“Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it. Always work with it, not against it.” ~Eckhart Tolle

For years, I thought strength meant pushing through. Getting on with it. Holding it together no matter what. Not showing weakness. Not needing help. Not slowing down.

Even when I was diagnosed with a chronic illness, I wore that mindset like armor. I was determined not to let it define me—let alone derail me.

But eventually, it did. Not because I was weak. But because I was human. And that was the beginning of a different kind of strength.

The Diagnosis That Didn’t Fit My Story

I was thirty-two when I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. It’s a chronic inflammatory condition that can be painful, unpredictable, and exhausting. There is no cure.

At the time, I had three young kids and a to-do list longer than my arm. I was busy, stretched thin, and moving fast—chasing achievement like it could protect me from everything uncertain.

The diagnosis didn’t land like a crisis. It landed more like an inconvenience. I had no time for illness. No space for it. No story in which it belonged.

I started medication, but the side effects were rough, and the results were inconsistent. I quickly became obsessed with finding the “right” diet, the “right” routine, the “right” alternative therapy to manage it all myself.

Strength, Control, and the Problem with Hyper-Independence

Looking back, I can see that control was my coping mechanism. Control over my body. Control over the narrative.

I didn’t want to be “someone with a chronic illness.” I wanted to be someone who could handle a chronic illness and still perform at a high level. Someone who could live life on her own terms—without needing medication, or help, or rest.

So when things stabilized a little, I made a quiet decision: I’d stop the medication.

I told myself I could manage it naturally. I adjusted my diet, doubled down on my routines, tried to control every variable. But inevitably, flare-ups would return. And when they did, I’d end up back on steroids. They worked—but made me manic. So I’d taper off. The cycle continued.

Somewhere in the midst of this, we moved countries for my husband’s job. I left behind my career ambitions, my social network, and my medical team. I started to quietly adapt to a life of background symptoms: pain, exhaustion, urgency.

I didn’t talk about it. I didn’t cancel things unless I absolutely had to. And when I did, I worried people thought I was flaky or rude or just didn’t care.

In truth, I was trying so hard to be “fine” that I was hurting myself.

The Turning Point: Meditation & Stillness

Eventually, I got tired.

Not just physically—but emotionally, spiritually, existentially. Tired of the constant vigilance. Tired of trying to outrun my own body. Tired of believing that if I just tried harder, I could conquer this thing on sheer willpower.

I had built an identity around being capable, reliable, strong. Hyper-independent. I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t want to need anyone—or anything, especially not medication. Illness felt like weakness. And weakness was unacceptable.

But that relentless self-sufficiency didn’t save me. It wore me down.

That’s when I found mindfulness. Not as a fix—but as a kind of quiet company. A way of softening the grip I had on control. A way of meeting myself as I actually was, not as I thought I should be.

At first, I treated mindfulness the way I treated everything else: as something to master. But over time, the practice worked on me. It started dismantling the war I had declared on my body. I began to see: my body wasn’t failing me. It was in conversation with me. And I had never truly listened.

That changed everything.

Mindfulness helped me stop seeing my illness as something to battle and started teaching me how to respond—with self-compassion instead of control. With care instead of critique.

The diagnosis was still there. The symptoms came and went. But something in me had started to soften. I was no longer treating every flare-up as a personal failure or a crisis to conquer. The illness was real, but maybe it didn’t have to be a war. I wasn’t fully at peace, but I was learning to pay attention. And then came the call that changed everything.

The Wake-Up Call That Brought It All Home

It had been more than five years since my last colonoscopy, and based on my medical history, my primary care doctor recommended I schedule one. I agreed, of course. I felt fine—strong, even. I was training on the treadmill at home for an upcoming marathon, proud of what my body could still do.

The procedure itself felt routine. But one evening shortly afterward, around 8 p.m., the phone rang.

It was the doctor who had performed the colonoscopy—calling me personally.

He didn’t sound casual.

He told me I was in trouble.

If I didn’t get on medication right away, my condition could worsen dramatically—and start impacting other systems in my body, even my eyesight.

I was horrified. And humbled.

This wasn’t something I could outrun. This wasn’t something I could discipline away. This was my body, urgently asking to be heard.

Letting Illness Be a Messenger, not a Failure

I got back on medication. This time, the right kind. And I committed to it—not from a place of defeat, but from a deeper alignment with care.

That was almost two years ago. Since then, my body has slowly begun to heal. My most recent colonoscopy—early this year—showed dramatic improvement. The inflammation is down. The symptoms are manageable. I’m tolerating the medication well, even with the added complexity of reactivated TB, a side effect of the immunosuppression that I’m now treating with another course of medication.

It’s not perfect. It’s not linear. But it’s honest. It’s mine.

And most importantly, I’m no longer at war with my body. I’ve stopped bracing against what is, and started responding with care, clarity, and compassion.

Because real strength isn’t pushing through at all costs.

It’s listening. It’s allowing. It’s staying with yourself—even when it’s hard.

Mindfulness didn’t fix everything. But it became an ally—steady and unshakable.

It taught me I can’t control the storm, but I can anchor myself within it. And in that anchoring, I found something I never expected: power.

Not the power of force—but the quiet, unwavering power of presence. Of meeting life on its terms.
Of knowing I can be with whatever comes—and still be whole.

That’s the power I carry now. Not in spite of illness. But shaped by it.

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“I will not let the bullies and critics of my early life win by joining and agreeing with them.” ~Pete Walker

For most of my life, there was a voice in my head that narrated everything I did, and it was kind of an a**hole.

You know the one. That voice that jumps in before you even finish a thought:

“Don’t say that. You’ll sound stupid.”

“Why would anyone care what you think?”

 “You’re too much. You’re not enough. You’re a mess.”

No matter what I did, the critic had notes. Brutal ones. And the worst part? I believed every word. I didn’t know it was a critic. I thought I just had “realistic self-awareness.” Like everyone else had a little tape playing in their head on repeat, telling them how flawed they were. Turns out, that voice was trauma talking, and it never seemed to stop.

My Inner Critic Wasn’t Born, It Was Built

CPTSD doesn’t just mess with your sense of safety. It hijacks your internal dialogue. When your early life feels unsafe or unpredictable, criticism becomes your compass. You learn to scan for danger, to anticipate what might trigger rejection or anger. You start blaming yourself for things that weren’t your fault, just to keep the peace.

Over time, you don’t need anyone else to tear you down, you’ve got that covered all on your own. The critic lives inside. It’s relentless. It’s like a hyper-alert security guard that’s been working overtime for decades. One who has a bone to pick.

