, but I persisted. I took a deep breath and let the fresh air fill my lungs. I looked around and noticed the vibrant green of the trees, the sound of birds singing, and the simple fact that I had made it through half the day. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. And in that moment, I felt my tension start to ease. I was reminded that no matter how hectic life gets, there’s always something to appreciate if I just take the time to notice.

This new mindset didn’t just affect my relationship with myself; it transformed the way I interacted with others. I became more patient, more understanding, and more present. I used to be quick to judge or assume the worst in situations, but now I find myself pausing and reflecting. I’ve learned that everyone has their own struggles, their own battles, and sometimes a little bit of kindness and empathy can go a long way. Gratitude has made me softer, more compassionate, and more open-hearted.

Mindfulness, too, became a constant companion. It’s funny how something as simple as paying attention can completely shift your experience.

I started noticing how often I was caught up in my thoughts, lost in worries about the future or regrets about the past. Mindfulness brought me back to the present, to the here and now. It helped me realize that the present moment is all we ever truly have, and it’s enough. More than enough, actually.

I started integrating mindfulness into everything I did. Washing dishes became a meditative act, feeling the warmth of the water and hearing the gentle clink of plates. Walking became an opportunity to notice the world around me, the feel of the ground beneath my feet and the sounds of life buzzing around me. Even mundane tasks, like folding laundry, turned into opportunities to be present, to engage fully with whatever I was doing.

One of the most beautiful things that came from this journey was a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in years. I used to think peace was something external, something I could only find once my circumstances were perfect. But now, I understand that peace is something I can cultivate within myself, no matter what’s going on around me. It’s in the moments when I choose to pause, to breathe, and to connect with the present. It’s in the gratitude I feel for simply being alive, for the opportunity to experience life in all its messiness and beauty.

Looking back, I can hardly recognize the person I used to be. That version of me was always chasing, always striving, always looking for happiness somewhere out there. But now I know better. Happiness isn’t something to be found. It’s something to be created, moment by moment, through gratitude and mindfulness.

And that’s the greatest gift I’ve given myself—the ability to be fully alive in my life, to embrace each day, not as something to be conquered or endured, but as a series of moments to be savored. It’s not always easy, and there are days when I fall back into old patterns, but now I have the tools to bring myself back and reconnect with what truly matters.

It hasn’t been a perfect journey. I still have days when I get swept up in the busyness of life, when I forget to pause, when I feel that familiar sense of overwhelm creeping in. But now, I have the tools to ground myself. I have gratitude. I have mindfulness. And I have the awareness that, no matter what’s going on around me, I can always find a moment of peace within.

Gratitude and mindfulness didn’t just change my life; they gave me my life back. And for that, I will always be grateful.

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About Danielle

Danielle has always believed that the key to happiness and success lies within us. Understanding yourself on a deeper level can provide invaluable insights, creating a safe and joyful space for you to thrive. This belief inspired her to create my blog, Humbled Pages along with her Digital Gratitude Journal that are not just tools for writing, but companions on your journey to self-discovery. She hopes you finally find you.

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Why Relationships and Service to Others Matter More Than Money

“Whatever possession we gain by our sword cannot be sure or lasting, but the love gained by kindness and moderation is certain and durable.” ~Alexander the Great

I remember when I was younger, my relatives on my mother’s side would visit our house almost weekly—not to check on us but to borrow money. We lived in a long house, with relatives and neighbors occupying different rooms, and since we were at the innermost part, they had to walk in to reach us. My parents were so accustomed to these visits that the moment they saw certain relatives, they knew what they wanted.

The conversations varied. Sometimes, my mother quietly gave them what they needed, but other times, there were heated arguments. I would hear shouts like, “You’ve changed ever since you married your husband!”—as if my mother was responsible for supporting them even though they had their own families.

My closest childhood friend was my niece, who was two years younger than me (my mother was born later than her first cousins, which explains the small age gap) and grew up in a wealthy family. We never fought, yet I remember sulking a few times because of hurtful remarks about money her relatives made to me.

I’ll never forget when her uncle said she shouldn’t be gullible around me, as I might ‘take advantage’ and try to get money from her. I was just twelve or thirteen at that time, when all I was concerned about was playing or studying. I did not understand the feeling back then, but the comment stung deeply.

It’s understandable that people who grew up in a rich family were protective of their wealth (as they should since they worked hard for it). But seeing relatives pointing guns at each other over money was shocking to me as a child.

I was young and neutral; however, I remember being asked by one side not to visit the other anymore, which I regret to this day. The latter side had always been supportive and loving, cheering me whenever I won awards, especially when I graduated as valedictorian in grade school. I never got to say goodbye to my uncle when he passed away; I deeply wished I was less ignorant of what was happening and stayed in touch.

