“Don’t be afraid to start over. This time you’re not starting from scratch, you’re starting from experience.” ~Unknown Five years ago, as I approached my fortieth birthday, I was deeply dissatisfied with my life. I resolved to change everything: to leave San Francisco, where I’d lived for nearly a decade, and to shift my career trajectory, finally committing to my passion—writing. I also vowed to address my intimacy issues in friendships and romantic relationships. This desire led to countless online dates and deeper introspection, particularly regarding the impact of my mother’s death when I was a teenager and the emotional distance between my father and me. That period of reflection allowed me to confront my deeper insecurities and desires head-on, compelling me to look in the mirror and decide what changes I could make to lead a more aligned life. Age was a factor as I considered how I wanted to live the second half of my life. Ultimately, it came down to honestly assessing and accepting where I was at that juncture and then changing what was within my control. Coming to Terms with Being Single and Child-FreeWhen I was in my early thirties, a good friend’s mother encouraged me to have children because she claimed I would regret it later. As I approached forty and reflected on being childfree by choice, I didn’t regret my childless existence. I did face the social stigma of being “single and childfree” in my forties, though. Friends would comment about single people in their late thirties or forties, suggesting something must be “wrong” with them if they were still single. I wanted to challenge that assumption. Some people, due to past traumas, might fear intimacy, but that doesn’t mean there’s something inherently wrong with them. Others, I believe, might genuinely prefer the single life. I was content with my decision not to have children and grateful that being childfree enabled me to make changes, like moving to Santa Fe in my early forties, which might not have been as easy with children. That move had an incredibly positive impact on my life, as being in “The Land of Enchantment” opened the doors to a profoundly satisfying creative life. Intentionally Shaping My LifeI undertook a “life audit” and reflected on different aspects of my life. Granted, I didn’t conquer everything at once, but I slowly changed various areas of my life. For example, I first addressed that I wasn’t happy in San Francisco and started to reflect on what type of environment would suit me. Next, I looked at my career and acknowledged that I wanted to devote more time to my personal writing. So, I tried to find a job that would provide a stable income yet wouldn’t drain me and instead allow me to focus on my creative life. I did want to one day be in a healthy relationship, so I understood that this might take effort on my part—acknowledging my barriers to intimacy and reflecting on how previous relationships went wrong. Slowly, I began to work through various aspects of my life, and I could see that as I became more intentional about where I invested my time and energy and where I focused my thoughts, my life began to shift. Embracing the Process of Self-DiscoveryMy inner work during the last five years (I’ll turn forty-five later this year) led me to a life with balance, purpose, and meaning. During those years, I felt I looked in the mirror, reconciled parts of my past, and reclaimed my future. I learned that it is never too late to change the trajectory of my life. While it hasn’t been easy, the journey to where I am now has been profoundly enriching. Today, my nervous system has shifted from fight-or-flight mode to a stable resting place, allowing me to fully appreciate what I’ve created: a remote job, my writing career, my community, and the new place I call home. I recognize that the “life audit” I undertook at forty brought me to where I am today, and I know this kind of transformation is possible for anyone who dares to reinvent themselves in midlife. Five Steps to ReinventionBelow are five steps that might help you in your midlife transition. 1. Be honest with yourself.Embrace where your life has led you, acknowledging successes and challenges. I recommend conducting a life audit and reflecting on all aspects of it, then asking a trusted friend to review it. Are you happy with your job or career? Are you satisfied with your relationships? Does your life feel meaningful? Do you like where you live? Assess which areas you feel content with and where you could improve your life. Consider creating a detailed list of these aspects and rating them on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the most satisfying. 2. Practice self-forgiveness.Release guilt or regret by forgiving yourself for past decisions and focusing on the lessons learned. Avoid the trap of thinking you should be at a certain point by a certain age—it’s not helpful. If there are areas in your life where you feel changes are needed, know that with some effort, you can make the improvements you desire. Not forgiving yourself could lead to resentment, which will not provide a natural flow to your life or the right energy to create the desired shifts. Self-forgiveness is not just about letting go; it’s about feeling a sense of accomplishment for overcoming past challenges. 3. Prioritize your goals.After completing your life audit, identify the changes you want to make and focus on those that matter most to your growth and happiness. You may not be able to change everything at once, so concentrate on manageable areas. Prioritizing your goals is not just about setting targets; it’s about being focused and determined to make the changes that will lead to a more fulfilling life. For example, if you want to move and change jobs, you can address both simultaneously. You could hire a coach who focuses on midlife career transitions if you’re going to begin something anew. Or, if you’re going to build a solid relationship, work with a therapist to explore obstacles and gradually become more active in online dating. If improving your physical health is a goal, commit more time to the gym. As I did, you’ll find that the changes we must make often become more manageable with daily progress. 4. Embrace change.Welcome change as an opportunity for growth rather than something to fear. Making significant changes in your life can be scary, but that’s one of the benefits of being in midlife—you’ve already been through a lot, so you’ve likely built up enough confidence and courage to improve your life further. Embracing change is not just about adapting; it’s about feeling empowered to shape your life as you see fit. While change can be intimidating, trust that you’ll feel excited by the possibilities as you begin taking steps toward a more aligned life. 5. Build a supportive network.Surround yourself with like-minded individuals who encourage and inspire you on your journey. Good friends or a supportive community will be invaluable during this transitional period. Before my fortieth birthday, I regularly convened women’s circles at my San Francisco home. I surrounded myself with like-minded women facing challenges, and they became a trusted brain trust and supportive community. Don’t be afraid of midlife! Despite being portrayed as a challenging period that one should dread, midlife, in contrast, is an exciting time when one can reflect on one’s life, use your life experience to navigate the next stage of life, and create waves of change. About Christina VoChristina Vo is a Santa Fe-based author whose work delves into themes such as loss, intergenerational trauma, healing, and the notions of home and reconciliation. Her second book, My Vietnam, Your Vietnam, is an intergenerational memoir co-written with her father. Christina is also the author of The Veil Between Two Worlds: A Memoir of Silence, Loss, and Finding Home. Visit her at christinavo.com, or on Instagram @stina_vo. Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site. “I am not my thoughts, emotions, sense perceptions, and experiences. I am not the content of my life. I am Life. I am the space in which all things happen. I am consciousness. I am the Now. I Am.” ~Eckhart Tolle Everything changed the moment I learned I was not my thoughts. There I was, reading Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth, when I read this line: “What a liberation to realize that the ‘voice in my head’ is not who I am. Who am I then? The one who sees that.” I felt a shift. Wait, what?!? How can I not be my thoughts? Aren’t my thoughts who I am? They are in my head all day, every day. I thought they were what made me… me! This mind-blowing moment hit me deeply. Right then and there, I changed. Once my mind was out of the way, my true self emerged. For nearly forty years, I lived on autopilot. I did not like a lot of the thoughts in my head, but I had no idea that I had control over them. Instead, I cringed, tried to push them away, distracted myself by staying busy, and worked hard on my image and contributions to the world. My deep, shameful secret was that no one would want to know me if they knew the mean thoughts I was ruminating on in my head. I felt like a truly awful person deep down. Whoa. I am so sorry, past self, that you lived like that. I hold you in love. Deep love. Separating me and my thoughts has become my daily practice. I remember the first time I was able to dialogue with my thoughts. Weeks after reading that mind-blowing passage, I accidentally spilled the contents of my vacuum cleaner on the kitchen floor. “You’re stupid. What a mess. What a waste of time. Look what you did.” These mean words flew through my mind. I sat in the middle of the floor and put my hand on my heart. “Who is saying that?” I asked. A swirl of dark energy inside and around me got tighter and darker and meaner as it growled, “Me.” “What is your purpose?” I asked with a mix of curiosity and fear. “To keep you in line,” it sneered. “In line with what?” I asked. “You’re such a failure. You don’t know how to do anything right,” it continued. The swirl tightened, and I kept my hand on my heart to protect myself. “What do you want me to know?” I asked. “I have to keep you safe,” it said. “Who are you keeping safe?” I asked. Immediately, an image of myself, age eight, appeared in my mind’s eye. She was sad, sitting on the floor in the front hallway of my childhood home. My parents were at work, and my babysitter refused to do her hair before school. She had decided that at eight I was old enough to do my hair before school. This left me confused, sad, and lonely. “Oh, honey,” I felt my heart open to her. “What do you need?” She looked at me through tears and said, “Can you do my hair?” In my mind’s eye, we moved in front of the hallway mirror as I combed her hair and put it into pigtails. “I see you and I