How to Cope When Trauma Stole Your Childhood Memories

“It’s all right if you can’t remember. Our subconscious is spectacularly agile. Sometimes it knows when to take us away, as a kind of protection.” ~Kathleen Glasgow 

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself crying in the park. It was supposed to be just a typical summer day. I was enjoying my usual stroll with my dog, Boni. The sun was shining, and the shade of the trees provided a very welcoming shelter from the burning sun.

Children were running and laughing, and their joy drew me in. Two of them, tiny three-year-olds, were squealing, all happy, wearing Hawaiian-style skirts and flowers around their necks.

I looked to the right, and there was the perfect birthday scene: a whole setup with tables, an abundance of food and drinks, balloons floating in the air, hanging by invisible threads, adults conversing with each other, and more kids playing in different spots.

The atmosphere was so heartwarming that I immediately felt happy for the birthday girl. Inspired by the scene, I asked myself, “Oh, how were my birthday parties?“

Blank.

Oh my, I couldn’t remember my birthday parties as a child past a certain age, no matter how hard I tried. It was as if I were walking to a place I was sure existed, and all of a sudden, I found a wall. Where the hell did it go? Why can’t I see it? Why is this wall here? Immediately, I started crying. “I don’t remember!” I said to myself repeatedly, sad and frustrated.

Boni started walking me around as I tried to recall my memories. “You can do this, Erika, c’mon!” But I couldn’t. My last memory of a birthday party as a child was before I was physically and sexually abused. All parties after that? Blank. Did they exist? I’m pretty sure they did. Did I have fun? I have no idea.

The question here is not the birthday parties per se; I’m sure I had some sort of celebration, but the heartbreak was knowing little Erika was so hurt and traumatized that her brain shut down on such special occasions.

If you’ve been through traumatic experiences, you may be relating to me right now and thinking, “I feel you, Erika. How do we deal with that?” I get you. It is so painful not having experienced certain things, not being able to remember, not being able to hop into some conversations because your childhood was not “normal” or you can’t remember anything.

But I’m here to bring you hope. Even though it is heartbreaking, you can soothe your heart and find peace. That’s what happened to me on that day when I realized I couldn’t remember my birthday parties. I used five steps I’ve learned on my healing journey to help me process my emotions and get back to my center fairly quickly.

You can use these same steps every time you feel triggered by a memory (or lack thereof) or if something from your past is really bothering you.

1. Acknowledge the pain.

If there’s one thing I learned on my healing journey, it’s that pain needs to be seen and acknowledged. There’s no point in wiping our tears away and pretending like nothing happened. I tried that, and it resulted in years of feeling anxious and numb.

Nowadays, I welcome the pain and celebrate the tears. They are a sign of release, and isn’t that what we want? To release these emotions and pain stored in our bodies?

That’s where I started. I acknowledged my pain. And I know this sounds wild, but I started talking to myself there and then. I spoke to little Erika: “I get what you are feeling. It is painful, and it sucks. You didn’t deserve to go through all that. I see you. Feel what you want to feel. I will hold you; I’m here for you.” And I let the tears, the sadness, and the grief take over.

Although it was a bit unusual to go through this process at the park, I believe that walking and being in nature helped me work through my emotions more easily. I’m not trying to have another breakdown at the park, but being surrounded by nature and moving really came in handy!

2. Soothe and regulate.

My next step was to help myself regulate. After allowing my feelings to surface, I wanted to bring myself to a more grounded place. We want to express our emotions, but being in that place for longer than necessary is not ideal either.

So, I used deep, slow breaths to help me relax, gently touched my arms up and down, softly rubbed the palms of my hands against each other, and kept walking in silence. The feelings were still there, but as time passed, they became less intense, and the sense of panic I felt started to fade.

I can’t remember if I hummed, but it helped me regulate my emotions in the past, so I’m leaving it here in case you can use an extra tip.

3. Bring yourself back to the present moment.

After letting grief take over and returning our body to safety, it is time to get back to the present moment, because when we go through situations like this, our mind goes straight to the past, and for that instant, we’re not here anymore. That is normal, but we’ve got to pull ourselves back. And that’s what I did.

Shamelessly, I started talking to little Erika again: “Girl, we got awesome birthday parties now! You are surrounded by love, and home feels safe. It’s simply amazing!“

The trick is to show yourself that you’re no longer in the past.

My hope is that you are safe and in a different position right now and that your painful past circumstances are no longer present in your daily life. If that’s not where you are yet, my heart goes out to you, and I want you to know that you are not alone. It is not unusual for survivors to find themselves in situations that are eerily similar to their past, but after all you’ve been through, you deserve better.  You deserve to take your power back. May this be your sign to reach for support to create real safety in your life.

You might have felt powerless back then, but you have the power now. And that takes us to the next step.

4. Make plans for the future:

Here is the thing: in these situations, we tend to focus on what we didn’t have, what we lost, or what we were “robbed” of. But this is you taking your power back. Yes, you didn’t have it back then, but you can give it to yourself right now if you choose to, whether that’s something tangible like a birthday cake or something more emotionally based, like self-validation.

Since you have the power, you get to decide what to do from here. And that’s exactly what I did. I reflected on my conversation with my inner child and figured out my needs—in the moment and moving forward.

So ask yourself what you need, and go all in; this is not the time to be embarrassed or to overlook your needs. Need bigger birthday parties? A more active social life? More rest? Asking everyone to take pictures at events so you can look back and remember?

Sometimes this step takes a bit of time, so it’s okay to ask the question and allow space for the answers to come. Whatever that need is, you can always give it to yourself now. I know you may be thinking it, so let me say this: it is never too late to give yourself what you didn’t have back then. You deserve it!

5. Talk about it.

This step is entirely optional, but I found out through personal experience that it can be highly beneficial to you and your loved ones. In my case, I was walking my dog, and eventually, I needed to get back home, where my partner was waiting for me.

In the past, I’d say nothing about what happened and just keep it to myself. I’d think, “I dealt with it, so what’s the point in sharing?“

But here’s the thing (only valid if we’re talking about healthy, loving, supporting people): when you share what happened to you, your loved one will understand why you may be “off.” They may help you with anything you need; they can give you space and time, or a hug, or a shoulder to cry a bit more on.

Or in my case, a very enthusiastic “Your next birthday parties are going to be SPECTACULAR! We’re gonna celebrate so much and create loads of new beautiful memories!“

People who love you want to know what’s going on with you and to support you in any way they can, so don’t hesitate to reach out.

These were the steps that helped me on that day, and honestly, on any day I felt triggered by memories of the past, or the absence of them. My hope is that they help you, too.

Know that you are not alone, and that from the present moment, anything can happen. Your past may sometimes come to shake you, but you can turn it into a powerful moment of healing and release. Lean into curiosity and show yourself some love and compassion. You really deserve it.

Cheers to filling in the blanks with new, beautiful, happy memories!

