How to Escape Cycles of Panic, Overwhelm and Dread

“Neuroscience research shows that the only way we can change the way we feel is by becoming aware of our inner experience and learning to befriend what is going inside ourselves.” ~Bessel A. van der Kolk

It’s early morning, and I wake with an intense sensation of foreboding. I say wake up, but really, it’s just coming fully into consciousness, as I’ve been semi-conscious all night. Fitfully tossing and turning, a deep anxiety gnawing at my chest.

My mind has been flipping back and forth—across different subjects, even different times, collecting insurmountable evidence that my life is going terribly, and I’ll always feel like I’m just about hanging on by a thread.

I drag myself out of bed, exhausted as usual, meeting the day with an intense feeling of disappointment in myself. Why am I always bouncing between anxiety and panic? Why can’t I control myself so that I stop being fed a constant stream of fearful, self-blaming, intrusive thoughts?

Why can’t these terrible emotions just give me a break once in a while so I could complete some of the things that I’m so anxious about? Why is my life so riddled with overwhelm, and how on earth do I escape this?

That early morning six years ago was a scenario that had played out on repeat for decades. Different worries plagued me at twenty than at forty. But the texture of my mornings, the texture of my days, was the same. Except that by forty I was more tired—my body exhausted from being in this perpetual state of different flavors of fear. I’d had more than enough. Enough was twenty-five years ago.

I’d tried lots of different things—did different types of talk therapy, changed my diet, exercised, went on retreats, completed four different types of meditation training, read endless books, removed stressful-feeling friendships, moved several times, left the country… And while so many things gave me some good ideas, took the edge off things for a while, and at times felt really good, I would always return to the same baseline.

When I missed a meditation, left the retreat, or walked out of the therapy office, I would feel just as alone, just as vulnerable to the forces of the world to take me down into pits of dread and despair. A baseline that was sinking from the weight of so much overwhelm and a life lived in a state of panic.

I didn’t want to feel like this anymore. This wasn’t a life. This was living in glue and trying to battle my way through my days.

Over time, I had made my life smaller and smaller so that there were fewer things to be stressed and anxious about. I’d see fewer people who I found difficult. I made my work and home life simpler. But my worries expanded to fit however small I made my life.

I felt so lost, so alone in my struggles, like I was the only one feeling like this. No one else looked like they would panic if things didn’t go how they needed them to go.

One day by chance, while researching something online for work, I randomly happened upon a coach and decided to give her a try. Over the next few months of working with her, I noticed a small but significant shift in how I was feeling.

I felt a lot calmer; I woke up without punishing dread. I started sleeping better and felt less like I needed to carefully manage my life in order to cope.

I was hooked.

What had happened?

My coach explained to me about the survival states of fight, flight, freeze, and fawn—how I’d been bouncing around between freeze and fawn my whole life, and that’s why I felt so terrible.

Survival is a mode our nervous system goes into when there’s an actual physical threat on the horizon or there’s too much emotional pressure that we don’t know how to deal with.

Like emotions are flooding us, and our nervous system says, “No! We need to protect against this emotional flood.” So survival mode gets turned on.

Unfortunately, survival mode doesn’t feel good! It doesn’t help us live in a state where we are thriving, feeling calm, hopeful, productive, and like life is full of possibility.

Living in survival mode feels awful because it’s a state that we aren’t meant to live in for long stretches of time.

It’s a state we’re meant to access when there’s an actual threat to our survival, but because of how much emotional pressure so many of us carry, many of us are living there a lot of the time.

All emotions are natural and valid; we aren’t meant to disconnect from or suppress them. But when we do, emotional pressure builds.

Emotional pressure can come from an array of sources.

1. When we had experiences as children that brought up a lot of emotions but were left alone to deal with them, and it was too much for our child selves.

Experiences like our parents’ divorce, financial struggles, health issues, and alcoholism. Maybe we had an accident or witnessed abuse or experienced bullying or neglect.

2. Any times when we had natural human emotions like fear, shame, guilt, sadness, and anger but received no emotional support to help us process these emotions as children.

When we have families that don’t know how to process their own emotions, then they can’t support us in learning how to process ours.

When we’re left alone to face terror, that terror is never processed, and the memories of it linger in our body, keeping us trapped in cycles of experiencing it without the opportunity for it to release.

3. Or when our parents and families didn’t allow or tolerate our natural human emotions, like fear, sadness, grief, or anger.

So we had to suppress our feelings, to numb against them, or release the pressure from them in unhealthy ways. Lashing out at others or engaging in destructive behaviors.

When we had to be hyper aware of our parents’ emotions more than our own—instead of our parents being aware of our emotions—as is the case with so many people.

These experiences disconnect us from ourselves, our emotions, and our needs. And when we don’t have the opportunity to process emotions and emotionally activating experiences throughout our lives, the emotional pressure builds over the years until, often late into adulthood, it starts to feel way too much. 

What I needed—and what so many of us need—was to release the emotional pressure. To allow the emotions that had been building up to slowly and gently release through my body. And to feel safe to do so.

To show my nervous system how to move out of a state of needing to be in survival mode and into a state of safety.

To be able to feel emotions like fear, anger, sadness, and grief in a way that felt safe so that I wasn’t being pushed into a survival mode every time fear showed up. Or anger, sadness, or even joy.

So where do we start if we want to stop living in survival mode?

Know that it’s not who we are—it’s survival mode. 

For decades I felt, as many of my clients do when they first come to me—that my reactions of panic and overwhelm, of struggling with dread and resentment, of feeling so often on edge, were somehow something to do with my personality.

Oh, I am just a panicky person. 

I am just someone who is very safety conscious and anxious.

I am just someone who struggles to slow down and not be busy.

I am a control freak—it’s just who I am.

None of these things are personality traits. They are merely a reflection of a nervous system that has lived under too much emotional pressure for too long. It has survival mode on speed dial.

Understanding this can give us some space between us and the reaction or behavior we exhibit in survival mode, which can help us support ourselves more effectively.

Attune to ourselves and offer compassion.

When we’ve been encouraged to disconnect from our emotions, or we’ve had too many experiences in our lives that created significant emotional impact that have been dismissed or ignored, one of the first, most powerful steps is to start attuning to our own emotions and needs.

To know that every emotional reaction and survival response we have has a reason.

Many situations, people, and experiences created this emotional pressure that we’re still carrying. And if there is emotional pressure and pain still within us, it means there hasn’t been enough emotional healing.

Period.

The body does not lie.

Our emotions do not lie.

Our feelings of unease, unsafety, and sensitivity do not lie.

When we judge our reactions and our emotions, it feels like putting a stopper on the jar. It blocks our emotional healing.

Instead, when we can turn toward ourselves with kindness, understanding, compassion, and curiosity about why we feel how we do, this is an incredibly powerful first step in healing.

Coming out of long-term survival mode takes time. 

In my experience, there isn’t a quick fix for living through decades of survival in a body that’s been dysregulated by unhealed emotional pain from trauma. Taking a slow, gentle, but consistent approach is what has created the most profound, permanent, and expansive change for me and for my clients.

The nervous system loves baby steps. And when we think in terms of how long we have lived in this state, taking time to unravel and rewire our reactions over months or years—that’s as long as it took to create these responses, right?

Our nervous system has been pushing us into a protective state for a long time, so we want to acknowledge this push into survival and be gentle with ourselves as we emerge from it.

Survival mode is a protective response—it doesn’t feel good, but your nervous system thinks you need to be in this mode because of the emotional pressures from the past.

So we’re taking the long game here. The nervous system loves slow, gentle change.

I love what the teacher Deb Dana says, “We want to stretch our nervous system, not stress it.”

We can start by offering regular cues of safety to our nervous system. 

We can’t generally talk our way out of survival mode; we need to create the conditions for our nervous system to move out of it.

What the nervous system needs is to feel safe. That there isn’t an emergency or a threat to our survival on the horizon.

By regularly doing things that turn on the parasympathetic part of our nervous system, which is the ‘rest and digest’ part, we can start to feel calmer and more grounded. This is the first step in healing. It means that we aren’t always stuck in this urgent state.