love you,” I told her. She looked relieved and smiled tentatively from the corner of her mouth. I felt my love pouring into her, and the dark swirl lifted, hovering nearby before leaving my energy field. As I processed this interaction with this fear of failure part that was protecting my sad inner child, I was able to stay in my conscious, healthy adult mind and release that inner voice. I know that the critical, egoic part came online to protect my inner child from feeling sadness and loneliness. As children, rather than judge or dismiss our caregivers as wrong, we blame ourselves, and that is what my younger self did until I reparented her. I assumed I was wrong for asking my babysitter to do my hair instead of recognizing that her neglect wasn’t my fault. Now, when I make a mistake or spill something, I do not hear that mean voice as strongly. If it comes up, I know how to dialogue with it. I have come a long way since I spilled the vacuum cleaner contents. The mean voice that once dominated my thoughts has lost its power. The most profound lesson I have learned is this: We are not our thoughts. We are the awareness of them, the consciousness that observes and chooses them. This knowledge allows me to step out of the stream of negative self-talk and into the spaciousness of the present moment. I invite you to try this. The next time you make a mistake or face a challenge, pause. Notice the thoughts that arise, but do not latch onto them. Instead, ask yourself, “Who is saying that?” In that space of awareness, you might discover, as I did, old beliefs that are ready to morph and an inner child just waiting to be noticed. About Rebecca FellenbaumRebecca Fellenbaum is a certified life coach, intuitive guide, writer, and entrepreneur. She helps women who have “made it” on the outside feel great about themselves on the inside so they can find joy in their lives, kids, and families. Get her free guide: Slowing Down: 9 Steps to Live With Intention to start meaning it when you say you’re doing fine. Find her at rebeccafellenbaum.com. Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site. “Feeling safe in someone’s energy is a different kind of intimacy. That feeling of peace and protection is really underrated.” ~Vanessa Klas The first time I said, “I love you” to a romantic partner, I was met with silence. Nine months into what I believed was a deep, mutual relationship, I felt certain we were on the same page. But when the words left my mouth, he froze. No words back. No reassurance. Just silence. The next thing I knew, he disappeared for weeks, leaving me sitting in the wreckage of my own vulnerability. I was left questioning everything—why had I shared so much? Why had I opened my heart, only to have it shut down? In that silence, I created a story about myself that followed me for years. I convinced myself I wasn’t worthy of being loved in return, that there was something inherently wrong with me. This belief seeped into every relationship afterward. I started waiting for the other shoe to drop, convinced love was something I had to earn instead of something I deserved. In college, the pattern continued. I dated someone who treated me like a backup plan. The days he chose me were filled with excitement, butterflies, and joy—but those days were few and far between. Most of the time, I was left waiting by the phone, hoping to be picked. When he didn’t, I was once again questioning my worth, wondering what I had done wrong. The cycle became so familiar, I didn’t even recognize it anymore. What I didn’t realize then was that by showing up in relationships this way—allowing myself to be the back-burner girlfriend, staying timid in my love, my confidence, and my desires—I was teaching others how to treat me. I was telling them, through my actions, that I didn’t expect more, that this was enough. But it wasn’t enough. Deep down, I knew I deserved more, but I didn’t yet believe it. I carried these same patterns into my first marriage, thinking if I just worked harder and gave more of myself, maybe, just maybe, he’d love me the way I longed for. But love isn’t about fixing someone, and it certainly isn’t about fixing yourself. Yet for so long, I believed it was. I convinced myself I’d finally be enough if I could just perfect myself, become the ideal partner. But after eleven years, I knew I couldn’t keep sacrificing my joy for a relationship that wasn’t right, so I left—not because I had all the answers, but because I knew I couldn’t stay. It wasn’t until I found myself in my therapist’s office after my divorce that things began to shift. I thought I needed to fix what had been broken in me by my ex-husband, that my brokenness was why love had failed. One day, I walked into therapy, slapped my hands on my thighs, and cheerfully exclaimed, “I just want to be happy!” Who was I kidding? I treated happiness like a box to be checked off, a goal to master. But my therapist, in her quiet wisdom, simply said, “It doesn’t work that way.” I was furious—triggered even. How dare she tell me it wasn’t that simple? But deep down, I knew she was right. You can’t force your way into happiness, and you can’t fake your way into feeling whole. I had spent so much of my life trying to fix others and mold myself into someone worthy of love that I hadn’t stopped to consider that maybe I was already enough. But I had to understand why I kept showing up in relationships with people who couldn’t love me in return. Why was I choosing emotionally unavailable men? Why was I so convinced that I was the problem? I see these patterns in myself and in many others. One of my clients once sat across from me and said, “Molly, I’m a hard woman to love.” Those words stuck with me. I could see the weight of that belief in her eyes—the years she’d spent carrying it. I asked her, “When did you decide that? When did you start believing you were hard to love?” She paused, and we began to dig into her story. There were moments when she hadn’t been chosen, when she felt she had to earn love through perfection and pleasing others. She brought that belief into her marriage, shaping how she showed up. She was defensive, always expecting rejection, and that created a wall between her and her partner. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy—believing she was hard to love made it so. Through her healing, she realized she wasn’t hard to love; she was lovable just as she was. Her story mirrored my own. I had spent so many years believing I had to earn love and prove my worth. In doing so, I allowed relationships that were far from what I truly wanted. I didn’t know it at the time, but by being the back-burner girlfriend and staying small in my desires, I was setting the standard for how I would be treated. I was telling myself and others I didn’t deserve more. But here’s the truth: we are all worthy of love. Not because of what we do, not because of how perfect we are, but simply because we are. That realization didn’t come easily for me. It took years of peeling back the layers of limiting beliefs and asking why I kept settling for less. But when I finally understood that I was worthy of deep, committed love, everything changed. After my divorce, I made a promise to myself. I wasn’t going to settle again. I sat down and wrote a list of twenty-two things I wanted in a partner. Not because I was trying to create an impossible checklist, but because I needed to get clear on what I truly valued. I needed to hold myself accountable so that I wouldn’t fall back into old patterns. That list became a reminder of my worth, a reflection of what I deserved. I had to hold myself to this to be sure that I didn’t somehow convince myself that four out of twenty-two would do. Then, I finally met my current husband. We met in our local grocery store. I kept passing him in the aisles and finally got up enough courage to stop him in the cleaning aisle, of all places. We small-talked for a few minutes, and I walked away both equally excited and embarrassed about my boldness. We had both been through divorce, so we cautiously entered this new relationship, but before long, we were building something real. Something grounded in truth, in mutual respect, in love that didn’t feel like work. And as we grew closer, we began to heal—both individually and together. He wasn’t perfect, and neither was I. But what we had was real, and that was deeply beautiful. I remember one moment in particular, early in our relationship. He suggested that I start weight training, and immediately, I felt defensive. The old story came rushing back: “He thinks I’m not enough. He doesn’t like the way I look. But instead of letting that story spiral, I did something different. I took a lesson from the beautiful author Brené Brown and told him, “The story I’m telling myself is that you don’t like my body.” His response? Pure love. He reassured me that it wasn’t about my appearance at all; he had recently listened to a podcast about women’s bone health and the benefits of weight training. He was thinking from a place of love about my long-term health and our future together. That conversation could have gone a completely different way if we hadn’t chosen to be vulnerable, to trust each other enough to speak our truths. It could have gone differently if I had let my narrative spiral and never opened up the discussion. That’s what real love is. It can be messy, it’s imperfect, and it’s also so easy—when it’s right, it doesn’t feel hard. The beauty is in the vulnerability. The beauty is in realizing that the hurt we’ve carried and the walls we’ve built weren’t ever really about us, and that journey is what brought us together. The back burner, the infidelity, the lies, the waiting to be chosen—that was never about me. It was about them. It was about their journey, their walls, and their fears. And once I understood that, I was free. Free to love without holding back. Free to accept the love I had always deserved. If you’re reading this and you’ve felt that same sting of rejection, that same pattern of being put second, I want you to know this: It’s not about something you’re lacking. It never was. The hurt you’ve experienced doesn’t define you. You are not unlovable. You are not broken. You are worthy of a love that sees you fully, that cherishes every part of you. But first, you must see it in yourself. You have to believe that you deserve more. You have to make that list—whether it’s twenty-two things or just one—and hold yourself to it. Not because you’re waiting for someone to complete you, but because you know you are already complete, and you want to share your amazing life with someone. And when that love comes, it will be everything you’ve been waiting for. Not perfect, but real. And in the end, that’s all that matters. Because love—real love—isn’t about being chosen. It’s about choosing yourself first. And when you do that, everything else falls into place. About Molly RubeshMolly Rubesh is a life coach and writer who helps women embrace their true power and live heart-led lives. After navigating divorce, grief, and a career change, she now guides others to let go of fear and follow their hearts. Grab her free guide, 5 Ways to Survive Without a Safety Net, to begin your journey to a braver, more fulfilling life. Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site. “In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” ~Albert Camus Life has a way of throwing us curve balls when we least expect them. For years, I had been managing the usual ups and downs of life when I was blindsided by a diagnosis that would forever change the way I lived: psoriatic arthritis. It’s one of those illnesses that most people don’t quite understand because it doesn’t always show on the outside. I looked fine, but inside, my body felt like it was on fire. The pain was constant, an unwelcome guest that wouldn’t leave, and it was compounded by the invisibility of it all. I’d wake up each morning, bracing myself for the pain that would greet me like a familiar adversary. Simple tasks like getting out of bed or opening a jar became monumental feats. My energy levels were erratic; some days I could barely make it through the afternoon without needing to lie down. It was as if my body had declared war against itself, and I was caught in the crossfire. The Burden of SilenceOne of the hardest parts about living with an invisible illness is the isolation that comes with it. People around you can’t see what you’re going through. They see you smiling, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy, and they assume you’re okay. But inside, there’s a storm raging. I didn’t want to be seen as weak or as someone who complained all the time, so I put on a brave face. I pushed through the pain, ignored my body’s pleas for rest, and pretended everything was fine. But the truth was, I was struggling. I felt like I was on a sinking ship, frantically trying to bail out the water with a teacup. The pain and fatigue were unrelenting, and the emotional toll was even greater. I found myself withdrawing from social activities, avoiding conversations, and slowly shrinking into myself. The vibrant, energetic person I once was seemed like a distant memory. The Turning Point: Embracing VulnerabilityOne day, I reached a breaking point. The pain was so intense that it felt like my entire body was on fire, and I could no longer keep up the facade of strength. I realized I couldn’t do it alone anymore. I needed help. So, I decided to open up to my family and friends about what I was going through. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done—admitting that I was struggling and needed support. To my surprise, my vulnerability was met with compassion and understanding. Sharing my pain didn’t make me weaker; it made me stronger. It allowed me to let go of the burden I’d been carrying and made room for love and support to enter my life. My loved ones rallied around me, offering help in practical ways—whether it was preparing meals, helping with chores, or just being there to listen when I needed to vent. Finding a New NormalWith the support of those around me, I began to navigate my new reality. I learned to listen to my body and honor its needs. I started meditating and practicing mindfulness, which helped me find a sense of peace even amidst the chaos. I realized that while I couldn’t control my illness, I could control how I responded to it. I shifted my focus from what I had lost to what I still had—a loving family, the ability to write, and a deep desire to help others. I also began exploring alternative therapies. Meditation became a daily practice, allowing me to find a quiet place within myself, free from pain. On days when the pain was unbearable, I would meditate, focusing on my breath, letting go of the tension in my body, and visualizing myself surrounded by healing light. This practice didn’t take the pain away, but it gave me the strength to endure it. Lessons Learned: Finding Light in the Darkness1. Embrace vulnerability.Opening up about my struggles was a turning point for me. It’s okay to ask for help. Being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. Allowing others to see your pain can create deep and meaningful connections. 2. Listen to your body.For years, I ignored my body’s cries for help, pushing through the pain and fatigue. I’ve since learned the importance of listening to my body and honoring its needs. Rest when you need to. Take breaks. It’s not about being lazy; it’s about being kind to yourself. 3. Find your anchor.Life with a chronic illness is unpredictable. Having something to hold on to—whether it’s a hobby, a spiritual practice, or a passion—can provide a sense of stability. Writing has always been my anchor, my way of processing the world around me. Finding something that brings you joy and peace can be a lifeline during difficult times. 4. Focus on what you can control.Living with an invisible illness can make you feel powerless. I’ve learned to focus on the things I can control—my attitude, my response to pain, and how I treat myself. By focusing on what I can control, I’ve found a sense of empowerment. 5. Be kind to yourself.Living with a chronic illness is hard. There will be days when you feel like you can’t go on. On those days, remember to be kind to yourself. Treat yourself with the same compassion you would offer to a friend. You are doing the best you can, and that’s enough. Moving Forward with Grace and ResilienceLiving with psoriatic arthritis has taught me more about myself than I ever thought possible. It’s taught me resilience, patience, and the power of vulnerability. It’s shown me that I am stronger than I ever knew. While the pain is still there, I’ve found a way to coexist with it, to find moments of joy and peace amidst the struggle. To anyone reading this who is battling their own invisible illness, know that you are not alone. There is light in the darkness, even if it’s hard to see sometimes. Hold on to hope. Reach out for support. And remember, you are stronger than you think. About Shurbelle John BaptisteShurbelle John Baptiste promotes a holistic approach to well-being that incorporates physical health, emotional resilience, and spiritual depth. She provides readers with practical tools and insights that can help them lead more fulfilling, mindful lives. Shurbelle holds a business degree despite the challenges of learning in cookie-cutter environments while having autism. She has extensive experience in writing, teaching, and creating digital content that supports personal growth and spiritual development. Learn more at Belle of the Light Books. Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site. “Removing old conditionings from the mind and training the mind to be more equanimous with every experience is the first step toward enabling one to experience true happiness.” ~S.N. Goenka I just spent ten days sitting in absolute silence with about 100 strangers, time I previously thought I should’ve spent networking and applying for jobs as an unemployed twenty-something with little savings and no assets, living in a completely new country with no network or job prospects. There were no conversations, no eye contact, no listening to music, no exercise, no reading or writing—just silence, with twelve hours of meditation each day. I applied to the program on a whim, was accepted off the waitlist the day before it began, and bought my plane ticket impulsively the night before. With little time to prepare and even less certainty about what lay ahead, I couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps this was exactly where I was meant to be, even if it wasn’t what I originally had planned. This retreat is a course on Vipassana meditation, a practice I discovered through Dhamma.org, taught by the spiritual guru S.N. Goenka. This ancient technique, deeply rooted in the teachings of Buddha, requires intense focus on the physical sensations of the body, observing them without attachment or aversion. The aim is to cultivate a deep sense of equanimity and insight, leading to a more balanced and peaceful state of mind. It’s a journey inward, stripping away the layers of noise and distraction to reveal the true nature of our existence. Of course, the website paints a serene and enlightening picture. While it truly is all those things, there were moments when I questioned my decision. At times, the retreat felt less like a sanctuary of peace and more like a self-imposed prison. This retreat was undoubtedly one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it was also one of the most transformative. It completely rewired my brain and changed my relationship with myself. After those ten days, I emerged as the most present and clear-headed I have ever been. Vipassana is often touted as a path to enlightenment, and it proved to be more than just a meditation technique. It is a rigorous self-confrontation, an unfiltered dialogue with the incessant chatter of one’s thoughts. In this space of relentless introspection, I came face to face with the raw, unedited version of myself. This experience came at a crucial time in my life, having recently quit my stable and glitzy job in entertainment to pursue a dream of living abroad, devoid of job security, a support network, or friends. The insights and clarity I gained through Vipassana meditation arrived at a moment when they were most needed, clearing a mental fog that seemed to have clouded my vision for years. And here I am to share the lessons and revelations from those transformative ten days. The ExperienceThe retreat took place in a hostel nestled in a remote village in Austria in late winter. When I arrived for the Vipassana meditation course, the cool and crisp air that was often shrouded in mist buzzed with anticipation. It was “day zero,” and we participants chatted lightly as we checked in, handed over our belongings, and met our roommates. As our vow of noble silence commenced after the 9 p.m. orientation, the sense of solitude set in. We knew that starting at 4 a.m. the next day, our routine would be drastically different. The first three days were dedicated to Anapana meditation, focusing on the sensations of the breath at the nostrils and upper lip. While the concept was straightforward, the challenge for me was substantial, especially due to the physical demands. Having just learned to ski the day before, I suffered from severe aches in my shoulders, neck, and back from repeated falls on hard snow, making it difficult to maintain a single sitting position for extended periods. The pain was a constant distraction, and looking around at the quiescent