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About Erika Sardinha

Erika Sardinha is an empowerment coach for survivors based in the Canary Islands. Her purpose is to help survivors reclaim their right to be gentle and achieve success in an aligned way, honoring themselves and their journey. She offers private and group coaching for people who've been through trauma while providing various free resources to her community. Join Erika's free Gentle Badass Community for survivors on WhatsApp and grab her 10-day Empowered Self-care Guided Journaling Experience (also free)! Facebook / TikTok

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What If 2026 Could Actually Be Different?

I’ve never believed that change should be reserved for special days, but the New Year tends to carry a sense of promise. It often brings a surge of clarity, motivation, and hope that maybe things really could be different.

And then, as January moves along, that initial energy fades.

Responsibilities pile up. Our bandwidth shrinks. And before we know it, we’re pulled back into the familiar current of obligations, far from the shore we were hoping to reach.

It’s not that we lack willpower or discipline. Most of us are already trying hard. What we often need instead is the right kind of support to help us stay the course when life inevitably intervenes.

That’s why I wanted to share something I think many of you will appreciate.

The Best Year of Your Life Summit 2026, presented by Wisdom for Life, is a free, eight-day online event designed to help you approach the year ahead with intention rather than just hope.

More than 50 respected teachers and guides come together to share practical insights to help you build a solid foundation for the year—one that actually supports your real life.

This is the sixth year of the summit, and hundreds of thousands of people have participated since it first launched.

Whether you’re focusing on your health, relationships, finances, mindset, or sense of purpose, you’ll find grounded tools you can start using right away.

Claim your FREE spot now

You’ll hear from voices you may already know and trust, including Tara Brach, Jack Kornfield, Sharon Salzberg, Kristin Neff, Ken Honda, Pico Iyer, Sue Morter, Marci Shimoff, and many others.

Each session is intentionally short—about 20–25 minutes—so you’re not asked to carve out huge blocks of time or absorb information you’ll never use. The focus is on insight you can integrate into daily life without overwhelm.

Over the eight days, you’ll explore how to:

• Build sustainable energy and vitality so you’re not exhausted by 3pm or short-tempered with the people you love
• Strengthen your relationships with tools for better communication and deeper presence
• Create financial clarity that replaces the anxiety keeping you up at night with actual confidence
• Develop habits that stick because they’re aligned with who you truly are, not who you think you should be
• Reconnect with joy and purpose in ways that feel natural, not forced

Claim your FREE spot here

The summit touches on all the areas that tend to shape our days most:

• Habits, mindset, and purpose
• Emotional and mental well-being
• Physical health and vitality
• Relationships and communication
• Financial health and abundance
• Simplicity, balance, and harmony
• Spirituality and self-discovery

Most years, we hope things will be different. We try harder, set more goals, and push through.

This year, try a different approach: build the foundation that makes lasting change possible. Eight days with the right kind of support can help shape your whole year ahead.

Reserve your FREE spot now

Oh, and when you register, you’ll also receive two bonus guides—How to Build a New Habit and How to Stop Procrastinating—by James Clear.

I hope the summit 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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Why Listening Matters More Than Giving Advice (A Barbershop Lesson)

“Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.” ~Stephen R. Covey

I used to think running a barbershop was all about haircuts, schedules, and keeping clients happy. I measured success by the number of chairs filled, how quickly we moved through the day, and whether everything ran smoothly. Efficiency felt like the most important thing.

Then one afternoon, a moment with a customer changed everything.

Mr. Hicks, a regular, came in looking unusually quiet. He slumped in my chair, barely making eye contact, and gave only short, mumbled answers when I tried to make small talk. Normally, I would have filled the silence, tried to keep him talking, or offered advice. But that day, I paused. I simply listened. I let him sit in silence as I worked, resisting the urge to speak unnecessarily or try to “fix” anything.

Minutes later, he began to share struggles he had been carrying for months—tensions at work, family challenges, the weight of constant exhaustion. By the time I finished his haircut, he looked lighter, calmer, almost relieved.

I realized I hadn’t needed to give advice. I hadn’t needed to solve his problems. I had only given him my attention. That day, I learned a lesson I carry with me every time I sit behind the barber chair: listening is a gift, patience is a practice, and presence can heal in ways words sometimes cannot.

This lesson didn’t just apply to Mr. Hicks. Over time, I began noticing similar moments with other clients, apprentices, and even friends and family.

A young apprentice, struggling to perfect his techniques, came in one morning looking defeated. Instead of correcting him immediately, I stepped back, watched, and let him try on his own. When he finally turned to me for guidance, the lesson became his own. The joy on his face was more rewarding than any praise I could have offered.

I’ve come to understand that patience isn’t just about waiting. It’s about presence. It’s about fully engaging in the moment, without rushing to the next task. In a barbershop, it’s easy to feel pressured—clients waiting, appointments lined up, every second seeming valuable. But slowing down and giving someone your full attention creates connection in a way speed never can.

One afternoon, I faced a particularly challenging situation. A client came in visibly frustrated and tense. Every suggestion I made seemed to irritate him further.

I could have taken offense or brushed him off, but I tried a different approach. I listened not just to his words but to the subtle cues: the tone of his voice, the tension in his shoulders, the hesitation in his movements.

Slowly, he began to relax, and by the time I finished, he was calmer, smiling, and expressing gratitude. That experience reinforced that sometimes, people need more than advice. They need acknowledgment and space to be heard.

I’ve also carried these lessons beyond the shop. With friends, family, and even strangers, I try to pause before responding, asking myself whether I am truly listening or just waiting to reply. I’ve noticed that when I give people room to share openly, relationships deepen and grow more authentic.

Running a barbershop has taught me humility. Not every story is easy to hear, and not every challenge can be solved with words or actions. But being present, patient, and genuinely attentive is a form of service that often matters more than technical skill. I’ve learned that my role isn’t always to fix problems but to create a safe space where people feel seen, understood, and valued.

There have been moments of personal growth too. Early on, I struggled with impatience, rushing through tasks, wanting instant results, and missing the subtle cues from those around me. By paying attention to the human side of my work, I’ve learned to slow down, notice details, and respond thoughtfully rather than react impulsively. This patience has spilled over into other areas of my life—how I manage stress, handle conflict, and nurture relationships.

I’ve also discovered that listening can transform the listener as much as the speaker. Each story I hear challenges me to see the world from a different perspective. I’ve developed empathy I never knew I had, realizing that everyone carries burdens and struggles silently, searching for someone willing to simply acknowledge them. This awareness has made me more compassionate, not just in the shop, but in every interaction.

Sometimes, the lessons come in unexpected ways. I remember a shy teenager who came in for his first haircut. He was nervous, almost silent, and seemed unsure of how to interact. I spoke less, observed more, and let him get comfortable.

By the end of the session, he was laughing, joking, and sharing stories. That simple act of patience, giving him room to open up, reminded me that growth often happens quietly, in small, unassuming moments.

Through all of this, I’ve realized that patience and listening are not passive acts. They are active choices we make every day. They require mindfulness, attention, and the willingness to put another person’s experience before our own need to act or respond. Running a barbershop taught me that these choices, repeated over time, build trust, deepen relationships, and foster genuine human connection.

If there’s one takeaway I can share, it’s this: slow down, be present, and listen. Whether in a barber’s chair, a living room, or a workplace, giving someone your full attention is a rare and valuable gift.

