20 Journaling Prompts to Help You Love Yourself

“Time spent in self-reflection is never wasted—it is an intimate date with yourself.” ~Paul TP Wong

I’ve found journaling is a polarizing activity. People love it or hate it. (If you are in the latter group, don’t worry, you’ll still get a lot out of this!) Personally, I’ve hit both ends of the spectrum at different points in my life.

I spent many years in a place of self-loathing. I truly believed I was just not blessed with being born a likable person. And this belief fueled decades of social anxiety, avoiding parties, coming up with lame excuses to leave early, and even being too anxious to call a customer service number to dispute a phone bill!

I didn’t have the tools at the time to dig into what was really going on inside my head. Like a lot of people, even though I knew the benefits and evidence of journaling, I had plenty of reasons why I never did.

I told myself I didn’t have the time, that I was too lazy, I was afraid of what I might uncover, and I just didn’t know where to start.

I didn’t understand what journaling really was.

Journaling is a self-awareness tool. It’s one of many tools you can use to uncover what you’re really thinking and feeling, or what you really want.

But you don’t necessarily have to write down the answers. Just like to get healthier, you don’t have to go to the gym three times per week. Sure, it can help get you in shape faster, but you can also park farther away, take the stairs more often, or do a few squats waiting for the microwave to beep.

There are different paths for different people.

So don’t fret if you think you need to dedicate an hour a day to writing down your deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings.

And if you want to do that, more power to you!!

Why Journaling Helps

Our swirls of strong emotions tend to consume us. They cloud our vision. They make us behave in ways not in tune with our values. And let’s face it, sometimes they just make us feel like crap.

Our emotions are the physical and energetic manifestation of our thoughts. They are how we physically experience the thoughts in our heads.

When the emotion is strong and so loud, it can be hard to hear what thoughts are really driving them. Journaling, especially with prompts, helps to clear through the strong emotions to dig up the stories we’re telling ourselves.

It helps take all the busyness out of our brains and put them on paper so we don’t have to keep getting exhausted managing the swirl. (Fun fact, thinking literally takes energy and burns calories!)

And very often, the thoughts that are causing us anxiety, stress, and depression, and leading us to be so hard on ourselves, are mulling around in our subconscious, just below the surface. When they are down there, there isn’t much we can do with them. We need to bring them to the surface in order to see them, question them, challenge them, or change them.

What Held Me Back the Most from Journaling

Honestly, the biggest reason I didn’t journal was because I didn’t feel like it. Writing felt like more work than I really wanted to put in.

The times that I did sit down and write were truly powerful and cathartic. By doing some digging, I was able to uncover the beliefs I held about myself that kept me feeling small. When I put them on paper, looked them in the face, and saw in black and white some of the things I was thinking, sometimes I couldn’t help but laugh.

But even still, the writing part turned me off most of the time. So I personally switched to doing “mental journaling” more often than not.

A few weeks ago, a former coworker of mine posted something on Facebook that was similar to something I’d posted. Our former boss (whom I respect very much) “liked” her post and not mine. I went spiraling down a hole thinking “does he like her more than me?”

By stopping and doing some mental journaling, I was able to realize that I thought I was less “worthy” than my coworker because he “liked” her post. Seriously, I laughed out loud.

I proceeded to remind myself that my worth is not determined by a Facebook like. But I couldn’t have gotten there if I didn’t stop and do the work.

If you don’t like writing, you can still gain so much from these prompts.

That’s what I want you to take away from this: You don’t have to write pen to paper or fingers to keyboard to benefit.

You can use these prompts to write, or you can use these prompts to think. Sure, you might get more out of it if you dump it all onto paper. But you don’t need to do it that way. Try just thinking about these prompts first if writing isn’t your bag.

Maybe someday you’ll start writing, but it doesn’t have to be today if you don’t want it to be.

Three Styles of Journaling Prompts to Help You Love Yourself

#1 Lists:

1. Three things you did right this week.

2. Two flaws you can forgive yourself for.

3. Five things you are good at.

4. Three times I was courageous.

5. Picture someone who you feel judged by and what you feel that person has judged about you. Then write down all the reasons that opinion of you is wrong.

6. What are two things you need to let go of? (Then picture how you will feel when you let go.)

7. What are five things your past self would love about your current self?

#2 Open ended questions and prompts:

8. Write yourself a permission slip to be imperfect.

9. Write down something you think you failed at, and what you learned from it.

10. Write down something your inner critic has said to you and ask, “What is the positive intent behind this?”

11. What is one thing you want to stop doing, and what is one thing you can do to take a step in that direction?

12. What is something you are procrastinating on, and how would you motivate yourself if you were a cheerleader?

13. What is one way you’re being mean to or unfair to yourself, and what would you say to motivate and support yourself with kindness instead?

14. What is a compliment you received and brushed off because you didn’t feel you deserved it? Now practice fully accepting and appreciating the compliment.

#3 Fill in the blank “Even though” statements:

15. Even though I feel ______, I choose to keep working toward feeling ______ by ______.

16. Even though (person’s name) was ______ to me, I choose to love and accept myself and can show it in action by ______.

17. Even though ______ seems hard or scary, I know I can do hard things. For example, I’ve ______.

18. Even though I don’t like ______ about myself, I appreciate how I ______.

19. Even though I have a hard time accepting ______, I choose to keep working toward acceptance by ______.

20. Even though I didn’t do ______ perfectly, I choose to learn and grow from the experience. I’ve learned that ______.

Self-inquiry can be challenging. But whether you put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard or spend some time deep in thought, the journey will bring you closer to the real you. It’s a journey to self-love which is so worth the ride.

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About Sandy Woznicki

Sandy is a former anxiety-riddled, insomniac stress-aholic turned coach. She helps career-driven women and working moms master their stress and anxiety, to motivate themselves with kindness instead of criticism, to face life’s challenges with Graceful Resilience, and to start truly enjoying life without all that unnecessary worry.  Her coaching and free resources like the Stress Detox Mini Course help women to take back control of their lives to live more fully and freely.

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Why Forgiving Is the Last Step in The Process and What Comes First

“True forgiveness comes when you realize there is something totally radiant inside you, that nobody could ever touch” ~Eckhart Tolle

I grew up in an emotionally abusive household.

My father was a man who diligently provided for us, but he left me with scars and shattered self-esteem.

My mother cooked me my favorite foods and let me sleep in her bed when I was scared, but she attacked my insecurities when I frustrated her. My friends played nasty pranks, but she wiped my tears as we both tried to survive my religious, cult-like school together.

As a kid, I didn’t have the tools and mental maturity to deal with these complicated emotions. Everything was black and white. I couldn’t understand that people were a big, beautiful, and sometimes toxic mess of gray. After a year-long depression, I discovered the Internet, and I wanted to start healing.

All the articles suggested forgiving, and I’m glad I ignored that specific piece of advice, because it’s much more complicated than that.

I decided to focus on healing instead, and a crazy spiral started. There were a lot of extremes, a lot of tears, and a lot of perfectionism. But there were also love and joy, friends, and moments of incredible peace.

Six years and one day later, I woke up and realized I didn’t obsess about my parents anymore. I could see them as people and forgive them for their cruel actions. I could set boundaries without getting subsumed by a tunnel of rage, and after a nasty fight, I could calm down and let go of any hard feelings.

How on earth did I manage this?

Accept the pain.

Trauma runs deep. There are lasting effects, and we’d be fools to not acknowledge them. Even mental health professionals admit that the goal of recovery isn’t to remove the side effects, but to live in the present without being completely overwhelmed by the past and future.

And for quite a lot of us, it hurts.

It hurts for the teenage girl who spent her high school years struggling with depression and eating disorders because her family criticized her weight.

It hurts for the boy who battled anxiety all his life, and his existing condition was only exacerbated by terrifying bullies and an unstable home environment.

It hurts for me, a girl who lost years of her childhood to anxiety and fear, and never felt safe around her father.

