How I Healed My Body and My Life by Embracing My Sensitivity

“I used to dislike being sensitive. I thought it made me weak. But take away that single trait, and you take away the very essence of who I am.” ~Caitlin Japa

“You’re making people uncomfortable,” my mother would say. “Stop being so sensitive,” she would then quip.

I have always been sensitive for as long as I can remember. Now I understand there’s a name for it: highly sensitive person (HSP).

The scientific term is sensory processing sensitivity (SPS). As it turns out, 15-20 percent of the population has this trait.

As a highly sensitive person, my nervous system filters less information. I take in more from my environment.

It’s theorized this can often be a survival mechanism set up during early developmental years—particularly if the environment the baby is in does not feel safe.

Often, this can be due to the emotional state of the parents, especially if they exhibit emotional unpredictability or volatility.

This isn’t always the case, but it’s very common. It was the case for me.

Babies can’t regulate their own nervous system. They need their caregivers to attune to them in order to regulate. If they don’t get that, their little systems figure out what they can do to adapt. Like develop a high degree of sensitivity so they can pick up on any threat at the earliest possible moment.

It left me highly emotional. I cried a LOT. And got shamed a lot for it.

I had a hard time with clothes. Seams and tags left me with painful rashes.

I struggled with loud sounds. They were just too much for my little ears (and still are!). And any new, unexpected loud sound still startles me to this day.

I had a hard time with people. Anyone upset affected me deeply, and I didn’t know what to do with all of those big feelings.

It was overwhelming. And I thought something was wrong with me.

I carried shame, guilt, and doubt around with me for years.

I tried to hide myself. Make myself small so no one would notice me. So that I wouldn’t make people feel uncomfortable.

I tried to be who people expected me to be so that I could feel accepted. Because, as a highly sensitive person growing up, I didn’t exactly fit in with my peers. And it left me feeling deeply ashamed of myself.

So I had to be what others were so that I could fit in. That’s how it works, right?

Year after year I did the things that I thought would help me fit in—with my family, friends, and society.

I stayed quiet and kept my thoughts to myself to detract attention.

I tried to mimic what others were doing so that I could appear “normal.”

I prioritized others’ needs before my own, because if I could just make sure others were happy and taken care of, then maybe I would be more likely to be accepted.

I made life choices based on what others wanted and expected, hoping that would lead me to the mysterious normalcy that society advertised.

But I wasn’t happy.

I was overwhelmed, confused, tired, and resentful

I often felt like I was drowning.

I started to get sick.

It started with bone-crushing fatigue. Life felt impossible to get through.

Then the migraines started. It was so hard to think, let alone function.

The sinus infections followed suit.

And then the hives, rashes, and weird swellings that doctors had no idea what to do with.

All non-stop. And none of which could be rectified with any amount of medication. Doctors told me I’d just have to “live with it.”

I figured out through my own investigation that by cutting out dairy and gluten, my physical symptoms improved. It opened my eyes to a whole new way of thinking about my body and what I put in it that I had never before considered.

But the anxiety remained.

That feeling I was drowning worsened. Even though my body felt better. Not great, but better.

It took going through a dark night of the soul to realize that the path I was on was not right for me. It was not my own. I was doing what other people wanted me to do.

And ignoring my own personal truth was destroying me.

I had to make a change. I didn’t have a choice at this point.

I had to find my own True North instead of trying to comply with what others wanted, because it was making me sick.

And what a journey it’s been.

I learned many things along the way, including the fact that I’m an HSP. And that those with HSP have a higher chance of developing conditions of immune dysfunction, like autoimmunity and endometriosis—both of which I also discovered I have.

When the nervous system is highly active, as is the case with sensory processing sensitivity, messengers called inflammatory cytokines can be produced, which cross-talk with the immune system, triggering over-activity and increasing chances of conditions like autoimmunity and allergies, and worsening their symptoms or progression.

What I’ve discovered on this journey is that the best way to help all of it is to understand my nervous system, embrace the sensitivity, and find my own personal True North.

When I stepped into my own uniqueness rather than shaming or hiding from it, everything changed.

It was a journey to get here.

To learn that when others react to me with their judgements and opinions, it’s actually about them. They’re reacting to something about themselves they haven’t yet healed, accepted, or integrated.

It’s not about me at all. It took a long time to learn that lesson. But when I finally did, it liberated me. To follow my own path, despite what the naysayers say. And to take responsibility for my own life, letting go of the need to soothe or heal others. Even if I could feel their pain. Even if they expressed their discomfort.

The only way I could truly find my own healing so that I’m not suffering was to heal me first. To find my own way first.

Focusing on trying to keep others happy and comfortable didn’t work, nor would it ever work.

I learned through my journey that embracing my sensitivity as a gift—as a superpower—is what healed me.

Improving my diet and lifestyle choices has helped me physically feel better. But only got me so far. They are important, but not the entire solution.

What got me the rest of the way was learning to love, accept, and embrace myself for who I truly am, sensitivity and all. Find my own unique path and follow it.

That’s what holds up the light for other souls to follow suit. That’s what can heal the world.

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About Michelle Dowker

Michelle Dowker, MSc, ND is a Naturopathic Doctor turned Emotional Transformation Facilitator. She is the authority in Social Unconditioning and founder of The Remedy Within: an exclusive & powerful healing approach for women with chronic illness to release what’s holding you back and unleash your inner healer within so you can soar. You can find out more about her here, and don’t forget to follow her on Instagram @wellbalanceND for more inspiring content

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The Wind That Shakes Us: Why We Need Hard Times

“The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.” ~William Arthur Ward

I live in the windiest city in the world—Wellington, New Zealand. Perched between the North and South Island, this colorful little city gets hammered by wind. The winds from the south bring cold, and the winds from the northwest seem to blow forever. My body is regularly under assault. But amid all that blustering lies the answer to one of life’s great questions: How do we feel at home in with wind? Or, more, how do we live with the hard things that blow our way?

This research can shed some light.

The Biosphere 2 was a scientific experiment in the Arizona desert conducted in the eighties and nineties. A vast (and I mean massive) glass dome housed flora and fauna in a perfectly controlled environment. It held all of nature: trees, wetlands, deserts, rainforests. Animals, plants and people co-existed in what scientists’ thought was the perfect, optimal environment for life—purified air, purified water, healthy soil, filtered light.

Everything thrived for a while.

But, after some time, the trees began to topple over. When the trees reached a certain height, they fell to the ground.

This baffled the scientists at first. That is until they realized that their perfect environment had no wind, no stormy torrential weather. The trees had no resistance. The trees had no adversity.

The scientists concluded that wind was needed to strengthen the trees’ roots, which in turn supported growth. The wind was the missing element—an essential component in the creation of tall, solid, and mighty trees.

What can this science experiment teach us about real life?

Everything.

A life without storms is like the Biosphere 2. Sure, it sounds idyllic. But that’s just a perception. And I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

I thought a perfect life would make me happy. And it did, for a while. Good job, great husband, lovley home. But I knew deep down that something was missing. I always had a sense that life was incomplete. I longed for something; I just didn’t know what. It baffled me, just like it baffled the scientists.

Without knowing it, I, too, had placed a biosphere around my heart. If any pain, any resistance, blew my way, my biosphere stopped it from penetrating. That is until I was diagnosed with blood cancer, and things began to crack. 