Here are some simple ways we can start sending cues of safety to our nervous system so that we can turn down the dial of survival—that intense stress-overwhelm-hypervigilant state.

Physiological sigh

One of the simplest ways we can come out of survival or intense overwhelm is with this breath. Take a short, full inhale through the nose and then an extra inhale on top. And then a long, slow exhale. Often, doing this once or twice is enough, but you can do this for a couple of minutes to get to a deeper state of regulation and relaxation.

Orienting to safety 

When we are in survival mode, we get tunnel vision, and our minds loop on one subject. When we notice this tunnel vision or fixations, we can bring a cue of safety to our nervous system by expanding our vision.

We can start, very slowly, letting our eyes drift around our space, turning our necks and looking above us, below us, and behind us. Take a few minutes to take in all of the space we are in. Going very slowly (slowness is also a cue of safety for the nervous system). Looking out of the window, especially if we can see a horizon line. The nervous system finds the horizon very soothing, and looking toward our exit too.

This shows our nervous system there are no threats nearby.

Reconnecting to our body with a body scan

When we are in survival mode, we disconnect from our bodies. We may not realize this because we feel flooded with challenging, sometimes painful sensations. But when we ask ourselves, “Can I feel my feet? My fingers?” We see that we have disconnected from our body.

Survival can feel like a very ‘head’ only experience, as we get locked into the terrible/terrifying/looping intrusive thoughts that survival mode creates.

A simple body scan can help bring us into connection with our body and therefore into a sensation of safety. Gently going through our bodies, noticing each limb or section, wiggling or flexing the area if it feels numb, brings a strong cue of safety to the nervous system so that it can ‘turn off’ from survival mode.

These simple exercises can be a powerful beginning, creating a gentle shift, one step at a time, toward creating a safe anchor within our body in which to land.

Validating our emotions 

This is also an incredibly useful step in this work of healing our survival mode reactions. When we understand that, in fact, all emotions are valid, all emotions are natural, and all emotions are looking to express needs, we can start to change our perceptions of our emotional experiences.

Of course, we don’t want to throw our emotions at other people—shouting in anger or terrifying our kids because we feel scared. We want to take responsibility for our emotions—always.

But we need to know that what emotions are yearning for is to be seen, felt, and heard. They want space, and they want to be acknowledged.

Can we validate our emotions, offering them some compassion and understanding, instead of trying to push them away, suppress them, or argue with them?

It’s in this brave and courageous act of turning toward and accepting our emotions that we get the chance to allow them enough space to release through our bodies—so we stop keeping them suppressed inside.

Change—and rewiring our nervous system responses—is always possible.

What has been the most hopeful and encouraging thing on my journey to release myself from punishing anxiety and persistent survival mode is recognizing that it’s possible for us to reconnect to our natural state of self-healing.

Our nervous system is built to naturally release stress, overwhelm, and trauma. When we can bring safety to our bodies and start to powerfully attune to ourselves and our emotions, offering ourselves compassion and support, it’s possible to start reconnecting to that natural state. To rewire our patterns of overwhelm—from feeling on edge so often, quick to panic or anxiety to feeling calmer, grounded, and confident in ourselves.

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About Diana Bird

Diana Bird is a Neuro-Emotional coach and writer who helps people break free from overwhelm, panic and dread, stepping into calm and confidence. Sign up for her free emotional-processing mini workshop and receive powerful tools, free training, and ongoing support to transform your emotional well-being. Take the first step toward lasting emotional change. Diana lives in southern Spain with her two children and photographer husband.

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How My Dog Became an Unexpected Source of Healing

“The place of true healing is a fierce place. It’s a giant place. It’s a place of monstrous beauty and endless dark and glimmering light. And you have to work really, really, really hard to get there, but you can do it.” ~Cheryl Strayed

My memories of my sister are much hazier than they used to be—somehow less crisp and colorful than before. But time has a way of doing that. Images of her that used to show up in bold, bright colors in my mind’s eye have slowly faded to black and white, with various shades of gray and silver popping in from time to time, almost as if to keep me on my toes and keep her memory alive.

I can still remember her last days, the light slowly dimming from her eyes as she lay bound to her bed, no longer able to move or eat on her own, with feeding tubes in her nose and various devices surrounding her for those inevitable—and fear-gripped moments when she needed help breathing.

Like the rest of my family, I would take my turn staying in her room, checking on her to make sure she was still breathing. It was always the same routine. With anxiety creeping into my chest, I would place one hand on her belly to make sure it was still rising and falling while leaning in close to her nose, listening for the soft sound of her breath. A sigh of relief would pass through me every time I heard her gentle exhale.

The night she passed, I had just finished performing that very ritual, rising to leave only once I felt the repeated slow, steady rise and fall of her belly and the soft whisper of her strained breath on my face. I can still remember walking back into the family room and gratefully announcing, ”She’s okay.”

Maybe it was mother’s instinct, but only moments later my mother rushed back into my sister’s room. Her sense of urgency took me by surprise since I had just left the room and everything had been fine. I assumed she didn’t think I could be trusted and needed to see for herself.

It wasn’t long before I heard the sound of my mother’s screams through the thin walls of our small duplex. I knew right away what it meant—my sister had stopped breathing.

For a long time afterward, I blamed myself for not having been in the room when she took her last breath, and for leaving her alone in those last few seconds. If I had just stayed another minute, I could have been with her. Instead, I had left the room right as she had been getting ready to leave the world.

The months that followed were a blur of pain, confusion, and disbelief as I tried to make sense of a world without her in it. At ten years old, I was too young to understand how much my parents were hurting or how deeply my sister’s death affected them. I mistakenly thought their withdrawal and anger were because of something I had done. Maybe I was the one who had messed up—missed the signs that could have saved her night. Or maybe I was the one who they wished had died instead.

Those thoughts became the foundation for years of self-punishment after my sister’s death. I found myself struggling with feelings of self-hatred and inadequacy, which often showed up as eating disorders, self-harm, and feelings of unworthiness.

Survivor’s guilt and the belief that I was the “bad” daughter who didn’t deserve to live only added more shame and self-doubt that I couldn’t shake off. But as I got older, I learned to shut the pain—and the memories—out.

Soon, I stopped thinking about that night altogether. I convinced myself that I had moved past it, telling myself that time really does “heal all wounds.” I couldn’t have been more wrong.

It would take me decades to understand that time hadn’t actually healed anything. I had just pushed the memories so far down that they became buried under layers of guilt, shame, and unresolved grief, waiting to resurface when I was ready to face them.

The truth is, time doesn’t heal all wounds unless we do the work to heal them ourselves.

My own healing came in an unexpected way after years of trying to prove my worthiness through constant people-pleasing, overworking, over-committing, and deliberately taking on more challenging projects and activities, both personally and professionally, just to prove that I mattered and was deserving of my life. I still hadn’t forgiven myself for being the one that lived when a soul as beautiful, bright, and loving as my sister hadn’t.

I finally realize now that it wasn’t even the rest of the world I was trying to prove my worth to—it was myself. And if it hadn’t been for my dog Taz, I’m not sure if I would have ever come to that realization.

When I first rescued him, I was unknowingly bringing Taz into my life as yet another way of trying to prove I mattered. Having been severely abused and fresh off a major back surgery, he could barely walk when I first took him in.

His (understandable) anxiety had created severely destructive—and, at least initially—fear- and pain-based behavior that made him particularly challenging. I can still remember countless friends saying to me, “You know you can’t do this. What are you trying to prove? He’s too much for you.” But my self-punishment game was strong, and their words only pushed me to try harder.

For his entire first year with me, I would carry him around in his special harness like a suitcase, setting him down for short spurts so he could get the feeling of putting weight on his legs and paws and build enough strength to start walking.

In the beginning, he couldn’t understand that he had to lift his paws and set them down again to walk, so he would drag them instead, scraping his paws until they were raw and bloody within seconds and prompting me to pick him right back up and carry him again. (I can only imagine what others thought when they saw my 5’2 frame carrying a seventy-pound pitbull around like a duffel bag!)