For a long time, I kept searching for a path where I could back-pedal. Hold up, let’s forget about the trauma and depression, can I just be a normal kid? Visit friends and insult their slime collection, and laugh about memes, and cry and fall in love? Can my diary be filled with boy-crushes and silly things, instead of obsessive questions begging me, why are you so lazy? Why are you so sad, and depressed, and ugly—

And that brings me to my next point.

Don’t get trapped in your abuser’s patterns, and don’t give your power to them.

At first, I tried to fix myself. I filled pages with goals among goals. Get slimmer thighs. Talk less. Stop forgetting stuff. Stop fidgeting. Stop being lazy. Stop being yourself. Stop. Stop. Stop.

I was a kid. Your entire world, your survival, depends on two very flawed human beings feeding and clothing and raising you. I thought that maybe if I were better, they’d treat me better.

But eventually, I stumbled upon an article about abuse. There was this checklist activity, and I checked off twenty bullet points. “Congrats! You’re a survivor…”

I’m not the problem, I thought, staring at the screen. They’re the problem.

So, I went down a new road. Instead of trying to fix me, I tried to fix them , and when I inevitably failed, I was angry about the awful way they treated me

My parents used this rage as another bullet in their gun.

“Have you ever seen such a rude child?” “F*cking insane” “I’m just trying to speak nicely, stop yelling!”

And they kept shooting at my heart, every time I said stop.

“Stop commenting about my ugly skin and my weight. Stop saying I’m a failure, that I’ll never succeed in life. Stop rolling your eyes at me every time I make a mistake, or I forget something.”

Stop, stop, stop.

But they wouldn’t stop. Trying to fix them was worse than trying to fix me. Why? Because you can’t find closure from other people. You can’t control their actions.

After the hundredth argument, I was sitting next to my bed. And then it hit me. They would never look me in the eyes and say, “I’m sorry, I’ll try to change.” Every time I tried to talk about my vulnerabilities, they would rip the wounds open and rub salt and lime into the blood. I would never get the closure I needed from them.

I sat there for a long time. The tears dried on my face. And then I opened my journal, and wrote, “Dear Diary, I’m so tired…”

Love yourself during the journey.

I kept postponing my happiness. I kept waiting for two flawed people, who mentally, emotionally, and sometimes physically abused me, to change so I could finally move on. As a result, I never really tried to heal by myself.

When I opened that journal, I still operated from the belief “I wasn’t good enough” and I needed to be “better.”

I tried to have the perfect body. I was terrified to eat carbs and treat myself to a nice meal. I tried to be the perfect artist. At one point I loathed all the writing I’d ever made and threw away entire notebooks.

It took me a long time to realize, there is no “better.” Are there milestones and visible signs of growth? Absolutely. For as long as I’m a human, I’ll struggle. So, I better start loving the imperfect soul I was given or die in the pursuit of “better.”

This is why I encourage you to start taking care of yourself. Take the pressure of perfection off your shoulders.

As an abuse victim, I tried to smash myself into a shape without insecurities so I’d never feel sadness, never cry while sitting on the ceramic toilet ever again.

The journey is long. I’m still walking it. But every day, there are small opportunities to practice self-love and give yourself rest.

These days, when I make a mistake, I still berate myself, but there’s a new voice, saying, “Don’t call yourself an idiot.”

It tells me to go outside and get some fresh air when my brain’s being overloaded by my parents’ screaming voices and the TV fuzz. It tells me, “Things are going to be okay” when I’m recovering from a panic attack. It gives me strength when I want to do nothing more than give up.

There are loads of ways to build a compassionate inner voice. Journaling, saying kind words to yourself in the mirror, complimenting your work before you attack it for its flaws. It’ll take time. It did for me. But slowly, the critical editor quieted, and I felt better about myself.

Find an identity outside of your pain.

This is intricately linked to healing. When I forgave my parents, I hadn’t made the conscious choice to forgive. I had made the conscious choice to heal.

I wrote short stories, painted my first portrait and just delighted in mixing the colors, and I read blogs and books and laughed. Every day, I woke up and just tried. Sometimes I failed and fell into my spiteful patterns. And other times, I succeeded, and caught the cruel thought in my head, and dismissed it.

I fed stray cats in my neighborhood. I watched Good Omens and read more Terry Prachett books. I took walks and I improved myself, not from a place of inadequacy, but from a place of kindness and self-love.

I journaled these experiences, and as I read my previous entries, I realized three things.

1. I’m not just a survivor.
2. I’m an artist, a sister, a writer. I’m the girl who plucks dandelions from the grass near the lake and throws shells into the water. I’m the person who keeps my cat from eating plastic wrappers, and who helps my brother with his homework and comforts him when he’s crying. I’m the person who doodles millions of feathers, and faces, and earrings in the margins of her history homework.
3. The abuse has affected me. It is a part of my life. It bleeds into my work and the themes I communicate.

My talents and intelligence, they weren’t diminished by the mental abuse. I’m still a radiant person worthy of love and appreciation. These should be obvious concepts, but recognizing these things lifted a load off my shoulders—a load of resentment. And it comforted the deep fear I was never going to be healed. That I was always going to be a little broken, a little empty.

But when I wrote down all of these experiences, I realized there were vast expanses of my soul my parents could never taint. There’s still pain. I think there’s always going to be pain; it’s a simple fact of life. But now I can comfort myself. I can feel those emotions and move on, without attaching the label “broken.”

Forgive because you need the space.

There are still scars. There are always going to be scars. There are always going to be hard emotions and terrible situations, because life is a series of peaks and valleys.

I forgave them because I didn’t want to keep lugging them around, like a suitcase of rotting garbage. But it was the last step of a long, long process, where I repeatedly had to revisit my trauma, accept hard lessons, and integrate them into my sense of self.

If I had tried to forgive right from the beginning, it would’ve been a stupid move. I would have constantly justified their sh*ity behavior, since “everyone has flaws, you should forgive and forget so you can maintain a relationship.” And I would’ve never discovered the power of my grief and my rage.

If I had tried to forgive them during the middle, it would’ve been a false emotion. I would’ve clogged my headspace with my abusers, trying to forgive them for the horrendous things they’d done to me, when I should’ve been devoting that energy to healing.

Right now, after I did the hard work of healing and gaining distance from my pain, I can forgive them. And when I say I forgive them, I mean I no longer obsess over them. I do get angry. But it’s me setting boundaries and protecting myself instead of my wounded soul lashing out. I may cry during a particularly bad attack of self-doubt, but I no longer waste energy trying to blame them.

Sometimes, I want to hate them uncontrollably again. My father robbed me of my self-confidence, when he should’ve been building me up. I have this subtle, resigned voice that’s convinced I’ll never amount to anything, and it’s a permanent part of my psyche.

But forgiveness has opened so much space. Space to process anxiety and tears. Space to fill with love and memories of friends. Space to just exist. And going back to my old ways, where I tried to get them to change, get them to realize how much they hurt me, it feels like putting a noose back on my neck.

So that’s how I forgave. By healing. By loving myself. By learning how to handle my hard emotions and finding an identity outside my pain.

Don’t rush yourself to forgive. Society says it’s the right thing to do, be the bigger person. But let me tell you that’s bullsh*t. If you’re just out of an abusive relationship, your version of forgiveness might be constantly excusing their toxic behavior and sacrificing your needs. Heal first. Make art, take baby steps to build healthy relationships, and above all, give yourself time.

And when it’s the right time, forgiveness will come.

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About LaBrava Antonia

LaBrava Altonia lives in the crazy state of Florida with her crazy calico cat. She writes every day, hoping to find truth through her stories. She's still not quite sure how her life is going to pan out, but she can finally let go and trust that the universe will put her on the right path.

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How We Can Let People Go When a Relationship Runs Its Course

“Sometimes it takes relationships that don’t last forever to teach us lessons that will.” ~Unknown

I recently had to let go of a friendship I had been in for almost eight years.

In the first few years of knowing each other, we had magnetic pulls. Each time we would arrange to hang out, it was as if time stood still. We talked and shared so much of each other that sometimes five whole hours would pass by as if it had been only minutes.