Sitting in the office of a psychotherapist a few months after my diagnosis, nervously hunched and with hands under my thighs, I simply said, “I am really scared about my cancer.”

That moment that I assumed was weakness turned out to be the exact moment my biosphere, my armor, began to crack.

My diagnosis, my adversity, was nothing more than an opportunity to step outside of comfort and tell someone I’m scared. It jolted me enough to put me on an unexpected path of inner enquiry.

Was it scary to open up? Hell yes! I wanted to stay in the biosphere. I really did. I kept searching for comfort within it, but I was unsatiated, and the wind crept in any way and just grew stronger: I lost someone I loved to cancer, a close friend backstabbed me, my postpartum body broke, more wind, more pain, all while dripping in very small children. Just like those felled trees, I, too, toppled to the ground.

When I could no longer withhold the wind, when I had to step out of the comfort of my biosphere and talk about my fears and look at my darkness, only then did I grow tall enough to find what I was looking for: I was longing to know the fullness of myself.

I knew my old habits of perfecting and controlling life to avoid pain, numbing pain, or distracting myself from pain no longer worked. Those strategies did not lead me to the thing I wanted most: completeness. I had to go through the pain. Sit in it. Let it wash over and into me. I had to feel what it’s like to have cancer, be lonely, get hurt, lose someone I love, have a broken body. Only by going through it did I realize I could transcend it.

Liberation was on the other side of pain. It existed outside of my biosphere. One therapy session at a time, one book at a time, one podcast at a time, one meditation at a time, one hard conversation at a time, slowly, things began to crack. Inch by vulnerable inch, eventually (like, years later), my biosphere crumbled to the ground.

Brené Brown calls life outside the biosphere “living in the arena.” She said, “When we spend our lives waiting until we’re perfect or bulletproof before we walk into the arena, we ultimately sacrifice relationships and opportunities that may not be recoverable.”

She also said, “I want to be in the arena. I want to be brave with my life. And when we make the choice to dare greatly, we sign up to get our asses kicked. We can choose courage or we can choose comfort, but we can’t have both. Not at the same time.”

The courage to be vulnerable is the springboard out of the biosphere.

If you’re in adversity right now—in lockdown, or the doctor’s office, or separated from a loved one— perhaps your biosphere, too, can no longer protect you from pain. COVID-19 has cracked open our collective armor and shown us how little control we have. It’s hard. It’s painful. But it is also an opportunity. When the outside world is crumbling, the only way is inward.

When I look back, I see that pain or resistance only ever asked one thing of me—to look at it. It was a nudge (or a shove in my case) to look inward, get vulnerable, talk about my feelings, unpack my darkness, cry, unearth, read, listen, meditate, move forward in my awareness, expand my consciousness.

And with time, I grew beyond the safety of the biosphere to a height that was inconceivable while I was in it. Without the wind, I would never have seen the height I could reach.   

This process of unearthing all my fears and darkness eventually lead to a place of power. Now I have the awareness and power to choose when to act from fear and when to ignore it. The wind no longer rules me. I am at home in it—figurately and literally.

Living in the middle of Middle Earth has definitely proven one thing: the wind is constant. We can’t avoid hardship any more than we can avoid day turning in to night. The hard things in our life will keep on coming—more lockdowns, more sickness, more hurt—and the only way to be at home in the wind is not to fight it, to learn to live with it.

We have a saying here in Wellington: You can’t beat Wellington on a good day. It’s true. When the sun is shining, Wellington is the most glorious city on earth. The wind has blown away the cobwebs and majesty remains. The craggy coastlines glitter and the city’s heartbeat thumps and vibrates and enters the hearts of all who live here. On these days, the thrashing wind is forgiven, and we fall in love with our city again. And again. And again.

Without the wind, there’d be nothing to forgive. There’d be no falling in love process. Life would exist on a flatline. Yes, there would be no gale. But we’d also miss out on awe. Life is both wind and sun, pain and beauty. By staying in the biosphere, we risk missing the magic that sits outside of it.

I’m so glad I took that first vulnerable leap of faith all those years ago. Life outside the biosphere isn’t scary like I imagined. I didn’t remain on the ground like a rotting felled tree. I grew.

I grew to a place where the air is clearer. I can breathe. Frustration or hurt or pain isn’t held onto for any sustained length of time. The waves of emotions come in, then go out. I observe it all without a sense of lasting entanglement. Fear is in the backseat. Pain is softened. Beauty is heightened. Love is everywhere, even in the wind.

Deepak Chopra said, “The best way to get rid of the pain is to feel the pain. And when you feel the pain and go beyond it, you’ll see there’s a very intense love that is wanting to awaken itself.”

That’s what is waiting for you outside the biosphere.

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About Lara Charles

Lara Charles is an Australian writer living in Aotearoa, New Zealand, with her husband and four children. She is a storyteller, here to give rise to the everyday person searching for meaning and completeness. Her first book is due for release in 2022. More at www.laracharles.com

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FREE Online Event for Women: Get Unstuck, Find Passion & Purpose

Do you ever feel like you’re not doing even a fraction of what you could be doing with your life? I’m guessing we’ve all felt like that since the start of the pandemic. But did you feel like that before—like you have gifts to share and passions to explore, but you just don’t know how, or where to start?

Or maybe you want to believe you have gifts, but you question yourself. You dismiss your potential. And as a result, you hold yourself back.

I suspect most people struggle with these feelings at one point or another.

I felt this way before starting Tiny Buddha—when I worked a series of unfulfilling jobs and settled into a comfortable sense of invisibility in the world. Wanting to hide because I felt inferior while secretly dreaming of being seen. Doing things that didn’t matter, feeling like I didn’t matter either, wishing I could get unstuck.

And I’ve struggled again in recent years, as I’ve tried to evolve and explore my creative potential and jutted up against block after block. It’s not easy put yourself out there, especially if you’re not even sure what you want, or what you can do.

With this in mind, I’m always on the lookout for tools and resources that can help us get out of our own way so we can connect with our passions and turn them into purpose. That’s what draws me to Dr. Claire Zammit’s work.

A world-renowned female empowerment mentor, Claire has helped more than 500,000 women make a positive impact by doing what they love.

In her FREE Unlock Your Feminine Power seminar, she shares a revolutionary process for getting unstuck and creating a life of connection, creativity, contribution, wellness, and authentic success.

Though at one point she speaks to the idea of trusting in a higher power, and she talks about our potential as our “destiny”—two ideas that don’t resonate with me personally—I found myself nodding my head through most of the seminar.

Based on her groundbreaking doctoral research and twenty-plus years helping millions of women achieve extraordinary results, she shares a proven, three-step approach for making the most of our lives.

In this FREE online training session, you’ll discover how to:

-Shatter the #1 invisible barrier blocking smart, talented women from fully realizing their potential

-Determine which key area of your life, such as relationships, health, prosperity, or purpose, is best for you to focus on right now

-Set an intention that creates a “chain reaction” of extraordinary results in ALL areas of your life

-Release the limiting beliefs that hold women back, that are also the root cause of self-doubt and feeling invisible, isolated, or not good enough

-Activate your “Feminine Navigation System” so you can intuitively and confidently make powerful decisions and become resilient in response to challenges

-Find the support, resources, and opportunities you need to thrive

-Free yourself from the isolation and loneliness far too many women experience and step into connection with a global community of “Power Partners”

At the end you’ll learn about a comprehensive program that can help you apply the teachings shared, but the seminar itself is both empowering and eye-opening—and it’s absolutely free to tune in.