That drill went on for months. Inside the house, I would bring him into the carpeted rooms and teach him how to place his paws—down on all fours and crawling along the floor with him as my other dog, Hope, did her part and pranced around showing him how she did it. Slowly, he started to understand. And even more slowly, he started to walk.

A year later, he was running, which turned into sprinting a few months after that. Another three years after that, he was (cautiously) able to go up and down stairs. And seven years after he came to me, just when it seemed that he was at his strongest yet, he was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer.

“He has hemangiosarcoma. The tumor is on his heart, and every pump is spreading it throughout his body. There’s nothing we can do. He has about ten days before his heart will stop pumping.”

What had started as an emergency visit for his stomach issues had turned into a death knell for Taz.

The thought of this being the end of his story, when he had already been through so much and finally made it to the other side, seemed unfathomable. In some ways, it was the biggest challenge I had faced yet, and I was determined to save him.

I didn’t sleep the night of his diagnosis. Or most of the nights after that. Instead, I found myself waking up almost every hour, gazing at him sleeping by my side, tears gathering in my eyes, and wondering how I could save him—and what else I needed to sacrifice to keep him by my side.

I initially failed to grasp that his illness was the beginning of my healing. And the darkness that would ensue was actually the beginning of the light that would start pouring into my childhood wounds.

As the pain eclipsed me in those dark, late-night moments, I didn’t even realize what I was doing at first. What started as just trying to soak in every moment with him had triggered the very ritual I had performed for so long as a child. Only this time, it wasn’t my sister I was watching over—it was Taz.

Every time I woke up and gazed at him throughout the night, I would place my hand on his belly to make sure it was still rising and falling and lean in close to see if I could hear him breathing.

Just like that, I had brought myself right back into the unresolved trauma loop that I had buried and ignored so long ago. When the realization hit me, I immediately felt transported back to that night decades ago—to that last moment with her, the last time my hand had been on her belly.

I understood then that I had never truly healed—I had only learned to suppress it. I also realized that the shame, blame, and guilt I had carried for so long had never really left me and were still huge parts of who I was and had been for decades after she died.

All the unshed tears, anger, and grief that I had never processed came pouring out. I wept for hours. And every time I thought I was out of tears, a new stream would surface.

That ritual lasted every night for thirty-four days. Courageous as ever, Taz had outlived the ten days he was given, and on the thirty-fourth day, my Tazzie Bear left me. Only this time I was in the room.

Somehow, we both knew the time had come, and as he lay his head in my lap one last time, gazing lovingly one more time into my eyes and proceeded to take his last breath, I felt his soul leave his body. And somehow, an unexpected sense of peace seemed to have entered mine.

That beautiful, amazing soul of his had taken my pain with him, and in the process, he had somehow broken the trauma loop I had unknowingly been caught in all those years.

His death had helped me heal years of pain I didn’t even know I was carrying. As I sat there, holding him in his final moments, I realized that his presence had been the biggest gift I had ever received.

For animal lovers, this next sentence will make perfect sense: Taz had been far more than my pet; he had come to me as a lifeline, guiding me into my next chapter of healing and self-discovery.

Because of him, I had officially started a new chapter of my life. One that was free from the debilitating shame, guilt, and pain I had carried for so long. And in that quiet moment, I understood that healing isn’t linear—it’s a journey, often led by the most unexpected teachers.

And I will forever be grateful that I was lucky enough to have him as one of my teachers.

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About Afsheen Shah

Afsheen Shah is a lawyer-turned-life coach who helps women over 40 reconnect with themselves and create a life that that feels more meaningful and fulfilling.  Blending mindset work, spirituality, and intentional lifestyle shifts, she guides women to rediscover their joy, reclaim their voice, and build a life that aligns with who they truly are. Visit her at www.afsheenshah.com and on Instagram @afsheenshah.

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Escaping a Toxic Relationship: My Intuition Was Right All Along

“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it.” ~Brené Brown

What is the exact point when you realize you are in a toxic relationship? For me, it was a process that took almost a year. I thought I was mindful and “awake.” I did have an internal dialogue with myself, but I had a thick layer of deception around me. Today, I call it a fog because I’m on the other side, and I see much more clearly.

Looking back, I see that my inner voice was guiding me, but I saw it as self-sabotage then because a part of me wanted to prove that I was right, that I was worthy, that I was a good and kind person who only wanted love and family. Unfortunately, the more I looked to get love from the outside world, the further I was from the source.

Today, I can confidently say that I can sense the difference between my intuition and the distracting voice of my ego, who wants to be right. Now I can finally hear what my inner guide is telling me. But it wasn’t always this way.

As a result of the separation from the toxic relationship, I lost everything. I had to give up my old lifestyle to save my soul. I had to let go of my home and all my belongings, escaping with just one bag of clothes and my laptop.

I lost money in a property settlement and had no car or place to live. I found a refuge in a women’s shelter with my eight-month-old baby and started my new life from a humble place. But I found something through all this—a connection to my inner voice, a connection that gave me the strength to accept the loss, own my story, and say goodbye to the old version of myself. And I’d like to share with you the process.

September 2021

Me: Wow, this is beautiful! I’ve always wanted to try new things. I can get used to this kind of life. I feel this thrill in my tummy. It’s fun, it’s exciting, it’s new! What is this? Love?

My inner self (very quietly): This is a carousel.

Me: Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is fun. He already said he loves me. I told him it’s too early to say that; we barely know each other. So, I asked him why he’s in love with me. And do you know what he said? “Because you are you.” He gets me; finally, someone who loves me for who I truly am. No doubt, no proving. I’m so lucky.

My inner self (very quietly): Watch out—it’s too good to be true.

Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m finally alive again. This is it. I think I’m in love with him too. He already wants to move in together and have a child. He chose me, and I’m so excited. So please stop being so negative and let me lead.

Six months quiet

Me: He’s what I wanted. He’s spiritual and he meditates. He looks after himself, and he’s so assertive and ambitious. He listens to me when I talk. But then when I ask for something, he says, “I think you should check your energy before you speak to me.” It’s really confusing. There are ups and downs, but I guess every relationship is like this… (very quietly): Isn’t it?

My inner self (very quietly): No.

Me: What do you know? You haven’t even had a healthy relationship before, so how would you know?

My inner self (lovingly): Neither have you, sweetheart.

Me: Well, to be honest, I feel like I can’t get a word in sometimes. It’s never a good time to mention things that are important to me, or he just dismisses the topic quickly, and I don’t know how to introduce it again.

I guess I just have to get better at communicating. Let’s do some courses for that. I always get this feeling in my stomach—massive pain, like a black hole, when I sense I’m losing him, and I fear that I’ll die not having him in my life. I can only calm down when I know things are good between us and when he hugs me again.

I’ll just lean in with more love and kindness, and I’ll figure it out. He’ll see how much I love him even though he’s stressed and doesn’t have time for me anymore. He’ll see that I’m here for him through good and bad, and then he’ll be here for me when I need it. I’m sure we just hit a rough patch, and all will be good again soon.

Actually, stop being so negative. I have everything I’ve always wanted. Now, with the baby on the way, we’ll make such a wonderful family, and I’ll see what a great father he’ll be and how much fun we’ll have.

Six months later

Me: It’s still kind of up and down, isn’t it? Some days things go well and we’re happy, but then comes a big fall. One day he says that I’m the best partner he’s ever had because all his exes are crazy. Other days, he comments really hurtfully on what I say or who my friends are. And it goes round and round.

My inner self (very quietly): Like on that wheel?

Me: What wheel? The Power and Control Wheel I saw? Nah, not like that. I wouldn’t do that to myself. I was already in an emotionally abusive relationship, and I wouldn’t be so stupid as to repeat it.

Things are fine. I just need to be nicer to him. It’s kind of my fault. It must be my hormones. It will pass after the birth. He’ll be with us at home, and we’ll restore the peace and calm. Easy. I feel so much love for him. I won’t ruin this relationship by being too sensitive. I’ve got this. I’ll do more visualizations and affirmations.

Three months later

Me: Hello, are you there? I’m so confused. I think I’m losing my mind.