We texted each other, sent long emails, and would arrange coffee dates when our lives weren’t so hectic. I looked forward to our exchanges because I always felt uplifted when I left. I would walk away with a new inner growth feeling, and I’m sure she felt the same.

When our friendship ended, I had to look deep into how we came together. How we became friends was vital because I realized people form bonds over certain aspects of their lives. Those people we gravitate toward are also a reflection of ourselves. We usually have similar habits, patterns, and interests. We wouldn’t be drawn to one another if we didn’t experience similarities.

I met this particular friend of mine in a healing community. I was in massage therapy school, and I was looking for people interested in being my case study for six weeks. I signed her up and saw her for weekly sessions.

We bonded over our desire to heal ourselves—both on an outer level, sharing what type of diet cleanses we were experimenting with, and on an inner level, sharing mutual healers and spiritual teachers.

As we both made personal and spiritual growth progress, we would encourage each other along the way.

The years passed by, and I started to notice that it was becoming infrequent for us to meet face to face. We became more of a support for each other through just texting. Even the emails dropped off. We lived twenty minutes from each other, yet we struggled to find time to see each other, and when we did, it was usually from my invite.

I soon noticed more and more distance between us, especially as I entered into a deep space of inner healing. The more inner work I did on myself, the more I could clearly see the aspects of the current relationships in my life. People started to fall away.

I discovered that as I found my inner strength and the ability to be true to myself, the people with whom I had codependent relationships were no longer interested in what I had to offer.

My creative gifts were opening up, and I was sharing them. I found this specific friend unable to offer support for my newly found ventures, and she shared critical remarks of what I was doing. She would speak words of upliftment for herself, comparing what she had done to what I was currently doing.

This behavior of hers was the last red flag I needed from that friendship. I had seen plenty over the last year and a half, so we simply stopped communicating. I’m certain she could sense the falling away of our connection, too. We just really had nothing else in common anymore.

This experience had me pondering why these endings occur. I wanted to explore the deeper meaning of how people come together and how they fall apart.

I can guarantee that if you’re human, you’ve encountered these kinds of break-ups. They can be sad and painful, especially if we try to cling to them. In my case, I was fully ready to release the friendship. I saw the writing on the wall early on. More than likely, we could have ended it a lot sooner than we did.

How We Bond

When we create friendships or romantic relationships, we typically bond over specific aspects of ourselves or our lives. Sometimes those bonds are not formed from a healthy space, yet sometimes they are.

When we feel a magnetic pull to another person, that energy exchange makes us want to be in their presence more and more. And the more time we are together, the more we see commonalities in our lives and our personalities. We truly become a reflection for one another, both in positive and negative traits.

Usually, in this grand magnetic charge between two people, we learn lessons from each other to help us grow. Some people say this attraction between two people is there because we have made soul contracts. Sometimes those contracts are short, and other times, they can be lifelong. Looking at it from that perspective can help lessen the pain if a relationship or friendship comes to an end.

Why the Bond Breaks

This last year, I found myself in the endings of two soul contracts. One, with my friend I mentioned, and the other was a boyfriend, now an ex. The deep inner work I chose to do is what caused these bonds to fall away.

I had to look at how we reflected each other and had to look at what we bonded over.

In the case of my boyfriend, we bonded over the pain of both being divorcees. We bonded over the ways we both felt unsupported and unheard by our spouses. But we also bonded over many similar personality traits. We were complete reflections of each other. We mirrored our wants and needs to nurture a partner, our codependent behavior, and our deeply ingrained manipulations patterns.

When I finally decided that I needed to change my life, that didn’t work for him. I was ready to let go of all the dysfunction I had been living with, and he was not. I realized we had bonded over extreme dysfunction.

In the case of my friend, we bonded over personal and spiritual growth. It was a normal, healthy bond. But in hindsight, I can see personality traits we mirrored for one another. We both had issues with speaking up and finding our voices. We both had distrust in sharing ourselves and our gifts with the world. We both had a solid need to be validated by others.

During my intense year of inner growth, I began to share my creative gifts with others. In doing so, I found I was able to support others to do the same. I no longer needed validation, and I no longer compared what I was doing to what others were doing. I celebrated other people having the courage to share themselves with the world because I was doing the same. The fear that was once there was completely gone.

Because she had not reached this place for herself yet, she was unable to support me. We were no longer mirrors for one another. We no longer bonded over our inability to speak our Truth.

Letting Go

In reaching a place of acceptance and peace over the loss of these two people, I had to see and feel the lessons they taught me. They showed me aspects of myself for a long, long time. And in that seeing, I was able to find within myself why I carried those around and how they served me. Once I saw the patterns for what they were, I let them go.

Once the patterns were gone, the connections I had with these two people started to unravel. There wasn’t much left. The strong attractions and energy exchanges were gone.

To say I have gratitude for these two souls is an understatement. They were both profound teachers for me. I loved them both, and I wholeheartedly believe we made soul contracts. I continue to love and honor these people, but from a distance. I no longer have to carry the weight of these bonds, and there is immense freedom in that.

How You Can Move On

If you find you are stuck in a place of not letting go of someone, or you are holding onto anger, pain, and sadness over a relationship ending, I encourage you to try the following.

1. Write down and reflect on what you first bonded over. Don’t skip over this step. You will either see that what you bonded over is no longer serving you, or it was no longer serving the other person.

2. Write down and reflect on the similar behavior patterns and personality traits you had in common with this person. List both the good and the bad, no matter how painful it appears. Be honest with yourself. In doing this, again, you will see that these patterns are either no longer serving you or the other person.

3. Write down and reflect on what this person showed and taught you. Even if it was a painful experience, how did they help you to grow? What were you able to walk away with that gave you new insight or meaning into your life?

As Ram Dass says, “We are all just walking each other home.” His words play out in our daily lives and human connections. The less we cling to endings, the more room we make for new possibilities.

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About Raquel Bravo

Raquel Bravo is a writer and an artist. She is the founder of the blog Stillness Within. Raquel is a writer, a licensed respiratory therapist, and a massage therapist. Her hope is to inspire others to look deeper into themselves to reveal who they truly are. You can follow her on Instagram here.

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Choosing Now to Be Happy: Why the Conditions Are Never Perfect

“Do you have the patience to wait until your mud settles, and the water is clear? Can you remain unmoving until the right action arises by itself?” ~Lao Tzu

I don’t know why, and I don’t know when it exactly begins, but somehow, we are socialized to believe that happiness depends on the stars aligning, and we subscribe to the notion of a happily-ever-after, whereupon life is supposed to be smooth sailing.

It sounds ridiculous just saying it out loud, but yes, we do this. I’m guilty.

If we could only get into this school, have that job, find a partner, have a family, own a house, get a better car, have a different body. It’s usually something beyond our reach—that over there. That’s what we need. That’s what we think would make us happy. Always that, never this. And once we get that, it turns into this, and this is okay for a while, but eventually it isn’t good enough, and we are back to searching for the next shiny thing we are sure will make us happy.

The problem is we have an insatiable appetite for more. Our desires exponentially multiply, and we become blind to what is right in front of us. We are caught in a cycle of suffering, chasing our tails trying to catch an elusive happiness.

I remember being in a new relationship, thinking if only I could be married with children, then I would know the happiness I had dreamt about since girlhood. My longing could be cured with an engagement ring and the happily-ever-after many of my peers were already having.

In marriage and three children later, I still had an empty feeling lingering inside of me. There was a kernel of desire that swelled with each longing, searching for something more.

Maybe a nicer car or a fancier home would have filled the void and made me happier. I had a laundry list of things I was sure my husband needed to change about himself, which would surely make me happier. There were personal goals to achieve beyond my domestic life. Weight to lose. Always something more. If I could only buy those things, reach those milestones, make those changes, I would finally be happy.

Then, when my husband unexpectedly died and left me a young widow with small children, I longed for the banality of my married life. I would take it back without hesitation and never complain again, even the silly marital squabbles and socks on the floor. I wanted that, not this.

