How to Change Your Bad Habits by Accepting Them

“If you don’t like something, change it; if you can’t change it, change the way you think about it.” ~Mary Engelbreit

“So, what do you think?” my husband asked, the dinner table lit by the soft glow of the overhead light. He’d been talking for a while, and I knew I should have been listening.

“What do you think?” he repeated with a hint of frustration.

My mind raced trying to piece together the last few minutes. All I could say was a weak, “Huh?”

It was the worst possible response. Normally, I’d be right there with him, sharing my thoughts. But this time, my attention was elsewhere: I was scrolling mindlessly on my phone.

The frustration in his eyes was a clear reminder of how often I was missing out on the present moment.

I realized that my phone was robbing me of genuine connection. I knew then I needed to change.

The Struggle with Bad Habits Is Real

We’ve all been there battling habits we know aren’t good for us. Mine was the endless scrolling and checking social media.

After that dinner incident, I was determined to reclaim my attention and be present. My first move? Deleting all my social media apps.

The first week was tough. I wasn’t on social media, but my phone still felt like an extension of my hand. I’d instinctively reach for it, ready to open Instagram, only to remember it was gone. This happened every hour. I was trying to change, but the craving was intense.

Weeks later, my motivation went away. “What’s the point?” I thought. I felt like I was missing out and losing touch with friends.

I justified checking my phone during “downtime,” like waiting in line, or after a long day when I needed to “relax.”

The more I told myself, “Don’t use your phone,” the stronger the urge became. It was like telling yourself not to think about sleeping… you just become more aware of being awake.

Inevitably, I reinstalled the apps and fell back into my old patterns. I felt defeated and frustrated. I also labeled myself “lazy.” I thought I had failed.

Discovering A New Approach: Acceptance

One day, while browsing the library, I stumbled upon the psychological concept of an “extinction burst.” This describes the surge of a behavior after you try to stop it.

Think of it like this: you decide to give up sweets, and for a few days, it’s fine. Then, suddenly, you devour an entire box of cookies.

That’s what happened to me. I thought willpower was the answer, but resisting only intensified my cravings.

Instead, I learned about accepting bad habits. This means acknowledging their presence without judgment.

When I shifted my perspective, everything changed. My anxiety decreased, and I stopped stressing about “doing the right thing.”

I realized that falling back into old patterns didn’t make me a failure. It meant I needed more time to understand my habits better.

Practical Steps for Accepting Bad Habits

1. Create space for observation.

Accepting bad habits begins with understanding them. I started observing my phone use with a new level of awareness.

• I used mindfulness techniques to become more aware of the triggers that led me to reach for my phone.
• I also started journaling to track when and why I wanted to scroll. What emotions or situations prompted me to seek the distraction of my phone? What needs was I trying to fulfill? For example, did I feel lonely, bored, or stressed?

2. Change the narrative around your habits.

Instead of a harsh “Don’t use your phone,” I began to use a gentler approach. I tried saying, “Don’t use your phone now.”

This acknowledged the urge without completely denying it. It gave me a moment to pause and breathe, to consciously decide whether checking my phone was necessary.

This simple shift in language created space for mindful decision-making.

3. Reframe ‘bad habits’ as signals.

Instead of labeling habits as ‘bad,’ consider them signals. Ask yourself: What need am I trying to meet? What am I feeling now?

For example, I learned that checking my phone was a signal for a need for connection or a fear of missing out.

Once you understand the message behind your habit, respond with compassion and understanding. Instead of criticizing yourself, acknowledge your needs and explore healthier ways to meet them.

This shift transforms habits from enemies into valuable insights about your inner world.

4. Replace, don’t just eliminate.

Instead of simply deleting social media apps, I looked for healthier alternatives. I started saying, “I noticed I want to use my phone; instead I’m going to read one page of that book.”

Finding substitutes helped me fill the gap and made the transition smoother.

For example, if I felt the urge to scroll when bored, I would reach for a book, walk, or listen to a podcast instead.

5. Treat yourself with kindness.

Beating myself up for slipping back into old habits only made the process more difficult. I learned to practice self-compassion, reminding myself that change takes time and that setbacks are a normal part of being human.

I desired this change the most, so I needed to be patient and kind to myself. And I made more progress by offering myself the same understanding and support I would offer a friend.

Moving Toward a New Relationship with Your Habits

Habits are complex, and breaking them isn’t easy. But understanding them is the first step to changing them.

Accepting bad habits is a powerful tool for transformation. Instead of fighting them, we can observe, understand, and redirect them.

I’ve learned that accepting your habits doesn’t mean giving up—it means you are gaining control. You’re acknowledging your humanity and approaching change with compassion and understanding.

You have the power to reshape your relationship with your habits and create a life that aligns with your values and aspirations.

What habits are you working on? Share your experiences in the comments below! Or share this post with someone who could benefit from it. Let’s support each other on this journey.

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About Nury

Nury created Her New Habits to simplify personal growth for beginners. Her writing offers friendly support and actionable advice. Begin with her Free Morning Routine Guide (this is a perfect first step). Or, visit Her New Habits Blog to explore more resources and find your growth path today.

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Beyond Coping: How to Heal Generational Trauma with Breathwork

“Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our lives.” ~Akshay Dubey

The realization came to me during a chaotic day at the Philadelphia public school where I worked as a counselor.

A young student sat across from me, her body language mirroring anxiety patterns I knew all too well—the slightly hunched shoulders, shallow breathing, and watchful eyes scanning for threats that weren’t there. She responded to a minor conflict with a teacher as though she were in genuine danger.

Something clicked into place as I guided her through a simple breathing exercise. The patterns I saw in this child weren’t just individual responses to stress—they were inherited responses. Just as I had inherited similar patterns from my mother, and she from hers.

At that moment, looking at this young girl, I saw myself, my mother, and generations of women in my family who had the same physical responses to authority, conflict, and uncertainty.

And I realized that the breathing techniques I had been teaching these children—techniques I had originally learned to manage my own anxiety—were actually addressing something much more profound: generational trauma stored in the body.

The School That Taught the Teacher

My decade as a school counselor in the Philadelphia School District shaped me in ways I never anticipated. Every day, I worked with children carrying the weight of various traumas—community violence, family instability, systemic inequities, and the subtle but powerful inheritance of generational stress responses.

I came armed with my training in psychology, cognitive techniques, and traditional counseling approaches. Helping these children understand their emotions and develop coping strategies would be enough.

In many ways, it helped. But something was missing.

I noticed that no matter how much cognitive understanding we developed, many children’s bodies continued telling different stories. Their nervous systems remained locked in stress responses, and no amount of talking or understanding seemed to shift them completely.