My inner self (very quietly): I know, honey.

Me: What’s going on? My life is a mess. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know why I’m ruining everything all the time. I used to be fun, happy, and confident… Now all I feel is disoriented and dizzy.

My inner self: A bit like on a carousel?

Me: No, I’m not. I told you—he’s helping me. He’s the best. I want him. I don’t have anyone else. And I love him so much I can’t imagine my life without him. It’s impossible. He’s got all the money, he’s signed on the lease, the car is under his name, and I’m not even employed…

My inner self (patiently): Alright, honey. Go again. I’ll be here when you need me.

Two months later

Me: I don’t recognize my life or myself anymore. Everything is kind of fuzzy. I’ve had this headache for the last week or so. I can’t feel or think clearly; I can’t feel my body. I’m unwell.

My inner self: I know, my dear.

Me: What’s going on? Please help me, someone.

My inner self (very quietly): You are on a carousel.

Me: Why do you keep repeating that? I told you he’s helping. Well, sometimes. He’s just a bit stressed, but it’s also my fault because I’m not as much fun as I used to be. I don’t know why I feel so numb or why I can’t just laugh anymore.

He’s the only person left. I don’t see anyone else anymore. I’m scared to speak to anyone; no one would believe me anyway. My life is so extreme compared to last year, with court cases and police and debts and signing documents I don’t understand. What am I doing wrong? Why is this happening to me?

My inner self (barely loud enough to hear): Have you noticed the same things happening over and over?

Me: Yes. But I’d die not having him. Stop telling me he’s the problem when I know I’m the problem.

One month later

Me: Are you there?

My inner self: Of course.

Me: The same things are happening over and over again. I thought he was helping and that I was crying every night because I’m depressed and I have so much drama in my life, but I don’t bring up any of that. He always talks and talks until I feel like the worst person in the world.

The other day he came to me with an idea to have children with other women because he wants more kids than I can give him since I’m turning forty this year. He claims it’s because more women should have children with such fantastic genetic material. This is too much for me, and it’s not getting better but harder and faster. But how do I get out? Please help!

My inner self: Are you ready?

Me: I think so.

My inner self: Then jump.

Me: Where?

My inner self: Off the carousel, sweetie.

Me: Can you slow it down, please!? This is going to hurt.

My inner self (most lovingly): It will, honey, but you are not alone. I’m here. I will guide you and help you heal.

And so I did.

Four Takeaways from Those Conversations with My Intuition

First: Intuition is usually quiet, gentle, and subtle. I recommend going back in your memory and noticing when you heard your intuition. What was the quality and the tone? What else can you notice and learn about it?

Second: Intuition doesn’t argue. It often disappears when you disbelieve or argue back. It’s very sensitive to criticism and attitude, meaning what seems to be right or more logical or more convenient. If you want to be guided by intuition, you have to let go of thinking that you ‘know.’

Third: It grows stronger if you connect with it like your life depends on it. If you surrender and quiet your overthinking, you will be surprised by how quickly your intuition can guide you to where you need to go.

Fourth: Your relationship with your intuition is like any other relationship; it needs time, care, and attention to build it solid. But once you do, you’ll have an invaluable asset for life.

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About Ivana Care

Ivana is a life and transformation coach and a certified Root-Cause Therapy Practitioner. With a trauma-informed approach, she helps women navigate life after separation or divorce, guiding them to release heavy emotions, reconnect with their intuition, and rebuild their self-worth. By addressing the original imprints of past wounds, Ivana supports her clients in removing layers of self-doubt and shame and gaining the clarity they need to move forward. Visit her at ivana.care.com.

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What I Learned When My Brain and Body Shut Down

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” ~Anne Lamott

I used to believe that success meant always being available. Always saying yes. Always responding immediately to emails, Slack pings, texts, whatever was thrown my way. Because if I stopped—even for a second—I might fall behind. And if I wasn’t working harder than everyone else, was I even working hard enough?

For years, that mindset worked. Or so I thought. Every win, every promotion, every new milestone felt like adding fuel to the fire. The more I ‘succeeded’ by society’s standards—the title, the career, the financial stability—the more I pushed myself to do more, to be more.

My perfectionism kicked in, too. I didn’t just want to succeed; I wanted to be perfect at everything—career, leadership, motherhood, marriage, friendships. And I never removed anything from my plate—I just kept stacking it higher.

I climbed the corporate ladder, became the first female VP in a 300-person marketing org at a Fortune 500 company, and checked every success box that should have made me feel accomplished. But instead of feeling fulfilled, I felt… empty. Exhausted. Like I was running on fumes but too scared to stop.

And then one day, my body gave me no choice but to stop. It wasn’t a slow fade or a warning sign I could ignore—it was like someone pulled the plug. I went from a high-functioning overachiever to someone who couldn’t even form a sentence without feeling mentally drained.

Not just stress. Not just exhaustion. A full-body, full-brain shutdown. Emails didn’t make sense. Conversations felt like static. I couldn’t process thoughts.

My brain hit the off switch, and I didn’t know how to turn it back on. I sat at my desk, staring at my screen, and for the first time in my life, I physically couldn’t push through.

That moment scared me more than anything.

Five years before my full breakdown, I had already been on a collision course. In that short span of time, I became a mother, got promoted to director, took on more teams and responsibilities, lost my sister and grandmother, and moved into a new house—which promptly caught fire.

But I still kept pushing, still kept performing, because slowing down wasn’t an option. Until my body made it one.

I remember sitting in my car after work, gripping the steering wheel, staring blankly ahead. I had nothing left.

It wasn’t just exhaustion; it was something deeper, something that made me feel like I had lost control over my own mind and body. I had built my entire identity on being productive, on being the go-to person, the one who always delivered.

But now I had nothing left to give. And I had no idea how to fix it.

What I Learned from My Breaking Point

But how did I get to that point?

How did I go from thriving on the hustle to completely shutting down?

Looking back, the signs were all there—I just ignored them.

The late nights, the skipped meals, the creeping exhaustion I kept brushing off as ‘just part of the job.’ My body had been warning me for years, and I didn’t listen. Until I had no choice.

That breaking point forced me to ask myself something I had spent my whole life avoiding:

What am I chasing, and at what cost?

Here’s what finally made me realize I couldn’t keep going like this (and what I wish I had figured out before I hit rock bottom):

1. Rest isn’t a reward. It’s a requirement.

For the longest time, I thought sleeping more would fix everything. I watched a MasterClass with Dr. Matt Walker (a sleep expert) and learned all about chronotypes—morning larks vs. night owls. I knew I was a morning lark, so I figured, Great, I’ll just get to bed earlier, and that should do it!

Except, it didn’t.

I’d lie there at night, my body still, but my brain running marathons.

• Did I give my kiddo his medication?
• Did someone feed the dog?
• Is my team member feeling better after being out sick?
• Crap, I forgot to move the laundry. Now I have two choices: leave it and deal with the stink tomorrow, or drag myself out of bed to fix it.

That’s when I realized that rest isn’t just about sleep. It’s about giving your mind and body a real reset.

I found that when I spent time in my garden, I had more patience with others.

I picked up crocheting for the first time in twenty-five years, making beanies like my life depended on it. They were adorable—and it brought me a peace I hadn’t felt in years.

I started playing board games with my kids, laughing around the table instead of rushing them to bed just so I could jump back online and “get ahead.”

For years, I treated parenting like a responsibility (which, to be fair, it is), but I never just let time be. Everything had been a task to complete, a schedule to follow. But slowing down, being present, laughing with my family—THAT felt like true rest.

Rest isn’t just about stopping. It’s about resetting in a way that actually fuels you.

2. Ambition and balance can co-exist.

Let’s be real—I’m still a work in progress when it comes to boundaries. But one of the biggest shifts I made was realizing that everything in life is a season.

I used to overthink every decision. Saying no felt heavy, like I was closing a door forever. But once I started thinking in seasons, everything changed.

• Instead of “no,” I started saying “not right now.” This made boundaries feel lighter and easier to stick to.
• I got clear on my non-negotiables. If something filled my cup, it got priority time. If something drained me? It was time to let it go.