participants in the meditation hall, I felt acutely alone in my discomfort. Despite feeling isolated in my struggles, I soon noticed something uplifting. After each meditation session, relieved by the sweet sound of a gong, everyone would rush outside to stretch and shake off their stiffness. Some even sneaked in a few yoga poses or aerobic stretches behind trees (which is usually prohibited). Watching everyone stretch and move, I realized that even in our quiet, solitary struggles, we were all finding our own ways to ease the tension and feel a bit of relief. By the fourth day, we transitioned to the core practice of Vipassana meditation, which involved a more intricate mental process of scanning each part of the body with “unwavering equanimity” to feel sensations throughout. The early days of this practice felt like a mental battlefield. Repressed emotions and thoughts that I had long distracted myself from now screamed in my mind, creating a cacophony of emotions swirling in my mind. I thought I’d only struggle with wanting to leave when I felt negative emotions. However, I found that even positive emotions like inspiration, hope, and motivation were just as unsettling. These uplifting feelings made me want to run home and take action just as much as feelings of shame or sadness did. By midway through the fourth day, however, I experienced a significant breakthrough. My mental focus crystallized; the incessant chatter quieted, and for the first time, I managed to sit motionless for a full hour. This newfound calmness was soothing, and I was convinced it heralded a smoother path ahead. However, day six proved to have other plans. At 4 a.m., I was jolted awake by a panic attack, my heart racing and a nagging tightness in my chest, plunging my mind into turmoil and shattering the calm I had found. The serenity I had felt was replaced by a torrent of negative thoughts that felt inescapable. After this, I considered asking to leave during my next daily consultation with the assistant teacher. However, when the time for my consultation arrived, I reflected on my experiences and noticed a small but meaningful shift in my mental state. This glimmer of progress gave me the strength to persevere and stay committed to the process. The teacher, noticing my distress, offered reassurance that my intense emotional experience was a normal part of the process, advising me to face these emotions with equanimity rather than judgment. This pivotal conversation reminded me that experiencing a range of emotions is an inherent part of being human. The retreat, though intensely challenging, taught me valuable lessons about the transient nature of emotions and the strength found in communal endurance. By the end, I not only gained insights into my own psyche but also developed a deeper compassion for others, recognizing that despite our individual struggles, we share a common journey of growth and discovery. Insights and ReflectionsEmotionsFrom that pivotal sixth day onward, my approach to my emotions and to meditation itself evolved profoundly. Rather than being overwhelmed by my feelings, I learned to observe them from a distance, recognizing their transient nature and gaining insights that I could apply to my life beyond the meditation cushion. Previously, I had a profound misunderstanding that I wasn’t just experiencing feelings—I was enshrining them as immutable truths, anchoring my identity and decisions to their fleeting presence. I had been using my emotions as a barometer for reality, attaching unwarranted significance to each emotional wave without recognizing their transient nature. For example, if I felt anxiety about a decision, I might interpret that anxiety as a sign that the decision was wrong rather than as a natural response to uncertainty. This led me to avoid potentially beneficial but challenging opportunities simply because of the discomfort they invoked. Similarly, if I experienced joy in a situation, I might overly commit to it without critical assessment, mistaking transient happiness for long-term fulfillment. However, through mindful observation, I began to understand the ephemeral nature of emotions—they come and go, often influenced by myriad external and internal factors that do not necessarily have a direct correlation with the objective reality of the situations that provoke them. This insight led me to a more nuanced understanding that while emotions are valid experiences, they are not definitive guides to action. They are, rather, one component of a broader decision-making process that should also involve rational analysis and reflection. Self-confidenceMoreover, I came to understand that seeking external validation for my decisions was unnecessary. The concept of a “best” decision is elusive; what truly matters is making choices that resonate with my personal beliefs and values. This profound period of self-reflection allowed me to become more comfortable with myself and to trust my own judgment. This shift was incredibly liberating, particularly at a pivotal moment in my life where I faced the daunting task of choosing between two vastly different paths, each enveloped in its own uncertainty. I realized how much of my past behavior was driven by a need for external validation. It wasn’t always about seeking approval, but rather looking for someone else to affirm my choices, to nod in agreement, or to give me the green light to proceed with my plans. Unbeknownst to me, I had been stifling my own instincts and insights, inadvertently relegating the authority over my life to others. Each choice I make, grounded in self-awareness and self-compassion, leads me down a path that contributes to my growth and learning, regardless of the outcome. This perspective shifts the focus from fear of making a “mistake” to an understanding that every step taken is part of a larger journey towards personal fulfillment and wisdom. By being present and committed to myself, I can navigate life’s uncertainties with confidence, knowing that all experiences are valuable and that my inner guidance is a reliable compass. LoveFormerly, I saw love as a destination, a goal to be achieved, wrapped in expectations and specific outcomes. This perspective treated love as something to be received passively—a feeling handed down rather than actively cultivated. My approach was centered around control, trying to steer love toward a preconceived notion of what it should look like, often ignoring the dynamic and evolving nature of genuine connections. Love as an act, rather than just a feeling, transforms it from a passive state to an active engagement with life and the people in it. It’s about pouring into relationships freely and generously, not intending to receive something in return but to foster a genuine connection and mutual growth. This shift in perspective has taught me to appreciate love’s subtle presence in life—how it’s not just found in grand gestures or declarations, but in the quiet, everyday actions that bind lives together. Understanding love as a fluid, evolving force rather than a static goal has freed me from the burdens of expectation and control. True love is about being solid and sturdy with someone without needing to define every moment or cling too tightly. It’s about letting love for others—romantic, familial, friendly, even for strangers and animals—flow without possession. ContributionThis evolved understanding of love profoundly influences how I approach my career and contributions to the world. Previously, I saw my career mainly as a way to chase personal fulfillment, driven by the often-cited advice to “follow your passions.” While this was empowering, it also kept me in a bubble of self-focus and entitlement, where I was more concerned with finding the perfect job that would maximize my happiness. However, as my concept of love matured, so did my view on my professional life. I began to see my work not just as a means for personal achievement but as a chance to contribute to something bigger than myself. This shift in thinking about love—as something you give without expecting a specific outcome—has mirrored in my career approach. Now, my career decisions hinge not only on what brings me joy or utilizes my skills but also on how I can use those skills to positively impact others. It’s about leveraging what I know and can do for the greater good, not just for my own success. Embracing this broader perspective has made me more conscious of the interconnectedness of our actions and our collective well-being. Just as love builds bridges in personal relationships, a career grounded in contribution and service can foster connections that lead to community growth and improvement. It’s changed how I set professional goals: instead of just aiming for personal milestones, I focus on creating value that uplifts others. ConnectednessOn day ten, we finally broke our vow of noble silence after breakfast. After speaking with the other participants, a profound realization emerged—although our individual narratives and life experiences were markedly different, the emotional outcomes and insights we arrived at were astonishingly similar. This fascinating contrast highlighted that, despite our unique paths, at our core, we feel the same fundamental human emotions. This commonality in our emotional responses underscores a deeper, universal truth about the human condition in that we are more interconnected than we might believe. The emotional threads that connect us do not vary greatly from one person to another; joy, sorrow, fear, and hope are universal experiences that transcend individual circumstances. Vipassana meditation, focused on observing one’s own mind and body, amplifies this realization by stripping away the superficial differences and revealing the underlying uniformity of our emotional nature. This realization served as somewhat of an ego death, where the sense of being profoundly unique or a special case diminished. It brought to light the collective human experience, suggesting that while our life stories add richness and variety to the human experience, the emotional landscape we navigate is shared. We are not isolated in our feelings; rather, we are part of a vast continuum of human emotion that binds us together. Embracing this understanding fostered a profound sense of empathy and solidarity. It diminishes the ego’s insistence on our separateness and highlights the shared journey of growth and understanding that we all undergo. The Return to the WorldThe morning after day ten was another humbling moment. I got my phone back, and turning it on was overwhelming. In just ten days, life had moved on without me—friends got promotions, planned trips, made big career jumps, ended relationships, and began new ones. It was sad to miss out yet heartening to return to positive developments