You don’t need special training or expertise, just the willingness to be patient, notice, and understand. The lessons you learn, and the growth you experience, will stay with you long after the conversation ends.

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About Timothy Warden

Timothy Warden is a barbershop owner in Stafford who believes haircuts are only part of the story. Listening and presence are just as important. Through his work and daily interactions, he writes about personal growth, mindfulness, and human connection, sharing lessons learned from the barber chair and beyond. Visit his site at numberonebarbershoptx.com.

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Learning To Feel Safe Resting After a Lifetime of People-Pleasing

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.” ~John Lubbock

For years, I thought exhaustion was a sign I lived fully and did my best that day. I felt proud of being exhausted. I squeezed every bit out of the day, and there was nothing left.

If I felt tired, I pushed myself to do just one more thing. It was always just one more thing. If I needed to lie down, I scolded myself for being weak. Around me, it seemed everyone else could keep going—working late, saying yes to every request, holding it all together, and getting everything done.

So I pushed harder. I drank more coffee, ignored the pounding in my chest, and told myself I’d rest “later,” as a reward. And when that later finally came, I was so exhausted and empty, all I managed for myself was the easiest available comfort food and plopping down in front of the TV.

Deep down, I wasn’t just tired from doing too much. I was tired from being someone I thought others needed me to be. I gave my everything, and nothing remained for me.

I was tired from people-pleasing.

When Rest Feels Unsafe

People-pleasing is often misunderstood as kindness, but at its core it’s a survival strategy. Psychologists call it the “fawn response.” When fight or flight aren’t possible, some of us learn to stay safe by appeasing others—saying yes, staying agreeable, avoiding conflict at all costs.

This might protect us in unsafe environments, but over time it takes a toll. The body stays on high alert— scanning for others’ needs, monitoring their tone of voice, ready to jump in and smooth things over.

In that state, rest doesn’t feel like an option.

When I tried to pause—sit quietly, lie down, even take a slow breath—my body rebelled. My chest buzzed with tension. My throat tightened, as if rest itself were dangerous. Doing nothing felt risky, as though someone might be upset or reject or abandon me if I wasn’t useful.

So I stayed in motion. On the outside, I looked capable, dependable, “good.” On the inside, I was running on fumes.

The Cost of Never Stopping

When rest feels unsafe, exhaustion becomes a way of life.

The body breaks down. I developed a stress knot in my shoulder, poor posture, and constant fatigue.

The mind spirals. Anxiety grew louder, whispering that I wasn’t doing enough.

The heart aches. Saying yes when I wanted no left me resentful and empty.

I thought if I could just be more disciplined, I’d manage. But discipline wasn’t the problem—my nervous system was.

It had learned, long ago, that slowing down invited danger. So it kept me on guard, pushing, performing, and erasing myself—all in the name of safety, belonging, being approved of and perhaps accepted.

Realizing Rest Is Part of Healing

The turning point came when I read about trauma and the nervous system. I learned that exhaustion and restlessness weren’t proof that I was lazy or broken. They were survival responses. My body wasn’t fighting me—it was protecting me, the only way it knew how.

That realization softened something inside. For the first time, I saw my fatigue not as failure, but as evidence of how hard I’d been trying to survive.

If my body could learn to see rest as danger, maybe it could also relearn rest as safety.

Gentle Practices for Making Rest Safer

The change didn’t come overnight. But step by step, I began inviting rest back into my life—not as laziness, but as medicine.

Here are a few things that helped:

1. Start small.

Instead of trying to nap for an hour, I practiced lying down for five minutes. Just five. Long enough to notice my body but short enough not to panic. Over time, those five minutes grew.

2. Anchor with touch.

When rest stirred anxiety, I placed a hand on my chest or stomach. That simple contact reminded me: I’m here, I’m safe.

3. Redefine rest.

I stopped thinking rest had to mean sleep. Rest could be sitting quietly with tea, staring at the sky, or listening to soft music. It was anything that let my nervous system breathe.

4. Challenge the story.

When the inner critic said, “You’re wasting time,” I gently asked: Is it wasteful to care for the body that carries me? Slowly, I began rewriting that story.

What I’ve Learned

Rest still isn’t always easy for me. Sometimes I lie down, and my chest buzzes like it used to, urging me to get back up. Sometimes guilt whispers that others are doing more, so I should too.

But now I understand: these feelings don’t mean I’m failing at life. They mean my body is still unwinding old survival patterns.

And the more I practice, the more I see rest for what it truly is:

• A way to reset my nervous system.
• A way to honor my limits.
• A way to reclaim the life that people-pleasing once stole from me.

I used to believe safety came from doing more. Now I see that safety begins with stopping.

Closing Reflection

If you’ve ever avoided rest, told yourself you couldn’t afford to relax, or felt guilty when you tried, you’re not alone. Many of us carry nervous systems that equate worth with usefulness and safety with exhaustion.

But what if the truth is the opposite? What if rest is not indulgence but healing? What if slowing down is not selfish but necessary?

Rest may not feel natural at first. It may even feel unsafe and bring up feelings of panic, pressure to get going again, or a sense of falling behind. But with gentleness, patience, and compassion, the body can relearn what it once forgot: that it is safe to stop.

You are not weak for needing rest. You are human. And in a world that pushes constant doing, choosing to rest might be the bravest thing you can do.

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About Maya Fleischer

Maya Fleischer is a trauma-informed coach and certified Compassion Key practitioner who writes at Unfold Consciously, a gentle space for healing emotional patterns and listening to the body’s wisdom. She offers a free 5-Day Audio Journey for Sensitive Souls that includes daily voice notes and practices to support self-compassion and nervous system healing. You can explore it here: Unfold Consciously – Free 5-Day Journey.

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Are You Highly Emotionally Reactive? You May Be Stuck in Survival Mode

“Survival mode is supposed to be a phase that helps save your life. It is not meant to be how you live.” ~Michele Rosenthal

Childhood is the most cherished time for many. However, nobody gets to adulthood unscathed. We all go through incidents with our friends, family, and at school or otherwise that leave us feeling emotionally bruised or scarred.

Growing up in a household where my parents were busy raising three kids and working hard to better their economic status, somewhere along the way I felt neglected. Not that they did anything intentionally, but I was often plagued, even overwhelmed, by feelings of being misunderstood, lonely, not good enough, and generally not deserving.

It was only after years of people-pleasing, choosing a wrong master’s degree, and climbing the corporate ladder with a great job that the suppressed feelings erupted like a volcano. The result? It made me physically sick with allergies, constant body aches, and rashes that didn’t allow me to sleep, pushing me to a complete breakdown.

That’s when I realized that my body was trying to talk to me. It had been giving me warning signs since childhood.

I used to cry a lot, and hence was called sensitive. I was often sick, and my parents called me a “weakling.” I would scream and shout or just shut down and recede into my room. Either way, they told me to not be so reactive. It became a vicious cycle of feeling overwhelmed and then hating myself for not behaving in a normal way.

Back to my breakdown in adulthood, lying on the floor sobbing, I decided that I wanted to quit my job and pursue psychology. It wasn’t an easy ride from there, but nevertheless studying this subject helped me answer why I was the way I was.

