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“If you love yourself, it doesn’t matter if other people like you because you don’t need their approval to feel good about yourself.” ~Lori Deschene For most of my life, I worried about what others thought. Every move I made felt like a performance for someone else. I’d built my life on their approval. Then came the losses. Three family members were gone in a matter of years. Each time, the grief hit like a fist to the gut. My mother was my pillar of strength; my father, who might not have always been there for me but was still my father, went next, and then my younger brother—a cruel fate. Their absence left a void that seemed impossible to fill. I felt hollow, like someone had punched all the air out of me. I was left winded and empty. Grief, relentless and heavy, kept knocking me down. I tried to keep up appearances, but inside, I was stuck. Couldn’t move. I didn’t know how. I remember one day after my younger brother died, I sat alone in the garden. The sun was out, but I felt nothing. It was close to Easter, and I had a list of commitments. Things I’d agreed to, people I had to see. Each one felt like a chain around my neck. I stared at my phone, anxious and tired. ‘’Where are you?” the message read. My hands were shaking. That’s when I put it down. It was a moment of liberation. I realized I didn’t want to do this anymore. I didn’t want to worry about what everyone else wanted. It was time to let go. And in that release, I found a new sense of freedom and hope. I picked up my phone again and texted, “Sorry, I will not make it today.” And I hit send. One message turned into two, then three. “I’m sorry, I won’t be coming.” The words felt strange, as if I were speaking them for the first time. One small act, one message, was enough to break the chains. For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe. The tightness in my chest eased. It was a turning point in my journey to self-acceptance. I didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of reclaiming my life. Just a few words and the weight started to lift. Grief Changes Everything Grief stripped away everything I thought mattered. The “should” and “have to” layers fell away like dead skin. I was left with nothing but raw, aching truth. I saw my life clearly for the first time. It was built on everyone else’s expectations. There was no space left for me. That was the most challenging part to accept. I had spent so long trying to be what everyone else wanted. And now I didn’t know who I was. But the losses kept coming, pushing me deeper into emptiness. Each time, it took something from me. And each time, I was forced to look harder at myself. I began to see a pattern. I was living for others, not for myself. It was a painful truth, but grief can uncover what’s hidden. The Realization One day, I stood in front of the mirror. The reflection, looking back, was a stranger. My face, my clothes, how I stood—it was all for someone else. That was the moment when I decided I needed to change. I didn’t want to live like this. I needed to stop. I didn’t need the approval of others. I didn’t need to be perfect for anyone but myself. It was time to break free. It wasn’t easy. The habit of pleasing others ran deep. But I started with small steps. Steps Toward Freedom First, I listened to my thoughts. When I found myself worrying about someone’s opinion, I stopped. “Is this helping me?” I’d ask. The answer was almost always no! So I let the thought go. It was redemptive. Slowly, the worrying and sleepless nights of being a people-pleaser lessened. Next, I set boundaries. The most challenging boundary was with me. I had to stop pushing past my limits, physically, emotionally, or mentally. I began saying no. I stopped feeling guilty for choosing myself. Setting boundaries was empowering and made me feel more in control of my life. It was a declaration of my needs and desires, a step toward asserting my worth. I distanced myself from people who drained me and people who made me question myself. It was a gradual process. I started by reducing the time I spent with them, and eventually, I found the courage to communicate my need for space. I started creating space, which allowed me to breathe and focus on my well-being. Slowly, I started doing what felt good: walking in the rain instead of counting steps; I just walked for pleasure. I stopped trying to please everyone; instead, I pleased myself. This focus on my desires and needs was an essential aspect of my journey to self-acceptance and self-love. I stopped playing host because others required it. The first Christmas after my younger brother passed away, I took a vacation with just my children, starting a tradition that centered on what worked for me. Now I only host when it feels right on my terms. I also stopped being the one to reach out constantly to family or friends. I realized I didn’t have to check in or hold relationships together single-handedly. Trusting that real friendships wouldn’t crumble without my constant effort was freeing. Each small action was a step closer to who I was. Each “no” brought me back to myself. It wasn’t a sudden transformation but a slow, steady shift. Healing Through Action There’s freedom in not needing anyone’s approval. I started to feel it in my bones. I began to laugh again. The weight lifted. I noticed the world again—the way the sky changes colors at dusk, the way the wind feels on my face. Life was

“Part of the ingenuity of any addictive drug is to fool you into believing that life without it won’t be as enjoyable” ~Alan Carr “I’m okay, thanks.” See that? I just turned down a Tony’s Chocolonely from our family advent calendar. I don’t care that it’s a white raspberry popping candy flavor I have never, ever tried before. I don’t care that I remember being a kid, opening chocolate coins from my stocking. I don’t care! Because this year, I’m going into the holiday month already sugar-free. And I am tentatively walking on air about it!! I’m forty-five, and it’s taken a lot of bingeing and secret eating, regret, and shame to get here. Shame when the kids accused each other of having stolen bits of their Easter eggs. (I kept my head down, unstacking the dishwasher.) Shame when I found a whole box of Green & Black’s bars in my husband’s office, because if he buys a treat, I won’t leave him any. Shame when I had my head in the fridge, scooping teaspoonfuls of Eton mess into my mouth last birthday, while everyone else was enjoying the barbecue in the garden. Shame because being forty-five and still being silly about kids’ treat food feels ridiculous. Trivial. But I bet I’m not alone. I bet I’m not the only middle-aged woman who has Googled “addictive personality,” “food,” and “overeating.” I bet I’m not the only person who has worked from home, kidding herself that she ‘needs’ a few tiles of 85% chocolate “for the energy boost.” I expect I’m not the only perimenopausal gal allowing disrupted sleep to turn her into a cookie monster. I know I’m not the only one who has quit alcohol only to fixate on sugar. So, if you’re struggling with sugar addiction right now, I feel your pain. I was obsessed too. But right now, it’s like a switch has flipped in my head, and doing holidays without sugar seems possible. What’s changed? I gifted myself some new beliefs. Let me share the little self-talk phrases I started to use in case you’re struggling with sugar too. Maybe you’re not ready for sugar-free holidays. I admit it’s kind of radical, and I’m not saying anyone else ‘should’ do it. But maybe you’re thinking of giving it up next year. Or you’re wondering if it’s possible to let go of some of your attachment to it. If so, here are twelve brand new phrases to say to yourself. 