in their lives. This contrast served as a poignant reminder of the impermanence and relentless pace of the world around us and the importance of finding grounding in our inner selves. Upon returning to the real world, I felt a profound alignment between my mind and body that I hadn’t experienced before. I could see things as they were, not just as reflections of my internal dialogue. I wasn’t stuck in my head anymore; I could slow down, be with myself, and actually enjoy my own company—something that used to terrify me. It’s almost as though the experience altered my brain chemistry. For the first time, I felt normal in my own skin, a sensation that was entirely new to me. Growing up in the digital age, I rarely, if ever, had the opportunity—or the need—to sit with my thoughts for more than ten minutes. Allowing myself the space to sit, feel, and think deeply was not just valuable; it was a profound and rare experience that I believe many people deny themselves in our fast-paced, modern world. Overall ReflectionsReflecting on my recent Vipassana retreat, it has become evident how such experiences are profoundly relevant in today’s fast-paced, often superficial world. During these ten days of deep introspection, I confronted layers of myself that were cluttered with unresolved emotions and unexamined thoughts. In a world where action is prized, stillness can be revolutionary. It’s not just about silencing the chatter of the outside world—including the instant feedback loop of social media that we rely on for our self-esteem and decisions—but more importantly, understanding the internal dialogue that shapes our perception of ourselves and our lives. Recalling my initial reservations about spending precious time in silence when I could have been networking or job hunting, I now see how misplaced those concerns were. My Vipassana experience did not magically solve all my challenges or answer all my questions. However, it profoundly reshaped how I view my journey through life. It wasn’t about finding a perfect job or even perfect peace, but rather about learning to navigate the inevitable ups and downs with a bit more grace and a lot more self-awareness. This deeper understanding has not only helped me appreciate the quiet moments of reflection but has also prepared me to engage more meaningfully with the bustling world around me. About Sophia ReederSophia is a proud UCLA alumna and a public relations professional in the entertainment industry, working with top artists and agents. When not navigating the fast-paced world of PR, she writes about holistic health and wellness, while practicing yoga and mindfulness. Recently, she completed a four-month journey through Europe, volunteering on self-sustaining farms, embracing a lifestyle that blends her love for travel, wellness, and personal growth. Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site. “Perfectionism is the exhausting state of pretending to know it all and have it all together, all the time. I’d rather be a happy mess than an anxious stress case who’s always trying to hide my flaws and mistakes.” ~Lori Deschene When I got my start as a math teacher, it was 2012, and I had not been in a classroom in over ten years. I really wasn’t sure how teaching got done anymore. I came into my first class with a piece of paper and many examples to share. I got up and started writing the examples on the board for my students. When I looked at the board after my lesson, what stood out to me was that my handwriting was sloppy. It looked like a third grader wrote it. I also noticed that many students laughed during my lessons, so, determined to find the cause of the laughter, I started to look at other teachers to see if I could come up with any ideas to improve my lessons. What stood out to me is that almost every teacher in the school was using some kind of multimedia display, and I was just writing with a marker. So, at that point, I decided to make a change to create all my lessons on multimedia. I spent considerable time and effort typing the examples before my lessons so I would not have to display my messy handwriting for all to see. I was very proud about how clear and easily readable my multimedia presentations were. Three years passed, and I was at a new job. About a month went by, and I was sure that I was impressing everyone with my beautiful multimedia lessons. But one day my manager brought me in and said that there was overwhelming consensus amongst my students and their families that I should handwrite my examples. Upon hearing this, my heart sank. In my mind, I was “tech savvy” and in control when I taught. With this new mandate, I was going to become the low-tech teacher who wrote like a third grader and had black marker ink all over his hands. During this time, I could not sleep very well. I also spent time searching online to see if there were other non-teaching jobs that I was qualified for. I couldn’t get the picture out of my mind of that whiteboard from 2012. I could just see how sloppy it looked, and I could hear the laughter of those students. As I started to make the requested changes to my teaching, not only was I uncomfortable, but I didn’t believe my students would want to learn from someone who had such sloppy handwriting. As time went on, I began to realize that handwriting the calculations made me much more nervous than just displaying them. I very often made mistakes and then had to erase and fix them. After a few weeks’ time, a light bulb went off inside me. If I, the experienced and degreed teacher, got nervous and made mistakes during my teaching, then how much more likely would it be that my students would make the same mistakes? I decided to change the tone of my teaching to not just handwrite the examples but to also explain my thinking process. I could tell the students exactly where they were likely to make errors during their work. Since I was working through problems and making myself vulnerable in the same way my students were expected to, we all had more of a common connection. My overall confidence as an instructor rose. I became more authoritative as a teacher. I wasn’t just the reader of the lesson; I was the author. Students didn’t ask anymore how our books define concepts; they asked me directly how I defined them. Today, nearly twelve years later, I still handwrite my examples live in the room with my students. At the end of a recent lesson, I looked at the board. My handwriting is still rather sloppy, but I just don’t pay attention to that anymore. Instead, I see effort, thought, expertise, and willingness to put myself in the shoes of my students. At the beginning of my teaching career, I was so fixated on one of my bad qualities that I went to great efforts to try to hide it. In turn, that blinded me to a multitude of other good qualities. How many relationships and marriages end because the only thing we can see in our partner is their ‘sloppy handwriting’? How much depression is there in this world because when we think about ourselves, the only thing we see is some bad quality? In truth, if we took the time to catalog a list of our good qualities, we’d likely see they far outweigh the bad. So often we just can’t see these qualities because we tend to focus exclusively on our negative qualities and our mistakes. We think that is all that we are. We want to destroy our bad qualities in the same way I almost destroyed my teaching career by quitting it. I recommend taking a small piece of paper and writing down all your good qualities and the good things that you do. Carry this paper with you everywhere you go. Take time throughout the day to read this list and add to it. Any time you think of or worry about one of your negative qualities, bring the list out. You will soon find that the truth is easier to see. Our list of bad qualities is a short list. Our list of good qualities is a long list. With some training, we can learn to recognize when we are focusing exclusively on the short list. Then we can change our focus to the long list. When we get this true and properly balanced picture of our lives, they flow much more smoothly. When we don’t focus on or worry about the bad qualities on our short list, we are free to reinvent them for our own purposes. On one occasion, I was working with a group of students, and one student was picking on another about his bad handwriting. I ran over to stop this potential bullying. I observed his handwriting, and it was true this student had lousy handwriting. Without any forethought, I said, “Well, doctors are known for having bad handwriting, so it’s really a sign of intelligence.” That student really appreciated my insight. Then I looked at him and said, “See, we both have something in common. We write like doctors.” It’s very possible to take things from our short list of bad qualities and move them to our long list of good qualities. Sometimes we just need a different way of looking at things. About Wayne SimmonsWayne is a licensed teacher who has spent 15 years traveling the world. After transforming his own life through learning Buddhist principles, he has pivoted to supporting and assisting those who are struggling with anxiety, depression, and work-related burn out. For daily inspiration follow him at x.com/dhammagia. Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site. “Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.” ~Rumi A few months ago, someone I had dated briefly seven years ago reached out to apologize for his past behavior. Many of us know how being ghosted can evoke a mix of frustration, bursts of anger, and an underlying sense of utter powerlessness. Degrees of intensity can vary, of course, depending on the depth of the relationship and personal circumstances. This was not one of those heart-wrenching cases, and in a way, an apology seemed excessive. I had long forgiven and forgotten. Nonetheless, I almost immediately realized I was wrong: He still felt it was essential to address how he had ended our brief involvement by abruptly cutting off all communication. As he talked, I realized that we shouldn’t dismiss someone’s efforts to do “the right thing” or downplay the fact that we’ve been mistreated, even if we don’t care anymore or even if it didn’t seem that bad at the time. Recognizing and valuing these gestures of reconciliation nurtures a culture of accountability and healing. During the first stages of our conversation, I could see the effort and difficulty; it was awkward and strange but also kind of fun—some moments were genuinely hilarious! Since then, I spent a lot of time thinking about this experience because of its uniqueness, and ultimately, I consider it one of the highlights of my year. Perhaps unsurprisingly, getting such an apology has also made me value this person a lot more. I started thinking of that behavior as exceptional, which, in turn, started a new line of thought: Shouldn’t this be the norm? Don’t we want to hold ourselves and our friends to higher standards? Is ghosting bad? Is our reaction to it bad? Of course, we all know how “convenient” ghosting is, but isn’t it also really embarrassing for the ghoster? (Note that I used the word “ghoster,” not “ghost,” to discuss behaviors without implying they are unchangeable aspects of a person’s identity. This distinction is important because it avoids labeling individuals in a way that suggests permanence, thus allowing for the possibility of growth and change.) It’s one of those “the king is naked” things; we all, and I mean ALL, see through it. So, what’s underneath it? And why do people do it so much?