If you’re anything like me, you might find it hard to prioritize your own wants, needs, and interests—both because time is often hard to come by and because you’re many things to many other people. But I’ve learned that the world needs us to share our gifts. And we can only make a difference for other people if we first do something different for ourselves.

If you’re excited about new possibilities and ready for change, sign up for the FREE Unlock Your Feminine Power seminar here.

I hope this helps you get out of your own way and become the person you want to be!

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About Lori Deschene

Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha. She’s also the author of Tiny Buddha’s Gratitude Journal and other books and co-founder of Recreate Your Life Story, an online course that helps you let go of the past and live a life you love. She recently launched a Mindfulness Kit to help reduce our stress and increase our peace and joy. For daily wisdom, join the Tiny Buddha list here. You can also follow Tiny Buddha on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

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Why Highly Sensitive People Make Amazing Life Partners

“Our relationships are a reflection of the relationship we have with ourselves.” ~Iyanla Vanzant

Looking back at my life I see that all of my romantic relationships up until now suffered because I didn’t recognize or value my sensitivity.

For much of my life I thought there was something wrong with me. I was too quiet, too shy, not interesting enough in group settings, too easily hurt, too easily overwhelmed and stressed. I judged myself for being irritable when I didn’t feel rested. I was easily bored with surface conversation and craved deep intimacy, but thought maybe that was silly and unrealistic.

For years, all of this made my love life challenging and downright difficult to navigate.

Though I did find a good match in my first husband, eventually my own self-contempt and inability to accept and honor of my own qualities—the guilt and shame I walked around with much of the time—along with my lack of insight into how to work with my trait, led to my first marriage’s demise.

My ex had the exact same experience within himself (I happen to know this because we are still wonderful friends). As you may have guessed, we’re both highly sensitive people (HSPs).

HSPs often reject themselves, as my ex and I did. When we don’t understand our trait well enough, we tend to not value ourselves.

This is not a surprise, really, because our culture doesn’t yet fully recognize and celebrate us for our strengths—it actually does the opposite—so why would we know how to value ourselves?

The heart of most relationship problems for everyone—HSPs and non-HSPs alike—lies in a sense of insufficiency on some level. To have thriving, loving, healthy relationships we need to deeply love and accept ourselves.

It took me some hard lessons and some real courageous work on myself, but now I am so proud of who I am, and my partnership reflects that health. I have a joy-filled, fun, deep, lovingly connected relationship with the man of my dreams.

When I look at what enabled me to feel so sure of myself as a wonderful person and wife, I know the key was learning to see, appreciate, and honor my sensitivity.

Because we HSPs are amazing. We make the very best partners when we take our well-being seriously, rid ourselves of our insecurity, and feel deep down good about ourselves.

I’ve made it my mission to help other HSPs accept and nurture their trait so they can have the relationship they really want. I want you to see your own value and beauty!

Here are some of the many ways you make an amazing partner, when you are healthy, centered, and honor your trait:

~You are naturally conscientious, compassionate, and very caring, so you are great at being supportive or loving when your partner needs it. You want the best for them. They feel and appreciate this.

~You are aware of your partner’s feelings and subtly attuned to what they’re experiencing (almost as if you can read their mind, sometimes before they can!). You easily pick up on their subtle cues, which helps them feel understood and cared for. With good skills in place, this ability can also help de-escalate conflict quickly, keeping your relationship harmonious.

~You see the best in others, even the subtle beauty and goodness that others easily miss, and you believe in that part of them strongly. Because of this you can draw out your partner’s gifts and be a great source of confidence building and affirmation for them. They will feel very loved.

~Your love of meaning and beauty in all forms enriches your partner’s life. You point out and expose them to beauty and depth they may have missed otherwise (including their own inner beauty).

~You are loyal, great at listening, creative, and dynamic. You are complex. This makes you a fascinating and safe person to spend one’s life with.

~You experience love and joy intensely, as well as other positive emotions. You are full of life and share that with your partner.

~You are a loving, calming, grounding presence. You emanate this to your partner and it nourishes them.

~Though it can take a long time to make choices, you are so thorough and intuitive, when you finally do reach a decision it’s usually a good one that benefits both you and your partner.

~You reflect and work things out inside yourself at length. This can lead to great self-awareness, which can enhance your ability to grow and flourish in your relationship, especially as you learn to be honest and open with your partner.

~You like to process what’s going on in your relationship and get to the heart of the matter with your partner, which you do well because you are deeply insightful. This helps you both better understand yourselves and your relationship.

~You have a knack for seeing the big picture—all sides of the coin. This gives you strength and perseverance to work through things when relationship challenges arise.

~You thrive on depth and complexity. In a love relationship this means you will be dedicated and willing to work hard at creating truly meaningful connection, making it more likely to have a rich and healthy committed relationship!

See how amazing you are? I could go on and on…

You really are worth celebrating and loving deeply. Right now, pause for a moment and just take that in. Let it fill you with a sense of pride. Let it touch and start to wash away old pains of not being good enough.

It’s essential to believe in ourselves. We must do this so thoroughly that we can honestly look at and accept the less ideal parts of our trait, as well. From there we can muster the courage and commitment to address those more challenging aspects and work with them wisely.

Otherwise, we risk bringing out our worst side: someone who can be grumpy, judgmental, intolerant, demanding, anxiety riddled, resentful, picky, needy—someone our partner needs to walk on eggshells around, which is a death sentence for intimacy.

When we do honor and manage it well, we show up beautifully.

I interviewed my husband one day about what he loves about me. As you see, most of what he said has a big connection to my sensitivity:

“With you I feel so cared for, seen, and loved for who I am. I feel you really get me. You are so kind, loving, and caring; you sparkle with life. You are so compassionate.  I’m in awe about how deep we can go in conversation and how in tune we can feel. Life is so meaningful with you, and being with you makes me not just want to grow into a better and better person, but to really do what it takes to actually do so.”

I feel so much love. The tenacity and effort it took to get here was more than worth it. I would do it over and over if I needed to. Because, as an HSP, being in such a flourishing, deeply loving relationship is so fulfilling.

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About Hannah Brooks

Hannah Brooks is a relationship coach who helps caring, sensitive, deep-feeling women create the supportive, loving, and genuinely connected relationship they really want with their partner. For further tips and guidance grab her free guide, The 7 Most Powerful Phrases To Deepen Connection in Your Marriage, and listen to her podcast, Highly Sensitive, Happily Married. Find her at lifeisworthliving.com. Hannah Brooks's Website

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Why I Hate Getting My Hopes Up and What Happened the One Time I Did

“Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different.” ~Oprah Winfrey

When I was a little girl, I made many wishes. At first, I believed all of my wishes would come true, just like in the fairy tales my mother read to me before bed. However, slowly but surely, life changed my attitude, stole my optimism, and I stopped wishing.

My parents fought a lot, and their unhappiness made me believe that I was not good enough. Poverty replaced my birthday wishes with socks, the bible, and sheets for my bed.