The same was true for me. Despite my professional training and personal therapy, certain situations would still trigger physical anxiety responses that felt beyond my control—particularly interactions with authority figures or high-pressure social situations.

The patterns were subtle but persistent. My voice would shift slightly, and my breathing would become shallow. My authentic self would recede, replaced by a careful, hypervigilant version of myself—one I had learned from watching my mother navigate similar situations throughout my childhood.

The Missing Piece

Everything changed when I discovered therapeutic breathwork—not just as a temporary calming technique but as a pathway to releasing trauma stored in the body.

While I had been teaching simplified breathing exercises to students for years, my experience with deeper breathwork practices revealed something profound: the body stores trauma in ways that cognitive approaches alone cannot access.

My first intensive breathwork session revealed this truth with undeniable clarity. As I followed the breathing pattern—deep, connected breaths without pausing between inhale and exhale—my body began responding in ways my conscious mind couldn’t have predicted.

First came waves of tingling sensation across my hands and face. Then tears that weren’t connected to any specific memory. Finally, a deep release of tension I hadn’t even realized I was carrying—tension that felt ancient, as though it had been with me far longer than my own lifetime.

By the session’s end, I felt a lightness and presence that no amount of traditional therapy had ever provided. Something had shifted at a level beyond thoughts and stories.

Bringing the Breath Back to School

This personal revelation transformed my work as a school counselor. I began integrating age-appropriate breathwork into my sessions with students, particularly those showing signs of trauma responses.

The results were remarkable. Children who had struggled to regulate their emotions began finding moments of calm, and students who had been locked in freeze or fight responses during stress began developing the capacity to pause before reacting.

One young girl, whose anxiety around academic performance had been severely limiting her potential, explained it best: “It’s like my worry is still there, but now there’s space around it. I can see it without it taking over everything.”

She described precisely what I had experienced: the creation of space between stimulus and response, the fundamental shift from being controlled by inherited patterns to having a choice in how we respond.

However, the most profound insights came from observing the parallels between what I witnessed in these children and what I had experienced in my family system.

The Patterns We Inherit

Through both my professional work and personal healing journey, I came to understand generational trauma in a new way.

We inherit not just our parents’ genes but also their nervous system patterns—their unconscious responses to stress, conflict, authority, and connection. These patterns are transmitted not through stories or explicit teachings but through subtle, nonverbal cues that our bodies absorb from earliest childhood.

I recognized how my mother’s anxiety around authority figures had silently shaped my own responses. Her tendency to become small in certain situations also became my reflexive pattern, and her shallow breathing during stress became my default response.

These weren’t conscious choices—they were inherited survival strategies passed down through generations of women in my family.

The most sobering realization is that despite my professional training and conscious intentions, I had unconsciously modeled these same patterns for the children I worked with.

This understanding shifted everything. Healing wasn’t just about managing my anxiety anymore—it was about transforming a lineage.

The Three Dimensions of Permanent Healing

Through both professional practice and personal experience, I’ve come to understand that permanently healing generational trauma requires addressing three dimensions simultaneously:

1. The Mind: Traditional therapy excels here, helping us understand our patterns and create cognitive insights. But for many trauma survivors, especially those carrying generational patterns, this isn’t enough.

2. The Body: Our nervous systems carry the imprint of trauma, creating automatic responses that no amount of rational understanding can override. Somatic approaches like breathwork provide direct access to these stored patterns.

3. The Energy Field is the subtlest but most profound dimension. Our energy carries information and patterns that affect how we move through the world, often beneath our conscious awareness.

Most healing approaches address only one or two of these dimensions. Talk therapy targets the mind. Some somatic practices address the body. Few approaches integrate all three.

Breathwork is uniquely positioned to address all dimensions simultaneously, creating the conditions for permanent transformation rather than temporary management.

Beyond Management to True Healing

Working in Philadelphia’s schools, I saw firsthand the difference between management approaches and true healing.

Management strategies—breathing techniques for immediate calming, emotional regulation tools, cognitive reframing—all had their place. They helped children function in challenging environments and gain more control over their responses.

But management isn’t the same as healing.

Management asks, “How can I feel better when these symptoms arise?”

Healing asks, “What needs to be released so these symptoms no longer control me?”

The difference is subtle but profound. Management requires effort and vigilance, while healing creates freedom and new possibilities.

This distinction became clear as my breathwork practice deepened beyond simple management techniques to include practices specifically designed to release stored trauma from the nervous system.

As this happened, I began noticing subtle but significant shifts in how I moved through both my professional and personal life—particularly in situations that had previously triggered anxiety.

Interactions with school administrators became opportunities for authentic connection rather than anxiety triggers. Speaking at staff meetings no longer activated the old pattern of becoming small. My voice remained my own, regardless of who was in the room.

I wasn’t just managing my anxiety anymore. I was healing it at its source.

Practical Steps to Begin Your Own Breath Journey

If you’re carrying the weight of generational patterns that no longer serve you, here are some ways to begin exploring breathwork as a healing tool:

Start with gentle awareness.

Simply notice your breathing patterns throughout the day, especially in triggering situations. Do you hold your breath during stress? Breathe shallowly? These are clues to your nervous system state.

Practice conscious connected breathing.

For five minutes daily, try breathing in and out through your mouth, connecting the inhale to the exhale without pausing. Keep the breath gentle but full.

Notice without judgment.

As you breathe, sensations, emotions, or memories may arise. Instead of analyzing them, simply notice them with curiosity.

Create safety first.

If you have complex trauma, work with a trauma-informed breathwork practitioner who can help you navigate the process safely.

Trust your body’s wisdom.

Your body knows how to release what no longer serves you. Sometimes, intellectual understanding comes after physical release, not before.

Commit to consistency.

Transformation happens through regular practice, not one-time experiences. Even five to ten minutes daily can create significant shifts over time.

Breaking the Chain

Perhaps the most profound lesson from my work in Philadelphia’s schools and my personal healing journey is this: We can break generational chains.

The patterns of anxiety, hypervigilance, and trauma responses that have been passed down through generations are not our destiny. They can be recognized, released, and transformed for our benefit and those who come after us.

I saw this truth reflected in the children I worked with. As they learned to recognize and release stress patterns through breathwork, they weren’t just managing symptoms—they were developing new neural pathways that could potentially interrupt generations of trauma responses.

I experienced this truth personally, watching as my healing journey created ripples in my relationships and interactions.

The anxiety patterns that had been silently passed down through generations of women in my family were being interrupted. The chain was breaking.

Breathwork offers a profound gift: personal healing and the chance to transform a lineage.