In the middle of a pandemic, now a single mom with school-age children and social distancing cutting me off from society, I longed for those other years, even the ones where I was a sad widow who was terribly self-conscious about the life I didn’t choose. At least I could be sad in a gym, or eating in a restaurant, traveling around the world. Now I was stuck at home and lonely. If only I had those pre-pandemic days back, then I could be happy.

Epicurus said, “Remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.” 

Admittedly, I’ve spent my fair share of time dwelling on what I don’t have. I’ve pined for many things and ignored the dreams that already came true for me.

I’ve had some good reasons to feel wronged by the universe and to feel robbed of my happily-ever-after. Yet none of that time spent complaining and being angry ever made me happier.

This is exactly why our happiness should not be conditional. It is impossible to fulfill every desire at every moment. We can not eliminate human suffering, and circumstances are often not within our control. Life happens. If we wait until the conditions are perfect to be happy, we waste precious, limited time.

On the rare occasion that the stars do perfectly align, the moment will be ephemeral. Life is a shape-shifting, formless experience in a constant state of flow. It is never the same.

Greek philosopher Herclitus said, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”

I wholeheartedly agree. I am not the same person I was fresh out of college. I’m not the same woman my late husband married. I’m not the same widow I was five years ago, and I’m not the same person I was before this global pandemic.

I remember an aunt telling me that she made it her practice to never spend the work week counting the days until Friday. She didn’t want to get caught up with the negativity of constantly watching the clock, living for the weekend while suffering through her job on weekdays.

“One day I’ll be retired and closer to death, and I’ll want to go back to the days when I could work and still had my youth,” she explained.

I never forgot that.

One day this is all going to be over.

I try to make a conscious effort to be present on my journey, for the good and the bad. It’s easy to identify what we don’t have, but it is transformative to redirect our focus toward what brings us joy, finding the bits of happiness on any given day, no matter our circumstances. Gratitude is embracing happiness in spite of our suffering.

When life is dumping on you, I know it feels like your pain will be eternal. It can feel hopeless. All of the cliche advice in the world doesn’t help.

When my husband died, I thought I’d be broken forever. I was overwhelmed, numb with grief, and consumed with anger at the unfairness of my situation. It did not go away in a month, a year, or even a few years. I’m five years away from those darkest days, and sometimes I still feel stung by my broken dreams.

Yet, I have also had so much good happen in my life since that fateful day. There have been innumerable reasons to smile and enjoy life. When I look back on the past five years, I see myself continuously growing into a better version of who I was. I can be sad about my loss, and also incredibly thankful for my gains.

My grief helped me understand that the intensity of any feeling does not last. Just as happiness does not continue forever, your suffering won’t either.

If you don’t believe me, look no further than every historical event in history. World Wars. Economic depressions. Celebrity mishaps that were once fodder for the media, no longer talked about.

Trying to conceptualize tomorrow during your struggles can feel impossible. We tire ourselves out swimming against riptides. I think in these moments, it is important to give yourself permission to float. The currents won’t always be pushing you in the wrong way. For your own self-preservation, take a deep breath and let yourself float, knowing it won’t last and you’ll find your way again.

Likewise, when you are fortunate enough to have good times, you should float in those moments too. You should remember that the good times are also fleeting. We have a tendency to want to race off to the next great thing. Enjoy what you have deeply, even the most ordinary moments, because you really don’t know how much they will matter to you in the future.

When I think about my late husband, I remember the little things. How he used to make me coffee in the mornings. The way he called from the grocery store ten thousand times, asking where he could find items on the shopping list like cumin and flaxseeds, driving me absolutely nuts. Years later, those memories are endearing. I wish I could go back and tell myself to relax. I wish he could call and ask me another stupid question.

I wonder if it would be easier to cope with suffering if we were socially conditioned to embrace impermanence at a young age—if we were trained to understand it like we are taught to know the invisible force of gravity. Maybe it would have softened the rough edges of being human.

Today, I try to talk to myself as if I were the younger version of me. I tell myself things like, “This won’t last forever,” “You’ll get through this,” “This too shall pass,” and “You’re strong!”

When life feels insurmountable, I try to focus on microsteps. I tell myself the things I might say to a child.

I ask myself: what is the next right step for today?

On a beautiful, sunny day.

During a storm.

No matter what the conditions are, because the conditions are mine. Each day. This is what I have to work with, this is my journey. Now or never.

It was never supposed to be perfect. If I am committed to maximizing the quality of my life, then I have to keep putting one foot in front of the other. So what is that next tiny step?

Melody Beattie said, “Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.”

I remember having a realization after my husband passed away. I had always wanted to be a mother, and I became a mother. But I never thought I would be a single mother—I didn’t ask for that version of motherhood. I felt ashamed of being a single mother.

I wallowed in a lot of self-pity during those first few years of widowhood, agonizing over my circumstances. Meanwhile, my children kept growing. They were my dreams come true. I had them right in front of me, yet if I spent my days focused on what I had lost, I would lose my chance to enjoy their childhoods. One day they would be grown, and I would be full of regret.

That’s when I started to embrace it all. The parts I chose, and the ones I didn’t choose. All of it was mine to make meaning out of, to find the joy in, and to be grateful for.

I think it is important to feel everything—good and bad. It is all a part of your journey. Identify your feelings, but do not get attached to that reality. Circumstances will change. How we feel today is not necessarily how we will feel tomorrow. For me, understanding this was half the battle to cope with personal challenges.

Mooji said, “Feelings are just visitors, let them come and go.”

Sometimes a deep breath, a stubborn refusal to give up, and the realization that you have survived 100 percent of your previous challenges is enough to get us through a difficult time.

“Life is a tide; float on it. Go down with it and go up with it, but be detached. Then it is not difficult.” – Prem Rawat

This is it..

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About Teresa Shimogawa

Teresa Shimogawa is a human being trying to do good things in the world. She is a teacher, storyteller, and currently studying to be a Shin Buddhist minister’s assistant. She writes at www.houseofteresa.com.

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The Hurting Strangers We Pass Every Day and How to Help Ease Their Pain

Trigger warning: This post deals with an account of suicide and euthanasia.

“Kindness can be its own motive. We are made kind by being kind.” ~Eric Hoffer

The first time I sat with a person contemplating suicide, I had no idea until it was too late.

I think about her often. She was a stranger. She was alone.

She called the emergency animal hospital where I worked in Colorado wondering if our doctors would be able to put her little dog “Rabbit” to sleep if she could not find a home for him.

You see, Rabbit was seven years old, looked like a little white westie mix, and had two heart conditions for which he needed medication.

The woman told me she was being forced into a nursing home. She was at least seventy years old, walked with a walker, and told me she lived with multiple illnesses and obstacles. When she moved into the nursing home, she would not be able to take Rabbit with her, she and found that the shelters she talked to would euthanize him because he was “unadoptable.”

The woman told me she would keep trying to look, but that if she could not find him a home, she would come into the hospital in a few days to be with Rabbit as he died.

A few days passed and I was sitting at the front desk, normally a chaotic and intense place in an emergency vet clinic, but today there was a calm. It was a Sunday.

The woman walked in on her walker and asked for me specifically since we had spoken on the phone. We walked slowly to a visitor’s room to wait for the doctor. The visitor’s rooms were only slightly less sterile than the exam room with light blues on the wall and fake flowers on the table, and tissues, lots of tissues.

The woman sat across from me on a plastic-like couch and spoke of her sweet companion, dear Rabbit, and the love he provided every day for her when no one else was there.

You see, she was very much alone in the world. She told me there was no one to help her and no one to confide in, and to love. Rabbit had kept a true warmth in her fading heart for seven years while the busy world spun around her.

She spoke of grief and loss and the heaviness of this densest pain, and the dragging anchor that is carried on with the living. She spoke of sadness and the marks it leaves on the aging body, the loss of independence with her physical body, and the crushing weight of the void where the connection was supposed to exist.

She said all of this while Rabbit was curled up in her lap, her hand methodically stroking his soft belly. He looked perfectly at peace with her.