That inner critic wasn’t trying to be cruel. It was trying to protect me. Twisted, but true. It believed if it shamed me first, I’d beat everyone else to it. If I kept myself small, or perfect, or invisible, I wouldn’t become a target. If I could control myself enough, maybe the chaos would leave me alone.

That voice became familiar. And familiarity, even when it’s toxic, can feel like home.

The Turning Point: When I Realized That Voice Was Lying

Healing began the day I noticed a strange disconnect. The people I cared about didn’t talk to me the way my inner critic did. They weren’t disgusted when I made mistakes. They didn’t roll their eyes when I showed up with all my messy feelings. They didn’t act like I was a problem to be solved or a disappointment to be managed. In fact, they were… pretty warm. Even when I wasn’t “on.”

This realization felt like looking in a funhouse mirror and suddenly seeing my true reflection. If they weren’t seeing me through the lens of judgment and shame, who was I really listening to? That voice in my head, or the people who cared?

That was the moment I started to doubt the inner critic’s authority. Because that voice? It wasn’t truth. It was trauma. A protective but outdated part of me that no longer needed to run the show.

How I Actually Started Healing (the real first steps)

The very first real step wasn’t dramatic. I noticed the mismatch, my head yelling “you’re a mess” while everyone around me treated me like a person, not a problem. Once I noticed that disconnect, things shifted from “this is just how I am” to “oh, maybe this is something I can change.”

So my early moves were small and boring, but they mattered.

I booked a therapist who knew trauma work and stayed long enough to stop the band-aid fixes. I learned one therapy that actually landed for me, Internal Family Systems, which helped me stop fighting the critic and start talking with it. I started writing, not to fix myself, but to give that voice a page to vomit onto so I could see how ridiculous and repetitive it sounded in black and white.

I also leaned on a few safe people, friends and a therapist who would call me out when the critic lied and remind me I wasn’t actually the person I believed I was, over clouded with shame.

The harder work, though, was going underneath the critic. The voice was just a symptom. What sat beneath it was grief, anger, and fear I’d carried since childhood. For the first time in therapy, I wasn’t just trying to outsmart the critic, I was learning to sit with those younger parts of me who never felt safe. That’s when healing really started to shift: not by silencing the critic, but by finally listening to the trauma underneath it.

I Didn’t “Silence” My Inner Critic, But I Did Start Questioning It

Some days, that voice still shows up, loud and obnoxious. Healing didn’t make it disappear. It’s still there, popping up like an annoying pop-up ad you can’t quite close.

For years, the critic zeroed in on my appearance. I carried so much shame and self-hatred that I didn’t need anyone else to tear me down, I was already doing the job for them. Trauma and CPTSD made sure of it. Even when no one said a word, the critic filled in the silence with insults.

But I learned to give it a pause button. Instead of obeying it automatically, I started getting curious.

One morning, I caught my reflection and the critic immediately sneered: ‘You look disgusting.’ Normally, I’d believe it and spiral. But that time, I paused and asked: Whose voice is this really? It felt like my child abusers. What’s it trying to protect me from? Probably the fear and shame rooted in that abuse. Is it true, or just familiar? Familiar. That shift didn’t erase the shame instantly, but it gave me a crack of daylight. Instead of hating myself all day, I was able to shrug and think, yeah, that’s the critic, not the truth. That tiny pause was progress

Sometimes I imagine my inner critic as a grumpy, overworked security guard who’s stuck in the past. He’s cranky and exhausted, working overtime to keep me “safe,” but he’s also out of touch with the present. I don’t hate him. I just don’t hand him the mic anymore. These days, I keep him behind the glass with metaphorical noise-canceling headphones on. He can rant all he wants, but I’ve got Otis Redding and boundaries turned all the way up.

What Actually Helped Me Push Back

Therapy: Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy helped me see the critic as just one part of me, not my whole self. It gave me tools to speak with that part, instead of battling it.

Writing: Putting the critic’s voice on paper was a game changer. Seeing those harsh words in black and white helped me realize how cruel they really were.

Safe People: Talking openly with trusted friends and therapists helped shatter the illusion that I was unlovable or broken.

New Scripts: Instead of empty affirmations, I practiced gentle reality checks: “It’s okay that part of me feels that way. That doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Compassion: Learning to treat myself like a friend rather than an enemy—clumsy, imperfect, but worthy.

Why This Matters: The Cost of Believing the Critic

Believing that inner voice isn’t just uncomfortable, it’s dangerous. It shapes how you show up in the world. It keeps you stuck in self-doubt. It makes you shrink when you want to grow. It convinces you to stay silent when your voice needs to be heard.

For years, I hid behind that critic’s fog. I avoided risks, pushed down feelings, and avoided intimacy because I thought I wasn’t enough. That voice stole years of my life. I lost people I cared about because I couldn’t believe I was good enough or deserving of love, and that does a number on you.

Healing isn’t about erasing the critic, it’s about learning when to listen, when to question, and when to change the channel.

I’m thankful that, with therapy and the work I’ve put into my healing, I’ve been able to reclaim some of that space for myself. It’s by no means easy and there are a lot of starts and stops, but it is worth it. I am here today testament to that.

If You’re Living With That Voice Right Now

If your inner critic sounds convincing, like it has a PhD in your failures, I get it. I lived there. But here’s the truth:

You are not the sum of your worst thoughts. You are not the voice that calls you a burden.You are not unworthy just because you’ve been told that.

That critic might be loud, but it’s not honest. It’s scared. And scared doesn’t get the final say.

You get to question it. You get to rewrite the script. You get to take up space, even if your voice shakes. Even if it whispers, “Who do you think you are?”

Because the answer is: Someone healing. Someone trying. Someone finally learning that voice isn’t the truth anymore.

About Jack Brody

Jack is a writer, dad, and recovering overthinker living in NYC. He writes about CPTSD, healing, and untangling your worth from your wounds at aboutthatjack.com. He no longer believes everything his inner critic says, though they’re still in couples counseling.

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“Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I built my life.” ~J.K. Rowling

Most people who know me will say I am incredibly kind, loving, and empathetic. They know me as a safe person that they can share anything with and that I won’t judge. What they may not know is I am incredibly judgmental and unkind to myself.

When it comes to others, I see light and love. I see confusion and fear behind their misguided actions. I see mistakes as learning opportunities. For myself, I used to see…if I dare say it, a stupid girl who should know better and do better and be better.