When my parents divorced, my father abandoned me and I was sure I was broken and unworthy; after all, I believed that if a father could leave his own child, then it must be my fault.

My mother’s hurts turned into bitterness. Criticism, disappointment, and blame replaced her nurturing voice that used to calm my fears. The few wishes I held onto faded into the fog of confusion, fear, self-hatred, and catastrophe.

Instead of wishes, I believed that bad things would always happen to me, and I made an unconscious pact with my mind, body, and spirit to close the door to good things ever happening.

My heartache and grief drained my childhood innocence, and I transformed into a wounded adult, going through the motions of life not feeling or experiencing much of anything and keeping my guard up for the next brick to fall on me.

Life is Good, but Past Trauma Colors My Perspective

Despite the good things that happened to me throughout the past twenty years—marrying my husband, vacationing in Maui, learning from the best dance coaches in the world, graduating from college with two degrees, obtaining a license in clinical social work, and becoming a proud cat mama—I seem to be wired to notice the flaws in my life.

I look for ulterior motives, the letdown behind the positive illusions. Frankly, I don’t give myself permission to truly feel happiness, anticipatory wonder, or joy.

Catastrophic thinking and deprivation from feeling joy or happiness is a protective mechanism: a shield from trauma. I had a lot of traumas growing up, and I learned the best way to protect my vulnerable heart and soul was not to get my hopes up.

If I don’t get my hopes up or wish for anything positive, then I will not feel the despair, grief, and stings of disappointment.

Disappointment can provoke some of the most painful grief.

I never wanted to feel that grief from my childhood again, so I set up walls around myself to prevent any light of joy from cracking through.

I know this sounds like a terrible way to live, but the cost of feeling happiness and joy is too great for many of us with trauma histories. Joy and happiness are bound by memories of heartache, disappointment, abandonment, abuse, and scars.

There is nothing more tragic to a child then to have their wishes crushed. In homes with trauma, humans and life crush wishes moment after moment.

My Adult Encounter with a Childhood Wish

There was one particular memory from my childhood that was not shackled by grief or pain.

I loved Debbie Gibson, the 1990s pop star. I lived through her music and found my existence through her rhythms, attitude, and empowering lyrics.

Whenever her music played, the sounds transported me to a happy place where I was free to be me without judgment, abuse, or restrictions.

Debbie Gibson remained linked to that part of my childhood that was pure and innocent—unscathed by hardship, poverty, and abuse. Just like her song “Only in My Dreams,” I harbored a small bit of hope that “Only in my Dreams” my life might be different.

Therefore, when the opportunity presented itself for me to make contact with her, I didn’t hold back.

My childhood fantasies took hold and propelled me to venture into the world of wishes and hope. I let my guard down and let a little bright light in.

I made a video of myself playing a piano compilation of her hit songs accompanied by a message of thanks for how her music and voice grounded my resiliency.

To my surprise, Debbie Gibson returned a video message to me, not only playing the piano, but promising to participate in an interview with me regarding a book that I had just finished writing.

On the night that I received her surprise video message I was beside myself. I screamed, cried, laughed, jumped, and even tripped over myself while barging through my husband’s shower doors to tell him Debbie Gibson had contacted me.

For that moment, I was thirteen again, truly enveloped in excitement, wonder, hope, and eternal belief that good things can happen—wishes can come true.

When Past Hurts Show Up in the Present

And then it happened…. The unbearable pain of disappointment—

It has been three years since I initially made contact with Debbie Gibson. I still have not met with her despite receiving not just one video message but two video messages from Debbie Gibson, herself, stating that she would meet with me for an interview.

The pain of disappointment was so much worse than I ever imagined. I had truly let hope back in, and I had allowed myself to believe again. I kicked myself because I broke my own pact to myself: Never get my hopes up.

My blood boiled because I felt so unseen and abandoned. I was that little girl again whose parents promised the world but gave breadcrumbs instead.

Debbie Gibson became symbolic of the bullies at school who pretended to like me but then didn’t show up for my birthday party. Debbie’s manager symbolized my parents who didn’t respond to my cries for acknowledgement, empathy, and reciprocity.

I kept telling myself that if her manager would just tell me “No,” the situation might hurt less than keeping my hopes up. Instead, for three years I waited and imagined how great our meeting was going to be, what I would ask her, and the topics we would share.

I soothed the part of me that was accustomed to adults disappointing me by convincing myself that Debbie was busy; she was different. She would honor her word.

And then finally the manager responded with the ultimate message of “I am not good enough…”

She told me the interview/meeting could not happen given Debbie’s recent surge in fame and upcoming album release.

My translation: She couldn’t forego an interview with Access Hollywood to make time for a “nobody” like me. The wound from my childhood opened again.

Trauma Triggers and Feelings Aren’t Logical

Now I recognize that feelings are not usually rational. Oftentimes a triggering event can appear totally insignificant, but regardless still provokes real and intense reactions.

Trauma triggers don’t always make sense, but they are still very real.

My emotional reaction to Debbie Gibson’s lack of follow through for the past few years felt like the worse kind of rejection and abandonment, two feelings with which I was intimately familiar since childhood.

Face-to-face with my resentment I tried to go behind the feelings and forgive but I could not.

As I ranted and raved to my husband and friends, day after day, they consistently reframed the situation by telling me that “At least I got a response from Debbie Gibson” and “She did the best she could, and I could never relate to the demands celebrities face every day.”

But I didn’t care about the rational content or logic—my experience was purely emotional. The feelings embedded in the emotional part of my brain where hurt is hurt regardless of the who, what, where, when, why, or how.

So… Why Can’t I let Go and Forgive?

I know festering feelings are not good for physical health. I am all too familiar with how negative emotions play out in the theater of my gut and make my Crohn’s disease flares worse.

However, despite knowing that forgiveness was a better alternative to my negative emotions, I still could not let go of my resentment—so much to the point that I told myself I would not buy Debbie Gibson’s upcoming album.

Instead of peace, closure, and just letting go, I insisted on holding onto my grudge. I fed my disappointment, anger, and feelings of abandonment, to the point that I retaliated in my attempts to find ways to cut a celebrity with whom I didn’t even have an authentic relationship out of my life.

I wanted to punish her for ignoring me and hurting my feelings. Hurts will propel us into the land of nonsense.

The child in us will do anything to protect ourselves from pain.

My Debbie Gibson story is merely a representation of many stories in my life where I behaved similarly in attempts to protect my heart and not feel the pain of my traumatic childhood past.

My reaction to Debbie Gibson’s lack of follow through appears petty, irrational, and on the surface immature. However, if in childhood we don’t feel seen or our existence is not acknowledged by the adults in our lives, we hold these hurt feelings in our bodies and minds.

Feelings find ways to get our attention and express themselves through the most inconvenient opportunities.

When we feel the pangs of disappointment because adversity rips our wishes at the seams, these same feelings get triggered by a multitude of different scenarios that happen to us in adulthood. Debbie Gibson was my trigger especially since she meant so much to me in my childhood.

I had a lot of skin in the game, so to speak.

Finding Peace with Myself and Letting Go

It is human nature to fuel anger and resentment because it serves as the perfect distraction from the grief underneath the disappointment. But it is also human nature for people, including myself, to make promises that we cannot keep.