I sat with her for nearly forty-five minutes, an unheard-of amount of time for someone in my position to spend with a client. We were always rushing from one emergency to the next.

I could not move my body from that room, though. I listened intently as my heart spasmed empathically. I did not attempt to advise or commiserate, as somehow, I knew that I was present simply to be a small vessel for her thoughts and pain.

A voice in my head told me to adopt Rabbit so he could live, but I couldn’t. At that time, I couldn’t even take care of my own dog. The hospital made an attempt to find Rabbit a new home, but this failed, and so the ER doctor finally came in.

As I gathered myself to let them have a few moments together, I still had to ask her, “How would you like to pay?” (for your dog’s death).

“Cash. I do not want a receipt and don’t send a bereavement card.”

Bereavement cards were a normal part of working in the animal hospital. There was death all around us.

Her directness startled me after our long, soulful conversation.

“Okay, that is no problem.”

A short while later she walked out of the visitor’s room dry-eyed. Rabbit was gone.

She gave me the $95, exact change, and walked toward the door. I went to open it for her and could only mumble a soft “I’m so sorry.”

I finished my shift quietly. If you looked closely at me, you might have seen me trembling, trying to keep the tears hidden behind my eyelids as long as possible. I went home sobbing and cried on and off for the rest of the day. Her heaviness was sewn into me.

Two days later my flip phone buzzed incessantly. It was work. A detective needed to ask me a few questions. He asked me to detail my interaction with a woman who came in to euthanize her dog. She had been reported missing. I told him everything.

“Okay, thank you for your time.”

I got off the phone shaking. I had been told nothing about the investigation other than she was missing, and I felt confused and scared. I called my parents, and as I did so, it hit me.

She was not missing, she was dead. She chose to end her life.

I was part of her suicide plan and enabled her to do it the way she wanted.

She sought peace in her life, away from the anguish and torment that our humanity is entangled with. That weekend she decided that she and Rabbit were going out together, and they did just that.

When I returned to work, what I already knew was confirmed. I will never know exactly what happened, but she must have left the hospital that afternoon and found her own peace shortly after.

Perhaps she spoke to someone after she left the hospital, or perhaps I was the last person who spoke with her. I won’t ever know these details.

Now, I see all of the red flags and warning signs, but I didn’t know them then. If I had, what would I have done? All I knew to do in the moment was to be present, to hold as much space as I could, and to leave my heart wide open for her. It didn’t change anything for her that day, but I have carried the what-ifs, the should-haves, and the if-onlys with me for many years now.

I have also carried the knowledge of a stranger’s pain with me. One that is all too common among our human species, and one that carries dark questions with very blurry answers.

What I don’t carry is regret.

It is not for me to know all of the answers or to turn back time and save her life. At that moment, I followed my intuition closely and listened compassionately to provide a loving space for her pain to land.

We never can be sure of what is going on within the depths of another’s heart, and when they act out or fade away from us, we must attempt one thing: kindness. Providing compassion is kindness, and our world needs it desperately. The sorrows of the human heart are vast, but so are the capabilities to love and understand.

Likely, you won’t fully understand the other person’s plight or needs, and that is okay. Acknowledging them, holding them in a loving space, and providing kindness may ease a burden or show them that they have been seen at a poignant moment.

So, the next time you come across a stranger, notice the judgments and defenses popping up within you and then choose kindness. It will be a powerful choice.

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About Caitlin Murphy

Caitlin Murphy (she/her) is a writer, vitality coach, and wilderness wellness guide practicing in Asheville, NC. Caitlin has a Master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling and a BA in creative writing. Learn more and check out The Forest Blog for stories and insight that may enhance your own life. Follow on Instagram and reach out if you’re looking for guidance, compassion, vitality, and/or a wilderness wellness guide. Be curious! Be wild!

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How I Moved from Depression to a Deep and Meaningful Life

“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.” ~Pema Chödrön

Standing at the bathroom sink, I brought my gaze up to the mirror. I couldn’t avoid eye contact with the one person I had no desire to talk to. I had questions, and I knew the reflection looking back at me wasn’t capable of giving the answers I needed.

My solution was a handful of prescription pills to numb my anxiety and Type II Bipolar.

Every morning I popped a Wellbutrin, Cipralex, Valproic Acid, Lithium, and Adderall. It was the cocktail that got me through the day. It was about the only thing I could stay consistent with in my life. I knew something had to change, but where to start? How do you cultivate a deep and meaningful life?

My mind and body may as well have lived on different planets. Sure, they shared the same address, but they didn’t know how to communicate. They had no idea how to help each other, or even that they were on the same team.

At that point in my life, I didn’t understand how my thoughts and feelings could act as a poison to my physical self. Or that my poor habits with diet and drinking were extinguishing any will I had to live.

And my energy levels were like I had gone on vacation but forgot to turn off the dome light in the car. When I woke up each morning, I could turn the key, but all I’d hear is silence. There was no juice left to get me anywhere.

My cocktail of pills acted like a jump start to a car with a dead battery. I felt a surge of energy rush through me when it shot into the bloodstream. I’d guzzle a couple of coffees through the day to keep me humming.

I knew it wasn’t a long-term solution, but it was the first time I felt alive. And for someone who had lost the will to live, pills can often be the first stepping stone to get you back to yourself.

Imagine yourself walking in darkness without even the glow of the moon to guide you through an unfamiliar forest. Your next step is followed by a crack as the ground underneath you collapses.

You come to, rub your eyes, blink a couple of times, and find yourself in a blackness that swallows all sense of life. You put your arms out and realize you’ve fallen into a well no wider than a waterslide tunnel. Now imagine hearing a voice echo off the walls that asks you, “Why do you think you’re sad?”

That’s what depression feels like. Pills, for me, were a rope to help me climb up. But I still needed more to help me find the light once I emerged back into the darkness of night.

That second stepping stone to a deep and meaningful life is getting support. I had entered therapy before I was prescribed medication, but it wasn’t until I had medication that I could hear what my therapist was asking.

Therapy was like a first date for my mind and body. And like all great partnerships, they come together to create something more than they are separate.

During therapy I recognized that my life had felt numb and disconnected from reality for years. I also realized that I had been lying to myself, keeping myself stuck with negative thoughts and beliefs about who I was and what I was (or wasn’t) capable of doing with my life. My therapist helped me unpack what was keeping me stuck and empty. This helped me uncover what I was in search of—a mind-body connection, which reunited me with my soul.

When people talk about purpose, meaning, and fulfillment, this is language that can only come from deep within the fire of your soul. A person disconnected from their soul has no will to live, they simply exist. They’re carried in and out of shore like a piece of driftwood caught in a tide.

The third stepping stone is to begin cultivating a deep life. I borrowed this idea from author Cal Newport. He describes it like so: “The deep life is about focusing with energetic intention on things that really matter—in work, at home, and in your soul—and not wasting too much attention on things that don’t.”

Newport breaks it down into four areas. These areas feed your sense of purpose, meaning, and fulfillment. They are foundational for living a deep life:

1. Community (family, friends, etc.)

We all need to feel a sense of belonging. We need to feel we’re valued, needed, included, and supported. And we need to feel comfortable showing our true selves so we can connect on a deep, intimate level.

To deepen my sense of community, I leaned into my family and friends. I stopped seeing my struggles as a secret and shared what I was going through so my loved ones could support me. I joined a mental-health community group which let me see that others were going through similar experiences.

2. Craft (work and quality leisure)

We need to commit ourselves to something bigger than ourselves—a career path or hobby that provides an outlet for self-expression and contribution to the world.

I started a daily writing habit. It allows me to make sense of the often-chaotic nature of my mind. And it’s given me the opportunity to share my experience with others.

3. Constitution (a person’s physical state with regard to vitality, health, and strength)

This is an area we often pass off as something we’ll do “if I have time.” But really, that’s like saying you don’t have time to stop for gas when you’re driving your car on empty. The further you go without filling up, the more likely you’ll feel stressed, burned out, and unable to cope with everything you’re juggling right now.