That felt mean even to write. It is an odd combination to love and accept others so deeply but to not love myself in the same way. Sometimes I wonder if my ability to truly see others’ greatness, potential, and beauty is linked to the fact that I didn’t see my own—like perhaps I put all my energy into valuing others instead of directing some of it toward myself.

I’ve always wished I could treat myself with the same love I’ve extended to others, but instead, I set myself a different set of standards—ones that cannot be reached because they’re unrealistic. The path of no mistakes, no pain, and no suffering. The path where everything works out according to plan. My plan was always simple: try to do the right thing and follow the rules so I can stay in control.

So that’s what I did—played it safe and small in many life areas to avoid mistakes, conflict, and my own harsh judgment.

With friends, I kept quiet when I had different opinions. In romance, I tried to be easy and straightforward. At work, I took the most cautious route, determined to prove my worth before reaching for more. I did it “the right way”—thoughtful, careful, and safe.

So everything worked out according to plan, right? Wrong—that is not what happened. Because life never goes “to plan” for any of us.

Case in point: When a discussion with one of my closest friends ended in a disagreement, I felt a stab in my heart that led to a free fall of tears. It wasn’t the disagreement that hurt but the realization that I wasn’t being my true self with her and that, perhaps, she didn’t accept my true self.

This brought up feelings of abandonment. Was it safe to have a different opinion? Would I be pushed aside, or could I share what I believed to be true and still be loved?

I now know the pain I felt after her abandonment wasn’t just about our friendship ending; it was about all the times I’d abandoned myself. The times when I’d chosen someone else’s approval over my own and blamed myself when things didn’t work out instead of accepting that pain is inevitable in life—and it doesn’t mean I’m doing anything wrong.

When my dream job went to someone else, I felt the sting of rejection and replayed everything I might have said or done wrong. I thought of all the reasons I wasn’t qualified and didn’t belong. Being such a harsh judge, I could see all the reasons they hadn’t chosen me, but not the reasons I was still worth choosing. Before I knew it, I agreed with their choice.

I chose to put other people’s feelings first—empathetically considering their perspective without considering my own.

This realization hit me hard during a therapy session. I was speaking about a time growing up when my family had to suddenly move and how hard this was for everyone, but I struggled to express how hard it was for me, quickly transitioning to the bigger picture.

I realized then that I needed to slow down and reflect on my own experiences and feelings in order to show myself the same compassion I so easily extended to others. It was no longer one or the other but both, and this wasn’t easy because it meant I had to sit with the pain of being my true self instead of covering it up.

I’d always blamed myself for everything that had gone wrong in my life because it gave me a sense of control. If I was the problem, I didn’t have to sit with the pain of life’s unpredictability.

In truth, I hated parts of myself and didn’t know why until recently. The quality I most despised was my insecurity. It led me to over-analyze my choices and compare myself to others instead of celebrating my own accomplishments. For example, when I was invited to teach a class in college, I turned it down, pretending to be sick, because I didn’t believe I was good enough.

Many of my struggles stemmed from my sensitive and creative nature. I was a sponge, soaking up every detail, seeing things from all perspectives. This gave me the gift to empathize and support others on a deep level, but it also led to overthinking and self-recrimination.

For example, in my twenties, I stayed in a relationship that didn’t feel right because I was scared and unsure of myself. When it ended badly, I blamed myself for not knowing better instead of recognizing that I couldn’t have known until I learned through experience.

The inability to love my true, whole self—including my faults and past experiences—was at its core an unwillingness to accept pain. It stunted my growth and led to suffering. It kept me small and stuck in repeating negative cycles of overthinking, comparison, and insecurity.  

In therapy, in coaching groups, and in my writing, I began sharing the stories I’d once hidden in shame, and my inner hatred slowly disappeared.

I shared the many times I was confused about my own emotions and struggled to be kind to myself. With time, I began to see my own mistakes from a different lens—as the witness of my younger self rather than the judge. I felt different—like a closed door in my heart opened.

I was finally able to have compassion for myself when I started seeing myself as deserving of love and allowed to make mistakes—when I allowed myself to be human just like everyone else. I also began to understand that not everything that goes wrong is my fault, and I don’t have to beat myself up just because things don’t go “to plan.”

My friend shared a metaphor about turning a big rock upside down and how, underneath that rock, you’d find darkness, mud, and bugs scurrying around as they are exposed from their hiding place. That’s exactly what it feels like to me. Every time I share honestly and expose my heart, my fears, and the things I am ashamed of, I am left with the warm sun shining down, and those little pesky bugs disappearing.

I now know that I deserve love too, even though I am imperfect. I am still worthy—but I have to believe it. It took a lot of tears to get there. A lot of embarrassment and confusion. A lot of willingness and courage.

Reflecting on this reminded me of my strength and capacity to overcome hardships. Then another powerful realization occurred to me—I am powerful enough to get through any storm, and I wouldn’t trade this particular storm for anything in the world.

I wouldn’t trade the pain, the hardship, or the dark nights of learning to embrace myself for the perfect plan I originally wanted—because this is what connects our hearts to each other, and that means more to me than anything.

Recently, I received an email from a reader saying, “Thank you, and keep writing.” I sat in silence and cried.

I have always dreamed of someone saying that to me, but this time it was different. It was like I truly felt it in my heart. In that moment, I believed my words had value. I believed that I have value. My own heart finally had room for me too.

About Orly Levy

Orly Levy is an Intuitive Life Coach and Writer. She offers guidance for the sensitive soul struggling to see their gifts. Through her one-on-one programs, she leads others to meet with “what is” to release blockages, reconnect with their intuition, and discover true peace. Visit her virtual home for tools, to schedule a free session, and follow her on Instagram.

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If somebody is working on themselves and changing for the better, it’s unnecessary to keep bringing up their past. People can change and grow. You know that’s true. But have you given yourself a fair chance to change and grow, too?

Have you loosened your grip on what’s behind you, so you can step forward?

If you’re shaking your head, you aren’t alone. At times we all fall victim to our attachments. We simply don’t realize how often we block our own present blessings by holding on to everything so tightly.

Thus, it’s time for a quick true story about life and letting go…

When Our Old Stories Hold Us Back

She rarely makes eye contact. Instead, she looks down at the ground. Because the ground is safer. Because unlike people, it expects nothing in return. She doesn’t have to feel ashamed about her past. The ground just accepts her for who she is right now.