For years, I was the kind of leader who said things like “I support your decision” when someone needed time off—but the undertone was always “but we really need you here.” The unspoken pressure to overwork was real.

Now, I build my life around people who encourage me to invest in myself—not just support it, but push me to do it. And that makes all the difference.

3. If stopping feels scary, that’s a sign you need to stop.

I was terrified to slow down. I had built my entire reputation on:

Always being available (Praised!)
Always performing at the top (Praised!)
Living every aspect of hustle culture (Praised!).

It was my identity. So, if I stopped… who even was I?

What if I had worked my butt off for nothing?
What if people stopped seeing me as “successful”—would they think I was a failure?

I’m still in this transition, and honestly, it’s still scary. But leaning into the unknown is part of redefining success. That’s what makes it feel less terrifying.

I used to believe success = status, power, money.
Now, I see success as something bigger—health, joy, presence.

And while I won’t pretend it’s easy, I can tell you this: it’s worth it.

What This Means for You

If you’re reading this, wondering why—despite all your effort—you still feel exhausted, stuck, or empty… I get it. I’ve sat in that same place, running on fumes, convinced that pushing harder was the answer. But it’s not. It never was.

You don’t have to break before you start making changes. Small shifts—pausing, setting boundaries, rethinking what success actually means—can save you from ever reaching that breaking point.

Take the break now. Reclaim your energy now. Redefine success now. Because the life you want isn’t waiting on your next achievement—it’s waiting on you to stop running long enough to actually live it.

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About Kris Licata

Kris Licata is a former corporate leader who knows firsthand how hustle culture disguises itself as ambition. Now, she helps high-achievers break free from burnout and redefine success on their own terms. As the founder of Break & Bloom, she creates experiences that help overachievers reset through creativity, connection, and humor—because success should fuel you, not drain you. Follow her journey and get real, relatable insights at krislicata.com.

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Get Happier Meditation’s FREE Mindful Menopause Guide

Honestly, it’s hard to believe I’m at the age for perimenopause. I feel young in many ways, despite the exhaustion of parenting two young kids. And I’ve always felt somewhat eternal, doing whatever I want to do at any age, without regard for what other people think or believe.

But here I am—forty-five, dealing with all kinds of hormone-related symptoms, including brain fog, mood swings, and most recently, anemia from heavy bleeding.

I haven’t yet experienced most of the physical issues that plague many women at midlife, like hot flashes (fun!), sleep disturbances, and weight gain. But I’m deep enough into the start of the change to recognize that I need a plan and tools to navigate this new chapter without losing myself or my mind.

That’s why I was thrilled to learn that Happier Meditation recently partnered with mindfulness expert Diane Winston to create The Mindful Menopause Guide—a free resource designed to help you move through this transition with more clarity, steadiness, and self-compassion.

Inside, you’ll find:

• Guided mindfulness sessions tailored for menopause
• Personal notes from Diana Winston on navigating change
• Reflective prompts to help you connect with yourself
• Meditation practices to support stress, sleep, and emotional balance

People don’t always want to talk about menopause. It can feel embarrassing, and it’s a confession of aging, which society tends to view negatively—despite it being inevitable for many and clearly better than the alternative!

None of us wants to be seen as weak, deteriorating, or less than. But avoiding the conversation just makes us feel more alone, and it prevents us from getting what we need to thrive as we age, which I fully intend to do.

If you’d like to do the same—if you’re determined to embrace your changing body and reclaim your calm and confidence as you navigate the emotional rollercoaster of your shifting hormones—I highly recommend that you check out The Mindful Menopause Guide. It’s totally free and absolutely invaluable.

We can’t change what we’re going through, but we can choose to meet it mindfully to reduce stress and feel more at home in our bodies.

I hope the guide is helpful to you!

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About Lori Deschene

Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha. She started the site after struggling with depression, bulimia, c-PTSD, and toxic shame so she could recycle her former pain into something useful and inspire others to do the same. You can find her books, including Tiny Buddha’s Gratitude Journal and Tiny Buddha’s Worry Journal, here and learn more about her eCourse, Recreate Your Life Story, if you’re ready to transform your life and become the person you want to be.

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How to Develop True Self-Confidence Amid Life’s Uncertainty

“Confidence comes not from always being right but from not fearing to be wrong.” ~Peter T. McIntyre

I used to think of confidence as something external, something that people exuded in their body language, in the way they spoke, or in the certainty of their decisions.

To me, a confident person had a poker face and a strong, grounded posture. I thought confidence was something you cultivated through endless practice—training yourself to speak with assertiveness and decisiveness, to project certainty even when you didn’t feel it inside.

But I’ve come to understand that true self-confidence is something that comes from within, and I fully embrace Stephen Batchelor’s definition: “Self-confidence is trust in our capacity to awaken. It is both the courage to face whatever life throws at us without losing our sense of calm and the humility to treat every situation we encounter as one from which we can learn.”

It is not arrogance or blind faith in one’s abilities; it is a quiet trust in our inner wisdom, an unwavering belief that we can navigate whatever life presents, even when the path ahead is unclear.

I did not arrive at this understanding easily. It took one of the most difficult periods of my life to uncover the strength that had always been within me, hidden beneath layers of conditioning, fear, and uncertainty.

In the midst of heartbreak, loss, and what felt like complete falling apart, I learned to sit with my emotions, to hold space for them, and to trust that they were not my enemy but my guide.

When Everything Falls Apart

There was a time when everything I thought was certain suddenly crumbled. The foundation I had built my life upon—the plans, the expectations, the identity I had crafted—was gone. I found myself with nothing solid to hold onto except my own ability to endure. And even that felt fragile at times.

During those days, self-confidence was not something I actively sought. In truth, I was just trying to get through each moment. I took things hour by hour, day by day. I sought support in those around me, who held space for me with compassion. I turned inward, searching for any glimmer of light in the darkness. Sometimes I found it. Other times, it felt like I was shoveling more soil over it, burying it deeper.

It wasn’t a linear process. Healing never is. Some days, I felt strong and capable; others, I was overwhelmed by grief, sadness, and doubt. But slowly, without realizing it at first, I was building something. I was learning to trust myself. I was learning that even in the most painful moments, I could survive them. And not just survive; I could learn from them, grow through them, and emerge stronger on the other side.

Sitting with Discomfort: The Pathway to Confidence

I had been meditating, reading, and reflecting for years, but during this time, my practice took on a different meaning. It was no longer about finding peace, clarity, or becoming a better person; it was about learning to sit with discomfort without trying to fix it. There were times (most!) when my meditation felt anything but calming. Instead of feeling still or at ease, I felt restless, agitated, even more lost.

But what I didn’t realize then was that I was doing the work. Meditation wasn’t about achieving a state of bliss—it was about cultivating the capacity to be with whatever arose, without running from it or pushing it away. The more I practiced this, the more I realized that the self-confidence I sought wasn’t about having all the answers. It was about trusting that I could handle the unknown.

I came to understand that uncertainty is the only certainty in life. As Susan Jeffers wrote in Embracing Uncertainty, “The only way to get rid of the fear of doing something is to go out and do it.” What I needed was not certainty about the future, but trust in my ability to meet it with openness and resilience.

The Confidence That Emerges After Pain

With time, I realized that confidence isn’t about knowing exactly what will happen next. It’s about knowing that whatever happens, we have the strength and inner resources to face it. And more than that—we have the ability to thrive through it.

For me, true self-confidence came from understanding impermanence, from recognizing that everything changes, and from knowing that I, too, have the ability to adapt and respond. It came from experiencing suffering and emerging on the other side with greater compassion—for myself and for others. It came from realizing that I didn’t need to have everything figured out to trust myself completely.

This kind of confidence isn’t loud or showy. It doesn’t seek validation or prove itself to others. It is quiet, deep, and unshakable. It is the trust that we have our own backs, that we can meet life with open arms, and that even in uncertainty, we are always enough.