These early experiences taught me how money can strain or even destroy relationships. Thankfully, my parents made sure I never felt we lacked for anything, and so our lives did not center around money. When I earned money from competitions or special awards, my mother let me decide what to do with it; I usually end up keeping it in my savings.

I grew up valuing simplicity, seeing money as a necessity for survival rather than the focus of my life. Even after working for seven years, I still get asked why I choose to commute or live simply when I have the means for more. I attribute it to knowing there are far more important things than money.

My Reflections about Money in Different Areas of Life

During the pandemic, when life slowed down and people were forced to reflect, I came across a course called The Science of Well-Being from Yale University. The course emphasized that, contrary to what we often believe, it’s not money, high-paying jobs, or material possessions that bring lasting happiness. Instead, science confirms it’s the simple things—social connections, kindness, gratitude, exercise, and sleep—that truly bring joy.

The course affirmed to me what is important and helped me further reflect on my life. Here are some of my thoughts and the questions I ask myself to stay grounded.

1. Relationships

Genuine relationships are not built on money but on shared experiences, both good and bad. While money might enable certain experiences like travel, the most meaningful bonds are often formed just by being present with one another.

For me, I prefer to keep a small circle of people I trust, knowing they will be there for me whether I have money or not.

2. Lifestyle

Lifestyle isn’t about the luxury brands you wear but about how you present yourself. Do you really need a Louis Vuitton bag when you could invest in things that bring more value to your life and fit them in a simpler, less expensive bag? Sometimes, flaunting wealth creates barriers, making others hesitate to connect with you.

As a commuter, I also value practicality—I wouldn’t want to risk losing something expensive just to show off.

3. Work

Work is necessary for survival, and we spend a large part of our lives doing it. But is it just about earning money, or should it also be about finding purpose and joy in what you do?

I have met many people who keep chasing higher salaries, but I wonder—when does the chase end? Once you reach your financial goal, will you still be happy if you’ve sacrificed your health, well-being, or peace of mind? No job is perfect. If there was a perfect job, everyone would be doing it.

4. Health

As cliché as it sounds, “Health is wealth.” Money can buy expensive food, but does that guarantee good health? It can buy medicine, but could your illness be linked to unhealthy habits that money enables, like indulgence in luxurious but unhealthy foods? Sometimes, the cheapest and simplest foods—like vegetables—are the healthiest. So, is it just about money?

5. Life/Purpose

Life is short. Do you think your purpose is to simply accumulate money for your own benefit?

I’m grateful to my parents for instilling in me the value of education—of constantly learning and striving for excellence, among anything else. I’m also thankful for an environment that showed me what not to focus on, and now I aim to use my blessings—whether through writing or my work in data—to help others.

When Alexander the Great, one of history’s greatest military generals, was on his deathbed, two of his dying wishes were to have his wealth displayed on the path to his grave to show that he couldn’t take any of it with him and to have his hands hang out of his coffin, signifying that he would leave this world empty-handed.

In the end, we only leave behind the marks we make on others. I hope you choose to touch at least one life with kindness and love rather than pursuing wealth alone.

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About Bea Lambitco

Bea Lambitco is a data consultant and risk manager with over seven years of experience in analytics and the finance industry. Known for her maturity and independence, she now strives to share her personal reflections and experiences to help others. Bea is passionate about data, learning, and enjoys hiking in her free time.

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Trauma Lies: Why Survivors Feel Like They’re Bad People

“Trauma is not the bad things that happen to you, but what happens inside you as a result of what happens to you.” ~Dr. Gabor Maté

I used to have this pervasive empty feeling inside. I tried filling it by eating, working, being a wife, making my life look great on socials—anything really to make it go away. I went to church, worked hard, and tried to be a good person, hoping the hole would fill and my life would feel whole and complete.

I went to therapy for the first time when I was sixteen years old. I remember telling my therapist about this black hole in the middle of my chest. It was bottomless and hot inside. I remember drawing it for my therapist, and one day we had a session where I went inside to see what was down there.

Strangely, I don’t remember the outcome of that session, but I do know that hole persisted for years. Well into my thirties. I would have seasons of time where I was more conscious of it than others, but nothing, no matter what I did or tried, would make it go away completely.

I went to school and became a therapist so I could learn all I could and help myself in ways others couldn’t help. Even with professional training, it still took a long time for me to sort out the bottomless pit that sat on my chest.

I realize now that the pit was composed of several different things, but the primary motivator behind its ever-presence was the fundamental belief that there was something wrong with me.

I believed everyone, in general, deserved to have a good life and good things, but I wasn’t so lucky. I didn’t really have a reason for why I believed this, just that this was my reality and I had to learn to live with it.