As she sits at the bar next to me, she stares down at her vodka tonic, and then the ground, and then her vodka tonic. “Most people don’t get me,” she says. “They ask me questions like, ‘What’s your problem?’ or ‘Were you beaten as a child?’ But I never respond. Because I don’t feel like explaining myself. And I don’t think they really care anyway.”

Just then, a young man sits down at the bar on the opposite side of her. He’s a little drunk and says, “You’re pretty. May I buy you a drink?” She stays silent and looks back down at the ground. After an awkward moment, he accepts the rejection, gets up, and walks away.

“Would you prefer that I leave too?” I ask. “No,” she says without glancing upward. “But I could use some fresh air. You don’t have to come, but you can if you want to.” I follow her outside and we sit on a street curb in front of the bar.

“Brrr… it’s a really chilly night!”

“Tell me about it,” she says while maintaining her usual downward gaze. The warm vapor from her breath cuts through the cold air and bounces off of the ground in front of her. “So why are you out here with me? I mean, wouldn’t you rather be inside in the warmth, talking to normal people about normal things?”

“I’m out here because I want to be. Because I’m not normal. And look, I can see my breath, and we’re in San Diego. That’s not normal either. Oh, and you’re wearing old Airwalk sneakers, and so am I — which may have been normal in 1994, but not anymore.”

She glances up at me and smirks, this time exhaling her breath upward into the moonlight. “I see you’re wearing a ring. You’re married, right?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “My wife, Angel, is just getting off work now and heading here to meet me for dinner.”

She nods her head and then looks back at the ground. “Well, you’re off the market… and safe, I guess. So can I tell you a story?”

“I’m listening.”

As she speaks, her emotional gaze shifts from the ground, to my eyes, to the moonlit sky, to the ground, and back to my eyes again. This rotation continues in a loop for the duration of her story. And every time her eyes meet mine she holds them there for a few seconds longer than she did on the previous rotation.

I don’t interject once. I listen to every word. And I assimilate the raw emotion present in the tone of her voice and in the depth of her eyes.

When she finishes, she says, “Well, now you know my story. You think I’m a freak, don’t you?”

“Place your right hand on your chest,” I tell her. She does. “Do you feel something?” I ask.

“Yeah, I feel my heartbeat.”

“Now close your eyes, place both your hands on your face, and move them around slowly.” She does. “What do you feel now?” I ask.

“Well, I feel my eyes, my nose, my mouth… I feel my face.”

“That’s right,” I reply. “But unlike you, stories don’t have heartbeats, and they don’t have faces. Because stories are not alive — they’re not people. They’re just stories.”

She stares into my eyes for a prolonged moment, smiles sincerely and says, “Just stories we live through.”

“Yeah… And stories we learn from.”

The Hard Lessons We Learn from Letting Go

The woman from the story above became one of our very first students when Angel and I opened the doors to the original version of the Getting Back to Happy course a decade ago, and she’s now a friend of ours too. She has learned and applied many remarkable lessons over the years that ultimately allowed her to let go of her difficult past — her story — and move forward with her life. And last night I sat down with her over a cup of tea and had an in-depth, soul-centered conversation about what she has learned over the years. I’m sharing her story and lessons with you today, with permission, because I know we all struggle in similar ways…

Here are four hard, actionable lessons we discussed:

1. You can have a heartbreaking story from the past without letting it dominate your present life.

In the present moment we all have some kind of pain: anger, sadness, frustration, disappointment, regret, etc.

Notice this pain within yourself, watch it closely, and see that it’s caused by whatever story you have in your head about what happened in the past (either in the recent past or in the distant past). Your mind might insist that the pain you feel is caused by what happened (not by the story in your head about it), but what happened in the past is NOT happening right now. It’s over. It has passed. But the pain is still happening right now because of the story you’ve been subconsciously telling yourself about that past incident.

Note that “story” does not mean “fake story.” It also does not mean “true story.” The word “story” in the context of your self-evaluation doesn’t have to imply true or false, positive or negative, or any other kind of forceful judgment call. It’s simply a process that’s happening inside your head:

• You are remembering something that happened.
• You subconsciously perceive yourself as a victim of this incident.
• Your memory of what happened causes a strong emotion in you.

So just notice what story you have, without judging it, and without judging yourself. It’s natural to have a story; we all have stories. See yours for what it is. And see that it’s causing you pain. Then take a deep breath, and another…

Inner peace begins the moment you take these deep breaths and choose not to allow the past to dominate your present thoughts and emotions. (Note: Angel and I discuss this process in more detail in the “Happiness” chapter of “1,000 Little Things Happy, Successful People Do Differently” and throughout the guided journal, “The Good Morning Journal: Powerful Prompts & Reflections to Start Every Day”.)

2. A big part of letting go is simply realizing there’s nothing to hold on to in the first place.

All of the things from our past that we desperately try to hold on to, as if they’re real, solid, everlasting fixtures in our lives, aren’t really there. Or if they are there in some form, they’re changing, fluid, impermanent, or simply imagined storylines in our minds.

Life gets a lot easier to deal with the moment we understand this.

Imagine you’re blindfolded and treading water in the center of a large swimming pool, and you’re struggling desperately to grab the edge of the pool that you think is nearby, but really it’s not—it’s far away. Trying to grab that imaginary edge is stressing you out, and tiring you out, as you splash around aimlessly trying to holding on to something that isn’t there.

Now imagine you pause, take a deep breath, and realize that there’s nothing nearby to hold on to. Just water around you. You can continue to struggle with grabbing at something that doesn’t exist… or you can accept that there’s only water around you, and relax, and float.

Today I challenge you to ask yourself:

• What’s something from the past that you are still desperately trying to hold on to?
• How is it affecting you in the present?

Then imagine the thing you’re trying to hold on to doesn’t really exist. Envision yourself letting go… and just floating.

How might that change your life from this moment forward?

3. The subtle pain you continue to feel can be healed through compassion for those suffering alongside you.

When we’re still working through a painful experience from the past, it’s easy to feel like we’re going through it alone — like no one else could possibly understand how we feel. In a way, we subconsciously place ourselves at the center of the universe, and see everything that happened exclusively from the viewpoint of how it affects us personally, without regard for anyone else. But as we grow through our pain and gradually broaden our horizons, we begin to see that our self-centered thinking is only fueling our misery. And we realize that shifting our focus onto others for a while can help.

It’s one of life’s great paradoxes: when we serve others, we end up benefiting as much if not more than those we serve. So whenever you feel pain from the past trying to suck you back in, shift your focus from your circumstances to the circumstances of those near and far.