It turns out I wasn’t overreactive or sensitive at all. I was in survival mode, and my body and mind perceived everything as a threat. My body tried to keep me safe from anything remotely different by putting me into a fight, flight, or freeze state. My mind was generally hypervigilant of others’ moods and reactions. So, my body didn’t know how to relax, and it was exhausted over the years.

Our bodies are designed to tackle threats and then move back into a relaxed mode. However, when our minds are unable to process, regulate, or tolerate huge emotions, they go into an “always on guard” mode to protect us. However, the protection turns into our own enemy when we can’t turn off the alarm bells, and we end up living with anxiety.

The cherry on top is that we often live in this state for so many years that it starts feeling normal and comfortable. We then crave drama and attract friends and partners that trigger us, only to go into a tailspin, which keeps us feeling emotionally charged.

But there’s a way out. It takes effort and courage to rewire our mind and body to function optimally and to live a more fulfilling life, but it is possible.

Everybody’s journey is unique, and we must all find out what works best for us. However, here are a few things that worked for me. I sincerely hope that they might be of help if you resonate with my experiences.

1. Remind yourself that you can handle whatever happens.

When we’re in survival mode, we create unhelpful stories in our heads and forecast the worst possible outcomes as a means to keep ourselves safe. The key to releasing our fear-based need to protect ourselves is accepting that we can’t control everything. No amount of worrying can ensure that nothing hurts us.

All we can do is address what’s within our power and then consciously choose empowering thoughts. Remind yourself that even if things don’t work out as you planned, you can handle it, and you’ll be safe.

2. Rewire your brain through awareness.

Regularly ask yourself if your thoughts are creating your emotions or your emotions are creating your thoughts. You’ll be amazed to realize that our mind creates statements that cause us to feel a certain way.

For example, if a friend doesn’t respond back to a text/call, you might make up stories about how maybe you said something to upset them or that something is wrong with them, and that elicits emotions in you accordingly. If you think they’re just busy, you’ll feel differently. So practice becoming aware of your stories so you don’t go into panic mode over thoughts that likely aren’t facts.

3. Scan your body.

Your body speaks in subtle ways. Always check in to know how you are really feeling. Is there tension somewhere? Is your heart beating faster? Is your jaw tight? When you’re curious about your physical sensations, you’ll start to recognize when you’re emotionally charged from reacting to a perceived threat. This enables you to proactively calm your nervous system—perhaps through deep breathing, petting your dog, or getting out in nature.

4. Be compassionate toward yourself.

It isn’t an easy journey, and you must be compassionate toward yourself. You’ve done your best to survive, and now it’s time to become conscious so you can thrive.

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About Chaitali Gursahani

Chaitali works as an Integrated Living Coach and is an ardent mental health activist. She believes that mental health is as important as physical health and to grow as a whole, we must integrate the two. She writes on mental health regularly on her website www.themindcurry.com.

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The Gift of Being Single (More Joy, Less Fear)

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” ~Michel de Montaigne

Some people fear spiders. Some fear public speaking.

My biggest fear? That my plus-one will always be my own reflection.

More and more people are finding themselves in the single life—not because they joyfully signed up for it, but because they’ve quietly resigned themselves to it. Being alone forever is one of the worst things most people can imagine. And yet, nobody’s talking about it.

I have no interest in bashing men—I love them. And I’m not here to shame relationships—I’d still love to experience conscious partnership or marriage one day. But what I am here for is giving a voice to the other side: the reality of singlehood. A reality that has been shamed, underrepresented, and spoken over for lifetimes.

Yes, humans of all kinds fear being single. I happen to live it in the skin of a woman, but the fear itself is cultural, primal, and deeply conditioned.

Not a Witch, Not a Spinster, Not a Divorcee

The stigma of singlehood is sticky and insidious. It convinces people to stay in relationships they’ve outgrown because it’s “better than the alternative.” It whispers that you’re not enough without a partner. And the biggest problem? We have so few role models of people living single, fulfilled lives.

I’m not a witch. I’m not a spinster. And I’m not divorced.

Funny story—when I was once applying for a work visa abroad, the form asked me to declare my relationship status. The options? Married. Divorced. Spinster. That was it. Guess which box I had to begrudgingly tick? I still laugh about it, but it says everything: if you’re not partnered, you must be a problem to categorize.

It’s in Our Bones

The roots of this run deep. For most of history, women’s survival was directly tied to men—financially, socially, legally. That dependency shaped generations of cultural messaging we all still carry in our bones, regardless of gender. We’ve been taught that wholeness comes from someone else.

For anyone who has spent long stretches of life single, there’s a peculiar kind of grief that shadows us, not for something lost, but for something never felt. We grieve the idea of intimacy we were promised, the mythical “other half” we were told to need. It’s less about absence and more about a haunting—mourning the story we’ve been handed rather than our own lived truth.

Maybe Disney messed us up. Maybe it was Jerry Maguire’s iconic “you complete me.” But the truth is, our obsession with relationships is far older than pop culture. It’s centuries old. And it’s led so many of us on a quest for “another” long before we’ve gone on the quest for ourselves.

And now? The dating industry has taken that centuries-old conditioning and turned it into a multi-million-dollar business model.

It shows up in quiet moments, like the friend fresh out of a twenty-year relationship who whispers, “What if I never find someone else?” as if that’s the worst fate imaginable.

Legacy, Good Girl, and the Seventh-Grade Soothsayer

We may have moved beyond needing a partner for a bank account or a roof over our heads, but inside many of us lives a whole cast of characters who haven’t gotten the memo.

In my case, they look like this:

• The legacy-burdened one—the part that still believes worth is sealed only once I’m chosen.
• The good girl, who doesn’t want to disappoint the family, who smiles politely when someone says, “You’ll find someone soon.”
• The people pleaser who wonders if they should tone themselves down to be “more dateable.”
• And the inner child who still remembers the sting of being told in seventh grade, “You’ll never have a boyfriend” and worries, even now, that maybe it was a prophecy.

Different faces. Same message: You’re not enough on your own.

Swiping Right on Your Insecurities

The modern dating industry has taken this centuries-old programming and turned it into a goldmine. Apps, relationship coaches, matchmaking services, and self-help books all thrive on making your relationship status yet another problem to be solved.

Not long ago, I was on a twenty-four-hour road trip listening to yet another relationship self-help book. This one at least was about “becoming the one,” but even then, the end goal was still to get the partner. Where are the books about deepening your relationship with yourself, not as a prelude to love, but simply to live your damn best life?

And can we please stop acting like every contrived meeting arranged on an app is a “date”? We used to meet organically in coffee shops or elevators; now we swipe because we’re too afraid to make eye contact in real life.

The funniest part? Friends in relationships often get more excited about my first meets than I do—as if I’m finally about to be rescued from the great tragedy of my singlehood.

Love, Yes; Panic, No

Biology matters. We are wired for connection. We crave intimacy and belonging. This is not about pretending otherwise.

What I’m talking about here is the fear of being single—the panic that drives bad decisions, keeps us in misaligned relationships, and has an entire industry profiting off our insecurities.