Alright, so we’ve thrown around some ideas about why people might ghost. Now, let’s talk about what we can do with this insight. Whether you’re the one doing the ghosting or the one left deciphering silence, here are some tips that could help navigate these tricky situations. A Gentle Reminder for Those Critical of ThemselvesBefore anything else, let’s get something out of the way. For those who are critical of themselves, for those who feel they don’t even deserve an apology, for those who feel worthless due to the ghosting behavior of a partner or a friend, it’s crucial to remind yourself that you are not the problem. Yes, there might be something about your actions that your ghoster is not in alignment with at the moment; you might have some faults, but nothing is proportioned to the lack of recognition and invisibility that being ghosted imposes on a person. That is never warranted. Other people’s actions reflect their own inner state; they’re not a measure of your value. Your self-worth remains untouched and undiminished by external actions. Recognize that you are fundamentally worthy, regardless of how others treat you, and live up to your worth. Strategies for the GhosterIf you find yourself ghosting someone, it’s important to be aware that you’re indulging in a behavior that needs to be temporary. It’s crucial not to stigmatize yourself in the moment but also to realize that ghosting is a reflection of a lack of alignment between you and other people, the world, and your own emotions. Instead of feeling self-righteous or beating yourself up, or worst of all, cycling between these extremes in a relentless loop, consider giving yourself a time limit. You might not be able to handle the situation right now, but you need to commit to addressing it within a set timeframe. Avoiding difficult situations means missing out on important moments. While friends might not always call you out on this behavior, consider this advice the gentle nudge you need. Acknowledge not only that your ghostee might not deserve this treatment but also that you don’t deserve it. Setting a time limit might be an easy way to get a little breather, knowing that you’ll handle it. There is another Alan Watts saying that I particularly enjoy: “The more a thing tends to be permanent, the more it tends to be lifeless.” Ultimately, you shouldn’t act differently just to make other people feel better. Instead, you should act differently because you deserve to feel better and because with your actions (and thoughts and emotions), you’re adding to the world. What do you want to add? Strategies for the GhosteeIf you’ve been ghosted, here are a few things to keep in mind to navigate through this experience. First, avoid becoming self-righteous or harboring anger or resentment. Being ghosted often leaves you feeling hurt, invisible, and incredibly frustrated. It’s natural to want to lash out, driven by a deep need to be acknowledged. Sometimes, anger can feel like a powerful antidote to the helplessness and depression that ghosting can trigger. So, if you’re feeling helpless, reaching out to anger can be a way to regain a sense of control, and if anger is helping you cope right now, that’s okay. Embrace it as a necessary step in your emotional journey. However, there will come a time when moving past anger and resentment is crucial for your growth. As Malachy McCourt said, “Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” Second, avoid toxic positivity. Sure, I just said avoid harboring negative emotions, but you don’t have to pretend everything’s sunshine and rainbows either. Pretending that it doesn’t hurt isn’t going to do you any good. We can safely acknowledge that it hurts if it does. But remain honest with yourself and keenly aware of all the nuances of how you feel. Sometimes your ego is more hurt than your heart. Third, focus on activities outside of yourself. When you’re feeling down, upset, or angry because someone you care about has ghosted you, shifting your focus outward can be incredibly therapeutic. It might sound cliché, but devoting your time and energy to activities that aren’t centered on your own problems can distract you and even help rebuild your sense of self-worth. When we obsess over our own issues, we tend to narrow our focus to a tiny part of the universe. By engaging in hobbies, helping others, or immersing yourself in new projects, you expand your perspective and find a renewed sense of purpose and fulfillment. Think of it as mental stretching—include more of what feels good in your focus. When you’re ready, try to see ghosting not as a reflection of your worth nor as an inherent trait of the person ghosting you, but rather as a reactive moment—a spasm—from someone grappling with their own unresolved issues. And know that this experience can lead to emotional growth if you use it to better understand yourself and your own wounds and triggers. This shift in perspective can help you release the hurt and begin to heal. About Marta CastellaMarta Castella is an accomplished linguist and educator with a Ph.D. in Formal Linguistics. She has dedicated her career to enhancing early education and promoting multilingualism, designing bilingual immersion programs and customized learning plans for young children, integrating mindfulness, cooking, gardening, and music. Marta's professional journey includes roles as a Natural Language Analyst, AI training and prompt design. When not immersed in research or teaching, Marta enjoys practicing sports and meditation. Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site. “The first step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance.” ~Nathaniel Branden I felt lost. I felt broken. I felt scared. As I sat alone in that cold, dark jail cell, I felt like I had hit rock bottom. My feet chilled against the cold stone floor. The creaky wooden bench, stitched together with narrow strips, tormented me. Inmates shouted all around me. Their voices echoed in the dark. It was like the noise of the outside world had finally caught up with the noise inside my head. I just wanted to scream. I was sixteen, but I felt as if my life was already over. Shame and regret filled my heart as I wondered: Is this really all there is? Is this the path my life has taken? Who am I becoming? For the first time, I faced a truth: I was becoming the person I despised most—my father, a man consumed by addiction and destruction. My father’s absence was a constant presence in my life. Only occasionally, when he was off one of his benders and attempting to get clean, was he around. But usually, he would drink a lot of alcohol at the house. I hated him. I hated that man so much for the pain that he caused my mom. The sweetest woman that I have ever known in my entire life. She is the person in my life who taught me about true strength and resilience. She is one of the reasons that I know single mothers are some of the most daring and powerful people. Despite all the anger and hatred I carried toward him, I was walking the same path, making the same choices. I’d started drinking and smoking weed at thirteen, began selling drugs soon after, and was eventually caught with varied substances, lots of cash, and a scale. I was becoming no good, like my father. In fact, I was doing the exact same thing I hated him for—causing my poor mom so much pain. The weight of that realization was crushing. I felt as though I was drowning in the results of my actions and choices. I thought of my mother, a single woman. She did all she could to raise us. She had sacrificed so much for me and my siblings. And here I was, her middle child, sitting in a jail cell as the police smashed our house because they thought I’d been running a big drug operation. I was expelled from not just a school but an entire school district. I pictured her at home, staring at the smashed windows and broken-down doors in hurt and disbelief. The shame of that tore at me. I wanted to be the man who made her proud, the man who helped her, not another weight on her shoulders. I had let her down. I had let myself down. And at that moment, I knew—I couldn’t keep living this way. Something had to change. The Moment That Changed EverythingIn that cold, uncomfortable jail cell, I asked myself: Who am I becoming? Is this the man I want to be? Is this my future? The fear, shame, and regret were suffocating. I had no tools or mentors to help me through them. But even in the darkness, something clicked. This was my wake-up call. I had hit rock bottom. I had two choices: continue down this path toward self-destruction or take control of my life. It was now or never. When I got out, I made a decision to change. I did everything I had to do. I completed my community service. I attended a wilderness program. They put a group of troubled boys together and had them camp on islands for a month. I followed all the rules. It was one of the places where I first learned to face my fears. Because we were climbing a mountain one afternoon, and it was a steep one. I had a fear of heights (still do), and I forgot that I had told them this earlier that day or at the start of the program. Honestly, I can’t remember exactly. That day, I looked up at the mountain we were told to climb and decided to push through my fears. So I climbed. I was breaking my barriers and overcoming limiting beliefs. One instructor said something I can’t recall any teacher or peer telling me back then. “Look at you overcoming your fears, Eddy. I’m proud of you.” To be real, I forgot about that moment until now. Writing this blog has brought tears to my eyes. None of it was easy. In fact, it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. It took everything I had. I had to change my habits, face my limiting beliefs, and distance myself from those who wanted to bring me down. In fact, one of the hardest things then was that my “friends” abandoned me. None of them were there for me when I got out. None of them reached out to me. Still to this day, I haven’t heard any word from them. But it was the only way forward. Lessons