I didn’t believe that I deserved to have anything nice or good. My life was meant to be in service and sacrifice to others so they could advance and have a good life. Once I began to study trauma and its impact, I was finally able to put the pieces together for why I felt this way.

When we are kids, we don’t have any control over anything that is happening around us. We don’t get to say where we live, who we’re living with, where we go to school, or when we eat dinner. Nothing. The locus of control is completely outside of us.

We are at the mercy of the environment around us. For those of us who were not so lucky to be in an environment where we felt safe and secure and have our needs met, this presents a life-threatening problem.

We are mammals; we need connection for survival. It’s biological. When our safety and belonging are threatened, it feels like life or death because it is life or death. We need an attachment to our caretakers, our environment, and ourselves to survive.

Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to express emotion. If I was sad or angry, I had to pretend I wasn’t, or I would not be allowed to be in the presence of others in my home. I was abused by my cousins, and I had to keep it a secret so I wouldn’t upset the connections of the adults who were around me.

I was taught at church that if any boy was looking at me, touching me, or treating me badly, then I must be doing something to deserve it.

My world was completely out of my control, and I was drowning in helplessness, pain, sadness, and disconnection. This isn’t a tolerable emotional state to maintain. I couldn’t control any of it, and neither can any other child who is experiencing events that dysregulate their nervous system with no one and nothing available to help calm, soothe, and comfort.

We have only one choice in this instance. We shift the locus of control from outside of ourselves to inside of ourselves. We decide that we deserve bad things to happen.

There are many ways this plays out for people. Some people decide they are bad; they were born bad. Some people decide they just don’t deserve good things or to be treated kindly because there is something wrong with them. They, for whatever reason, are unlovable.

I fell more into the latter. I didn’t know what was wrong with me; I just knew something must be wrong with me, and that’s why so many bad things were happening to me and no one noticed or cared.

This resolved the conflict of feeling helpless and out of control. This allowed me to stay connected to my family in any way I could and removed the helplessness that left me feeling vulnerable and afraid.

We adopt the belief that bad things happen to bad people so we don’t have to be confused about why bad things are happening to us. It’s because we deserve it.

This is something we all do when we are young and in situations that are out of our control. We find a way to shift the narrative to make us in control. If we determine that we are bad, wrong, unlovable, weak, or in any way at fault, then the helplessness and weakness are resolved, and we can move forward creating connections and safety within our family systems and culture.

This sets in motion a paradigm, a core belief, that shapes all of our choices, interactions, assumptions, values, and practices for our whole life. This paradigm informs how we interact with the world moving forward. Buried inside the paradigm are deep feelings of grief, loneliness, shame, fear, and abandonment. These are intolerable feelings that are too overwhelming to keep in our conscious mind.

For me, I unconsciously dug a deep black hole in my soul and attempted to bury the insufferable feelings that had nowhere to go.

Trauma causes our minds and our bodies to split from each other. The lines of communication are severed or distorted in order for our stress response system to work effectively at keeping us alive.

If you experience a trauma but have the opportunity to process it and have people to help you recreate safety, then the connection between mind and body can be restored.

For those who experience trauma but don’t have the opportunity to re-establish connection and safety, the mind and body remain disconnected. With this persistent mind-body disconnection, the paradigm shift of internalizing that we are bad or deserve bad things gives us two choices moving forward.

One choice is to shut down all feelings and go numb to emotion. We live in our heads and work really hard to be perfect, good, lovable, pleasing, and acceptable. We become workaholics, overthinkers, perfectionists, and incapable of tolerating any mistakes we make.

We do this because we unconsciously want so badly to prove to ourselves and the world around us that we really are lovable and good people. We really are worthy of being loved and accepted. We love others well, struggle to set boundaries, and will do anything to be seen as acceptable.

I can relate very much to this response to the belief that there must be something really bad and wrong with me. I must have done something to deserve abuse and neglect. These weren’t conscious thoughts, just an internal shift I made as a child to resolve the unresolvable. This isn’t unique to me; every childhood trauma survivor I know has done this.

The other option we have is to stay connected more to our body than our mind. To emote and express all the sadness, anger, and rage inside. People with this response have big emotions. They are explosive, struggle with consistency, struggle to hold down a job, or have addictions. If you ask them why they are struggling, they will usually say, “I don’t know.” They really don’t know because they are in their bodies trying to express all the energy trapped inside, but their minds are checked out.

Some identify mostly with one archetype, and some relate to being both. This is more of a spectrum than a black-and-white response.

For me, I was numb 95% of the time and always in my head. If something did ever really get to me, then I would switch to big emotions and not think about what I was doing. I’d get blackout drunk, smoke a pack of cigarettes, buy $30 worth of candy and eat it all in a half-hour. My behavior would be extreme until I could get back to my head and shut it all down. Can you relate?