Rather than pouring all that longing into loving and being loved by one person, we could simply be… loving. Period. Creating a more compassionate relationship with ourselves. Spreading kindness. Offering to everyone the kind of love that heals the world. Because when we’re busy running from the fear that something is inherently wrong with us, we miss our greatest capacity—to love, in every direction.

The Gift of Being Unpartnered

Here’s the thing nobody tells you: I can literally do anything I want.

If there are socks on the floor, they’re mine.

If the yogurt is gone, I ate it.

I can book a trip on a whim, sleep diagonally, and never negotiate over the thermostat. Netflix isn’t infiltrated with someone else’s questionable taste, and no one wakes me up in my sleep—except my dog.

If I’m honest, my unfiltered fear about being single forever isn’t loneliness. It’s choking on a piece of toast and no one finding me. Or never experiencing the kind of deep intimacy and vulnerability I still hope for.

But here’s the freedom side: I’ve gotten to know myself in a way I never could have if I’d always been in a relationship. I’ve formed an identity that’s mine—unshaped by a partner’s wants or habits. And I want anyone living single to know this is not a consolation prize. This is one valid, powerful way to live. You haven’t failed. Your worth is not measured in anniversaries.

For me, soulmates show up in friendship as much as romance. My best friend and I joke we’ll probably live side by side when we’re old. Deep connection isn’t confined to coupledom, and that truth is liberating.

Single By Trust, Not Default

Seeing singlehood as a radical act of self-trust in a culture obsessed with coupling is… well, radical. And honestly, it’s 2025. We’ve accepted gender fluidity. Sexuality can be expressed on any spectrum you choose. So why are we still categorizing people by relationship status? Why is this still the metric we use to size up someone’s life?

And this isn’t about some performative empowerment—people determined to prove they’re so strong, so independent, so “I don’t need anyone.” That’s still a posture that defines itself in relation to others. What I’m talking about is living fully for yourself, without apology, without your relationship status being a headline of your life.

So maybe the real question isn’t “Will I end up alone?” but “Who can I be if I’m not waiting to be chosen?”

And if you need me, I’ll be training for my next big adventure: walking the Camino trail in Portugal next summer—a pilgrimage powered entirely by my own two feet, my own heart, and absolutely no plus-one required.

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About Andrea Tessier

Andrea Tessier is a master life coach and Level 2 Internal Family Systems (IFS) Practitioner who helps ambitious, growth-oriented women build self-trust, release perfectionism, and step into authentic leadership. With over six years of experience blending psychology and spirituality, she guides clients to reconnect with their true Self and live with clarity, peace, and wholeness. Download her free Self Trust Starter Kit.

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How Menopause Exposed the Hidden Trauma I Spent Years Ignoring

“There is no way to be whole without first embracing our brokenness. Wounds transform us, if we let them.” ~Sue Monk Kidd

Menopause flagged up everything unresolved, unmet, and unchallenged and asked me to meet it with grace.

I’m not saying it was an overnight thing—more like a ten-year process of discovery, rollercoaster style. One of those “strap yourself in, no brakes, no seatbelt, possibly no survival” rides.

If I’m honest, the process is still unfolding, but with less “aaaaggggghhhhh” and more “oh.”

Having mentally swapped Nemesis Inferno for It’s a Small World, I can now look back with deep compassion for that younger version of me at the start of perimenopause.  She was the one frantically Googling her way through a vortex of symptoms, never quite able to figure out whether it was a brain tumor or an underactive thyroid gland.

It all started when I was around thirty-five (for context, I’m now forty-nine). I’d just moved to Brighton from Cheshire to do a degree in songwriting at BIMM and threw myself into it with all the gusto of a twenty-four-year-old; after all, I had it…the gusto, that is.

That first year was wild, to say the least, but then, the ground beneath me started to fracture.

My mind would go blank on stage. The keyboard started looking like a fuzzy blob of jelly. My heart would pound through the night for no apparent reason. I gained a spare tire around my middle. I’d walk into town and have a panic attack, clutching the wall of a bank while strangers side-eyed me with pity or concern.

My libido shot through the roof like a horny teenager. The rage was volcanic, and my poor partner couldn’t even breathe next to me without triggering a tirade (I see the dichotomy too).

It was a maelstrom of symptoms that even Dr. Google couldn’t unpack, and yeah, neither could my actual doctor, but that’s for another time.

The real unraveling came when I went on tour with a band at age forty-two.

It was supposed to be fun-fun-fun, except it wasn’t. It was hell-hell-hell. Ten days, and I slept properly for only one of them. I came home wrecked, assuming that once I returned to my bed and the stability of my beloved, I’d be fine.

But I wasn’t. That’s when insomnia truly began. I’d ‘learned’ how not to sleep, and now my mind was sabotaging me on a loop.

In desperation, I booked in with a functional medicine practitioner who ran some lab tests. The results were “low everything,” and that was the first time I heard the word perimenopause.

I didn’t think much of it at the time—standard denial. But the word lodged itself somewhere.

Around the same time, I was running a speaker event in Brighton and immersing myself in therapeutic modalities as part of my own healing.

Music, my first (well, actually second) career, had started to feel more frightening than exhilarating. In my search for calm, I stumbled upon a modality called RTT, a kind of deep subconscious reset done under hypnosis, which changed everything for me and launched me into a new career pathway.

As I continued learning and applying what I was discovering, a huge lightbulb moment landed:

“Hang on… A lot of the stories I’m hearing from women in midlife involve more than just symptoms; they involve deep, relational wounds.  I wonder if there’s a link between menopause symptom severity and childhood experiences?”

So, I turned to Google Scholar to see if anyone else had spotted this link, and sure enough, there it was.

I came across a 2021 study in Maturitas that found women with higher ACE (Adverse Childhood Experiences) scores were up to 9.6 times more likely to experience severe menopausal symptoms, even when things like anxiety, depression, and HRT were factored in. That blew my mind.

Another 2023 study from Emory University showed that perimenopausal women with trauma histories demonstrated significantly higher levels of PTSD and depression than those in other hormonal phases. That explained so much of what I was feeling too. 

And then I found a 2017 paper in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry showing that women who experienced two or more ACEs were over 2.5 times more likely to have their first major depressive episode during menopause, even if they had no prior history of depression. 

Finally, a recent 2024 review framed early trauma as a key driver of hormonal sensitivity, especially during life transitions like perimenopause. It helped me see that my struggles weren’t random or my fault; there was something a lot deeper at play.

But I was still confused. What was the biological mechanism behind all of this?

Dun dun dah… I found a peer-reviewed paper in Frontiers in Medicine that helped me connect the dots. Take a breath.

In trauma-exposed women, our GABA receptors become altered. These receptors, which help calm the nervous system, rely on a metabolite of progesterone called allopregnanolone. But trauma can disrupt both our ability to break down progesterone into allopregnanolone and our ability to receive its effects at the cellular level (because the GABA receptors become dysfunctional).

So basically, that means even if we have enough progesterone, we might not be able to use it properly. The ensuing result is that we become more sensitive to hormonal fluctuations, and we can’t receive the soothing effects we should be getting from progesterone.