The chains of generational trauma are strong, but they’re not unbreakable. And in their breaking lies personal liberation and the possibility of a new inheritance for generations to come.

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About Alyse Bacine

Alyse Bacine is a trauma healing expert and breathwork practitioner with a master's in counseling psychology. After a decade of serving as a school counselor in the Philadelphia School District, she developed the Metamorphosis Method, which addresses mind, body, and energy to create permanent transformation from anxiety and trauma. Learn more at alysebreathes.com.

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How I Stopped Overthinking and Found Inner Peace

“You don’t have to control your thoughts. You just have to stop letting them control you.” ~Dan Millman

For as long as I can remember, my mind has been a never-ending maze of what-ifs. What if I make the wrong decision? What if I embarrass myself? What if I fail? My brain worked overtime, analyzing every possibility, replaying past mistakes, and predicting every worst-case scenario.

Overthinking wasn’t just a bad habit—it was a way of life. I’d spend hours second-guessing conversations, worrying about things beyond my control, and creating problems that didn’t even exist. It felt like my mind was running a marathon with no finish line, and no matter how exhausted I was, I couldn’t stop.

But one day, I reached a breaking point. I was tired—tired of the mental noise, tired of feeling anxious, tired of living inside my own head instead of in the present moment. I knew I had to change.

The Moment I Realized Overthinking Was Stealing My Peace

It hit me during a late-night spiral. I had spent hours replaying a conversation, obsessing over whether I had said something wrong. My heart was racing, my stomach was in knots, and I couldn’t sleep.

In that moment, I asked myself: Is any of this actually helping me?

The answer was obvious. My overthinking had never solved anything. It had never prevented bad things from happening. It had only drained my energy and made me miserable.

That night, I made a decision: I would stop letting my thoughts control me. I didn’t know how yet, but I knew I couldn’t keep living like this.

How I Learned to Quiet My Mind

Overcoming overthinking didn’t happen overnight. It took patience, practice, and a willingness to let go of control. But here are the key things that helped me find peace:

1. I stopped believing every thought I had.

For years, I assumed that if I thought something, it must be true. But I started noticing that most of my thoughts were just stories—worst-case scenarios, exaggerated fears, self-doubt.

So I began questioning them. Is this thought a fact, or is it just my fear talking? More often than not, it was the latter.

By learning to separate reality from the stories in my head, I loosened the grip overthinking had on me.

2. I created a “worry window.”

At first, I thought I needed to stop worrying completely, but that only made me stress more. Instead, I set aside a specific time each day (ten to fifteen minutes) when I allowed myself to worry as much as I wanted.

Surprisingly, this helped a lot. Instead of overthinking all day, I trained my brain to contain my worries to one small part of the day. And most of the time, when my “worry window” came, I realized I didn’t even need it.

3. I practiced “letting thoughts pass”

One of the biggest shifts came when I stopped trying to force my thoughts away. Instead, I imagined them like clouds in the sky—passing through, but not something I had to hold onto.

Whenever I noticed myself overthinking, I’d take a deep breath and say to myself: I see this thought, but I don’t have to engage with it. And then I’d let it go.

4. I focused on the present moment.

Overthinking is all about living in the past or the future. So, I started grounding myself in the present.

Simple things helped:

• Focusing on my breath when my mind started racing.
• Noticing small details around me—how the sun felt on my skin, the sound of birds outside, the smell of my coffee.
• Reminding myself: Right now, in this moment, everything is okay.

The more I practiced this, the easier it became to step out of my mind and into my life.

How Life Changed When I Stopped Overthinking

I won’t pretend my mind is quiet 100% of the time. Thoughts still come, but they no longer control me.

Now, instead of analyzing every possible outcome, I trust that I’ll handle whatever happens. Instead of reliving past mistakes, I remind myself that I am constantly learning and growing. Instead of worrying about what others think of me, I focus on how I feel about myself.

Most importantly, I’ve found something I never thought was possible: peace.

A Message for Anyone Struggling with Overthinking

If you’re stuck in an endless cycle of overthinking, I want you to know this: You are not your thoughts.

Your mind will always try to keep you safe by analyzing, predicting, and controlling. But you don’t have to engage with every thought that comes your way.

Peace isn’t about never having anxious thoughts—it’s about learning to let them pass without letting them rule your life.

And trust me, if I can do it, you can too.

While these tools can be powerful, it’s also important to recognize that overthinking doesn’t always come from everyday anxiety. If your thoughts are tied to past trauma or feel too overwhelming to manage alone, please know there is no shame in seeking help. For those living with PTSD or deep emotional wounds, professional support from a therapist can offer safety, healing, and guidance tailored to your experience.

You don’t have to go through it alone—and needing support doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.

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About David Anca

David is a student passionate about health, well-being, and personal growth. As he prepares to study psychology at university, he’s eager to explore the mind-body connection and share insights to help others find peace and balance. In his free time, he enjoys mindfulness practices and writing about self-improvement.

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4 Ways to Get Better Sleep for Increased Spiritual Wellness

“Happiness in simplicity can be achieved with a flexible mindset and nine hours sleep each night.” ~Dalai Lama

It happened again. I got up after being awake all night, wondering where I’d gone for the past nine hours. I remember laying my head on the pillow, exhausted, happy to finally close my burning eyes. My body settled sweetly into the mattress, and I thanked the universe for our heavenly bed.

Just moments away from slumbering bliss, I said my prayers and did my usual practice of releasing energy from the day and honoring my blessings. For the moment, my mind was still and peaceful.

I fell into a space between the dream state and wakefulness. A place I know well. It’s not necessarily a bad place to be, but when I’m in it, I’m fully aware of the fact I’m not sleeping; my brain isn’t in REM. I tried breathing exercises and meditation only to feel like I was ready to run a marathon. After a few hours of this, sleep anxiety crept in, bearing gifts of thoughts and frustration.

The countdown of the hours until it would be time to get up began. The list of things I needed to do the following day danced in my mind like a marching band tooting its horn and ringing bells—because if I couldn’t sleep, somehow running through my to-do list felt productive. When the morning came, I was not the calm presence I aspire to be. The Tiny Buddha inside was napping.

When I was a kid, I had no problem falling asleep on the bus, in class, watching TV… pretty much anywhere I could lay my head down and close my eyes. But as I’ve grown older, sleep hasn’t always been as accessible. In fact, with everything going on in the world over the past few years, sleep has become a modern-day luxury.

As a spiritual seeker, I find that when I don’t get a good night of sleep, it’s harder to drop in for meditation. I’m more irritable. Less sharp. My intuition feels clouded. And my ability to focus on my goals and manifest my visions can be hindered.

I wondered if I’d spend the rest of my life chasing sleep to catch up to my dreams.