The simplest way of doing this at any given moment?

Practice letting your breath be an anchor for global healing. Breathe in whatever painful feeling you’re feeling, and breathe out relief from that pain for everyone in the world who is suffering alongside you. For example:

• If you’re feeling grief, breathe in all the grief of the world… then breathe out peace.
• If you’re feeling anger, breathe in all the anger of the world… then breathe out forgiveness.
• If you’re feeling regretful, breathe in all the regret of the world… then breathe out gratitude for the good times.

Do this for a minute or two as often as you need to, imagining all the pain of those near and far coming in with each breath, and then a feeling of compassion and reconciliation radiating out to all of those who are in pain as you breathe out. Instead of running from your past and the pain it caused you, you’re embracing it… you’re letting yourself absorb it. And you’re thinking of others as well, which gets you out of that miserable, self-centered mindset trap.

4. There is always, always, always something to be grateful for.

Even when your past — your story — tries to pull you back in, you can consciously do your best to focus on your present blessings. What do you see in your life right now? Be thankful for the good parts. For your health, your family, your friends, or your home. Many people don’t have these things.

Remind yourself that the richest human is rarely the one who has the most, but the one who needs less. Wealth is a daily mindset. Want less and appreciate more today. Easier said than done of course, but with practice gratitude does get easier. And as you practice, you transform your past struggles into present moments of freedom.

Ultimately, on the average day, happiness is letting go of what you assume your life is supposed to be like right now and sincerely appreciating it for everything that it is. So at the end of this day, before you close your eyes, be at peace with where you’ve been and grateful for what you have right now. Life has goodness.

Now it’s your turn…

Again, the lessons above take practice to fully grasp in real time. So just do your best to bring awareness to this gradually — to practice — so you can let go one day at a time. Keep reminding yourself…

• You are not your bad days
• You are not your mistakes
• You are not your scars
• You are not your past

Be here now and breathe.

And before you go, please leave Angel and me a comment below and let us know what you think of this essay. Your feedback is important to us.

Also, if you haven’t done so already, be sure to sign-up for our free newsletter to receive new articles like this in your inbox each week.

Compassion is a profound emotional response that connects us to others—a genuine desire for their well-being and a willingness to alleviate suffering. At its core, however, compassion begins within us, through self-compassion. Self-compassion is far more than an indulgence—it’s a powerful cornerstone for building personal resilience and extending authentic compassion to others, creating a foundation for meaningful connections and emotional strength. To truly cultivate empathy and kindness for others, we must first learn to extend that same grace to ourselves.

Why Self-Compassion Matters

Self-compassion entails treating yourself with the same kindness, understanding, and care you’d offer a close friend. It’s about acknowledging your humanity, accepting imperfections, and recognizing that struggles are a universal experience. Studies show that self-compassion leads to increased happiness, motivation, better relationships, and reduced anxiety and depression.

Kristin Neff, a pioneer in self-compassion research, breaks it down into three components: self-kindness, common humanity, and mindfulness. These elements combine to create a foundation for emotional resilience. When we’re compassionate toward ourselves, we’re better equipped to manage stress and respond to life’s challenges with grace.

From Self to Others: The Ripple Effect

Self-compassion doesn’t end with the self. By practicing it, we become more attuned to the struggles of others, fostering a natural extension of kindness and empathy. This ripple effect strengthens relationships and community bonds, illustrating how self-care directly influences societal well-being.

Debunking Myths: The Truth About Self-Compassion

Despite its benefits, self-compassion is often misunderstood, with many associating it with weakness, self-indulgence, or avoidance of responsibility. Common myths prevent people from embracing this transformative practice, leaving them stuck in cycles of self-criticism and burnout. Let’s address and dispel these misconceptions.

Myth 1: Self-Compassion Equals Weakness

One of the most pervasive myths is that self-compassion makes you weak or complacent. In reality, self-compassion fosters resilience. By treating yourself kindly during setbacks, you build the emotional strength needed to bounce back and face challenges with renewed determination.

Myth 2: Self-Compassion Encourages Self-Indulgence

Self-compassion is often conflated with self-indulgence, but the two are vastly different. While self-indulgence involves unchecked gratification, self-compassion focuses on long-term well-being. It’s about making choices that nurture your growth, even if they’re difficult in the short term.

Myth 3: Self-Compassion Excuses Bad Behavior

Another misconception is that self-compassion is an excuse to avoid responsibility. On the contrary, self-compassion helps us acknowledge mistakes without harsh judgment, creating a safe space for accountability and improvement.

By debunking these myths, we clear the way for more people to embrace self-compassion as a transformative tool for personal and interpersonal growth.

Techniques for Self-Compassion: From Letter-Writing to RAIN Meditation

Self-compassion is not just a mindset; it’s a practice. Incorporating tangible techniques into your daily life can help you cultivate a kinder relationship with yourself. Here are two powerful methods to get started:

Writing a Letter to Yourself

Letter-writing is a simple yet profound way to nurture self-compassion. Here’s how to practice it:

1. Set the Scene: Find a quiet, comfortable space where you can reflect without interruptions. This creates a calming environment that allows you to focus deeply and engage fully in the exercise, enhancing its effectiveness.
2. Imagine a Compassionate Friend: Think of what a kind, understanding friend would say to you in your current situation.
3. Write Freely: Draft a letter to yourself from this perspective, offering encouragement and understanding.
4. Revisit the Letter: Keep the letter and read it during challenging times to remind yourself of your innate worth.

This exercise helps reframe negative self-talk and creates a supportive internal dialogue.

The RAIN Meditation

RAIN is a four-step mindfulness practice designed to cultivate self-compassion during difficult moments:

1. Recognize: Acknowledge what you’re feeling.
2. Allow: Accept your emotions without judgment.
3. Investigate with Kindness: Explore the underlying causes of your feelings with curiosity and care.
4. Natural Awareness: Rest in the awareness that these feelings are temporary and do not define you.

Practicing RAIN regularly can help you respond to life’s challenges with greater ease and self-kindness.

Expanding Empathy: The Role of Loving-Kindness Meditation

Loving-kindness meditation (LKM) is a powerful practice that extends the benefits of self-compassion to others. Rooted in Buddhist traditions, LKM involves sending goodwill and positive intentions to yourself and others. Here’s how it works:

1. Start with Yourself: Begin by silently repeating phrases like, “May I be happy. May I be healthy. May I be free from suffering.”
2. Extend to Loved Ones: Gradually extend these wishes to friends and family.
3. Include Difficult People: Challenge yourself to send goodwill to those you find challenging.
4. Embrace All Beings: Expand your circle of compassion to include everyone, everywhere.