As I began to piece all this together, I was forced to confront something in my own history.

Because frankly, I thought I had a happy childhood.

That is, until I came across a concept that stopped me in my tracks. It felt so close to home, I literally clapped the book shut.

It’s called enmeshment trauma.

It’s a type of relational trauma that often leads to symptoms of CPTSD (which, just to remind you, tends to flare up during menopause). But the thing is, enmeshment hides in plain sight often under the guise of “closeness.” We prided ourselves on being a close family… too close, in fact.

I was an only child with nothing to buffer me from the scrutiny of my parents and the emotional load they placed on me. They’d confide in me about each other as if I were their best friend or therapist. I didn’t know it then, but their lack of emotional maturity meant they were leaning on me for unconditional emotional support. I was a good listener and a very tuned-in child.

I became parentified. Praised and validated for my precociousness, while being robbed of the ability to safely individuate. I was “allowed” to find myself, but the price I paid was emotional withdrawal from my father, equally painful as we’d been so close.

It was confusing and overwhelming, and I had no one to help me metabolize those feelings. It wired me for hyper-responsibility, anxiety, and guilt. Not exactly the best recipe for a smooth menopause transition, which requires slowness, ease, and softness.

As a textbook “daddy’s girl,” I unconsciously sought out older men, bosses, teachers, even married guys. Their energy felt familiar. Meanwhile, emotionally available prospects seemed boring, even if they were safer. That attachment chaos added more voltage to the CPTSD pot I had no idea was simmering under the surface of my somewhat narcissistic facade.

The final ingredient in this complex trauma marinade was a stunted ability to individuate financially. I was still clinging to my parents’ purse strings at age forty-four. The shame, frustration, and despair all came to a head when I dove into the biggest self-sabotaging episode of my life:

I decided to leave my long-term relationship.

He was my rock and my stability. But “daddy’s girl” wanted one last encore. And when he refused to take me back, despite my pleading, it was a mess. But, in a twist of grace, my father had taught me grit. How to get out of a hole. And that’s exactly what I did.

I learned to stand on my own two feet financially. I learned the power of committing to one person and treating them with respect. I learned to set boundaries and become deliciously self-preserving with my energy, because that’s what the menopause transition demanded of me.

And if it weren’t for those wild hormonal shifts, I’m not sure I’d have learned any of this.

Through my experience, I’ve come to see that menopause isn’t just a hormonal event. It’s a complete life transition, both inner and outer. A transition deeply influenced by the state of our nervous system and our capacity for resilience and emotional flexibility.

For those of us with trauma, this resilience and flexibility is often impaired. Hormone therapy can help, yes, but for sensitive systems, it’s only part of the puzzle. And sometimes, it can even make things worse, especially if not dosed correctly.

As sensitive, trauma-aware women navigating these hormonal shifts, there’s so much we can do to support ourselves outside of the medical model.

Slowing it all down is one of the most powerful ways we can create space for the ‘busy work’ our bodies are diligently undertaking during this transition. Gentle, nourishing movement. Yoga Nidra. Early nights. Simple, healthy meals. Earthing and grounding in nature. Magnesium baths. Dry body brushing. Castor oil packs. Vaginal steaming. Think: self-care on steroids.

But perhaps the most radical thing I ever did was to carve out more space in my diary just to S.L.O.W.  D.O.W.N.

Now, eighteen months post-menopause, I find myself reflecting.

What did she teach me?

She flagged up everything unresolved, unmet, and unchallenged.

She showed me where I was still saying yes to others and no to myself.

She taught me that I need more space than society finds comfortable.

She helped me let go of beauty standards and gave me time for rest.

She absolved me of guilt for not living according to others’ expectations.

She reframed my symptoms as love letters from my inner child, calling me home to myself.

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About Sally Garozzo

Sally Garozzo is a clinical hypnotherapist and curious explorer of the midlife and menopause transition inside her podcast The Menopause Mindset. After a winding journey through music, anxiety, and unexpected hormone chaos, she now helps others navigate their own transitions through hypnotherapy. Her passion is helping others reclaim agency over their lives during menopause and beyond. Visit her at sallygarozzo.com and on Instagram and Facebook.

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Learning to Be Seen After a Childhood Spent Disappearing

“The habits you created to survive will no longer serve you when it’s time to thrive.” ~Eboni Davis

I learned early how to measure the danger in a room. With a narcissistic mother, the air could shift in an instant—her tone slicing through me, reminding me that my feelings had no place.

With an alcoholic stepfather, the threat was louder, heavier, and more unpredictable. I still remember the slam of bottles on the counter, the crack of his voice turning to fists, the way I would hold my breath in the dark, hoping the storm would pass without landing on me.

In that house, love wasn’t safe. Love was survival. And survival meant disappearing—making myself small, silent, and invisible so I wouldn’t take up too much space in a world already drowning in chaos.

In a home like that, there was no space to simply be a child. My mother’s moods came first—her pain, her need for control. With her, I learned to hide the parts of myself that were “too much” because nothing I did was ever enough. With my stepfather, I learned to walk carefully, always scanning for danger, always bracing for the next eruption.

So I became the quiet one. The peacekeeper. The invisible daughter who tried to keep the house from falling apart, even when it already was. I carried a weight far too heavy for my small shoulders, believing it was my job to make things okay, even though deep down, I knew I couldn’t.

Those patterns didn’t stay in the walls of my childhood home; they followed me into adulthood. I carried silence like a second skin, disappearing in relationships whenever love began to feel unsafe. I learned to give until I was empty, to lose myself in caring for others, to believe that if I stayed quiet enough, small enough, I might finally be loved.

But love that required me to vanish was never love at all. It was survival all over again. I found myself repeating the same patterns, choosing partners who mirrored the chaos I had grown up with, shutting down whenever I felt too much. I confused pain for love, silence for safety, and in doing so, I abandoned myself again and again.

The cost was heavy: years of feeling invisible, unworthy, and unseen. Years of believing my voice didn’t matter, my needs were too much, and my story was something to hide.

For a long time, I believed this was just who I was—invisible, unworthy, built to carry pain. But there came a night when even survival felt too heavy. I was sitting in the cold, in a tent I was calling home, with nothing but silence pressing in around me. The air was damp, my body shivering beneath thin blankets, every sound outside reminding me how unsafe and alone I felt.

And for the first time, instead of disappearing into that silence, I whispered, “I can’t keep living like this.” The words were shaky, but they felt like a lifeline—the first honest thing I had said to myself in years.

It wasn’t a dramatic transformation. Nothing changed overnight. But something inside me cracked open, a small ember of truth I hadn’t let myself feel before: I deserved more than this. I was worthy of more than surviving.

That whisper became a seed. I started writing again, pouring the words I could never say onto paper. Slowly, those words became a lifeline—a way of reclaiming the voice I had silenced for so long. Every page reminded me that my story mattered, even if no one else had ever said it. And piece by piece, I began to believe it.

Survival patterns protect us, but they don’t have to define us. For years, disappearing kept me safe. Staying quiet shielded me from conflict I couldn’t control. But surviving isn’t the same as living, and the patterns that once protected me no longer have to shape who I am becoming.