Then, I started talking to friends. They’re struggling too. Whether the problem is falling asleep or staying asleep, almost every person I talked to is suffering from some form of sleep deprivation. Is this a natural part of aging or an unspoken epidemic? Even my daughters in their early twenties wrestle with insomnia.

These types of problems always make me ask, “What is the lesson here?” But as I started to look for answers, what became more interesting was the link between sleep and spirituality.

As it turns out, there is a parallel between sleep quality and spiritual connection, which means prioritizing sleep hygiene is not only important for biological processes but for spiritual wellness.

During sleep, the body repairs muscles, organs, and tissues. It also regulates hormones, detoxifies, and boosts the immune system. Sleep also bridges the conscious and subconscious mind. This allows us to process the experiences of our day, the emotions that may have arisen, and the spiritual insights that help us create meaning in our lives. Therefore, prioritizing sleep hygiene can be an act of spiritual self-care that nurtures the mind’s capacity for deeper spiritual insights and greater overall wellness.

It’s clear that sleep hygiene is extremely important both to our biological and spiritual processes, but let’s take a closer look into the sleep-spirituality connection.

If we are sleep deprived, we are not thinking clearly, and, therefore, we are less connected to our intuition, which is directly linked to our imagination. Studies have shown that a lack of sleep can have a major impact on our ability to access creativity and problem-solving skills, so it makes sense that struggling in these areas has a negative influence on our spiritual well-being. So, what can we do to ease this struggle that many of us share?

4 Ways to Improve Your Sleep Hygiene for Increased Spiritual Wellness

Nighttime routine

Set a consistent time to go to sleep and wake up every day, even on weekends. A more structured sleep routine helps to align your circadian rhythm, resulting in more consistent sleep. 

Sleep sanctuary

Design your environment to support your sleep goals by reducing screen time, turning lights on low an hour before bed, mitigating noise pollution with healing frequency music or a white noise machine, and turning the thermostat to sixty-five degrees.

Preparation practices

Create a spiritual bedtime ritual that you devote yourself to every night in honor of sleep. My ritual includes taking a bath or shower, gratitude journaling, prayer, and yoga nidra. I spray the sheets with a lavender water and essential oil blend before I lay my head on the pillow and rub magnesium oil on the soles of my feet as a final good night. The key is to create a simple process that feels nurturing and peaceful.

Track your sleep and spiritual practices for a month.

Journal every morning with just a few words about the quality of your sleep and every evening about your meditation results for the day. By tracking how your sleep and spiritual wellness connect, you will be more motivated to stick to best practices for a good night’s sleep. Ultimately this will benefit your mind, body, and spirit.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned in this exploration is that we’re not alone in our quest for a nourishing night of sleep. We need to have compassion for ourselves on the nights where we find it challenging to drift off into dreamland.

If you realize you’re in the pit of sleep anxiety, cut yourself some slack. You are not failing. Accept and surrender to the moment, and trust that simply resting will be enough to get you through the next day.

Sleep restores a sense of peace and divinity within, but rest is just as important. By making sleep a priority, your mind will feel calmer, quieter, and more focused during meditation, allowing you to feel more spiritually connected to your life mission, every day.

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About Britt Michaelian

Britt Michaelian is a Reiki Master, BQH quantum healing hypnosis practitioner, and exhibiting artist with master’s degrees in Marriage and Family Therapy and Art Therapy.  Britt hosts The Daily Healing podcast, listed as a top spiritual podcast by Goodpods. Her annual art and wellness event Healing House was featured in the LA Times. Subscribe for free monthly remote Reiki healing and a copy of The Daily Healing magazine. brittmichaelian.art / Instagram.

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365 Days of Wonder: The Magic of Starting an Awe Journal

The news: everything is bad.
Poets: okay, but what if everything is bad and we still fall in love with the moon and learn something from the flowers. ~Nikita Gill

My dad died when I was thirty-one. I wasn’t a child but barely felt like an adult. He had reached retirement, but only just. Mary Oliver got it right when she wrote, “Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?”

A few months later, I pulled myself out the door and off to work. The December weather and my heart were both raw. Then I saw it: a single rosebud on a ragged bush.

I laughed aloud. A rose blooming in winter? And then I started to cry—for the wondrous absurdity of a tiny, lovely thing proclaiming its place in a dark world.

This pink bud did not make things “all better.” And yet, for a moment, I remembered that my heart was capable of feeling more than grief. It had space for wonder and delight.

I have spent the last three years studying the emotion of awe. I could share studies about how experiencing wonder makes us more generous, humble, and curious. I’ve written a whole book on the emotional, psychological, and cognitive benefits of this feeling.

But here’s one thing I really love about this thoroughly human emotion: awe doesn’t require anything from us but our attention. We don’t have to do anything to feel awe. We don’t have to be anything we are not. We just have to show up in the world, eyes and ears open.

When researchers ask people around the world to describe a moment when they experienced awe, they often point to ordinary moments. A piece of music that brought tears to their eyes. A stranger helping someone in need. A blooming cherry blossom tree. The smell of the earth after the rain. Holding someone’s hand in their final days.

This year, I made a resolution to keep an awe diary. I call it “365 Days of Wonder.” I’m drawing inspiration from my late grandmother. She kept a daily diary for over fifty years, and most of her entries are only one or two sentences. Taken together, these micro-entries paint a rich picture of the rhythm of her years.

So I feel no pressure to write a long journal entry each day. Just a sentence or two about something I saw, heard, tasted, smelled, or learned about that day that made me say, “Oh wow.”

It’s now mid-March, and I have written seventy-seven entries. Can I share a few of them?

Day 9:

Listening to President Carter’s funeral, I was touched by this reflection from his grandson, Jason Carter: “In my forty-nine years, I never perceived a difference between his public face and his private one. He was the same person. For me, that’s the definition of integrity.”

Day 27:

Last night I randomly grabbed some old fortune cookies before driving home a group of teenagers. “Here, check out your fortunes for the week,” I said. The first teen read, “You will be surrounded by the love and laughter of good friends. Ha! Well, that one already came true.”

Day 34:

While on a morning walk, I got a text from a friend. She had woken up to the sound of a neighbor shoveling her driveway—a reminder, she wrote, that there are “good people everywhere.”

Day 37:

A beautiful family friend died today. She was ninety-five, and I remember when—at nearly eighty—she spotted our family across the beach and ran full throttle to greet us, with a hand atop her head to keep her sunhat from blowing away. I want to age like that.

Day 38:

I brought Humfrid the Octopus with me on a school visit today. At the end of my presentation, a kindergarten sidled up: “Can Humfrid give me a hug?” I replied, “With eight arms, he can give you a quadruple hug!”