in Self-Awareness and ReflectionLooking back, I realize that the moment in the jail cell was the turning point of my life. It was the hardest, most painful experience I’ve ever had. But it opened my eyes to the power of self-awareness and reflection. Self-awareness isn’t about acknowledging your mistakes. It’s about knowing your core self. It’s about seeing the patterns in your life that hold you back. Then, you must choose to break those patterns. Through self-awareness, I discovered that I had the power to change the course of my life. And that’s what I want to share with you. How Self-Awareness Can Change Your Life1. Create space for reflection.You don’t need to hit rock bottom to start reflecting on your life. Take a few quiet moments in your day. It can be five minutes in the morning or ten minutes before bed. Ask yourself, “Where am I heading?” Journaling is an excellent tool for this. It allows you to get your thoughts out of your head and onto the page where you can look at them objectively. Journaling has been the saving grace of my entire life. When I lost one of my best friends to pancreatic cancer, I went backpacking and filled a whole journal. When I decided to make a big decision and take a risk career-wise, it was through journaling. When I had to make a decision or process the pain from a relationship, it was through journaling. If journaling feels overwhelming at first, start with one question: What do I need to let go of today? I ask myself this question every morning. Write down the first thing that comes to mind without overthinking it. 2. Face the truth, even when it hurts.Real change starts with honesty. Be brutally honest with yourself. Look at your life—your habits, your choices, your relationships—and ask, “Is this serving me?” This level of honesty is uncomfortable, but it’s the first step toward growth. Growth’s largest leaps stem from stepping out of our comfort zone. 3. Start small, but be consistent.You don’t need to make drastic changes overnight. Instead, focus on making small, meaningful changes in your daily life. Whether it’s improving one habit or letting go of one toxic relationship, these small steps will create lasting change over time. I learned this from a mentor of mine and James Clear’s book Atomic Habits. Starting small seems pointless to most of us. That change needs to come in one big, massive swipe. But that’s not how we work as people. That kind of change returns us to our original state. My mentor taught me that if we only move a millimeter to the left or right when driving, it will seem like we’re in the same spot at first. But a week, a month, or a year down the road? You will be in a completely different place in life than you would have if you went straight. 4. Reframe your struggles as opportunities.I learned a big lesson: Our failures and mistakes are our biggest chances to grow. When you face challenges, ask yourself, “What is this teaching me?” Reframe your failures as lessons and use them to become stronger. So often people believe that their pain or the failures they’ve experienced in the past are what’s holding them back when actually it’s their perspective. These moments in our lives are actually our breakthrough moments. The moments when what was once a should or sometime later becomes a must. Almost all breakthroughs or massive moments of growth in our lives come from these failures, obstacles, or challenges. Whatever word you want to use. Mine had a significant impact. -- That cold, dark jail cell was the lowest point of my life. But it was also the moment that saved me. Through self-awareness and reflection, I was able to take control of my life and change my future. For me, the journey started small--taking accountability for my actions, cutting ties with people who held me back, and focusing on one habit at a time. It wasn’t an overnight transformation, and I stumbled many times along the way. But each step, no matter how small, brought me closer to the person I wanted to be. You don’t need to have all the answers right now. Take the first step. I urge you to embrace your moments of stillness. They may come in peace or struggle. Use them to reflect on your life. Don’t wait until you’ve hit rock bottom to ask the hard questions. Take time to reflect on who you are, where you’re heading, and what changes you can make to live a more authentic, fulfilling life. Next StepIf you’re struggling with where you are right now, take a moment today to pause and reflect. Ask yourself, “What can I learn from this? How can I use this to grow?” Embrace the power of self-awareness and start taking small, meaningful steps toward a better future. Take it from somebody who has been there—small steps do lead to big changes. So, go grab yourself a pen and paper and begin reflecting, reframing, and moving that millimeter in another direction. You’ll be amazed at how much your life will transform. About Eddy GreenEddy Green is a mindset coach who helps young adults overcome limiting beliefs and rewrite their life stories through self-awareness, resilience, and personal growth. With a passion for helping others navigate life’s challenges, Eddy draws on his own experiences to empower individuals to unlock their full potential. He also loves watching anime in his spare time and spending quality time with his niece and two nephews. You can read more of his personal development content and access valuable resources at sagecoaching/blog. Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site. Seven years ago, I never thought I would be able to say that I have been six years sober! I didn’t think I was physically addicted. I never got the shakes, never morning drank, never drank daily unless on vacation, never got a DUI (even though that was lucky), and never lost a job or a relationship because of drinking. I was, however, incredibly emotionally and mentally addicted. I am fifty-six years old and started drinking in high school. Except when pregnant, I drank 90% of all weekends from the ages of seventeen to fifty. I never did anything socially without drinking. If I couldn’t drink, I just didn’t go. If I had to go, I got out as soon as I could. My whole life was built around my weekend drinking. I loved drinking in my twenties. We would go out every Friday with our friends, get pretty wasted, have a ton of fun, wake up Saturday with a small hangover, wait for it to go away, and then party again on Saturday. Sunday was for eating crappy food, recovering, and getting ready for the workweek. I spent my weekdays going to college to get my teaching degree and then working as an elementary school teacher. I loved my life! I loved drinking in my thirties. I had two beautiful kids, a great teaching job that I loved, a pretty decent marriage, and great friends. We moved into a brand-new neighborhood with lots of new families and quickly made plenty of drinking friends! Every weekend we went to block parties or got together with neighbors, drinking while the kids were playing. The kids were having fun, we were having fun, no one was judging my drinking, and nobody had to drive—perfect! I was still great at my job, felt pretty successful as a mother, and was happy! Things started to shift in my forties. I think the biggest thing that changed was the severity of my hangovers. They were getting out of control. I was still having fun when drinking, and there was no way I was giving that up, but the hangovers were becoming two- to four-day events that just crushed me. During my forties, I started making deals and promises to myself. I spent hundreds of hours reading self-help books about drinking less, spending entire summer breaks trying to figure out why I could not cut down, adding thousands of pages to a journal and hundreds of entries to my blog. I could write a book! Why was I starting to drink on Thursdays (Thirsty Thursday) and on Sundays? Why would I find myself waking up at 2:00 every Saturday and Sunday morning with extreme anxiety, heart palpitations, and nausea and mentally torturing myself about how I hadn’t kept my promise to myself and yet again drank too much? I was starting to have more instances of embarrassing behavior, where I basically lost it while drunk. I would wake up so ashamed of myself, so disappointed in myself, making promises to myself yet again but also not understanding why I was having such a hard time keeping them. I mean, I wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t like my father. Now he was an alcoholic—losing many teaching jobs, requiring us to always move and me to attend six elementary schools, going completely off the grid on a bender, getting DUIs, losing his family—choosing alcohol over us. That wasn’t me. I had a great job, great family, great friends, and a great credit score, and I was a responsible, loving, caring human! I remember reading once that people who struggle with alcohol might feel like they’re standing on a burning bridge, trying to figure out why it’s burning instead of just getting off the damn bridge! I spent years on that bridge while the flames were destroying me. I hated myself while also keeping up the facade that everything was fine. I spent at least five to seven years in this pattern—drinking Friday and Saturday at least, having extreme physical, mental, and emotional hangovers Sunday through Tuesday, beating myself up, and promising myself that I would not drink the next weekend. I would feel so firm about that decision until Wednesday night, when I convinced myself that I was not that bad, that I didn’t need to stop, that I could control it, and then I’d spend Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday planning my drinking for the weekend. I would plan a party, a get-together, or an outing so I could say, “Well, I can’t stop drinking this weekend.” Over and over and over. I felt like I was on a torture hamster wheel, experiencing Groundhog’s Week every week for years. It was exhausting! I was just dumbfounded as to why I couldn’t figure this out. I am an intelligent, loving, caring woman who is not an alcoholic! I have a master’s degree, for God’s sake! Why couldn’t I keep my promises to even drink less? Here is how I finally did it. One Saturday, June 10, 2018, I was at my sister’s house, drinking, of course, even after promising myself I would keep it under control. I was probably on my second bottle of wine playing cards at around 11:00. My husband wanted to leave, and I didn’t want to stop. He left, and my brother-in-law drove me home around 1:00 a.m. Of course, I woke up feeling terrible. I felt like such an embarrassment, such a failure. I just wanted to take some pills that I had left over from a surgery. I almost did. I didn’t want to kill myself; I just wanted that day to be over so I could stop feeling so bad. I just wanted to go to sleep to stop