Writing can be a way of reclaiming your voice. When I couldn’t speak, I wrote. Every sentence became proof that I existed, that my story was real, that I had something worth saying. Sometimes healing begins with a pen and a page—the simple act of letting your truth take shape outside of you.

It is not selfish to take up space. Growing up, I believed my needs were too much, my presence a burden. But the truth is that we all deserve to be seen, to be heard, to take up space in the world without apology.

We don’t have to heal alone. So much of my pain came from carrying everything in silence. Healing has taught me that there is strength in being witnessed, in letting others hold us when the weight is too much to carry by ourselves.

I still carry the echoes of that house—the silence, the chaos, the parts of me that once believed I wasn’t worthy of love. But today, I hold them differently. They no longer define me; they remind me of how far I’ve come.

I cannot change the family I was born into or the pain that shaped me. But I can choose how I grow from it. And that choice—to soften instead of harden, to speak instead of disappear, to heal instead of carry it all in silence—has changed everything.

I am still learning, still growing, still coming home to myself. But I no longer disappear. I know now that my story matters—and so does yours.

So I invite you to pause and ask yourself: Where have you mistaken survival for love? What parts of you have learned to stay silent, and what might happen if you gave them a voice?

Even the smallest whisper of truth can be the beginning of a new life. Your story matters too. May you find the courage to stop surviving and begin truly living.

May we all learn to take up space without apology, to speak our truths without fear, and to find safety not in silence, but in love.

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About Tracy Lynn

Tracy Lynn is the founder of From Darkness We Grow, a healing space for those who carry emotional pain in silence. Through journals, courses, and her online community, The Healing Circle, she helps others reclaim their voice and remember their worth. Connect with Tracy at fromdarknesswegrow.com. You can also find support in The Healing Circle.

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The Power of Imperfect Work in an AI-Driven, Perfection-Obsessed World

“Have no fear of perfection—you’ll never reach it.” ~Salvador Dalí

We live in a world that worships polish.

Perfect photos on Instagram. Seamless podcasts with no awkward pauses. Articles that read like they’ve passed through a dozen editors.

And now, with AI tools that can produce mistake-free writing in seconds, the bar feels even higher. Machines can generate flawless sentences, perfect grammar, and shiny ideas on demand. Meanwhile, I’m over here second-guessing a paragraph, rewriting the same sentence six different ways, and still wondering if “Best” or “Warmly” is the less awkward email sign-off.

It’s easy to feel like our messy, human work doesn’t measure up.

I’ve fallen into that trap plenty of times. I’ve delayed publishing because “it’s not ready.” I’ve rerecorded podcasts because I stumbled on a word. I’ve tweaked and reformatted things no one else would even notice.

Perfectionism whispers: If it isn’t flawless, don’t share it.

But over time, I’ve learned something else: imperfection is not a liability. It’s the whole point.

A Table Full of Flaws

One of the best lessons I’ve ever learned about imperfection came not from writing or technology, but from woodworking.

About a decade ago, I decided to build a dining table. I spent hours measuring, cutting, sanding, and staining. I wanted it to be perfect.

But here’s the truth about woodworking: nothing ever turns out perfect. Ever.

That table looks solid from across the room. But if you step closer, you’ll notice the flaws. The board I mismeasured by a quarter inch. The corner I over-sanded. The stain that didn’t set evenly.

At first, I saw those flaws as failures. Proof that I wasn’t skilled enough, patient enough, or careful enough.

But then something surprising happened. My wife walked into the room, saw the finished table, and said she loved it. She didn’t see the mistakes. She saw something that had been made with love and care.

And slowly, I began to see it that way, too.

That table isn’t just furniture. It’s proof of effort, process, and patience. It carries my fingerprints, my sweat, and my imperfect humanity.

And here’s the kicker: it’s way more fulfilling than anything mass-produced or manufactured as machine-perfect.

Why Imperfection Connects Us

That table taught me something AI never could: flaws tell a story.

Machines can produce flawless outputs, but they can’t create meaning. They can’t replicate the pride of sanding wood with your own hands or the laughter around a table that wobbled for the first month.

Imperfections are what make something ours. They carry our fingerprints, quirks, and lived experiences.

In contrast, perfection is sterile. It might be impressive, but it rarely feels alive.

Think about the things that move us most—a friend’s vulnerable story, a laugh that turns into a snort, a talk where the speaker loses their train of thought but recovers with honesty. When was the last time you felt closest to someone? Chances are, it wasn’t when they were polished, it was when they were real. Those moments connect us precisely because they are imperfect.

They remind us we’re not alone in our flaws.

The AI Contrast

AI dazzles us because it never stutters. It never doubts. It never sends an awkward text or spills coffee on its keyboard. AI can do flawless. But flawless isn’t the same as meaningful.

But here’s what it doesn’t do:

• It doesn’t feel the mix of pride and embarrassment in showing someone your wobbly table.
• It doesn’t understand the joy of cooking a meal that didn’t go exactly to plan.
• It doesn’t know what it’s like to hit “publish” while your stomach churns with nerves, only to get a message later that says, “This made me feel less alone.”

Flawlessness might be a machine’s strength. But humanity is ours.

The very things I used to try to hide—the quirks, the rough edges, the imperfections—are the things that make my work worth sharing.

A Different Kind of Readiness

I used to think I needed to wait until something was “ready.” The blog post polished just right. The podcast that’s perfectly edited. The message refined until it couldn’t possibly be criticized.

But I’ve learned that readiness is a mirage. It’s often just perfectionism in disguise.

The truth is, most of the things that resonated most with people—my most-downloaded podcast episode, the articles that readers emailed me about months later—were the ones I almost didn’t share. The ones that felt too messy, too vulnerable, too real.

And yet, those are the ones people said, “This is exactly what I needed to hear.”

Not the flawless ones. The human ones.

How We Can Embrace Imperfection

I’m not saying it’s easy. Perfectionism is sneaky. It wears the disguise of “high standards” or “being thorough.”

Here’s what I’ve found helps me. Not rules, but reminders I keep returning to:

Share before you feel ready.If it feels 80% good enough, release it. The last 20% is often just endless polishing.

Reframe mistakes as stories.My table’s flaws? Now they’re conversation starters. What mistakes of yours might carry meaning, too?

Notice where imperfection builds connection.The things that make people feel closer to you usually aren’t the shiny parts. They’re the honest ones.

The Bigger Picture

We live in a culture obsessed with speed, optimization, and polish. AI accelerates that pressure. It tempts us to compete on machine terms: flawless, instant, infinite.

But that’s not the game we’re meant to play.

Our advantage—our only real advantage—is that we’re human. We bring nuance, empathy, humor, vulnerability, and lived experience.

Robots don’t laugh until they snort. They don’t ugly cry during Pixar movies. They don’t mismeasure wood or forget to use the wood glue and build a table that their partner loves anyway.

You do. I do. That’s the point.

So maybe we don’t need to sand down every rough edge. Perhaps we don’t need to hide every flaw.

Because when the world is flooded with flawless, machine-polished work, the imperfect, human things will stand out.