While neither response is good or bad, our society definitely rewards one response over the other. We praise the children who sit in the front of the class and act like “teachers’ pets.” We reward the workaholics and praise the overthinkers. This makes me really sad now that I am in recovery from being a pleaser.

My recovery took years longer than it should have because it took so long for me to figure out that all the things that people told me were good about me were not actually me at all. They were all an attempt to prove my worth, and as long as I stayed connected to being seen as good and acceptable, I was playing a role based in shame rather than being myself. I couldn’t see it because the role was reinforced everywhere I went.

There are some specific steps we need to take to set ourselves free.

The first is to accept and feel the deep pain of realizing we were innocent children who had no control over the uncontrollable things that were happening.

We didn’t cause it and didn’t deserve it. We were innocent children who deserved love, protection, and safety. There is no reason inside of us that we didn’t get that.

This is often hard to accept. For me, it felt like I was going to die when I began to allow the pain to surface. This is because at the time of the events, the pain was threatening my connection, which threatened my life. That isn’t true anymore, but my younger self holding all the pain inside didn’t realize that until I began to let myself feel it.

No one cries forever, and no one rages forever; it does eventually pass. It didn’t kill me, and it won’t kill you either, even though it feels like it might.

My favorite quote from Dr. Colin Ross, the founder of The Trauma Model Theory, is “Feeling your feelings won’t kill you; it’s your attempt to not feel them that will.” I have found this to be such a helpful reminder in recovery from trauma.

The second step is to allow ourselves to fully grieve.

Expand your tolerance level for being uncomfortable and sitting with uncomfortable emotions. Learn to feel all your feelings without activating your stress response and going into fight, flight, or freeze. Be present with them in mind and body.

This can take some significant work for those who have had complex trauma in their histories. It often requires the support of a professional in the beginning. What helped me most is grieving what didn’t happen as much as what did. The connection and support I didn’t receive. The protection that wasn’t given to me, etc. Grieve the life you thought you should have had but didn’t.

The third step is shifting the responsibility (not blame) to where it belongs.

If we stay in the mindset of blame, it keeps us stuck in victim mode. We are working now to be responsible for our lives and how we move forward.

I hold my cousins responsible for their behavior. I hold my family responsible for the support they were not able to provide. I don’t blame them, but I don’t let them off the hook either. I don’t need to know if they’ll “pay” for what they did or didn’t do. I shift the responsibility for their behavior on to them and am not really bothered with their consequences or lack of them. It doesn’t matter to me.

It took me a while to be able to say that. For so long I wanted them to get it. I wanted them to understand, take responsibility, or say they were sorry. Waiting for these things to happen keeps us stuck and tied to them. It doesn’t allow us to move forward and create the future for ourselves that we want and deserve.

I am no longer taking responsibility for their choices, and I don’t need to think about or see how their future plays out.

The fourth step is to take full responsibility for ourselves.

This was a difficult step for me. I wanted to blame my past for my inability to speak up, be bold, take action, or feel someone’s disappointment.

I can’t take responsibility for myself and create the life I want to live if I refuse to accept that my life is a series of choices I make from here forward. I am empowered now to decide who will be around me, what I do with my time, and how I show up.

I have shifted the paradigm from the belief that I’m unworthy to the belief that I am just as worthy as anyone else. I can tolerate people being disappointed in me, frustrated by my choices, not liking me, or anything else. I decide how I want to show up every day, and I am the only one who can create my life.

I have never thought of myself as a victim. In fact, I hated the concept, but I did have to accept that living in pleasing mode meant I was also acting like a victim, and that alone was my motivation for change. It was messy and took a while, but eventually I was able to build my strength and resilience to being comfortable getting to know and expressing my authentic self.

The fifth step is giving ourselves the tools, grace, and time to let all this play out.

Continue to get to know who you truly are; continue to feel and express difficult emotions as they come up without pushing them away or dramatizing them. And learn to hold more than one emotion at the same time.

I can now feel true, genuine love for my family while also being sad and disappointed by the way some things went down. For me, it wasn’t all bad or all good. It was both, and through healing I can genuinely feel and connect to both.

I have also had to grieve the loss of time. It took many years for me to recover from the black hole that drove my choices and decisions for most of my life. I sometimes wonder what could have been if I had been able to be my authentic self earlier. When these thoughts come, I grieve them, let them pass, and then go do something I love to do.

It doesn’t matter how old we are when we recognize the paradigm. It can shift, but we are the only ones who can shift it for ourselves.

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About Janice Holland

Janice Holland is a Certified Trauma Model Therapist who helps healers and professionals thrive without burnout through The Courageous Trauma Recovery Membership and her signature program, The Art of Healing Trauma. Follow her on Instagram @the.trauma.teacher.

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