thinking about what a miserable POS I was, but I couldn’t sleep because I was sweating and nauseous, my heart was racing, and my mind would not stop beating me up. My husband, who had always supported whatever I wanted to do, probably to the point of enabling, never got on me about my drinking or hangovers. He just wanted me to be happy, whatever that meant. He supported my drinking or quitting. He said to me that day, “Either quit drinking or be an alcoholic—you choose.” He was pissed, and what he said devastated me. How could he say that to me? Couldn’t he see the personal hell I was already living in—how much I was already beating myself up? How could he be so mean to someone suffering so much? Somehow, I got through the day of crying and anger and misery and made it to Tuesday, and guess what? I wanted to drink again the next weekend! What the hell! What is wrong with me?!?! All day Tuesday, June 13, and Wednesday, June 14, I had the most intense internal battle I have ever had. One voice reassuring me, “You are fine; you just slipped up. You are strong, not an alcoholic, and you can do this. Just try harder! You have a little drinking problem that you can beat. It is all about moderation management and harm reduction.” The other voice was pleading, “You need help!!! You can’t do this. You have been trying for years. You are getting worse. Make the misery stop! Make the call. Call the doctor. Reach out. Get out of your own head. Get help!!!” On Thursday, June 15, I made the scariest phone call of my life. I was sobbing when I said, “I need to make an appointment because I think I might have a drinking problem.” They asked me some questions, determined that I did not need to be admitted for detox, and made me an appointment in two weeks. Two weeks! How was I supposed to go that long without drinking?? I wasn’t sure I could, so I just stayed home, probably in bed, terrified about what the future held. Was this the right decision? Did I really need to get this extreme? Was this really necessary? How would I ever have fun and enjoy anything in life ever again without drinking? This was stupid! I was just going to cancel the appointment. I was not that bad! I didn’t think I wanted to stop. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy without drinking. But somehow, I made it to the appointment. I told the doctor what I was going through and that I didn’t think I was an alcoholic. I thought I had an alcohol use disorder. The doctor asked me, “Have you tried to stop and cut down? Have you been unable to?” My answer was yes. He said, “Call it what you want, but you are an alcoholic, and alcoholism is a progressive disease that will just get worse. You need professional help.” I sat there in shock, much like when my husband said that to me. I just said to him, “That wasn’t very nice,” and he said, “Sometimes the truth isn’t nice to hear.” That took me days to process. Could he have been right? Could I have been fooling myself? Could I have been in DENIAL??? What? Not me! Would I just get worse? Would I become like my father, who lost everything and eventually died from the disease? I was so confused. I finally came to the truth. I did have a problem. And I was physically addicted as well. I was a mess, and I had been for a long time. I was so dysfunctional in my relationships and with my behavior, and I was finally able to see that alcohol was killing my soul. All the embarrassing moments, the broken promises, and the time spent feeling horrible about myself were destroying me. I was living my own personal hell inside my brain, which I fiercely protected because I didn’t want anyone telling me I should stop drinking or judging me. I decided to take the next step. I signed up for outpatient therapy with group support meetings three times a week and individual therapy once a week. I like to think of this time period as when I walked out of the fog. All of these people, who were clearly worse than me (lol), with their DUIs, their court-ordered attendance, and their multiple relapses on heroin or opiates or alcohol, had the exact same thought processes as I had been dealing with for decades. I was overcome with wonder, awe, and curiosity that the addicted brain tells all of us the same lies no matter how “bad” we are, what our drug of choice is, or how bad things have gotten. We all had the same addicted voice torturing us, begging us with all types of rationalization to not stop feeding it. When they spoke, I felt like it was my own voice. How could this be? I couldn’t get enough of the metaphors (riding the craving waves or watching the clouds pass by) and the personal stories. I spent those six weeks completely immersed in my own recovery, much as I had spent the past ten years completely obsessed with controlling it and the previous two decades in love with drinking. Alcohol had been my lifelong obsession, bringing the best and worst of times. I was diagnosed with OCD and general anxiety disorder. Well, that was no surprise to me! I tried antidepressants, but they gave me brain zaps, which scared me, so I stopped. I often pondered the “chicken or the egg” question. Was I self-medicating, or did the alcohol cause these struggles? But again, the burning bridge…. What difference did it make? I am not overly religious and did not attend any AA meetings, but many of their sayings, which I used to think of as so cliche, really stuck with me. One is “one day at a time.” That became my mantra because thinking about how I was going to do holidays, weekends, parties, and vacations without drinking was impossible to even comprehend and had led me to many a relapse. Thinking about how much the future was going to suck without alcohol made me not give up alcohol for way too long. I just focused on one day at a time. Each of those sober days under my belt built up my toolbox and strength to get through another weekend, event, or vacation. I was strengthening my sober muscles every day that I didn’t drink. That first year was not easy. I cried, had debilitating anxiety attacks, isolated myself, and pretty much lost contact with all my friends. While I was so proud of myself and felt so much better, I was also pretty sad, lonely, and scared. The last five years have not been a walk in the park either. It isn’t all rainbows and unicorns now that I have stopped drinking. I still struggle a great deal with anxiety. I am struggling with a terrible case of an empty nest. I miss my kids so much! I miss them needing me. I miss the joy and anticipation I used to get from planning my next weekend, vacation, or drinking event. I have a hard time looking forward to things. I don’t have a lot of friends because I am scared everyone will just want to drink. I am not tempted to drink, just a little jealous of how much fun they are having, so I would just rather not attend. When I overcome the social anxiety that I medicated with alcohol and actually do attend a social event, I am glad I went, and I find it wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. But, more often than not, I decline. I have learned that I am an extremely sensitive and insecure person. I can be overbearing and a bit controlling. I have built a life on what others think of me, putting up this facade that everything is perfect, trying to be the perfect version of myself, and hiding all of my insecurities and obsessions with external validation. I am not great right now and am going to go back to counseling to deal with some of these issues. At least I can see myself more clearly. But I do not for one single second regret quitting drinking! I learned that I miss the anticipation of drinking more than the drinking itself. I absolutely do not miss the hangovers and beating myself up about broken promises or drunken behavior. I, without a doubt, would have been worse today in my addiction than I was six years ago had I not stopped. I miss the high highs but do not miss the low lows. It just isn’t worth it. The pain of stopping was better than the pain of continuing. I am so much more present now. I can have conversations with other people and not have it always about me or when would be a good pause to refill my glass. I had become pretty self-absorbed, and, while I still struggle with that, it is so much better. I can be there for people when they need me. I don’t have to plan my whole life around when I am going to be able to drink. I have learned, shockingly, that many people don’t drink. I am still amazed at how many people in a restaurant aren’t drinking. I thought everyone drank! I am so much better at managing my emotions and trying to always be a better version of myself. My negative self-talk, while still there, is much better. I have also gotten so much better at understanding that everyone does not see the world the way I do, and it is not my job to convince them to see it my way, as if I am always right. I feel I am better at stepping back, being an observer, and not living in this constant state of trying to control everything. I am also recently realizing that I bring chaos into my life. I have remodeled a house, sold a house, cleaned out my mom’s house, built a house, moved across the county, bought a condo, and had four different teaching jobs in the past six years. Am I trying to replace the chaos of drinking with other chaos? I have a long way to go in terms of being mentally healthy, but at least I can see my shortcomings a little more clearly, a little more objectively, a little less emotionally charged, and a little more rationally so that I can work on them without self-medicating. Most of all, I am so stinking proud of myself! I did it! I didn’t think I would ever stop drinking! I still have drinking dreams, especially when stressed, but they remind me how far I have come, how much work I did, how proud I am of myself, and also that I will never be cured, and that’s okay. While not perfect, I am absolutely a better version of myself. I can rationally see my struggles without blaming them all on alcohol, and I can try to deal with them. I am so grateful that I did not lose my loving, supportive family, my career that I love, or my own life to this terrible, devastating disease called alcoholism that I do accept I have. I am so proud to say that I am a recovering alcoholic. About Kim RoushKim is a mother, wife, grandmother, teacher, daughter, sister, aunt, and friend. She is just a normal, successful, functioning person who fiercely protected her secret struggle with an unhealthy attachment to alcohol for too long because she refused to admit it to anyone, even after she admitted it to herself. Reach out to her at [email protected] if you need someone to listen. If you want to read more about her journey, visit her blog here: searchingforbalance11.blogspot.com. Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site. |