Day 41:

Finding a moment of wonder was harder today. So this afternoon while driving, I tried to keep my senses open. And almost instantly, I got stuck behind a school bus.

But, but, but . . . while stopped, I noticed a border collie sitting at attention. The moment his teenage person stepped off the bus, he bolted down the long driveway and danced happy circles around his kid.

Day 42:

It was fourteen degrees when I took the dog out this morning, but the dawn was full of birdsong. In a month, the migrating birds will start returning—but I’m so grateful to the hardy little birds who stick around all winter.

Day 62:

I backed into a car last night in a small, dark parking lot. Tears. I couldn’t find the owner, so I left a note with my info and contrition. The owner texted me later, we shared all pertinent insurance details, and then he wrote this:

“The car is a car. They make thousands, if not millions, of them, and it’s no good for me to be angry because of an accident. Things happen. Better energy with happiness and kindness. Hope you have a lovely day.”

Day 65:

I came home late from a meeting last night. My thirteen-year-old was still up—writing heartfelt thank-you notes to people who had supported a service project she had helped organize.

Day 73:

Took my dog to be groomed. While he ran around the groomer’s backyard with her pups, she showed me an envy-inducing “She Shed” that her dad built for her last year. Mind you that she is my age and he is in his 70s. She got teary and said, “He’s the best man I’ve ever known. I’m so lucky.”

Day 74:

I didn’t need my Merlin app to identify woodpeckers today. At least three were rattling the neighborhood at dawn with their hammering. In other news, I heard my first red-winged blackbird of the season.

Day 76:

I wasn’t sure whether my youngest still believed in leprechaun magic and did the usual low-key-but-fun mischief around the house after the kids went to bed. When he came down the stairs this morning, he broke into a huge grin and whispered to me, “You did a good job this year, Mom!” And there it is. Another kind of magic.

Seeking out wonder has become a habit. I find myself looking up when I go out to walk the dog, paying more attention to good news in my doom scrolling, and pausing to listen when I hear something lovely. Like finding that rose on a December day, these moments of wonder don’t fix what hurts. But they whisper each day, “This world is hard. And this world is so, so wonderful.”

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About Deborah Farmer Kris

Deborah Farmer Kris is a child development expert and the author of "Raising Awe-Seekers: How the Science of Wonder Helps Our Kids Thrive,” the I See You board book series, and the All the Time picture book series. Her bylines include CNN, PBS KIDS, NPR’s Mindshift, The Washington Post, the Boston Globe Magazine, and Oprah Daily. Deborah is currently an expert advisor for the PBS KIDS show, “Carl the Collector,” and spent 20+ years as a K-12 educator. Mostly, she loves sharing nuggets of practical wisdom that can make the parenting journey a little easier. You can find her at www.parenthood365.com.

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Why I Don’t Want to Become Enlightened Anymore

“Being free isn’t actually that easy.” ~Unknown

I’ve always been an achiever. I’ve worked hard to reach goals: I was good at school, then got a good job, and ended up making good money. My colleagues valued my clear view of the goal, my ability to break down the big task into parts that one can work on, casting it all as individual problems that one can solve. I was diligent, hard-working, and reliable. An employer’s dream employee.

At the same time, I’ve always had a wish to be “free.” Not so much from outer constraints, but from inner ones—depressive episodes, difficult feelings, painful experiences. It sounds terribly naive when you put it like that, but I guess it was a wish to live “happily ever after” at some point in the future.

And I was willing to work hard to achieve that, too.

In hindsight, it all seems clear how that was bound to fail. But working hard was the one thing I knew how to do, so I applied it to everything, including the wish for happiness, the wish for inner freedom.

I tried a range of different things and ended up connecting with Buddhism. I think what appealed to me was the clear outline of a path to achieving happiness, the methods, and the way the goal was described: enlightenment, awakening, the ultimate inner freedom. So I learned about the methods and began applying myself to them.

With my scattered mind, I sat down trying to watch my breath. With aching knees, I sat for hours repeating mantras, counting how many repetitions I “got in,” making progress toward the numeric goal of 100,000 repetitions of various things. That took years.

I think my wife noticed long before me that there was something unhealthy in my approach. She pointed out how I came down the stairs with a “forced smile” after a long meditation session. She tried to encourage me to “live.” It was no good; I wouldn’t listen.

The harder I tried to work at it, the more frustrated I became. Since I didn’t see the progress I craved— like peace of mind, like mental calm—I thought the solution was clear: I had to try harder. Devote more time to it, reduce other activities more. Retracting from the world, rather than living in it, my wife called it.

The big irony was that, in order to feel more alive, I cut myself off from life more and more. I tried to achieve inner freedom by applying the same habitual patterns that governed my life: striving hard, unrelentingly.

I once saw a postcard with the drawing of a parrot walking out of its birdcage, while wearing a small birdcage like a helmet around its head. The words on the card said, “Being free isn’t actually that easy.” I think it summarizes very well how I was trapped trying to be free.

When my tenacious striving ended up threatening my marriage, I sought help from a therapist, and that’s when things started to change.

I became aware of the pattern I was caught in. The narrow-mindedness of feeling that I had to achieve something big. The unspoken wish that one day, someone would tap me on the shoulder and say, “Well done.” The rejection of life in the name of an abstract goal—ironically, in my case, the goal of wanting to be truly alive.

I can’t say change happened overnight, although there was this one therapy session where I had a sense that I could feel that inner truth of just being, of awareness. That felt real and true—and much more than any external rules and descriptions of a path, it has been my compass, my guiding light ever since.

What amazes me most is that for so many years, I just didn’t see the obvious: that I was applying my habitual patterns of ambition and goal-oriented striving to meditation, to the search for inner freedom. How on earth did I not see that?

Frankly, I think it’s like with the fish and the water. The joke of the old fish meeting two young fish and asking them, “How’s the water today?” and the young fish responding, “What do you mean, water?” It’s so around you, so much an integral part of your lived experience, that you don’t even notice.

After that recognition, I think the process has been gradual, and I would say it’s ongoing. The key thing is that I recognize striving as striving now. I’m in touch with the emotional tone that comes with it and have gradually learned to take it as a warning sign. Whenever I feel the narrowness of wanting to achieve, I now pause to check if I’m just digging myself into a hole again.

As a result, there is now a sense of acceptance, of acknowledging that some things cannot be achieved by willpower. That feeling alive isn’t really something you can work at. In fact, today I’d say it’s the opposite: the way to feel alive is to relax into the reality of the moment, again and again. It’s admitting to myself what’s really there, in every situation, pleasant and unpleasant. It’s breathing with the pain, cherishing the pleasant moments. Valuing the people in my life.