Even I, without fame and fortune, get caught up in my own life and let people down.

Even, I, prioritize my time with people and situations that further my own agenda.

Thankfully Debbie Gibson reminded me that I still need to heal from the hurts in my childhood and practice self-compassion.

She showed me that I am still capable of experiencing childhood innocence and unadulterated joy.

So, as I contemplated why I could not let go of the “Debbie Gibson letdown,” I remembered her humanity. Debbie Gibson and I are not that different. We are both flawed humans trying to find our ways in life, and we both wish to leave an impact on this physical world that says…

HERE I AM.

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About Casey Hersch

Casey Hersch, MSW, LCSW, is a licensed clinical social worker, author, and founder of www.lightyoursparkle.life. She specializes in integrative treatment models for chronic illness by bringing awareness to the connection between our physical and emotional bodies. Our passions are at the center of health and ballroom dance and pet companionship are vivid examples. Inspired by her own struggles with autoimmune illnesses and trauma, she educates about empowerment and how to build individualized healing plans.

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The Grief We Can’t Run from and Why We Should Embrace It

“I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.” ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

Grief creeps up on you when you least expect it. It reminds you of the person you have lost when you’re out for coffee with friends, watching people hug their loved ones goodbye at the airport, and when you’re at home thinking about people you should call to check-in on.

Even when you think that enough time has passed for you to be over it, grief pulls at your heartstrings. You think about all the ways that life has changed, and your heart longs to have one last conversation with the person you have lost, one last hug, and one last shared memory.

A wise person once told me that when you love someone the hurt never really goes away. It grows as we do and changes over time becoming a little bit easier to live with each year.

Grief is not something we can run from. I know this now from trying to run, hoping I would never have to feel the pain I was carrying deep within my heart.

In November of 2020 I lost my godfather, a person I loved and cared for deeply. I also learned about my estranged father’s death when I googled his name. The reality that my estranged family had not had to decency to tell me of his death stung. I also lost people I had known and were connected to in my community.

The news of these deaths hit me with an initial shock—they did not seem real. For a day after discovering the news of each loss I found myself walking around in a blur, unable to eat or sleep. The next day I was able to force myself to function again. It was as if the people I had lost were not really gone.

When friends and family learned of the losses I had faced they reached out to me and offered support. I assured them that although I was sad, I was fine. Growing up in an unsupportive family I did not know how to accept their support, as it felt foreign to me. So, to avoid talking about my feelings and facing my pain, I turned the conversation back to them and asked about their work and/or their children. Slowly, people stopped asking how I was doing or how I was feeling because on the surface I seemed more than fine.

I was functional in my professional roles, writing articles, engaging in research, mentoring students, collaborating with colleagues, and making progress in my PhD program. I appeared like myself during online work and social events. I continued to support my friends and neighbors as if nothing had changed. Silently, I was fighting a battle that even I knew nothing about.

Each day I would force myself out of bed and tackle a lengthy to-do list comprised of personal and professional work and obligations. In the evenings I would force myself to work or engage in physical activity so that I did not have time to feel. In the initial darkest moments, I convinced myself that if I kept going, kept moving forward, I would not have to feel the pain I carried in my heart. 

I became more productive the normal. I wrote more academic and non-academic articles, I volunteered and provided support to online communities, and I readily volunteered to edit colleagues’ work. In the few moments of downtime I gave myself each day I would either sit blankly staring at my computer or find myself crying. I couldn’t feel sad, I did not have time to feel sad, I needed to keep going I told myself.

The pandemic made it easier to live in denial about my losses and pain because normal rituals associated with death, like funeral services, had either been postponed or restricted to a select number of individuals. Perhaps if these rituals had been in place, I would have been forced to address my grief in a healthier manner.

I continued to run from my pain by adding accolades to my resume and taking on as many projects as I could find. Spring blurred into summer, and I found myself becoming irritated by the slightest annoyance. Sleepless nights and reoccurring nightmares became normal. I had less patience for my students, and I struggled to be there for the people who needed me.

I found my mind becoming slower, and by the end of June I was struggling to function. Yet, because I knew what was expected of me and did not want my friends or family to worry, I hid it.

As pandemic restrictions began to ease, and other people’s lives began to return to normal, I became painfully aware that my life could not. I saw my friends hugging their fathers in pictures on social media. Friends recounted seeing family for the first time in over a year and shared pictures of them hugging their loved ones. People in my life began to look forward to the future with a sense of hopeful anticipation. Work began to talk of resuming in-person activities.

I could no longer use the pandemic to hide from my grief, and I became paralyzed by it. I had to feel the pain. I had no choice. I couldn’t function, I couldn’t sleep, and I could barely feel anything except for the lump in my throat and the ominous weight in my chest.

My godfather, my biggest cheerleader and the person who made me feel safe, was gone. It felt as though anything I did or accomplished didn’t matter the same way anymore. I longed for conversations with him I would never be able to have. The passing of time made me aware of the changes that had taken place in my life and how much I had changed without him.

Throughout July I found myself crying constantly, but I was compassionate with myself. I no longer felt I had to propel myself forward with a sense of rigid productivity. Instead, I focused on slowing down and feeling everything. I asked work for extensions on projects, which I had previously felt ashamed to do. Other obligations I either postponed or cancelled.

I found myself questioning my own life’s purpose. Had I truly been focusing on the things that mattered? What mattered to me now that the people I cared about most were gone? How could I create a fulfilling life for myself?

There were days I didn’t get out of bed from the weight of my grief. Yet there were also days when I began to feel again—feelings of sadness, peace, joy, and even happiness that I had been repressing for months.

I allowed myself to cry when I needed to or excuse myself from a social event when I was feeling triggered. When feelings of longing washed over me, I accepted them and acknowledged that a part of me would always miss the people I had lost. Within the intense moments of pain and loss I found comfort in the happy memories, the conversations, and the life we had shared.

Slowly, the nightmares disappeared, and I began to sleep better again. Although I was sad, I also began to experience moments of happiness and feel hopeful again.

The grief I had tried so desperately to run from became a strange source of comfort. Grief reminded me that the people I had lost had loved me, and the fabric of their lives had intertwined with mine in order to allow me to be the person I am today.

The questions that plagued me, about what mattered to me, gradually evolved into answers that became action plans toward a more fulfilling life. In running toward grief and embracing it I made myself whole again and discovered a life I never would have otherwise known.

We instinctively want to avoid our grief because the pain can feel unbearable, but our grief is a sign we’ve loved and been loved, and a reminder to use the limited time we have to become all that we can be.

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About Jen Hinkkala

Jen Hinkkala is PhD student, researcher, and teacher of arts education in Canada. She strives to understand what factors and experiences lead to higher levels of wellness, resiliency, and self-care among arts educators and students. Jen is also a life coach and specializes in self-care, well-being, time management, performance anxiety, estrangement, overcoming abuse, career paths, and anxiety. Jen runs a support group for estranged adults and a group to support personal development. Follow her on Twitter here.

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Why Feeling Anxiety Was the Key to My Happiness

“Lean into the discomfort of the work.” ~ Brené Brown

Anxiety was the core of my existence for decades.