Your Inner Light Is Always There

If you are in the midst of struggle right now, feeling like the ground beneath you is shifting, I want you to know this: There is a powerful light within you. It may feel dim at times (maybe most of the time!), but it is there. It carries the wisdom, strength, and love you need—not only to survive but to live fully, with depth and meaning.

Concepts like confidence or inner strength may sound foreign now, yet they form, accumulate, and grow in the quiet, unseen ways you keep going, in the small moments you show up for yourself, in the hidden effort you make every day, in the part of you that still hopes.

True self-confidence is not about never feeling fear or doubt. If anything, these emotions are an essential part of being human. It is only because of fear and doubt that we can truly recognize freedom and inner strength—for what is darkness but the absence of light? By sitting with these emotions, allowing them, and creating space for them as best as you can, you begin to embrace your humanity.

Self-confidence is about walking forward, holding space for it all, and trusting that your human nature has what it takes to navigate whatever comes, even if you’ve struggled with this in the past. It is about knowing, deep in your bones, that no matter what life brings, there is a light within you that is always lit—you simply need to allow it to shine through.

And that is how your quiet, inner confidence carries you forward. Every experience is a gift—an opportunity to expand your wisdom, to grow in ways you may not always notice, but that always carry you forward.

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About Carolina Gonzalez

Carolina Gonzalez is a certified mindfulness and meditation teacher based in Sydney, Australia, passionate about guiding others through life’s uncertainties with compassion and clarity. After navigating her own journey through self-doubt and emotional depletion, she created Renew & Rise: Your 90-Day Pathway to Rediscover Clarity, Confidence, and Self-Worth. Using mindfulness and meditation practices, she helps people reconnect with their inner strength, cultivate self-worth, and feel empowered to make aligned life choices. Sign up for her free six-minute calming and grounding meditation at carolinagonzalezmindfulness.com.

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From Professional to Personal: The Unexpected Joy of Workplace Friendship

“Chance made us colleagues. Fun and laughter made us friends.” ~Unknown 

A year into my new job, I realized that the hardest part wasn’t the complexity of the work—it was the culture. The office felt like a maze of silos, each person isolated in their corner. The hierarchy was more than just a structure—it was something everyone was constantly reminded of. I was used to navigating high-pressure, competitive environments, but this one was different.

As a woman in STEM, I had learned early on to keep my personal life separate from my work life. This boundary helped me maintain control, protect my privacy, and avoid becoming the subject of office gossip. It worked for years. But the longer I stayed, the more I felt the weight of that separation. I was increasingly feeling isolated, even in a room full of colleagues.

For years, I had adhered to the motto: I’m here to do a job, not make friends. I thought I was maintaining professionalism. But here’s the truth: What happens when you spend so much of your waking life in a place that doesn’t let you connect? How can you keep thriving if you aren’t allowed to be fully human, to engage in real, meaningful relationships?

The paradoxes of modern work culture are everywhere:

• “Create your own destiny”—but also “Surrender to the universe.”
• “Work smarter, not harder”—but “Success comes from hustle.”
• “Don’t tie your identity to your job”—yet when you meet someone, the first question is, “What do you do?”
• “Collaboration is key”—but everyone is really looking out for themselves.

These contradictions left me feeling more lonely than fulfilled. The boundaries I had set to protect myself had instead built walls, ones that made me feel increasingly disconnected. It took me a while to even notice how long I was working, or how late I was staying just to “prove” I was worthy of the job. The high turnover rate was a sign that others weren’t faring much better.

Breaking Down Walls, One Connection at a Time

But then something unexpected happened. A colleague, stationed right next to me, began to shift everything. She had this unshakable warmth about her. She had big brown eyes and a smile that lit up the room, and more than that—she cared.

She asked how I was doing, and it wasn’t just casual small talk. It felt real. Unlike many others in the office, she didn’t need to remind anyone of her place in the hierarchy. It was a breath of fresh air. In her presence, I felt seen. Not just as an employee, but as a person.

For the first time, I realized I had been isolating myself, not just from my colleagues, but from the very kind of connection that could make work feel less like a grind and more like a community. Letting her in was a major shift for me, one I didn’t fully appreciate at the time. But in hindsight, I see that her presence became a lifeline—one that helped me reframe what work could really be about.

Over the course of my career, I’d met incredible colleagues—mentors, references, even leaders who helped propel my career forward. But none of them had ever become true friends. She, however, became a friend in the truest sense of the word. She listened without judgment, understood without needing to fix, and was a presence that made the office feel less lonely. We remained friends even after I moved on to my dream job.

And here’s what I’ve come to realize: it’s absurd that we spend so much of our time at work, yet we often avoid forming meaningful, lasting friendships with the people we work alongside. It’s as if we’re all conditioned to believe that work is a place to be productive and professional, and friendship is something that exists elsewhere, in other spaces.

It’s a lie.

Work doesn’t have to be a place of isolation. It can—and should—be a place where we bring our full selves, where connection and kindness are valued as much as competence and productivity. I still value privacy. Not every coworker is a safe space. But the idea that friendships cannot begin in the workplace? That’s the real myth.

Here’s the truth: We all deserve to feel connected, supported, and seen, especially in the places where we spend so much of our time. So, why not break the mold? We don’t have to throw away professional expectations, but we can create new rules—ones that make room for authenticity, kindness, and connection.

Let’s rewrite the narrative of what work can be. Yes, we must adhere to boundaries and professionalism, but let’s remember that humanity is not a weakness—it’s our greatest strength.

Practical Tips for Making Meaningful Friendships in the Workplace

Clarity on Personal Values and Needs

For any friendship to form—whether at work or beyond—it’s essential to understand what we value and need in a meaningful connection. True friendships aren’t just about proximity or convenience; they are about aligning with people who share our core values and support our growth.

Through my own experiences, I’ve realized that I deeply respect and connect with people who have strong morals and live by their benevolent principles. I gravitate toward those who are humble and grounded enough to challenge their own beliefs in moments of conflict but who also stand firm against injustice when it truly matters. It took me years to recognize just how much I needed this type of person in my life.

To cultivate meaningful friendships, we must first ask ourselves: What makes a friendship truly fulfilling for me? When we are clear on our own values and needs, the effort required to build those connections feels worthwhile.

Reflecting on past and present friendships can reveal patterns—what has worked, what hasn’t, and what truly matters to us. While this type of reflection is often encouraged for romantic relationships, it’s just as valuable for friendships. When we understand who we are, what we need, and who complements our strengths and weaknesses, we can pursue connections that genuinely enrich our lives.

This introspection may be the hardest part—but once we have clarity, the rest becomes much easier.

Maintain Healthy Boundaries

Building friendships at work doesn’t mean oversharing or blurring professional lines. It’s about fostering trust, mutual respect, and human connection—without pressure to disclose every detail of our personal lives. Meaningful workplace friendships can grow even while maintaining privacy.

It’s also important to recognize that not every colleague will be open to deep friendships, and that’s okay. Focus on organic connections rather than forcing relationships that don’t naturally align.

Trust Your Intuition

You likely already have a sense of your coworkers’ personalities—whether through morning greetings, meetings, team events, or casual conversations. Pay attention to the people who make you feel at ease, who you enjoy speaking with, and around whom you feel most like yourself.

Trust your instincts about who feels warm and safe. Meaningful connections often start with a simple gut feeling.

Break the Ice with Small but Genuine Gestures

If no one has approached you first, take the initiative. Start small:

• Ask a coworker to grab a coffee with you.
• Chat about shared experiences—projects, books, hobbies, weekend plans.
• Accept invitations when they come your way. I’ve turned down coffee and lunch invites in the past, overwhelmed by my workload—only to realize later how much I had missed out on. If possible, say yes.

Pay Attention, Get Creative, and Have Fun

Sometimes, the smallest moments create the deepest connections.

At one of my workplaces, there was an auction where one of the prizes included two tickets to a Harry Potter play at a local theater. I discovered that a coworker shared my love for Harry Potter and the theater, so I suggested we buy our own tickets and go together. We were both ecstatic—and it became a memory that strengthened our friendship.

If you enjoy deeper conversations, suggest an after-work drink following a major project. This keeps the gathering work-related but also allows space for connection and shared recovery from stress.

