The worst feeling is when you realize that the thing other people have been telling you for years, the thing you dismissed out of hand, didn’t want to be true, didn’t think could possibly be true… is true.
Browse by Month
He storms out. It’s the worst thing I could have said. I’ll think about that a lot later — how sometimes the truth is the worst possible thing you can say. And how if the truth is the worst possible thing you can say, that’s a sign that it needs to end.
I’m forever amazed by how we never know how bad something is until it’s over. Not until the worst of it has passed and we’re safe do we feel the pain of the experiences we’re merely surviving.
I don’t know what to make of any of it. I want to appreciate it, but I don’t want to be entitled to it.
The sneaky thing about burnout is that fun things can lead to it. Not just work-work.
There’s no getting around it. One of the most sabotaging things you can do is not set boundaries with other people. It can be extremely damaging to your life and happiness if you regularly say yes to other people when you really want to say no.
I’ve been sitting here, the morning after an amazing date, trying to figure out why it hit me so hard. Why it was one for the books.
“I know keeping score is toxic for relationships. Those cycles can be so damaging and destructive to emotional connection. I get that. I don’t want to be a bean counter. I really don’t. It’s just behavior feels like the fast track to getting taken advantage of.”
In mindfulness work, they talk a lot about how emotions are visitors. They come and they go. And no matter how intense the feeling is, it eventually lifts.
I love doing my own thing and having my sweet little life to savor.
I have a giant soft spot for anyone who can honor both the size of the challenge and the scope of my strength.
We don’t do a good job celebrating a calm heart or a calm life. But now that I’ve experienced both, I can honestly tell you that there’s nothing I enjoy more.
It has been oddly vulnerable writing what’s essentially a rough draft of a book in public with an audience. I’ve loved hearing from you about the story as I go. Here’s what it’s been like writing for Kindle Vella.
“We get it,” my mother grumbles. “He’s perfect.”
“Well, I’m happy for you,” my grandmother says.
I’m never quite sure whether to feel loved or profoundly misunderstood by this tendency of other people to talk me into getting nicer things for myself.
People who know me well consistently point to things I do and say, “Yes, that’s you being hyperindependent again. It’s the hyperindependence of the traumatized again.” The idea is that when bad things have happened to you, the way you avoid learning helplessness is to be become very self-sufficient. You become strong. Take care of yourself.
I’m enjoying the simplicity and reconnecting with myself. Maybe it’s confusing to other people, but it’s not confusing to me. At all.
It happens then, on a random day long into the future, years after we first spoke of it. You do the thing I asked you to do. The one you said you could never do.
I know it didn’t feel like enough to you. But it was everything to me. Thank you.
“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”
My biggest problem isn’t that other people aren’t judging my for my timeline — I am.
You say you care. You do. Say I’m the center of your universe. But your actions paint a different picture.
I have this other mode. One that goes, “I might get my heart broken, but this is worth the risk.” It doesn’t happen very often at all. Has only happened a couple of times in my life. But when that happens, I get really calm.