I have adopted a belief that nothing I want to accomplish with my life is possible without making health a priority. It has become one of my keystone habits in life. Every day I will move my body with yoga and exercise, as I’ve recognized this is my fuel for living.

4. Contemplation (matters of the soul)

This will likely involve doing more of something that enables you to connect with your soul, like sitting in nature or journaling, and also doing less of the things that disconnect you from yourself, like distracting yourself with screens.

I adopted a meditation practice, which has been an anchor to my sense of self and a connection to the world. I removed myself from social media and now, instead, fill my time reading books.

Many of us speak of how important these areas are to each of us but get swept away by the urgency of others’ needs and requests when it comes to making them a priority. I found this to be a daily battle that consumed me. Was I living the life I wanted, or was I living the life others expected of me? It made it clear that a deep life is not your default life. A shallow life is your default life.

I wasn’t happy or fulfilled because a majority of the things I was doing, I did for others. At the time, I didn’t understand that our sense of fulfillment comes from working on things that really matter to us, and that boils down to an intentional use of our time and energy.

My living room and dining room are adorned with plants. It’s a hell of a lot tougher than I thought to keep them alive. Some need daily watering, where others don’t want a drip until they’re bone dry.

I don’t want my plants to survive, I want them to thrive. I want the plants to flourish, and that requires daily intention. My only action might be to a put finger into the soil, but that check-in gives me feedback on how it’s doing.

Community, craft, constitution, and contemplation are living, breathing reflections of your life choices. They require a similar approach to caring for plants. They won’t tell you when they’re thirsty, you have to anticipate their needs and nurture their growth if you hope to enjoy the benefits of a deep life.

I sit down for a weekly check-in with myself so that I never go too long between waterings. I ask myself, what is the most neglected important area of my life? And what will I do about it? This gives me the power of awareness. A chance to understand why I feel the way I do and what I can do to improve it.

The deep life isn’t a snake oil solution to the challenges of mental illness. It’s what gives you unshakeable direction when your life feels like it’s falling apart. It’s what keeps you on the straight and narrow when life feels impossible. And it’s the reflection your soul needs because it gives you a why to stay alive and keep going.

As author Francis Chan said, “Our greatest fear should not be failure but succeeding at things in life that don’t really matter.”

You matter. Your life matters. And you deserve to have a rich and fulfilling life.

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About Chris Wilson

Chris Wilson is a bipolar creative with a knack for personal development. He geeks out on productivity, minimalism, and enjoying life. He runs Simplify Your Why, where he shares lessons learned on overcoming his battles with depression, type II bipolar, and entrepreneurship. He created a free course for anyone who wants to lead a happier, more productive life of simplicity (with less stress). Click here to access it.

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The Freedom of Being Ourselves (Whether Others Like Us or Not)

“Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken.” ~Oscar Wilde

“Cringey” is what my kids called it. Me? I was just being Sam.

After hitting “post” on my highly emotive Instagram video—one of those more-than-one-minute jobbies that winds up on Instagram TV—I closed the app and had a brief moment of panic. Maybe I said too much? Maybe I screwed myself by being too honest? Too open? Too… vulnerable?

A few hours after sharing that five-minute, tear-filled video on not giving up on our dreams, I still didn’t have the courage to log back in to see how many followers I’d lost. Or to even delete the thing, because that would also require logging back in. I pressed on with my day and chastised myself for this classic case of Sam Oversharing.

Dammit. When will I learn?

To combat my feelings of anxiety, I usually resort to hitting the trails. The very act of putting one foot in front of the other soothes my worrying soul, infusing me with renewed perspective. So that’s what I did, the day I thought I shared too much: I went for a walk.

And as is often the case, I began to see things a little more clearly after asking myself three questions:

1. What were my intentions in sharing the video?

2. Did I have something insightful and authentic to offer?

3. Why did it matter what anyone else thought?

Let me break it down for you, because I had an epiphany that seems so on the nose, I’m almost embarrassed to write about it. How could it not be more obvious?

The answer to those three questions all circled back to one simple truth: I was just being myself. That’s it. 

In the process of being ourselves, we let others see us for who we really are. Turns out, I’m an over-sharing, comfortable-with-vulnerability, sometimes dramatic, heart-on-sleeve gal, fraught with insecurities and rich in idiosyncrasies.

I eat way too many chips, talk openly about my hormones and hairy legs, and appear to care deeply about the validation of others. It’s nice to meet you.

Look, it isn’t the first time I’ve put myself and all my weirdness on display. I’ve a long history of posting about my Gong Show life and subsequently surviving the fallout.

That time I was trapped in my new boots at the Toronto airport, yanking on a broken zipper while holding up the line as exasperated travelers sought to help pull them off. I wrote about it.

That time I thought the dog was missing but had merely forgotten him in the car after he accompanied me on a midnight procurement trip for junk food. Shared it.

Or when I left my sixteen-year career in finance. I wrote a short novel for that Facebook status, carefully crafting the narrative in case anyone decided to judge me for starting fresh.

Other times, I’ve taken to the socials to passionately air my opinion on topics near and dear, like shaming the local news media for missing a triumphant story of international competitive success with my kids’ gymnastics team. Turns out, there was something printed after all, I just didn’t see it. So, let’s add “impulsive” to the list of adjectives defining me, and “one who doesn’t always do her homework.”

My point is this: I’ve come to the conclusion that instead of wincing every time I share something, or show how I actually feel, I’m going to embrace it. I am who I am, and if it makes you uncomfortable, then you can move on. No hard feelings. 

Since accepting that my unfiltered ways are simply me, I’ve felt unsurpassed freedom. If I get to be me, and it turns out that you like me, well, alright then! If I get to be me, but you shuffle along, that’s cool, too. The people who understand me are the people who are still here. I don’t need everyone and their damn dog to like me. I’ve been there, tried to do that, and it’s exhausting.

But if we aren’t hurting anyone in our quests to truly be ourselves, why aren’t more people living this way? Maybe it’s because we assume that being ourselves just doesn’t cut the mustard. We’ve been conditioned to believe we aren’t shiny enough, young enough, rich enough, educated enough, or informed enough to exist in today’s performative world.

And I’m tired of it, quite frankly.

Part of the reason I left my career last January was this deep yearning I felt to live unapologetically. As myself.

Although much of my time as a financial advisor was rewarding, I often felt stifled, required to behave as a version of myself that didn’t line up. I had to shove the real Sam back inside myself. Keep a lid on her. Keep her quiet for compliance and reputational reasons. I maintained this through all of my thirties and half my forties until I nearly broke.

Over this last year, however, I’ve discovered a tremendous shift in what matters to me. Now unencumbered, I’m exploring my true self without any muzzle or handcuffs.

If I want to submit a piece I’ve written and say how I really feel, I’m going to do that. Because I can. If I want to dive deep into my creativity to see where it leads, I will.

For me, the pandemic has also illuminated some habits that were inadvertently hurting me. Being stuck at home has shown me that I’m actually quite introverted. I enjoy time to myself and often find it challenging to give my energy to people outside my family. This is just the truth. Pre-pandemic, however, I’d say YES to almost any invitation because my boundaries around my own mental health were not prioritized over the feelings of others.

Now, if I don’t feel like Zoom-zoom-zooming, I’m more empowered to just say it like it is. “You know what? Not feeling it today. Still love you, but no. I’ve got a date with Netflix and a bowl of Tostitos. Let’s talk next weekend.”

I used to view this as selfish. But what I’ve learned is I’m not doing anyone any favors if I show up cranky for something I really don’t want to be at. Because I’m a terrible faker—let’s add that to the list of why I am the way I am.

I’ve also discovered that I am legit a wandering soul. I know this for sure, because the travel embargo has wreaked havoc with my natural tendency to hit the road. And I will no longer apologize for this passion of mine. Yes, I’m grateful for all the blessings and beauty of my own backyard, but you know what? I’m allowed to miss the wider world. It’s part of what makes me me, and I will no longer water it down.