Research shows that LKM enhances empathy, increases positive emotions, and reduces biases. For instance, a study published in the Journal of Happiness Studies found that participants who practiced LKM for just 15 minutes a day experienced significant improvements in their emotional well-being and social connectedness. By practicing loving-kindness, you build emotional resilience and foster deeper connections with others.

Understanding Empathy and Compassion

Although empathy and compassion are closely related, they are distinct concepts. Understanding their differences is crucial for cultivating a balanced approach to emotional intelligence.

Empathy: Feeling with Others

Empathy involves understanding and sharing the feelings of others. While it’s an essential component of emotional connection, empathy alone can sometimes lead to emotional exhaustion, known as compassion fatigue.

Compassion: Acting with Kindness

Compassion goes beyond empathy by including a desire to alleviate suffering. It’s an action-oriented response that transforms emotional resonance into meaningful support.

By focusing on compassion rather than just empathy, we can prevent burnout and sustain our ability to care for others over the long term.

Cultivating Compassion in Daily Life: Mindfulness Beyond Meditation

Compassion isn’t limited to formal meditation practices. It can be woven into the fabric of daily life through mindful actions and intentional communication.

Mindful Communication

1. Active Listening: Fully engage with others by listening without interrupting or judging.
2. Nonverbal Cues: Use soft eye contact, open body language, and gentle gestures to convey understanding.
3. Clarity in Words: Be concise and considerate in your communication, avoiding misunderstandings.

Compassionate Workplace Practices

1. Check In: Regularly ask colleagues how they’re doing and genuinely listen to their responses.
2. Encourage Collaboration: Foster a team culture that values support and shared success.
3. Model Kindness: Lead by example, showing patience and empathy in professional interactions.

By integrating these practices, you can create an environment that nurtures compassion and fosters meaningful connections.

The Transformative Power of Compassion

Cultivating compassion—starting with self-compassion and extending outward—is a transformative journey. It’s not just about being kind; it’s about creating a ripple effect that enhances personal well-being, strengthens relationships, and contributes to a more empathetic society.

Small Steps, Big Changes

Transformation begins with small, consistent actions. Writing a letter to yourself, practicing RAIN meditation, or offering a kind word to a colleague might seem minor, but over time, these habits create profound shifts in mindset and behavior.

The Broader Impact

Compassion fosters resilience, reduces stress, and promotes emotional intelligence. On a societal level, it strengthens community bonds and inspires collective action toward a kinder, more inclusive world.

By embracing compassion, we not only improve our own lives but also contribute to a culture of empathy and understanding. Start with yourself, and watch the ripple effect unfold.

Featured photo credit: by Audri Van Gores on Unsplash via unsplash.com

“Success isn’t about what you do; it’s about who you are. Just existing—waking up, breathing, being present—is enough.” ~Unknown

On my third trip to the emergency room, I lay in a hospital bed, ten weeks pregnant and nine kilograms lighter. I had just vomited for the forty-seventh time that day. My body felt empty, but the nausea never stopped. An IV dripped fluids into my arm, and I didn’t swallow anything for the next five days.

Hyperemesis—a rare and severe condition that affects about 1% of pregnancies—typically subsides by twelve weeks. For me, it lasted my entire pregnancy.

For fifteen years, I measured my worth by what I did. If I exercised, ate well, showed up for my friends and family, and worked hard—then I could go to bed knowing I was a good person. That was my framework. My safety net.

Now, I couldn’t do any of it. I could barely move.

And for the first time in my life, I asked myself: Who am I if I can’t do anything at all?

Six months of pregnancy, living in survival mode—failing to meet a single requirement on my self-made checklist for being a good person—I hated the person I had become.

The Framework That Held Me Together (Until It Didn’t)

For years, my sense of worth was built on a framework—one I had carefully constructed to keep myself on the right path. If I could tick off all the boxes, I could go to bed knowing I was enough. It gave me structure, a sense of control, and a way to measure whether I was living up to the person I believed I should be.

This checklist was my identity. It was how I knew who I was and that I was good.

At first, this framework served me well. When I left the structure of school, this checklist gave me direction.

It kept me disciplined, motivated, and focused on self-improvement. But beneath it all, there was fear—that if I didn’t check every box, I would somehow fail at being a good person.

The voice in my head wasn’t encouraging; it was demanding. Slowing down felt like slipping. No matter how much I did, there was always more to prove. Nothing was good enough, fast enough, or impressive enough.

Then, when Hyperemesis stripped me down to a barely functioning shell of myself, the framework collapsed. I wasn’t showing up for anyone. I wasn’t achieving anything. And without those measures of success, I felt like I had lost myself. My identity. My sense of worth. If my worth had always been something I had to earn, what happened when I could no longer earn it?

That’s when I realized the flaw in my system: it was built on conditional self-worth. As long as I kept up, I was safe. But the moment life forced me to stop, the framework didn’t hold me—it crushed me. Life was only going to get more complicated with kids, and I didn’t want it to feel this hard forever. More than that, I didn’t want them inheriting this checklist as a way of living.

Rebuilding From the Bottom Up: A Shift in Perspective

Hitting rock bottom can be an incredible gift. With nowhere lower to go, it becomes a chance to rebuild in a simpler, more aligned way—letting go of what doesn’t serve you.

A framework can be useful—until it becomes a cage. When discipline is fueled by fear, it exhausts us. True growth doesn’t come from relentless self-monitoring, but from knowing you are already enough. It comes from showing up, doing your best, and trusting that’s enough.

Talking things through with a psychologist, it became obvious: the checklist that once gave me security had become a restrictive system holding me back.

I decided to trust the extensive research that shows leading with self-compassion drives success and happiness by turning setbacks into growth, reducing stress, and helping us become more present people.

The hard part was learning to believe it—not just in my head, but in my gut. That kind of shift takes time, patience, and a steady mindfulness to gently bring yourself back when you drift.

Doing Things Out of Joy, Not Obligation

When I used to run, it was with a fierce determination to get to the finish. Quickly. And it was never fast enough. I didn’t use a social fitness tracker because no run I ever did was perfect enough to represent who I thought I should be.

When I started to exercise again after surviving the pregnancy and transitioning from a place of self-judgment to self-compassion, my mind was blown.