When I look back at my life over that time, what comes to mind first is the constant tension in my chest, a knotted stomach, and a lump in my throat.

From the outside, my life looked great. I was college-educated, had a good job, was in a relationship; I lived in a nice place, had a decent car, and enough money to buy organic food and a gym membership.

But I was miserable.

Not only was I anxious all the time, worrying that people would judge me, I felt like I couldn’t feel happiness.

Even when the situation around me was a happy one—a surprise birthday party for me, getting gifts on Christmas, a lazy Sunday morning with nothing to do but enjoy a nice cup of coffee, or a hilarious scene in a comedy movie—true happiness never seemed to surface.

Those were all my favorite things, but I couldn’t feel the happiness in my chest and my gut. I felt like I could only intellectualize happiness.

All I really felt was discomfort, and not just because of my anxiety but because I was constantly resisting it. I refused to accept sadness and fear as perfectly normal emotions. I thought I shouldn’t feel them, so whenever I felt that familiar tension in my mind and body, I shut down, trying to block out all the negatives.

My Resistance to the Discomfort of Anxiety Blocked Me from True Happiness

We can’t turn off one emotion without blocking the others. It took me a long time to learn this. In my journey to learn how to stop worrying about what other people thought of me, practicing meditation to calm my body and strengthen my mind, or learning how to deal with heartache in a healthy way, I began to lean into the discomfort.

By that I mean I gave the tension and discomfort permission to be there. It’s like the difference between trying to pull your fingers out of a Chinese finger trap as opposed to pushing your fingers together to loosen the grip of the trap so you can eventually wiggle your fingers out.

Years of anxiety left me feeling numb. I thought I would never truly feel happy. That was for lucky people. Or people were just lying about how happy they were.

But as I progressed along my journey, leaning into the discomfort allowed it to flow through me instead of staying stuck.

I leaned into the discomfort physically, mentally, and emotionally. I would sit there and breathe slowly, relax the tension and resistance in my body, and allow the discomfort to be there. I would think, “Okay, this sadness is uncomfortable. I feel it in my stomach and my chest. I give you permission to be here while you work through me.”

And I would sit and watch the emotion instead of fighting it. It brought the wall down. I would feel the intensity lessen as I was compassionate toward it and to myself. I felt it shift. Sometimes it went away completely. It made me feel more in control. Which is a funny irony, gaining control by letting go.

Our Emotions Can Become Stuck in our Bodies

When our stress response is triggered, it sends cortisol and adrenaline through our veins to give us the energy and motivation to fight or flea. Once the danger has passed, if there is extra adrenaline in the body, we mammals naturally shake it off to burn the rest of it.

For example, if you almost get in a car accident, you might notice your body shaking after. Or maybe you laugh out loud (even though it’s not ha-ha funny). These are ways we naturally “finish” our stress response.

But us smarty-pants humans often stop this process from finishing. We get stressed at work and hold in our emotions so we don’t look weak. We experience a loss, so we hold in laughter because “it’s inappropriate” to feel happy right now. We feel sad or afraid and we stuff it down to ignore it.

All this ends up leaving us disconnected from our full emotional experience. You can’t deny fear without also blocking joy. You can’t hide from sadness without also hiding from happiness.

Paradoxically, by leaning into the discomfort, without fear, without judgment, we get closer to happiness.

Without Anxiety, I Cry More

Today I no longer “suffer” from anxiety. Sure, I get anxious if I have something important coming up—that’s perfectly natural. But I accept that anxiety and let it move through me instead of fighting it and shutting down.

For the most part, I’m the chill person I’d always hoped I could become.

And the funny thing I’ve noticed lately is how much more I cry. Not tears of sadness, but of happiness, pride, appreciation, and gratitude.

I watch the news every day, and there’s almost always a feel-good story at the end. So nearly every day as I sit there sipping my coffee, I look forward to that energetic surge swelling up from my gut, through my chest, up my throat, and watering my eyes.

Watching a talent show like America’s Got Talent, I cry every time someone does a great job feeling incredibly proud of this stranger who I know nothing about.

I love feeling genuinely happy for others. It’s something I never fully appreciated before. I couldn’t embody the emotions even when I mentally knew “this is great.”

If you find yourself feeling numb to happiness, know that there is hope if you’re willing to start letting yourself feel the full range of emotions.

It may take some time, but don’t be afraid to lean into the uncomfortable feelings that arise. Anger, frustration, shame, envy—none of these feelings are “bad.” And they won’t consume you. You just have to open up, feel them, and let them naturally pass.

Relax your body, focus on your breath, and let the energy of the emotion work its way through. Know that this is only a moment that is uncomfortable. It isn’t causing you long-term harm, and it won’t damage your body (note, if you feel truly unsafe during a practice like this, it is better to do so under the supervision of a licensed mental health professional).

It’s like the story of the second arrow. A soldier got hit with an arrow and it hurt. Pain happens, right? When that soldier started shouting in anger, upset that this shouldn’t have happened, wailing over the unfairness of it all… he created suffering on top of the pain.

If you were watching this soldier, you would know that if he were to just sit, take some deep breaths, and relax his body, the pain would lessen. That resistance to the pain created more physical pain as his body tensed up, and mental pain as he fought the idea of what happened.

Here are a few resilience-building practices that can further teach you the art of letting go and leaning into discomfort:

• Relax your body in cold water instead of tensing up
• Resist quenching an urge like eating a cookie when you know you aren’t hungry or reaching for your phone when you feel bored
• Mono-task instead of multi-task, especially when you feel worried about getting things done

And as you work through the emotions that arise in these scenarios, be sure to speak kindly to yourself.

On your journey through your anxiety, or whatever “negative” emotion you’re tempted to resist, know that you might come across some interesting things, like joy and crying, and it’s all so worth it.

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About Sandy Woznicki

Sandy is a women’s Stress and Anxiety Coach making the path out of chronic anxiety and self-criticism simple so you can find the calm, confident and gracefully resilient woman you are underneath all that self doubt and overwhelm. Through private coaching, her signature Graceful Resilience Group Program, and her Journeyers Sisterhood community, she makes it accessible and uncomplicated to learn the tools to let go, take control and start enjoying this beautiful life.

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Discovering Pleasure in Movement Instead of Exercising from Fear

“The choice that frees or imprisons us is the choice of love or fear. Love liberates. Fear imprisons.” ~Gary Zukav

I come from a family of runners. When I was a young girl, my father would rouse us out of bed on the weekends to run the three-mile par-course at the local park, competing with my siblings for who could do the most sit-ups at the stations along the route. We would end the event with a bunch of chocolate eclairs from the local 7-11 as a reward.

As benign as this story may be, it describes a pattern of connection between exercise and food that, by my late teens, became a rigid and dominating force in my life.

The rules were clear: if you run or swim, you’re allowed to eat ice cream (my favorite treat); if you burn enough calories each day, you are a valuable human being who deserves to be on the planet and feel good about yourself. These beliefs crept in and took hold in my mind and became a kind of religion, complete with rules and a doctrine, as well as self-inflicted emotional punishments for deviation.

As many of us do, I received messages from the world about needing to control my body and food.

One family member told me that “making friends with my hunger” was an admirable power I should strive to achieve. Another time a complete stranger hit on me in a bar and when I declined to talk to him further, he said he thought at first I was “fat” (or maybe “phat”?) but now decided I was just “large.” I guess one was a compliment and the other an insult, but I found both mortifying.