Because I don’t want to be an actress. Contrary to the world we live in, where every dish we eat, trip we take (okay, the ones we used to take), outfit we assemble, animal we groom, it’s all up for display, but we showcase only the best versions of our lives.

We don’t want people to see behind the curtains… The dirty dishes strewn everywhere (check). The dental floss we tossed on the floor instead of in the garbage (check). The bottom half of our attire (long undies with holes in them). We take great pains to ensure that how we represent ourselves is attractive, enviable, and meeting a standard that says we have it all together.

The thing is, I’ve decided wholeheartedly to embrace my obvious not having it all together. See, I know the truth—nobody has it all together. The second I accepted this universal tenet I became far more comfortable just being me. 

And that has led to a feeling of freedom I’m just now starting to taste.

I believe this is what everyone wants: freedom. If we are privileged to live in a world where we can show up as ourselves, that is a gift. For sure, not everyone has access to it. Some live in a world where they must hide their beliefs, their gender identities, dilute their dreams or worse, battle through atrocities the likes of which we have nary a concept.

So, if we are lucky enough to live in a society where we can show up as ourselves so long as we aren’t hurting others, shouldn’t we be rushing to do so? Isn’t it our duty to interact with people in a richer, more authentic, more emboldened way? Aren’t you tired of trying to be someone else?

It’s not that I don’t value growth. As long as we’re human, we will always strive for improvement. But there isn’t anyone else in the whole wide world like us. Everyone else is already taken. Therein is our own version of a superpower: an essence of what we can contribute because we are ourselves, not in spite of it.

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About Samantha Plavins

Sam Plavins is a Gen-x mom, wife, adventurer, writer, and chronic 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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To All the Abused Kids Who Are Dealing with the Consequences as Adults…

“The feeling of being rejected, disapproved of, or conditionally loved by one’s primary caregivers is a monumental, long-lasting burden for a child to carry. It produces chronic shame, guilt, and anxiety. The child is blamed for doing something wrong and in doing so learns to perceive themselves as being bad.” ~Darius Cikanavicius, Human Development and Trauma: How Childhood Shapes Us into Who We Are as Adults

You’re safe now, but you weren’t before.

Before you were abused.

If your experiences were anything like mine, you were told that you were worthless on a daily basis, that your feelings and needs didn’t matter, and that you would never be deserving or worthy of love.

Your lived experiences were denied, and you questioned your reality.

Your needs and wants were never met, and you learned that in order to stay safe, you had to put others’ needs before your own.

When conflicts arose with others, you blamed yourself because the people around you always did. I still struggle with this even now.

You were taught that you were not enough. That you had to please others in order to be somewhat worthy for a fleeting moment.

You lived on high alert, bracing yourself for the next insult, anticipating being devalued and demeaned. There was little rest from it, so you learned to be silent. You suppressed your feelings and needs, knowing they wouldn’t be honored, and you hid parts of your personality because you knew you would never be accepted for who you are.

You were complicit in your own suppression, and you became unaware of your own wants, desires, and even feelings. Your selfhood was stripped away.

You were told you were too sensitive, too needy, too emotional, and that you didn’t see or perceive situations accurately. You were told you were dumb, too fat, too thin, and/or too self-absorbed.

When you tried to stand up for yourself, you were told that you were not living in the real world. That everything that was happening to you was your fault.

Standing up for yourself was dangerous, and you were led to believe that you didn’t have that right.

This unsafe environment was where you grew up. It was where I grew up too. Where your first memories were formed and where you learned about yourself and the world through your parents’ actions and responses.

You carried your pain silently as a child and were groomed to accept abuse.

Your abusers told you it was love—that they treated you that way so that you would become a better person. Yet, in reality, this just made you easier to control and manipulate. With no sense of self or personal value you could be defined in any manner, and you’d blindly accept that definition.

They told you that you were incompetent, and you didn’t question it because you had been taught that others’ opinions had value and yours did not. Therefore, any statement made by your abusers had to be true.

You were taught that you were bad. All of your actions, thoughts, and behaviors were wrong, and you were fundamentally unworthy.

If you were fortunate, as you grew, so did your awareness of your situation, and you began to break free. You cut the toxic ties of your childhood and began to cultivate a sense of self-worth.

Perhaps you did what no one should have to do: cut off your parents or primary caregivers. You are safe now, but a part of you still struggles to recognize that.

If your experiences of formative abuse were at all like mine, you know how hard it was to break free and unlearn what you were taught about yourself and the world.

It’s easy for others to take advantage of you and abuse you because of your experiences growing up and your low self-worth. For me, this manifested in one-sided friendships in which I would give and give and receive very little in return.

Abuse is so normal to you that you find yourself drawn to it as if it’s home.

You now find yourself being abused in romantic relationships, in friendships, and in your place of employment.

I had romantic partners who told me I was ugly, that they were only with me out of convenience. I had friends who told me how flawed I was and how lucky I was to have their crumbs of friendship.

It feels so normal, so natural, so much like what you were used to. Yet it shouldn’t be!

You wonder why you wind up in these situations, why you don’t see them for what they are, and why you cannot seem to break free of this vicious cycle.

On some level you know these relationships and situations are abusive and unhealthy, but because you were never taught to trust yourself and your instincts were disarmed, you question your reality and even deny it.

Even now I have to make a conscious effort to recognize the signs of unhealthy relationships, and I have had to learn that being seen, feeling supported, and being truly cared for are normal aspects of a healthy relationship.

When others show you kindness and attention you feel undeserving, and you even question their motives.

You slinker out of the spotlight because when you were in the spotlight before, you were ridiculed and abused.

You shrug off compliments, diminisher accomplishments, and let others take the lead.

You fear speaking up for yourself or offending anyone. People-pleasing is a way for you to get recognition and love, so you go out of your way to do what you can for others, even at your own detriment.

When you’re wronged and hurt, you accept the abuse, even now, and you take full responsibility for others’ actions even when they are in the wrong.

I have taken responsibility for my friends’ poor treatment of staff at a restaurant, and even my partner’s sexist, racist comments. I shouldn’t have taken responsibility for any of this.

If you’ve done all these things as well, know that none of this is your fault.

The past you fought so courageously to overcome whispers in your ear even in the present. You tell yourself that you’re fine and you’ve grown, but the past haunts you when you least expect it.

For me, the past rears its ugly head in the face of success, when I’m consistently being treated well by others, or whenever I accomplish more than I had originally expected to. It’s as if the past me struggles to allow the me in the present to feel confident, accomplished, and happy.

Because you grew up on high alert anticipating abuse, you question and analyze others’ actions. You find yourself asking, “Do they really care about me? Have they given up on me? Is there something they are not telling me?”

You want to trust others, but you don’t know how. You want to be loved, but you were never taught what love feels like.

In social situations your emotional energy is consumed by protecting yourself and anticipating threats that are no longer real. You overreact to being teased, and you never allow yourself to talk too much because you feel unworthy of being the center of attention.

You were taught that others are more important than you, so you hold back when you have something important to say.

Because of my past I used to withdraw from social situations. I had very few friends and would pull away from people out of fear of being discarded. It has taken me years to learn that I am worthy of friendship, and I now have supportive networks of friends in my neighborhood, at work, and at school for the first time in my life.

Trusting that others have your best interests at heart is extremely difficult for you, but again, this is not your fault. The people that should have supported and protected you when you were growing up, were out to destroy you.

When you sense you are being rejected, you overreact and reject the other person first.

When you sense that you are being excluded, you exclude yourself before others can.

In disagreements, you don’t stand up for yourself and instead give in because you were taught that standing up for yourself creates drama, and you are not worthy of being validated.

You are overly accommodating, and you compromise even when you shouldn’t. I am only just now learning to take the lead at work and to voice my opinions with confidence.

None of what happened to you was your fault, but now you must learn how to let go of these maladaptive coping mechanisms.

Now you need to learn that you have a right to boundaries, that you have a right to be treated fairly and respectfully, and that your feelings and needs are valid. I know this will take time; it has taken me many years.

In emotional situations you need to learn not to react impulsively, but to step back and ask yourself, is the perceived threat real, or am I reacting based on how I was treated in the past?