The voice in my head was kind and understanding and came from a place of love. When pushing for another lap, my thoughts would wander to words of encouragement. “Okay, do another lap, but stop if you need—you’ve already come so far!” I felt complete gratitude.

The rules I had followed for years didn’t disappear; they transformed from needs to wants—and never musts.

I still love to move my body, but I do it because I can and because I want to, not because I have to.

I still care for the people around me, but not at the expense of myself.

The things that once felt like obligations became absolute pleasures. And the best part? There are no repercussions if I don’t do those things. I either let it go without thought or reflect and learn from my actions. Without judgment.

You Are Enough, Always

Your worth isn’t something to prove—you are enough just by existing.

It doesn’t need to take a crisis to realize this. Checklists, measuring, self-checking, the relentless need to keep up—they are never what make you worthy. Letting go of that weight doesn’t mean losing yourself; it means freeing yourself.

Start noticing the voice in your head. Is it pushing you out of fear, or guiding you with kindness? Self-compassion isn’t about doing less—it’s about doing things from a place of kindness, not criticism. You can still strive, grow, and show up—but now, it’s because you want to, not because you have to. And that changes everything.

Shift the script. You don’t have to do more. You don’t have to be more. You already are enough—always.

About Alex Russell

Alex Russell is a mother of two young girls under four years old and wife to an incredibly supportive husband. Starting out with a career in communications and later a Master of Finance, she works in strategy and operations for KPMG with the goal of fostering collaboration and driving positive outcomes. She continually strives to inspire others through kindness and self-compassion.

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“Healing may not be so much about getting better, as about letting go of everything that isn’t you—all of the expectations, all of the beliefs—and becoming who you are.” ~Rachel Naomi Remen

For years, yoga was my safe space—the place where I felt strong, grounded, and whole. My practice wasn’t just physical; it was my sanctuary, my moving meditation. So, when a shoulder injury forced me to change the way I practiced, I wasn’t just in pain—I was lost.

At first, it seemed minor. A nagging soreness, nothing I hadn’t worked through before. I convinced myself that more movement would help, that yoga—my forever healer—would fix it. I stretched, I modified, I doubled down on my alignment. But the more I tried to push through, the worse it became.

Eventually, even the simplest tasks—getting dressed, washing my hair—became difficult. That’s when I finally sought medical help. The diagnosis: shoulder impingement and frozen shoulder. A combination of overuse, aging (a humbling realization as I turned forty), and factors no one could fully explain.

I asked the doctor how to prevent it from happening again. The answer wasn’t clear. There was no perfect formula, no guarantee. That uncertainty unsettled me.

Surrendering to the Process

Healing wasn’t linear. It was slow, frustrating, and at times, disheartening. I cycled through physical therapists, reluctantly took medication, and spent months modifying my movements. But the hardest part wasn’t the pain—it was the mental and emotional struggle of letting go of what my practice used to be.

I grieved the loss of my old yoga practice. I felt betrayed by my body, resentful that the thing I loved most had, in a way, turned against me. And yet, somewhere in the frustration, I realized—this was part of my practice, too.

Yoga isn’t just about movement. It’s about presence. Acceptance. Surrender.

I started leaning into the lessons my injury was trying to teach me:

• Ahimsa (Non-harming): I had to stop fighting my body and instead extend it kindness, just as I would for a loved one who was struggling.
• Satya (Truthfulness): I had to acknowledge that my practice would change—and that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
• Aparigraha (Non-attachment): I had to let go of my rigid expectations and open myself to a different, gentler way forward.
• Santosha (Contentment): I had to find peace with what my body could do, rather than mourning what it couldn’t.

The moment I stopped resisting, something shifted. My body didn’t heal overnight, but my perspective did. I started seeing healing as an ongoing relationship rather than a destination. I gave myself permission to slow down, to listen, to trust.

Rebuilding with Compassion

As I modified my practice, I discovered new ways to move that honored my limitations rather than fought against them. My yoga practice became softer, more mindful. I focused on breathwork, grounding postures, and gentle movement. I let go of the idea that I had to push myself to prove something.

I also realized something deeper: healing isn’t just about getting back to where we were—it’s about growing into who we’re becoming.

We all face moments where we’re forced to slow down, to reevaluate, to shift. And in those moments, we have a choice. We can resist and suffer, or we can soften and grow.

If you’re navigating an injury, a setback, or an unexpected change, know this: Your healing doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. You are allowed to grieve. You are allowed to feel frustrated. But you are also allowed to find joy in the process. To discover new ways of being. To trust that even in the slowing down, there is wisdom.

Healing is not about returning to what was—it’s about embracing what is and finding beauty in what’s possible now.

About Michelle Lamansky

Michelle Lamansky is a trauma-aware yoga instructor (RYT-500) and a holistic health & wellness coach who helps women move through high-functioning stress and anxiety with compassion, breath, and body-based tools. Through private sessions and self-paced programs, she guides students back to calm, connection, and a sense of home within themselves. Learn more at www.balancedyogatn.com.

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“Feelings come and go, like clouds in the sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

On the day my daughter Zoe turned seven weeks old, she burst into tears while I was changing her diaper. But why? What had I done? I remember panicking, confused, scared, and instantly guilty.

Eventually, I noticed her pinky was twisted up in her pony-print pajamas. I freed the little digit like my life depended on it and tried to kiss her pain away. As I gently rocked and soothed my wailing child, big tears poured down my own cheeks.

That’s when my wife entered the room. I felt caught and spiraled deep into shame. Emotional thoughts kicked into overdrive: Oh my God, I hurt Zoe. I’m a terrible mother and I traumatized my daughter and my wife knows it. How could either of them ever trust me again?

In that vulnerable moment, I was deep in my Emotion Mind and far from Wise Mind, which is what I needed to access to navigate this situation effectively. These “mind states” are concepts from Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), which supports people in regulating their emotions and improving their relationships.

DBT teaches us that, at any given moment, our thoughts, feelings, and actions are influenced by three different potential states of mind: Emotional, Reasonable, and Wise.

To illustrate these mind states, I will provide examples of responses to the following situation:

You’ve been trying to hang out with one of your best friends for over two weeks. She hasn’t responded to your text or DMs. When she finally gets back to you, she writes, “Hey. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately. Can we check back in next month?”

In Emotion Mind, you’re ruled by feelings. Your emotions are in charge, dictating how you act and react. Things feel intense, critical, and urgent in this mind state. As a result, you might make impulsive choices, say things you don’t actually mean, or feel consumed by intense emotions.