When planning activities, don’t hesitate to suggest things that excite you. Passion is contagious—when you light up about something, others feel it too.

What You Seek is Seeking You

If you’re searching for meaningful connections, trust that others are looking for the same. There is no one-sided win—friendship is always a mutual gift.

Meaningful relationships, even in a professional setting, have the power to bring joy, support, and belonging. And in a world where we spend most of our waking hours at work, that kind of connection can be life-changing.

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About Kate Pejman

Kate Pejman is an engineer, climate change advocate, and the creator of The Benevolent Series. Through candid interviews and personal stories, she explores life at the intersection of authenticity, relationships, and freedom—examining both what we lose and what we gain in the process. You can find her at www.thebenevolentseries.com. You can find her on Instagram here.

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The Changes I’m Making to Stop Wasting My Limited Time

“Contentment has more to do with a heart of joy as life unfolds than it ever will with a life filled with stuff.” ~Kate Summers

Recently, an older friend who was no longer able to attend to life without assistance was placed in a senior care facility. From my observance, she seemed content, and her relatives confirmed that when they visit, they find her awake and alert, propped up in bed or sitting in a chair, peacefully gazing out her window.

One of my immediate thoughts when reflecting on my visit was, we should all be so lucky to enter our final years in a mind space of inner peace and contentment.

The hope to be content in the final years of life is not a new concept, but the idea of a “bucket list” and the quest to achieve it is. The term bucket list was introduced in 1999 and solidified into pop culture with the subsequent release of a movie.

For those who are unfamiliar with the expression, a bucket list consists of a catalog of experiences and adventures that someone wants to have before they kick the bucket, meaning die. The idea is that if someone checks off all the items on their bucket list, their final stage of life will be bearable because they will be satisfied with how they spent their time.

The visit to see my friend put the time I have remaining into perspective. As I approach sixty years old, the truth that in twenty-five years I will be eighty-five is inescapable. The fact that the twenty-five years between thirty-five and sixty had gone by in the relative blink of an eye caused me to pause and think.

What did I want to do and experience before my final stage was upon me?

My mind went immediately to my hobbies and interests, and although I could think of many goals to strive for, nothing seemed important or compelling enough to be considered for my bucket list.

As examples, I enjoy traveling and have a desire to see all the magnificent natural wonders across the globe and walk in the footsteps of ancient cultures, but I do not see myself in my final years upset because I never made it to Victoria Falls or knelt before the Moai of Easter Island. And I thrive on learning, but earning a master’s degree or PhD will not bring me contentment on my deathbed.

And what about my friend? I don’t recall her speaking of a list of experiences she desired to have or tangible targets that she strove to hit before her life was over. Yet, as I witnessed, she had entered her final phase of life with an air of inner peace and contentment.

Throughout our friendship, I observed my friend actively focusing on seeing the glass as half full and consciously concentrating her focus on the bright side of events. She did not cultivate drama within herself, and consequently, she repelled it when others brought it around. And she fostered love for herself and others.

When the realities of individual agendas and manufactured circumstances triggered a need to respond in a heavy-handed way, she delivered the reprimand swiftly and, as best as she could, without the emotion of hate and thoughts of judgement.

And the rare time when she fell completely short of her behavioral standards with her thoughts and emotions sinking deep into a dark muck, I observed her climb out, find her light, and move on. She never berated herself for what she referred to as a “little dip.”

Many times, I asked her how she could rise above the fray of office politics, for example, or shift her focus to what was hopeful and good in an otherwise dreary situation. Her response was unfailingly along the lines of “Why waste time dwelling on unpleasantness?”

Her words came back to me as I pondered what I wanted to experience and accomplish in the next twenty-five years. How could I spend my time in a way that would leave me content in the final stage of my life?

Having already run through my goals and desired escapades and determined they were not the answer to what had become a nagging question for me, I reversed the query and asked, “In what ways is my time wasted?”

My answer came to me the next day. I had just hung up the phone after completing a conversation with a member of my greater social network. Having too little in common to consider her a friend, I find our interactions to be tedious, and we rarely see eye-to-eye.

She views herself as the victim in all situations and thrives on stress and drama. In this conversation, she expressed that she was feeling left out because a group dinner was scheduled for a night on which she was not available.

I spent twenty minutes attempting to reassure her the chosen date was not intended to exclude her, that she was a valued member of the group, and similar proclamations. All of them landing on the unfertile soil of her negative self-image. Nothing short of changing the date could convince her the decision was not personal.

As I terminated the call, I heard myself say, “Well, that was a waste of time.”

A few days later, I found myself involved in an interaction with a co-worker with whom exchanges typically left me feeling shaken and upset. The pace and tone of that afternoon’s conversation were especially triggering. Once at home, even with the co-worker nowhere near me and the interaction several hours in the past, simply thinking about what had transpired caused my body’s fight-or-flight response system to kick in.

With limbs ready to spring into action and breath quick and shallow, I hung suspended in a state of physical limbo, waiting to fight a battle perceived and conceived in my head. It took me close to an hour to calm myself down, and afterward the sense of time wasted was palpable.

At that moment, I committed to not wasting time feeding the unpleasantness created by others and to take responsibility for ways in which I cultivated upset within myself.

After a bit of reflection, I realized that I disrupted my peace of mind and contentment by:

• Taking things personally
• Needing to be right
• Overreacting by magnifying small issues into major problems
• Continuing unproductive conversations in my head with others long after they have concluded in real time

While commitment is the initial action needed for instigating change, practice is the many small steps taken to solidify the habit.

Over time, I developed a practice that involved morning meditation, journaling, and body awareness.

• Meditation cultivates a calm mindset, allowing for heightened self-awareness and control of my thoughts and emotions.
• Journaling gives tangibility to my unpleasant thoughts. By making them visible, I am able to challenge their validity and shift them towards ones that uplift me.
• Body awareness gives way to enhanced intuition. By paying attention to sensations in my gut and noticing the pace of my heart and breath, I can quickly sense when I am shifting from a responsive, cooperative mode to a reactive, fight/flight approach to a person or situation.

If you are interested in cultivating a mindset that brings you inner peace and contentment, below are a few tips to get started.

1. Find a meditation style that works for you.

My practice utilizes mindfulness, focused, and loving-kindness styles of meditation. Mindfulness meditation allows greater access to my thoughts, focused meditation sharpens my ability to keep my brain from wandering, and loving-kindness meditation cultivates compassion and patience for my ego struggles and those of others.

Here is a list of the nine most common forms of meditation. A definition of each can be found here.

• Mindfulness meditation
• Spiritual meditation
• Focused meditation
• Movement meditation
• Mantra meditation
• Transcendental meditation
• Progressive relaxation
• Loving-kindness meditation
• Visualization meditation

2. Write down thoughts and feelings that you struggle with.

My journal is a loose compilation of thoughts and the emotional responses they trigger. By writing them down, I am able to distance myself from my thoughts and see them from an objective point of view. I am then able to explore alternative thoughts and assess their capacity for cultivating pleasant feelings.

According to this article, the benefits of journaling include:

• Stress reduction
• Increased sense of well-being
• Distance from negative thoughts
• Avenue for processing emotions
• Space to figure out your next step
• Opportunity for self-discovery

3. Get in touch with your body.

Whenever I feel my shoulders creeping toward my ears, my breath becoming shallow, or my digestion being disrupted, I take it as a signal to check in with my brain. A quick scan reveals thoughts and conversations happening in the background that might otherwise have gone unnoticed until they transitioned into action.

I achieve and maintain my mind/body connection through a combination of contemplative running and intentional stretching. Both of these allow me to focus on my body and become aware of areas where I am holding tension.

While I chose running and stretching, there are many other methods, such as:

• Yoga
• Tai Chi
• Qi Gong
• Solo Dance
• Intentional cleaning

Above are the ways that I chose to strengthen my commitment to not wasting time wrapped up in someone else’s drama or creating unnecessary turmoil in myself.

I am far from perfect in this practice. I still catch myself rallying against what I view as someone’s agenda or reacting to what I consider a personal affront, but I am able to quickly identify the thoughts, feelings, and behaviors in real-time and mitigate the damage to my sense of well-being.