And those are the things people will remember.

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About Chris Cage

Chris Cage is the author of Still Human: Staying Sane, Productive, and Fully You in the Age of AI. He is a product manager, writer, and mental health advocate. He writes at The Mental Lens blog and hosts the podcast Through the Mental Lens, where he explores the intersection of productivity, mental well-being, and technology. Learn more and subscribe to the newsletter at TheMentalLens.com. You can also follow Chris on Instagram, Goodreads, and Amazon.

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How to Stay Kind Without Losing Yourself to Toxic Behavior

“The strongest people are the ones who are still kind after the world tore them apart.” ~Raven Emotion

A few months ago, I stopped being friends with my best friend from childhood, whom I had always considered like my brother.

It was a tough decision, but I had to make it.

In the past five years, my friend (let’s call him Andy) had become increasingly rude and dismissive toward my feelings.

Not a single week went by without him criticizing me for being optimistic and for never giving up despite being a “failure.”

Still, I tried to be understanding. I really did.

I knew he was always stressed because he was going to graduate from college two years later than his peers.

And I knew he felt insecure about not being as rich and successful as “everyone else.”

But one can only take so much, and after so many years, I just couldn’t anymore.

It’s hard to keep showing up with warmth and patience when the other person not only doesn’t appreciate you but even attacks you for being “naive in the face of reality.”

(Yeah, he’d somehow convinced himself that I was in denial about my lack of success—as if the only way to react to failure were to get angry and frustrated.)

If you’ve always tried your best to be kind and gentle, you too might have been in a similar situation and wondered at least once, “Why bother?”

Because even though we don’t expect trophies or medals, a complete lack of appreciation can become difficult to accept after a while, and a simple “thank you” can start to matter more than we wish it did.

I’ll admit that, because of Andy, I almost gave up on being a kind person multiple times.

Luckily, I didn’t, and in the months that led to my difficult decision, I learned some important lessons on how to stay kind even when it starts to feel like there’s no point to it.

I hope these lessons will help you stay true to yourself, too.

1. Make sure you’re not using kindness as a bargaining chip.

Just as positivity can become toxic, there is such a thing as a harmful way of sharing kindness.

Here’s what I mean.

In my teenage years, I used to be what some would call a “nice guy.”

You know, the type of guy who prides himself on being nice, except he’s really not.

In typical “nice guy” fashion, I treated kindness as a transaction. (”I’m doing all these things for them, so they should do the same for me” was a typical thought always floating in my mind.)

I would be nice and generous to others, but I would always compare what they did for me to what I had done for them.

Then, if they didn’t reciprocate in a way that I found satisfactory, I would secretly start to resent them.

It’s not my proudest memory, but it shows how even something positive like kindness can be weaponized.

And it’s not just “nice guys” who do that, either.

Many parents make the same mistake: they try to guilt their children into showing gratitude or obedience by bringing up all the sacrifices they’ve made for them.

Of course, all this does is make the kids feel bad and even distrustful, as they may start to wonder whether their parents’ sacrifices were made out of love or selfish motives.

Because when kindness is given conditionally, it stops being about helping—it becomes about satisfying one’s desperate need for appreciation.

Needless to say, this is unhealthy for all parties involved.

That’s why it’s best to…

2. View kindness as an expression of who you are.

It’s easy to forget—especially when it goes underappreciated for too long—that kindness should be, fundamentally, an expression of yourself.

You are kind because it’s who you are, not because you want someone else’s approval.

When I look back on my friendship with Andy, I’m obviously not happy about all the times he attacked my self-esteem, dismissed my feelings, and put cracks in our relationship without a second thought. However, I can at least be proud that I didn’t let that break me and instead stayed strong.

Because that’s what this is about.

Being kind, even in the absence of thanks, is an act of self-respect.

It’s not about wanting others to notice.

It’s about staying true to yourself, regardless of how unappreciative others might be.

3. Remember you’re allowed to withdraw your kindness.

Kind people always struggle with this.

We worry that if we quit going above and beyond for someone, it might mean that we’re not good people anymore.

This is why it took me so many years to finally stop being best friends with Andy: I was afraid of being told I wasn’t really kind after all.

I didn’t want that to happen, so I kept being as generous as possible, despite how often he hurt me.

For years, I kept cooking, doing the dishes, vacuuming, mopping, and doing all sorts of chores that normally would be divided equally among roommates.

I wanted to do my best to give him as much time and space to focus on his studies (although I was in his same situation and had my own studying to do).

I refused to see that he didn’t plan on treating me any better.

In fact, years before, he’d already made it clear he didn’t believe I deserved to be repaid for all the things I did.

Yet, I just let him disrespect me and hurt me and kept being kind to him. Because kindness shouldn’t be conditional, right? Because it should just be an expression of yourself, right?

But here’s what I now understand: just because you shouldn’t expect people to treat you well in exchange for your kindness, it doesn’t mean you should accept being treated badly.

There’s a limit to how much thanklessness you can tolerate before it starts eating you up inside.

You have every right to pause or withdraw your kindness when you’re being treated poorly. This is about setting healthy boundaries. You’re not being selfish or arrogant.

I can’t believe how long it took me to realize that unconditional doesn’t mean boundaryless.

Kindness with zero boundaries isn’t kindness at all but self-abandonment.

There’s nothing noble about completely neglecting yourself just to be as generous as possible to someone else.

Be kind because that’s who you are, but don’t let yourself be taken for granted.

4. Don’t let negative people convince you to quit.

We all know people who are never content with feeling miserable by themselves, so they try to make others feel just as miserable.

And when they keep criticizing you for being a “goody two-shoes” just because you have a positive attitude, it’s hard to stay unperturbed.

You may even start to question yourself and if you should maybe stop being a positive person.

But let me assure you: letting negative people decide what kind of person you should be and what kind of life you should live is NEVER a good idea.

Because, again, some people just want to tear others down.

You could change your whole personality and become exactly like them, and they would still criticize you and judge you.

Why? Because the reason they hurt others in the first place is that they’re (unsuccessfully) wrestling with their own problems.

It’s not about you being “too nice” or “fake.” It’s about them not being able to find it in themselves to be patient and generous and always choosing to just lash out instead.

Good people are never going to criticize you for being kind.

Even if they believed that your brand of kindness might not be pleasant in some instances, they’d just tell you. They wouldn’t try to make you feel bad.

Stay True to Yourself

When kindness feels thankless, it’s easy to wonder if it’s even worth it—especially if the thanklessness comes from someone we care about.

I’ve been there more times than I can count, and yes, it always feels awful.

But kindness isn’t merely a way to please others—it’s how we respect ourselves.

You have the right to press PAUSE or STOP when someone disrespects you too much.

You don’t have to let others take you for granted just because you’re worried they might have something to say about your genuineness.

Because, honestly, what if they did?

You don’t need their approval.

You’re kind because you’re kind. It’s that simple.

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About Paulo Wang

Paolo writes about habits, happiness, self-esteem, and anything that can improve one’s life. He believes that failure is not an insurmountable obstacle to success but an integral part of it and that most failures are really just “successes in progress.” You can read more about his work at betterfailures.com.

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