In a strange way, I think becoming bulimic saved me from this rigidity. If I ate too much and didn’t feel like exercising, I had another way to repent of my apostasy: I could always purge. I read somewhere that people with bulimia can be described as “failed anorexics,” and maybe this was true for me.

By the time I reached my early twenties, I had made great strides in healing my eating disorder through psychotherapy, taking a deep dive into spiritual practices like meditation, and tuning into bodily wisdom and intuition. But my inner critic continued to torture me with demands for intense exercise.

I gained more weight than I ever had before as I let go of the most dangerous part of the eating disorder—the purging—yet it was more difficult to surrender the last line of defense between me and the fat, ugly, undisciplined mess I was sure I was doomed to become.

One of my mentors made a gentle suggestion that I give up exercise completely. I thought she was out of her mind! Her suggestion posed a threat to my ego’s fragile illusion of control over my body, so I pretended to entertain the idea but secretly shoved it away.

Eventually, though, I took a good, raw look at the state of my body and mind. I had chronic shin splints from high school and college sports that had never fully healed; my body was always hurting as a result of developing an autoimmune disorder; I had come to hate exercise; and outside of the ephemeral moments of peace I found during meditation, I was depressed and anxious.

It was time to put things on the line and test out the radical new approach to self-love, of not exercising.  So I decided that I wouldn’t exercise unless my body asked for it. For-real asked for it, not obeying the dictates of mental compulsion.

I waited.

One month passed.

The first month was the hardest. Lots of self-criticism emerged, as well as fears about gaining weight. I breathed and talked to friends, did manual work cleaning houses (my gig at the time), journaled, meditated, prayed to a feminine divine presence whose wisdom I had begun to trust—if only just a little bit.

Then the feelings came. Lots of feelings. Crying, memories of things I had forgotten about from a childhood riddled with trauma and loss, fear about the future. Feelings of shame about my eating disorder, my body, my lack of accomplishments despite a higher education.

The second month.

I started to notice more pleasant feelings. Pockets of peace and well-being, even moments of joyful laughter began to open like surprise packages from myself. Without exercise, my days became slower, more meandering and unstructured, and I felt free for the first time since I was quite young.

The third month.

I became aware of an effervescent feeling inside my legs, a bubbly, tingly sensation. I asked myself—what the heck was that? Then it came to me, my body wanted to move!!

That day I took the most delicious walk in Golden Gate Park, not having any agenda about where I was going or how long I’d walk for. I found a grove of eucalyptus trees that shrouded me in complete silence, the kind of silence that is a palpable presence against your skin, like a hug, and I sat down in the middle of the grove and wept with joy. In that moment, I knew I was going to be okay.

In that moment, I didn’t care how big or small my body was. I just wanted more of this moving-for-pleasure, this moving that comes from deep within. Moving because I’m in a body that wants to express itself with joy, grief, play, and all the emotions in between.

That’s what happens when we stop pushing ourselves from a place of fear—fear of losing control, gaining weight, and not being good enough. We eventually feel pulled by a sense of love—for ourselves, for our bodies, and for the deeply satisfying and invigorating act of moving.

Did I ever feel “fat” again and try to force myself to run to make the “feeling” go away? Or suffer an attack from my inner critic? Yes, of course.

But what I discovered was that the journey out of an overexercising pattern doesn’t come from listening to the same old toxic and relentless demand for exercise. I had to rediscover the deep and spontaneous source of my body’s own desire to move in order to begin to heal.

Once I found that natural aliveness, even though the old fearful and manipulative thoughts preyed on my mind from time to time, they didn’t have as much power as before, and I could hear another, kind and compassionate voice, stemming from deep-body-listening.

My practice after that was to wait for that tingly bubbly feeling in my legs, which usually happened every four days or so, and use that sensation as a guide. Then I would take my bus pass, put on my running shoes, and walk or run as far or as little as I wanted.

Sometimes I made it miles to Ocean Beach and sat on the wall meditating, then took the bus back.  Other times I just went to my favorite grove of trees and prayed and cried and felt so incredibly lucky to have listened to the small, quiet voice bubbling up from within.

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About Meg Tinsley

Meg Tinsley received an MA in Somatic Psychology from the California Institute of Integral Studies and is trained in a Jungian-inspired movement therapy. She is a psychotherapist and EMBODY coach who helps women reclaim healthy relationship with their bodies. She maintains an eclectic spiritual and movement practice. Feel free to contact Meg at megtinsleymft@yahoo.com with any comments or questions about this article or about her EMBODY course or EMBODY private sessions.   Explore more at: www.embodyher.org www.megtinsleymft.com

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What It Really Means to Be There and “Hold Space” for Someone Else

“A healer does not heal you. A healer is someone who holds space for you while you awaken your inner healer, so that you may heal yourself.” ~Maryam Hasnaa

I was sobbing quite hysterically, huddled into myself sitting on the kitchen floor.

It literally felt like my life was falling apart. And so was I.

I had been striving so hard to start a meaningful business that would change the world and help others, as well as heal myself from intense ongoing physical symptoms. But it seemed the harder I tried, the less things worked.

My head bobbed slightly off my knees as I took ragged breaths.

What the hell was wrong with me? The thought that was driving my meltdown was unintelligible in my brain, due to the crashing waves of my emotional reaction.

But somehow, eventually, I found myself able to fully lift my head and stare straight on at my distorted reflection in the stainless steel door of the dishwasher.

The whole while, he sat with me.

My endlessly loving partner, Jonathan, held space.

I remember when I first turned to a friend and said, “What does holding space really mean?” I asked with the inquisitiveness of a child, like a small human who does not yet know what a word means.

Because with something like this, can any of us really find the words to accurately explain it?

She used a story in an attempt to define it, “When I was really freaking out about something, I went over to my friend’s house and just let it all out. My friend was able to just listen to me and just you know… hold the space.”

“Holding space” is a concept that is hard to define without using the exact same words to define it. But as she explained it to me, I realized I’ve been lucky to have many experiences of people holding space for me, and I for them.

When it comes down to it, what are we really doing when we are “holding space?”

The interesting thing about this term is that we aren’t actually “holding” anything.

When your daughter comes home from school and wants to tell you all about her day, and you listen intently… you are holding space.

When your boyfriend vents about how hard work was that day, and you give him your full attention… you are holding space.

When you are flipping out over one thing or another or all the things, and someone looks at you with complete acceptance… that is holding space.

When you are both recognizing what is currently is going on, and open to stepping into a new reality… that is holding space.

Holding space is about being in the space. 

It’s about being fully present with the experience. Holding space is viewing someone without judgment and seeing him or her through loving kindness. Holding space is recognizing that although we all may stumble, we are all also so powerful.

Holding space is like holding the door open for someone to walk through to experience a new model of the world. Instead of feeling like the walls are caving in, holding space literally gives breathing room to express, open up, and simply be where we are.

What we are really doing when we hold space is nothing but pure acceptance—of ourselves, of others, and of the moment.

As Brene Brown says, “When we are looking for compassion, we need someone who is deeply rooted, is able to bend, and most of all, embraces us for our strengths and struggles.”