When it comes down to it, the only goal for my life is to cultivate inner peace and contentment. And along the way, connect with and encourage those who, like me, are actively seeking to heal, grow, and live in a space of positivity and love.

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About Lynn Crocker

Lynn is a writer and coach who is passionate about empowering others with information on how to drive their brains and create a more purposeful, joyful, and fulfilling life for themselves, one thought at a time. Lynn is an avid reader, and besides writing, she expends her creative energies on gardening, sewing, and doing macramé. Learn more about Lynn lynncrockercoaching.com.

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How to Reconnect with Your Higher Self for Clarity and Direction

“Listen to the wind, it talks. Listen to the silence, it speaks. Listen to the heart, it knows.” ~Native American Wisdom

Have you ever felt stuck? Stuck in a business you’ve lost passion for, a job you no longer enjoy, a relationship that no longer fulfills you, or simply stuck in indecision about how to move forward in life?

That feeling of “stuck-ness” often leads to anxiety, fear, and even shame. I understand these feelings well.

When the pandemic hit in 2020, my life turned upside down—as it did for many. I was the founder and executive director of a national arts organization, something I had built from the ground up and led for eighteen years.

Suddenly, overnight, I felt like I could lose it all. My funding partners and sponsors pulled out, I was sinking deeper into my line of credit, and I was responsible for a staff spread across the country.

The stress was overwhelming. I couldn’t sleep, I became irritable and edgy with my family, snapping at them over the smallest things, and some days it took a tremendous amount of willpower to just get out of bed and face the day. I had never felt so lost, uncertain, or fearful.

It wasn’t just the fear of losing a business and my paycheck—although that certainly caused a lot of anxiety. The bigger fear was losing my sense of identity. Who was I if I wasn’t the executive director and founder of this organization? Before starting this non-profit, I felt insignificant, like a nobody. I didn’t want to go back to that place. I didn’t want to lose what I had built.

This fear consumed me, and I asked everyone I knew, “What am I supposed to do?”

One day, I brought this question to my business coach. She responded with a single question of her own: “What do you typically do when you feel stressed and anxious?”

“Well, I usually go for a walk in the woods,” I replied.

“Perfect,” she said. “Here’s what you’re going to do: Every day for the next thirty days, you’re going to go for a walk in the woods and simply look and listen.”

“What? I can’t do that. I don’t have time for that,” I stammered. In my head, I thought, What kind of business coach tells her clients to go for a walk in the woods? I needed business advice, not nature therapy.

Somehow, she got a commitment out of me. Every morning at dawn, as this was the only time I felt I could make this daily walk work, I was out the door into the forest behind my house. And every day, I demanded answers from God, the squirrels, and the universe: “What am I supposed to do?”

Slowly—ever so slowly—something shifted. A sense of calm settled over me. I began to notice the beauty around me: the varying shades of green, the way light filtered through the canopy of leaves, the chorus of birdsong, the creek’s melody as it rushed over rocks, the silky texture of moss-covered bark, the intoxicating scent of spring blossoms—you could almost taste the air.

And then, I started to feel gratitude. Gratitude for the trees, the air, the stillness. Gratitude for my business coach, who had nudged me toward this practice. This gratitude felt like a swelling of love in my chest for everything that is in this moment.

And in this calmer state of mind with gratitude in my heart, I asked the question again: “What am I supposed to do?”

This time, I got an answer.

“What do you want to do?” a voice bubbled up from within.

It was my own voice—but like an older, wiser version of me.

I didn’t miss a beat. “What do you mean, what do I want to do? What am I supposed to do?”

“No, Anita,” came the steady response. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

That stumped me.

Later that day, I found myself wandering the spirituality section of a bookstore. A book caught my eye: Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsch. I picked it up, flipped it open, and one line jumped off the page:

“Frustration and anxiety come from not listening to the soul.”

My breath caught. I read the words again, letting them sink in. In that moment, I realized a profound truth—I wasn’t listening to my soul.

I had been here before. This wasn’t the first time I’d been reminded to slow down, go inward, and reconnect with my inner wisdom. But I had gotten so busy, so caught up in my business, my family, and all my responsibilities, that I had forgotten. Not only did I lose my connection to that part of myself, but in many ways, I had lost sight of who I really was and what I truly wanted.

For nearly five years now, I’ve devoted myself to the study of remembering—of reconnecting with my higher self, God, Source, the Universe (whatever name feels right to you—they are all the same to me). When we connect with our higher self and consistently listen to our soul voice, three truths are revealed:

• The truth about who we are.
• The truth about what we really want.
• And the truth about why it matters.

When we stop listening to our inner wisdom, we become drowned out by external noise—the voices of others telling us who we should be, the media convincing us we’re not enough, the fearmongering that keeps us feeling small and powerless.

But when we reconnect with our higher self:

• Clarity of purpose and direction emerges.
• Fear and self-doubt loosen their grip.
• An inner harmony steadies us, no matter how chaotic the world seems.
• Our capacity for self-love deepens.

And with that, we become un-stuck. We step into our greatest potential. We create a life filled with meaning, well-being, and joy.

How Do We Reconnect with Our Higher Self?

When I first realized I was asking the wrong question and switched to asking, “What do I want?”, I skipped an essential step—the inner work that allows you to connect with your higher self and find the answers you seek. Eventually, I figured it out. And it’s really quite simple.

At its core, reconnecting with your higher self is about slowing down and giving yourself the time and space to cultivate that relationship.

Here are three key steps to help you do that.

Step away from the busyness of life.

Block out time each day to unplug from work, responsibilities, and distractions. Make this a daily non-negotiable. My favorite way to unplug is by walking in nature, which has additional health benefits. I recommend at least twenty minutes of mindful walking daily. Mindful walking is a form of meditation, but simply sitting in meditation is also a great option.

Speak your gratitude.

Science has shown that practicing gratitude reduces stress, elevates mood, and improves overall well-being. More importantly, it opens the heart—making it easier to hear the whispers of your soul.

Engage all your senses in the present moment.

What do you see, hear, smell, feel, and even taste? When you fully engage with your environment using all your senses, you become present. And presence is the gateway to connecting with your higher self.

Once you’re grounded in the here and now, that’s when you ask yourself one simple question: “What do I want?” Then, listen.

Listen with your whole body. Pay attention to ideas that surface, images that appear in your mind’s eye, sensations that arise. Don’t judge any of it. Just be open and curious.

Nothing may come at first. But keep returning to this practice—getting present, going inward, and asking, What do I want? Soon, you’ll hear the whispers of your soul. And if you learn to listen and act on those whispers, you too will get unstuck and be guided to a most remarkable life.

Are You Ready to Listen to Your Soul?

I invite you to embark on your own thirty-day nature challenge. Each day, step outside, breathe deeply, and simply observe. Let nature be your guide as you reconnect with your inner wisdom. Notice what shifts within you—how clarity emerges, how gratitude deepens, how your soul whispers its quiet truths.

Will you take the challenge? Let me know how your journey unfolds—I’d love to hear what insights arise for you.

PS: In case you’re wondering what happened next—when I finally tuned in and listened to the whispers of my soul, my life radically changed. I realized that what I truly wanted was to close my business, as I had lost my passion for it years ago, but fear had kept me stuck. The whispers of my soul then guided me to let go of most of my possessions and embrace a nomadic lifestyle.

This decision has led my husband and me on an extraordinary journey, experiencing many incredible corners of the world. Along the way, I recreated myself as a life and leadership coach, guiding others on their journey to their highest selves. As I continue to listen, life unfolds in the most beautiful and unexpected ways.

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About Anita Adams

Anita Adams helps people move from overwhelm and uncertainty to clarity, inner peace, and joy. As a life and leadership coach, speaker, retreat leader, and bestselling author of Whispers of the Soul, she empowers individuals to create a life of meaning, aligned with their true selves. Learn more at www.JoyfulInspiredLiving.com. To get your copy of Whispers of the Soul go here: https://mybook.to/Whispersofthesoul

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