In short, I’ve given up on the “big goals.” I still meditate every day, but I do it differently now: I always try to work with what’s really there in that particular moment—sitting quietly with the breath on some days, working with emotions on others, maybe formulating wishes for well-being on the third day… There are so many options, and the key to making it a living practice, for me, has been to allow myself to start with what’s really there, every day anew.

If any of this rings a bell, if you feel stuck trying to live a meaningful life, here are the lessons I’m drawing from my experience.

1. Choose a direction, not a destination.

To me, owning my life is a cornerstone. Grabbing the steering wheel, deciding on my own priorities rather than simply living according to a script that’s provided from the outside. So I totally stand by that original aim of wanting to live with inner freedom.

In fact, if you don’t already have a clear sense of what you want your life to be, I strongly recommend taking some time to explore that question for yourself. There are great methods for this—reflective prompts or journal exercises that help you envision your ideal future.

I’ve realized that what matters most is the direction I’m giving to my life—not so much a specific outcome, let alone a timeline for achieving it. Attainable goals have their place with respect to the outside world, such as working toward an education or a place to live, but with respect to inner processes, I’m now convinced that you cannot force things. At the same time, my orientation in the present situation matters deeply and makes all the difference.

2. Be patient and gentle with yourself.

This is the hard part for an achiever like me. My habitual disposition is wanting to measure progress. So after I realized the dead end I had maneuvered myself into with that goal-oriented approach to meditation, it’s been an ongoing challenge. The creature of habit in me continues to want to “be good at it,” to achieve.

The process has been, and continues to be, getting to know that driven feeling and learning to actively soften it whenever I notice it. One helpful practice has been tuning into the tone of my inner voice—the one reminding me to let go of goals and relax. How friendly or harsh does it sound? And if it’s rather impatient, can I soften that too?

Suddenly, rather than chasing some goal, I’m exploring what’s really there in myself, discovering and cultivating a friendly stance every day anew.

3. Connect with your inner compass.

I’m a rational person, and I often insist on spelling out the reasons for a decision. As far as things go in the world out there, I think that’s useful, even though I tend to overdo it sometimes.

At the same time, I believe that I have an “inner compass,” which I discovered during my therapy sessions and that I find difficult to put into words. It’s a sense of whether something feels right that I can somehow feel in my body.

I value this sense as extremely precious, even though I cannot describe it well. This inner compass is the most important guiding principle for me regarding “inner” topics, which cannot always be explained through logic or reason. It’s about whether something feels healthy, whether it seems to move you in the right direction.

Tuning into this compass, even when I can’t explain it, helps me stay true to myself, no matter what situation I’m in.

—

To me, the result of applying these principles has been great. I guess I won’t be enlightened any time soon, but the good thing is, I’m much happier with that now than I’ve ever been in my life.

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About Marc Schröder

Marc is a software engineer and meditator of many years, trying to live a meaningful life. With his wife, a licensed psychiatric nurse, he has created the app Mindfulness to go which offers mindfulness practices applicable to everyday life. Download it today for iPhone and Android from www.mindfulness-to-go.com/en/get-the-app. As a reader of Tiny Buddha, you’ll get the first month free by entering the code “tinybuddha.”

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To the Dreamers Reading This, I Want You to Know…

There I was, eating cereal and watching a CNN documentary about Kobe Bryant—yes, I mix deep life reflection with Raisin Bran—when his old speech teacher said something that made me pause mid-chew. He described Kobe’s approach to life as giving everything—heart, soul, and body—to his craft. No halfway. Just all in.

I sat there thinking, “Yes! That’s it!” That’s the very thing I try to convey to my students in class, usually while making wild arm gestures and accidentally knocking over a marker cup. I believe in that philosophy with every fiber of my chalk-dusted being.

High Risk, Deep Roots

But here’s the deal: it’s also terrifying.

This idea of going all in on your calling—it sounds noble and exciting and worthy of a motivational poster—but the truth is, it’s a gamble. A high-stakes, heart-first kind of gamble. Especially today.

I mean, the ancient world totally backed this idea. Aristotle called it arete—excellence as a way of life. The Stoics preached about inner strength, Japanese samurai gave us Bushidō, and every jazz musician who ever improvised their way to bliss knows the power of flow. Even athletes talk about that magical zone where time melts away and it’s just you, the court, the ball, and that buzzing sense of rightness.

Modern Metrics vs. Timeless Passion

But our modern world? Eh, not so much. Today, we value your output. Your metrics. Your monetization plan. It’s like we collectively replaced passion with performance indicators.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not against paying the bills. I enjoy food, shelter, and the occasional streaming service. But if you’re a young person with a dream that doesn’t come with a subscription model or an app-based hustle plan? Welcome to what I call “existential whiplash.”

Is It Safe to Dream?

You’re told, “Follow your bliss!” and “Live with purpose!” But the next second someone’s asking, “Yeah, but how will you monetize that?”

This contradiction is exhausting. And it gets inside your head. You start to think, “Maybe I’m wrong to want this. Maybe I should just do something safer. Maybe dreams are for people with trust funds.”

But here’s where I get a little loud in class—yes, I stand on chairs occasionally—and say: No. Your dream is not a liability.

It’s a pulse. A heartbeat. A spark. And you owe it to yourself to explore it—even if it’s hard.

What Happens If It Doesn’t Work Out?

Now, I won’t sugarcoat this: you can throw your whole self into something and not get the rewards you hoped for. I’ve lived that. I’ve made documentaries that reached small audiences. I’ve written things I thought would change the world and heard nothing but crickets. I’ve built programs that vanished when the grant money dried up.

But here’s the weird thing: I still wouldn’t trade it. Because in the pursuit—yes, even in the flops—I found something essential.

The Gift of Flow and Presence

Flow. Purpose. Connection.

When I was filming at dawn in a mountain village in the Philippines, or listening—really listening—to a student struggle their way into their voice, I wasn’t thinking about success. I was there. Fully. Mindfully. There’s nothing else like it.

Those moments are why we do the risky thing. Because we’re not robots. We’re not spreadsheets. We’re meaning-makers. And when we pursue something with full attention and intention, we tap into something sacred.

Even Mindfulness Has a Marketing Plan

Still, let’s be real. In our society, even mindfulness has been commodified. There’s a subscription for calm. A brand for stillness. A market for minimalism. If I sound cynical, it’s because I’ve watched so many of my students get talked out of their deepest truths by the crushing logic of “practicality.”

Redefining Success

So, what do we do? How do we hold on to our inner compass when the GPS keeps yelling “Recalculate!” toward a safer, more profitable life?