Example: You take it personally, immediately feeling hurt and rejected. Your inner voice blurts out, “She doesn’t care about me” and “You are such a loser.” Your anger may tell you to respond with a sassy remark, or your sadness may encourage you to hide under the covers as you think, “I’m never good enough for anyone.”

In Reasonable Mind, logic and facts steer the ship. You calmly analyze the evidence and try to solve a given problem on an intellectual level. Sounds great, right? But there’s something missing. Reasonable Mind is inherently colder, more detached. In this mind state, feelings get denied and emotional nuance gets missed.

Example: After receiving the text, you may think, “She doesn’t want to hang out right now. I’ll text her next month.” You might respond with, “You need space. I’ll send you a text message in one month.”

While this thought process is logical, it may feel almost robotic because it does not take into consideration the hurt you are likely processing at that moment. Feeling rejected, worried, or experiencing a pang of loneliness or anger—those are perfectly valid emotional responses that are typically inaccessible when in Reasonable Mind.

Wise Mind is where the magic happens. Wise Mind synergizes the best of Emotion Mind and Reasonable Mind. It’s the ability to balance emotional intuition with rational thought. Wise Mind helps you pause, check in with yourself, and make decisions that align with your feelings and the facts of the situation.

Example: You accept the sting of your friend’s text (“I am really sad that she wants space”) and acknowledge the circumstances outside your control (“Maybe she’s dealing with something difficult that she is not ready to talk to me about”). You pause for long enough to determine the best next steps. You may decide to respond to your friend’s text by saying, “I’m sorry you’re feeling overwhelmed. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to support you. I will check back in with you next month.”

Why Is Wise Mind Important for Highly Sensitive People?

Have you ever reacted to a situation in a way that felt justified at the moment, only to look back later, embarrassed, and think, “Whoa, maybe I read too much into that”? How about fixating on a small mistake you made until you’re completely overwhelmed and irritable, only to realize later that nobody else even noticed the error?

Conversely, have you responded to difficult circumstances by suppressing your emotions? For example, you find yourself beginning to worry about a mistake you’ve made, so you quickly distract yourself from the thoughts with food, drugs, exercise, work, video games, and/or social media. Or maybe you’ve developed such a strong ability to detach from your emotions that you find yourself disconnected from yourself and others?

As an HSP therapist (and a highly sensitive person myself), I can assure you that these experiences are quite common for sensitive people.

Wise Mind is one of the foundational skills of DBT, which is an evidence-based treatment that can help HSPs navigate the moments when pure emotions or overly logical thinking would otherwise take over. When we access Wise Mind, we tap into an intuitive part of ourselves underneath the emotional noise and analytical mind chatter, which allows us to set boundaries and engage in valued action.

How to Access Wise Mind

In order to become automatically skillful in accessing Wise Mind, you need to practice. First, start trying to tap into this mind state when you are feeling regulated. In a context with very wild activation, ask yourself, What would my Wise Mind say?

With practice, you will develop a better sense of what it feels like to be in Emotion Mind, Reasonable Mind, and Wise Mind. This preparation will set you up for success. You will be better able to access Wise Mind during heightened emotional experiences.

1. Pause and notice.

When emotions feel intense, the first step is to pause and check in with yourself.

• Ask: What am I feeling right now? Label the emotions (e.g., sadness, anger, guilt, or anxiety).
• Notice the accompanying physical sensations (e.g., tightness in your chest, racing thoughts, or a lump in your throat).
• Identify any urges you are feeling (e.g., to lash out, shut down, or avoid the situation).

2. Name the facts.

Next, separate the facts of the situation from the story your emotions might be telling you. This helps ground you in reality while still honoring your feelings.

• Facts: Your friend canceled dinner plans. You’ve been friends with her for eight years. She hasn’t canceled on you in the past.
• Feelings: Angry. Disappointed. Sad. Lonely.
• Wise Mind Integration: I’m disappointed because I was looking forward to seeing her, but I don’t know what she’s dealing with on her end. I’m going to send a check-in text to make sure everything’s okay.

3. Breathe.

The simplest way to access Wise Mind is through your breath. When you are in Emotion Mind, your body tenses, and your thoughts race. When you are in Rational Mind, your emotions get relegated to the dustbin. Deep, intentional breathing will help bring you to the present moment so that you can observe your thoughts, feelings, and physical sensations.

Try this: Inhale for four counts, hold for four counts, exhale for six counts. Repeat three to five times.

As you breathe, ask yourself:

• What mind state am I in?
• What does my Wise Mind know to be true in this moment?
• What matters most to me in this situation?

How I Found My Wise Mind

Let’s revisit the story I shared at the beginning of this article about my daughter. I had only bent her pinky a bit while putting on her pajamas, but she was crying, and suddenly so was I, awash in pure panic. My Emotion Mind had completely taken over: I hurt Zoe! This will damage our bond! I’m the worst mother alive!

Only when my wife walked in did I recognize how blindly I’d been arrested by my Emotion Mind. Yes, even as an HSP therapist, my emotions can get the best of me. I paused, took some calming breaths, and tried to articulate the facts:

• Fact: Zoe cried for about a minute.
• Fact: She was not injured in any way and did not require additional care.
• Fact: I have been a mom for less than three months—this is a new experience for me.
• Fact: I love my daughter with my whole heart.

Those facts provided the rational perspective I had lacked when in the whirlwind of Emotion Mind; however, naming those facts helped to tip the scales back towards equilibrium.

I accessed the comforting clarity of Wise Mind, and in that state was able to remember self-compassion: I am a human. Mistakes happen. Zoe is okay, and I’m learning every day. I’m doing the best I can. From this position, I could soothe Zoe and myself and move forward, free from the shame spiral.

—

Wise Mind allows sensitive people to navigate their mental experiences with clarity and self-understanding. With practice, anyone can access Wise Mind, which encourages the healthy coexistence of both their emotional depths and rational thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Struggle with Bad Habits Is Real

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Discovering A New Approach: Acceptance

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

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

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

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

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

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

Practical Steps for Accepting Bad Habits

1. Create space for observation.

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

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

2. Change the narrative around your habits.

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

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

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

3. Reframe ‘bad habits’ as signals.

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

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

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

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

4. Replace, don’t just eliminate.

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

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

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

5. Treat yourself with kindness.

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

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

Moving Toward a New Relationship with Your Habits

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

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

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

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

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

About Nury

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

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