You need to surround yourself with people who see your value and accept you for who you are, because this is what healthy relationship looks like. Stop making excuses for others’ ill treatment of you and remember that you don’t need to take responsibility for their toxic behavior. That is for them to own, not for you.

In social situations you need to learn to take compliments and claim the spotlight when you have something interesting or valuable to say. You deserve to be seen and heard, and you no longer have to suppress or edit yourself.

Go out of your way to do things that help you affirm your self-worth and value. Make lists of all of your good qualities and all of the things that you have accomplished. You have a right feel proud of what you’ve achieved and where you are in life.

You were never told that you were loved, that you were smart, or that your needs mattered. Now you must learn how to love yourself and find ways to affirm your own needs and desires.

Tell yourself I am worthy, I deserve to be loved, happy, and respected. Tell yourself I am safe now.

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About Jen Hinkkala

Jen Hinkkala is a PhD student, researcher, and teacher of music and arts education in Canada. As a researcher Jen strives to understand what factors and experiences lead to higher levels of wellness, resiliency, self-care among arts educators. You can find her new Facebook group for adult children estranged from their parents here.

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When You Keep Failing: How to Recover and Boost Your Confidence

“Success is a series of small wins.” ~Unknown

You tried everything. Nothing worked. What now?

I was the Marketing Director of a tech startup, and my work wasn’t bringing in the money or traction that it should. I did everything to improve my results: I read more books, consulted mentors, changed my mindset and tactics, did more field research and experiments, consulted even more books and mentors.

I won’t go into specifics, as that’s not what this article is about. But suffice to say that I did my best to learn from every book, mentor, experiment, and mistake. And I executed all the best practices. But after months of fruitless efforts, the CEO finally let me go. I didn’t contest it. Even I would’ve resigned out of shame for my results.

I went back to freelancing. After two months of rejected or ignored client pitches, I updated my profile on job search sites. Four months later, I was broke and still unemployed. One more month and my landlady would kick me out.

I remember one night, after another day of sending out client proposals, job applications, and going door-to-door to different shops in various neighborhoods to offer my services (and getting rushed out of each), I passed a group of college girls wearing preppy summer dresses. They looked young, carefree, on top of the world. I was the exact opposite: bent, worried, defeated, alone.

I went home, ate some muesli with milk, and poured my feelings on an article. It was the only form of self-comfort I could afford.

At that point, I’ve been losing and failing consistently for more than half a year. I’ve searched things like, “How to fix a failed career” or “How to rebound from failure” or “How to get back up when life kicks you the f**k down.” With plenty of other variations.

And this is going to sound very biased, but I read almost every article that those search queries produced, and I executed almost all of their tips. Yet, nothing worked.

I was hit by the sobering reality that it’s very possible to consistently do your best, to work so damn hard, to put your soul into something, and fail.

When you’re stuck and you feel like failing has become your “new normal,”  how do you recover and get back up?

Remind yourself what winning feels like.

I ran a 12-kilometer mountain race  once. It was my first 12K run and my first mountain race. I didn’t know if I could do it. I was unfit and overweight at the time.

During the first five or so kilometers, I was wheezing and ready to give up. But as I kept going, I started to feel better. My steps flew faster. And I finished the race among the top twenty.

There was a moment in the race where I ran an uphill climb. My lungs and legs felt great, and I kept overtaking other runners. Eventually, I passed all other runners in sight and I was running the trail alone.

On top of the climb, there is a clearing. I reached the mountain’s peak and, below me, blades of tall, soft Tiger Grass danced with the breeze. The sun was rising. Rays of light glinted across the swaying field, iridescent. The wind blew. I stared into the horizon and the word “triumph” flashed in my head.

Time passed and I eventually forgot that memory as I got immersed in my work. But it resurfaced one night, as I ate muesli with milk alone in the gloom of my apartment.

We all need to remind ourselves what winning feels like sometimes.

See, you can’t go to a job interview or a client presentation feeling like a loser. It would reflect in your body language, vibe, and energy. Soon, you’ll walk, talk, and think like a loser. Even when you’re doing your best.

So you need to break out of that. And my experience taught me that the best way to do this is to give yourself small victories.

Ideally, you can gain those small wins in the field you’re pursuing. Let’s say you’re trying to get big-brand clients for your business. If you achieved a few promising meetings, then it’s great.

But what if you can’t get anything in the field you want? Like me, with my consistently rejected or ignored client proposals and job applications?

In my case, the memory of that 12K triumph was the first step. If I couldn’t get a small victory where I wanted it, then I can get it somewhere else.

So I ran. Three to four times a week. And with every run, I’d give myself a goal: Maybe finish a difficult 10K route in one hour, or run a pace of six to seven minutes-per-kilometer for three hours, etc.

Every time I achieved my goal, I was gaining small victories. Sure, achieving those victories didn’t directly get me a client or a job. But it reminded me of what it feels like to win. Bit by bit, it rebuilt my confidence and energy.

Small victories aren’t empty words of encouragement. They’re real. And they helped me believe that I can achieve things again.

How to Get Back Up After Continued Failure

1. Accept that it’s possible to fail even when you’re doing your best.

This was the biggest shocker to me. I always believed that if I did my best, I’d get what I want.

So when all my attempts at the tech startup, at getting clients or work failed, I started to seriously doubt myself. Maybe all my ideas suck? Maybe what I’m doing is all wrong?

Maybe I have the Midas touch, but reversed; everything I worked on turned into stone, not gold.

Yes, there’s likely something wrong with my mindset, or how I executed things, or the kind of solutions I came up with. And I needed to change and adjust.

But I had to accept that, sometimes, we don’t control everything.

Years later, as I looked back on my tech startup failure, I realized that there were external factors I couldn’t do much about; accessibility of certain technologies, governmental policy norms, the readiness of the target market, and so forth. It was also the first startup I worked with. I had to constantly adjust and make my own solutions. No wonder I failed.

Likewise, I was able to defeat the thing that kept me from getting jobs or clients: My stubborn pride. Before the tech startup, I worked almost-exclusively with big-brand clients. I was young, ambitious, and making a lot of money. Why should I apply for anything less? So I pitched only to the biggest clients and applied only to the highest paying jobs.

When the reality of losing my apartment finally kicked me in the head, it was too late. Thankfully, the piece I wrote when I passed those college girls in their preppy summer dresses, was published by a national paper. And several kind-hearted business owners who read it gave me work (bless them forever). So I survived.

2. Achieve small victories where you can.

When you’re aiming for small victories, aim to win against yourself, not other people.

In this context, don’t feed yourself feelings of victory by winning against others. First, it’s unsustainable. Second, it won’t build the confidence you need.

Bottom line: Achieve small wins from self-imposed goals that are purely for you and about you. No other people in the picture. No trying to win someone else’s approval. And don’t go for outcomes you don’t control.

I’m currently writing my first novel. I’ve worked on it almost every day, for two to four hours a day, in the past seven months. So far, I’ve written and thrown away three drafts. I’m on my fourth draft, and I might throw it away too. I feel like a failure for not completing what I set out to do.

So I’m gaining small victories on Medium. I’ve started blogging this January, and I’ve committed to publishing a minimum of two articles a month while working on my novel and my client work.

Whenever I publish a full article, I feel good about myself. Sure, maybe no one would read my posts or engage with them (aside from a few supportive friends). But I’ve achieved my goal, and this small victory keeps me going.

If you’re reading this now, maybe you’re in the same phase in life. With that, I sincerely encourage you to gain small wins. Start small and grow your victories from there. I genuinely wish you all the best. Keep strong! Triumph!

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About John Pucay

John Pucay writes about life, love, and running on his blog and Medium. His most personal pieces include: Getting Out of A Soulless Job Even If You're Poor; Self-limiting Habits I Discovered by Running a 10K; and A Ghost In Quarantine. His opinion pieces on getting fired and being in a polyamorous relationship have been published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer and Rappler. Send him your thoughts: @Jpucay or john@johnpucay.com.

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