I think it comes down to redefining what “success” really means.

I tell my students: don’t measure your life by likes, views, or even income (although, yes, make sure you eat). Measure it by the depth of your experience. By the risks you were willing to take. By the people you helped. By the moments you felt alive and grounded in something real.

A Quiet Life Can Still Be Epic

Because that’s what makes a life worth living. Not perfection. Not applause. But presence.

You can live a small-looking life with a vast inner world. You can chase something meaningful and not be famous. You can teach or paint or write or code or dance or build without needing to “go viral” to matter.

Doubt Will Visit—Invite It In

Yes, there are trade-offs. Believe me, I’ve wrestled with them. I’ve had months where I wondered if I made a mistake, if I’d be better off in a more stable career. I’ve asked myself whether it’s selfish to keep chasing ideas when I could be saving for retirement instead.

But then I remember: a life without dreams, without creative risk, without vulnerability? That would break me faster than any unpaid invoice.

This Is the Gift (and the Gamble)

To the dreamers reading this—especially the young ones, or the older ones just beginning again—I want to say this:

Don’t let the world’s cynicism shrink your vision. Stay mindful, not just in meditation, but in how you choose—how you spend your time, your energy, your attention. Live with full awareness, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

Because that’s the gift of mindful living. Not constant calm or peace—but full contact with reality. The beauty and the fear. The creativity and the chaos. The risk and the reward.

Show Up Anyway

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the point. That life isn’t about winning. It’s about showing up fully, heart, soul, and body. Just like Kobe. Just like all of us trying to do this thing with courage.

I’m not indispensable. I’m not a guru. I’m just a guy who still gets goosebumps when a student discovers something real inside themselves. I’ve lived long enough to know dreams don’t always pay off, but they always teach you something vital—about who you are and what you care about.

And for me, that has always been enough.

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About Tony Collins

Tony Collins, EdD, MFA is a documentary filmmaker, teacher, musician, writer, and consultant with forty years of experience. His work explores creative expression, scholarly rigor, and nonfiction storytelling across the USA, Central America, Asia, and the UAE. In 2025, he is self-publishing Creative Scholarship: Rethinking Evaluation in Film and New Media on Amazon, challenging traditional academic assessment in film and new media. Website: anthonycollinsfilm.com

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A Confession, a Lesson, and a Last Chance

What my money mindset taught me—and why I believe in this bundle with my whole heart.

I have a confession to make: I hate sending “sales” emails, and especially the “last day” ones, because I visualize myself in a tacky, oversized suit, a cigar hanging out of the side of my mouth, selling someone on a lemon car that will likely break down on the drive home.

But here’s an interesting thought: This negative narrative originated somewhere. I wasn’t born believing it’s inherently wrong to exchange money for goods or services, or that anyone who sells anything is dishonest or manipulative. I just picked this up somewhere along the way, and it’s often hindered me in business.

It’s compelled me to reject opportunities, undervalue my time, and overdeliver (which I don’t actually regret—I’d rather give too much than too little!).

This is why I was so thrilled to include Melanie Wilder’s Biz CPR course in the Best You, Best Life Bundle this year.

I know, my story was a backdoor entry to this sales email, but it’s true, nonetheless. I love that her program helps people change the internal stories that hold them back professionally.

Because we’re all worthy of thriving, and we all need money to support ourselves and the people we love.

I believe her work changes lives in a profound way, enabling people to overcome the blocks to meet their foundational needs.

And I believe in every other bundle contributor just as deeply because every one of them is doing this work for a reason—because they’ve lived what they teach. They’ve struggled. They’ve searched. And they’ve turned their pain into purpose so they could help others heal, grow, and thrive.

Let me tell you a little about some of them…

• Julie Bjellandcreated her incredible tools for highly sensitive people because she is one—and she spent years feeling overwhelmed, misunderstood, and emotionally exhausted. Now she helps HSPs regulate their nervous systems and live empowered, balanced lives.
• Sandy Woznickicreated her Meditation-in-Action Method after years of battling anxiety, burnout, and a harsh inner critic. Her work helps overwhelmed people—especially parents—incorporate mindfulness into their everyday lives so they can be calmer and less reactive.
• Roni Davislived through decades of disordered eating and self-judgment. Her program helps people heal their relationship with food by understanding the deeper emotional roots—because she knows firsthand what it’s like to feel stuck in that cycle.
• Sarah Williamsonstarted creating tools to help people stop drinking after navigating her own changing relationship with alcohol. Her work isn’t about shame or rigidity—it’s about self-trust, mindful choice, and living with intention.
• Melanie Tonia Evansdidn’t just study narcissistic abuse recovery—she lived it. Her healing journey became the foundation for a program that’s now helped thousands of others break free and rebuild stronger, truer lives.

Each one of these contributors has walked through something difficult and come out the other side with tools, insight, and heart. Their programs aren’t just products—they’re lifelines.

So maybe I’m not flicking my ashes in a used car lot while you consider recommending a good mouthwash and tailor. Because I believe in all the beautiful people I’ve partnered with, and I believe their programs can make a powerful difference for you.

As you walk past the inflatable arm-flailing tube man, please note the sign: This offer ends at midnight PST tonight.

14+ self-help tools. 95% off. Learn more here.

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About Lori Deschene

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A Gift from Guided Meditation: 1 Year of Peace, Totally Free

If your mind’s been racing or your body’s been tense, I get it.

Life doesn’t always slow down when we need it to, and sometimes, even five quiet minutes can feel like a luxury.

That’s why I’m excited to pass along this gift from a meditation app that’s helped millions in Europe and is now making its U.S. debut.

To celebrate the launch of the Guided Meditation app, our friends in the Netherlands—where they’re the #1 meditation app—are offering the Tiny Buddha community something special: one year of free, unlimited access to their full library of meditations, music, sleep stories, breathing practices, and more.

Here’s what you’ll find inside:

• Sleep stories to help you rest
• Guided meditations for anxiety, self-love, clarity, and energy
• Breathing and affirmation exercises to recenter during your day
• Soothing music and Yoga Nidra to fully relax body and mind

Whether you’re navigating a life transition, looking to feel more grounded, or just craving a little quiet in your day, this app is here for you.

Click here for free access

This offer is only available for a short time during their U.S. launch, so be sure to take advantage while it lasts!

I hope it helps you press pause when life feels too fast so you can find a little peace in stillness.

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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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When Trying to Be “Good” with Food Makes Us Sick

I was around five the first time I remember getting in trouble. It was nearing Christmas, and I wasn’t buying into the whole Santa story anymore. A magic man spends all year making toys, then drops down chimneys and delivers them all in one night? Nope. I may have only been five, but I was insulted that people expected me to buy that ridiculous story.