Those compassionate, rooted people in our life are invaluable to help us weather the storm and stand in the light again. But what happens when that other person just is not available to you in that moment?

Holding space doesn’t have to involve anyone else physically being there with us or listening to us directly. You can each hold space for yourself. When you are going through something big (or seemingly small), you can hold space for yourself by tapping into self-compassion. 

Dr. Kristin Neff defines three components of self-compassion as self-kindness, common humanity, and mindfulness.

Self-kindness entails being warm and understanding towards ourselves when we suffer, fail, or feel inadequate. Instead of ignoring our pain or hurting ourselves with self-criticism, self-kindness involves being gentle with yourself when you encounter a painful experience.

Common humanity is that reminder that we all suffer. We are all mortal, vulnerable, and imperfect. This suffering is part of the shared human experience. Realizing that can help us feel less isolated and more connected within that space.

Mindfulness is taking a balanced approach to our challenging emotions so that feelings are neither suppressed nor exaggerated. Instead of “over-identifying” with our thoughts and feelings, mindfulness is a willingness to observe our negative thoughts and emotions with openness, clarity, and equanimity. It’s a non-judgmental way of becoming aware of our inner experience as it is, without trying to suppress or deny.

We cannot ignore our pain and feel compassion at the same time. This means, the more you can hold space for yourself, the more you can hold space for others. In that space, we all experience what it means to feel unconditional love. 

When you feel unconditionally loved, you are able to fully own your own experience and truly be who you are. There is a calmness and clarity and an ability to also love the world as it is.

This is where true power comes from. When we are able to be in unconditional love, all of our thoughts, words, and actions flow from it. We are bringing more of that love into the world.

Which means holding space isn’t just beneficial for one. It benefits all.

By loving ourselves, we also hold space for the world.

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About Danielle LaRock

Danielle LaRock’s mission is creating a space for changemakers to be themselves and take aligned action in their business, movement, or cause. As a seasoned facilitator and coach, she believes making a difference starts with who you are. She is also the founder of Tiny Haven, a tiny house community. Meet Danielle at www.daniellelarock.com and join her free changemaker community, Project Changemaker.

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Why It’s Not Your Fault You’re in a Toxic Relationship

I remember the first time it dawned on me that I was in an unhealthy relationship. Not just one that was difficult and annoying but one that could actually be described as “toxic.”

It was at a training event for a sexual abuse charity I worked for. I immediately felt like a fraud!

How could I be working there, helping other women get out of their unhealthy relationships and process their pain and trauma, but not realize how unhealthy my own relationship was?

How did I not know?

Typically, as I had always done, I beat myself up over it.

I should have known, I’m a professional. How could I even call myself that now?’

Shame.

It was always there lurking in the background.

Maybe deep down I had known … consciously, most definitely not.

And so, while someone talked us through the “cycle of abuse,” I sat there seeing my relationship described to perfection.

We had a nice time until something felt off. The atmosphere changed, and I could sense the tension building. No matter what I tried, no matter how hard I went into people-pleasing mode, I couldn’t stop it from escalating.

There was always a huge argument of some sort, and we’d end up talking for hours, going round in circles, never finding any kind of solution.

Just more distance and disconnection.

I never felt heard. Just blamed. It didn’t even matter what for. Somehow everything was always my fault. And most of that time, that ‘everything’ was nothing at all. Just made up problems that seemed to serve as an excuse to let off some steam, some difficult feelings.

We never resolved anything. We just argued for days … and nights. It was exhausting.

Then came the silence. I knew it well, had experienced it throughout my childhood too.

“If you don’t give me exactly what I want or say exactly what I need you to say, I’ll take all my ‘love’ away and treat you like you don’t exist or matter to me.”

Looking back now, that may have been the most honest stage in our relationship because that’s how I felt constantly— insignificant, unloved, and like I didn’t matter.

But somehow, out of the blue, we made up. We swiped it under the invisible rug that became a breeding ground for chronic disappointment and resentment. It was a very fertile rug.

I guess it also helped us move into the next stage of the cycle: the calm before the storm … until it all started up again.

So how come I didn’t realize that I was (and had been!) in an unhealthy relationship?

Was I stupid? Naive? Uneducated?

None of those things. I was successful, competent, and a high achiever.

I was highly educated, had amazing friendships, and made it look like I had the perfect life.

Because it’s what I wanted to believe. It’s what I needed to believe.

But most of all, it’s all I knew.

The relationship I was in was like all the others that had come before.

I never felt loved or wanted, sometimes not even liked, but that’s just how it was for me. Somehow, my partners would always find something wrong with me.

My mother too.

According to them, I was too sensitive, took things too personally, and couldn’t take a joke.

I said the wrong things, set them off in strange ways, or didn’t really understand them, and was too selfish or stubborn to care deeply enough for them.

Which is funny because all I did was care.

I cared too much, did too much, and loved too much, just not myself.

And so, I stayed. Because it felt normal.

It’s all I’d ever known.

I didn’t get hit, well, not in the way that police photos show. And pushing and shoving doesn’t count, right?

(Neither does that one time I got strangled. My partner at the time was highly stressed at work, and I said the wrong thing, so it definitely didn’t count …).

Being shouted and sworn at was also not real abuse. It was just “his way.” I knew that and still stayed, so how could I complain?

See, I paid attention to different signs, the ones portrayed in the media. Not the everyday ones that insidiously feel so very normal when you’ve grown up in a household in which you didn’t matter either.

The point is that we repeat what we know.

We accept what feels familiar whether it hurts us or not. It’s like we were trained for this, and now we run the marathon of toxic love every day of our lives completely on autopilot.

Most of the time we don’t even question it. It just feels so familiar and normal.

The problem with this is that we stay far too long in situations that hurt us. And so, the first part of leaving is all about educating yourself on what is healthy and what isn’t so that you know.

Because once you know, you can’t unknow, and you’ll have to start doing something about it.

And that’s what I did.

I learned all about unhealthy relationships and how to have healthy ones. This required me to heal my own wounds, let go of beliefs and habits that kept me choosing people that just weren’t good for me, and learn the skills I needed to know to have healthy relationships such as being connected to my feelings, needs, and wants or setting boundaries effectively.

Relationships are difficult and painful when no one has taught you how to connect in healthy ways that leave you feeling liked, respected, and good about yourself.

And so, it’s not really our fault when our adult relationships fail or feel like they’re breaking us.

But we need to put ourselves back in charge and take responsibility for learning how to create the relationships we actually want to be in.

So let me reassure you and tell you that that is possible.

I did it, and so I know that you can do it too.

But it all starts with deciding that you’re done with the painful relationship experiences you are having and that you’re committed to making EPIC LOVE happen.

A love that leaves you feeling appreciated and satisfied.

A love that feels safe.

A love that lets you rise and thrive.

A love I which you feel better than “good enough.”

Decide, choose that kind of love and say yes to yourself.

That’s the first act of real love.

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About Marlena Tillhon

Marlena is a highly experienced psychotherapist and international relationship and self-transformation coach who helps ambitious people create the amazing relationships and lives they long for no matter what happened in their past. She can be found on Instagram, her EPIC LOVE website, and her Embracing Empowered Love Facebook group, where she shares how to become secure in your relationships, grow in confidence, and finally get the love you need.

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