Feeling rather proud of myself for figuring it out, I demanded that my mom tell me the truth. And when she finally admitted Santa wasn’t real, I felt vindicated. But that wasn’t enough. I needed my younger cousins to know the truth, too, so I ran next door and told them.

I don’t remember what I said, but I remember what happened when my aunt found out. I can still picture it. I was sitting on the step between the hallway and my bedroom, cowering against the wall, my aunt kneeling in front of me, furious. “Just because your Christmas is ruined doesn’t mean you have to ruin theirs!” she yelled.

My heart pounded, my face burned, and my belly was sick. I felt like I’d done something unforgivable and like she hated me.

That moment taught me that feeling loved, accepted, and safe meant being good. Because to my body and brain, goodness was the solution to protect me from ever getting in trouble again. If I could just be good enough, maybe I’d never feel that kind of shame, fear, and rejection again.

And once that connection was wired in, it shaped everything. I absorbed what was expected, spoken or unspoken, and adapted myself around it. Safety, it seemed, came from getting everything right. From fitting into someone else’s idea of what it meant to be good.

The fear of being wrong or bad slowly worked its way into every corner of my life: my choices, my words, how I looked, what I ate, what I weighed.

In a society that equates both food choices and thinness with health, and moralizes all of it, the number on the scale wasn’t just about weight. It was about virtue. Worth. Safety.

So, like always, I responded the only way I knew how: I tried as hard as I could. Control became my safety strategy. I micromanaged everything—my body, my food intake, my words… I even attempted to manage other people’s opinions of me—anything to avoid the shame of doing something wrong, or worse, being someone bad.

I tried following every rule: carbs are evil, sugar is poison, ‘clean eating’ is holy. When I slipped, the punishment came from within. Even the smallest misstep triggered the inner voice: What’s wrong with you? Loser. How could you screw up again?

The mirror, the scale, even every food choice measured whether or not I was good, and I felt the verdict deep in my bones.

But safety built on obedience is impossible to sustain, especially when the rules are impossible to follow. Rules I didn’t choose. Handed down by culture, family, coaches, textbooks—rules I was trained to follow, and even trained to teach as a fitness and nutrition expert for many years.

I built a life, a career, an entire identity around those rules. I genuinely believed they were the key to health, success, and self-worth. And I believed discipline and control would earn me health, love, respect, and the freedom from ever being made to feel like that little girl on the steps again.

But treating foods—or entire food groups—as ‘bad’ or ‘off-limits’ is unnatural, unsustainable, and ultimately harmful. All my efforts to ‘be good’ only fed cravings and obsessions that led to restriction, rebellion, overeating, and eventually, binge eating and bulimia.

Even when I looked like the “picture of health,” I was unraveling in every conceivable way. The harder I clung to control, the more I binged. The more I binged, the more ashamed I felt.

Now I know it was never about discipline or failure; it was about survival. A nervous system stuck in overdrive, doing the only thing it knew how to do: escape.

Food was my relief, my rebellion, and my deepest shame all at once. For almost thirty years, I lived at war with food, my body, and myself, and nearly every day ended in feelings of defeat.

By the end of it, my health (physical, mental, and emotional) was an absolute mess. I knew I couldn’t keep it up. And honestly? I didn’t even want to. It wasn’t one dramatic epiphany, just thousands of quiet, desperate moments of I cannot keep living like this.

Eventually, that slow, steady drip of desperation led to the recognition that I had to start doing something differently if I ever wanted to change anything. So I did.

I stopped trying to be good, stopped trying to control everything, and started being present, connected, curious, and intentionally kind instead.

I started asking questions and exploring my inner world with compassion and non-judgment whenever I caught myself spiraling, grasping for control, or staring into a mirror, wishing I could disappear.

What is really happening here? How did I get here? Why do I believe these things? Why do I think I have to earn my worth, or my health, through my food choices or my body? Is any of this even helping? Or is it harming? What do I actually need right now?

It took me a long time to see it, but I wasn’t ever even really chasing health. Of course, I wanted to be healthy. But what I truly needed was to feel safe in my body, and in my life. I needed to feel loved and accepted exactly as I was. And I was trying to protect myself from feeling what that little girl felt on that step when she was made to feel so very bad.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part.

All those years we’ve spent trying to be ‘good’—controlling food, weight, health, everything—are supposed to make us feel better. Safer. More in control. More worthy. But instead, way too often they make us sicker.

And more out of control. More disconnected. More ashamed. More dysregulated.

Because when being ‘good’ means following rules you didn’t write, chasing standards you never agreed to, and punishing yourself every time you fall short, what kind of life does that even leave you with?

Not a healthy one. Not a free one.

Trying so hard to be ‘good’ is what’s keeping us trapped in cycles of shame, disconnection, and dysfunction. Control and obedience aren’t recipes for thriving. They’re oppressive traps.

If any of this feels familiar, if you have your own version of that little girl on the step and you recognize yourself trapped in this exhausting loop, here’s something to try:

The next time you feel like you’ve ‘messed up’ with food or judge yourself for not being the ‘right’ weight, pause. Try placing your hands on your heart and taking three steady breaths. Notice what’s happening in your body.

Maybe your breath is shallow, your chest is tight and heavy, or your shoulders are creeping up. Don’t try to fix the sensations, just notice them. They don’t need judgment; they’re signals that need your attention.

Ask:

• What story am I telling myself about what this means?
• What does it mean to be good?
• Who gave me that definition?
• Am I actually even trying to be good… or am I trying to be safe?

That’s where it begins, with asking. Let the questions make space for something new.

We were never meant to live in fear of getting it wrong, especially with food and our bodies. We were never meant to confuse obedience and control with health and safety.

It’s not about trying harder. It’s about finally feeling safe being a perfectly imperfect human.

That’s enough for now.

Editor’s Note: If you’ve ever felt like your worth was tied to your weight or your food choices, you were wrong. And you don’t have to keep living this way. Roni’s Ditch the Food Drama course can help you start untangling guilt, shame, and all-or-nothing thinking so you can make peace with food and find safety within yourself. It’s one of 14+ empowering resources in the Best You, Best Life Bundle, available for 95% off for two more days only. Click here to learn more or grab the bundle.

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About Roni Davis

Drawing on her own healing process plus over a decade of professional knowledge, education, and experience, E-CET founder Roni Davis guides women through the process of uncovering and changing the thought and behavior patterns that cause weight and food struggles. Her clients break unhealthy eating habits and heal their relationships with food and their bodies while learning to approach their overall well-being from a place of connection, self-trust, compassion, and love. Learn more with her free Why We Eat video series.

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