1. “Holidays are just days of my life.” I was always trying to allow sugar in my life because I wanted to eat it normally. But ‘normal’ never stayed that way for long. Every time there was a holiday—Valentine’s, Easter, summer, Halloween, Christmas—I’d start having loads of tiny ‘treats’ that added up to a ton of rubbish and a spiraling habit. From my first morning honey-laden cocoa until my last secret (what’s in the kids’ treat drawer? Broken Oreos!) self-reward for cleaning the kitchen after dinner, sugar would overrun my days like an invasion of ants. Eventually, I admitted my position was wishy-washy. I was trying to have my cake and not eat it. It was a relief to finally be decisive and make a clear code of conduct for myself around sugar, based on what I could realistically expect myself to handle. One way of behaving every day. Including holidays. 2. “I’m deciding what I think about this now.” The government pays subsidies to the sugar industry. It does international trade deals. We get advertised to, and so we get the message: “Buy more sugar.” But their health messaging is the opposite: “Individuals should make better decisions.” I realized I was asking a ton from my own free will to resist it, given how ‘everywhere’ it is. I wasn’t being fair to myself when I called myself a willpower weakling. The odds aren’t stacked in favor of resistance. It was time to stop trying to please society and listen to my own messages. 3. “This is just a commercial product.” When I looked at the shelves of shiny treats in the supermarket, I saw how clever the marketing is. Shiny wrappers. Expensive boxes. It reminded me of how cigarettes boxes suggest luxury—how misleading that now looks! Seasonal flavors keep us wanting ‘new’ experiences: “Look, Mum, this Ferrero Rocher is like a giant Christmas tree bauble. Can we get one?” I’ve spent my life believing these foods mean treats, fun, celebration, “I love you,” “Let’s relax and share something,” and “life is good.” But if you look past the wrappers, it’s just stuff. Chocolate is just brown stuff, like wax. Candy is just colored chewy stuff, like putty. It means nothing. 4. “‘Fun’ looks like freedom.” I imagined chocolate Brazils wrapped in newspaper instead of shiny purple foil. I visualized all the shops for miles around stacked with sweets, and I could see that they weren’t rare or special but in endless supply. And I stopped telling myself they were ‘fun.’ Sugar addiction is about as much fun as having a constant snotty head cold. It’s with you everywhere you go, ruining your concentration and making you feel ever so slightly physically gross. Sure, it’s less life-threatening than other addictions. But it’s misery-making, and that’s serious. 5. “Having more just makes you want more.” I dove into research on whether sugar is actually addictive. Short answer: It is. You get withdrawal, receptors in your brain become sensitized… All the markers are there. That’s why my urge to have a second treat is always even stronger than the idea to go get the first one! I had tried to normalize sugar many times. I had kept snacks stocked at home to stop them feeling off-limits. But they never lost their charm. Now I understood why eating more of it didn’t make me more blasé, as I’d hoped. 6. “I stop when I decide to stop.” I also read up on whether our bodies can actually send signals of

“Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves, even when we risk disappointing others.” ~Brené Brown On a recent day trip to the Yuba River with my daughter and two friends, unexpected tensions arose, offering me a chance to reflect on a lifelong pattern that has often complicated my relationships. It was a beautiful day, and I’d been looking forward to soaking up the sun and relaxing by the water—but my friend had a more adventurous day in mind. Though a footbridge led to a clear trail, she suggested we take a more difficult route over steep boulders. Despite my initial hesitation, I went along, wanting to be open to her plans. But as I navigated the rocks with weak knees and slippery Birkenstocks, I started to regret my choice. Each step required more balance and focus than I’d anticipated, and as I struggled to keep my footing, I worried about disappointing my friend if I suggested another path. I often find myself accommodating others at the expense of my own comfort—a pattern I’ve been working to untangle for years. Eventually, I did speak up, and as we turned back, I felt pleased reflecting on my growth in honoring my own needs, even though it felt vulnerable. However, just as we reached the stairs that would take us to the footbridge, my friend pivoted again. This time, she suggested wading across the river and scaling the rocky bank on the other side. The idea didn’t make sense to me, and I really didn’t want to take this route—but guilt crept in, knowing I’d already resisted one of her suggestions. Feeling that familiar tug of people-pleasing, I once again overrode my own preference. So, we waded across, balancing our backpacks and climbing over slippery rocks to reach the opposite bank—which was steep and hazardous. My daughter scrambled up the cliff-like bank with my friend’s help, but as I struggled to find my footing, I could see the anxiety in her eyes. In that moment, I realized I was pushing myself to do something that didn’t feel safe for either of us. What was I trying to prove? Why was I putting myself in this stressful situation when it would have been so much easier to just cross the footbridge? Ultimately, rather than risk the steep climb, my other friend and I decided to turn back. We waded across the river again and took the stairs to the footbridge I had wanted to follow all along. Reuniting with my daughter and our friend on the other side, we finally embarked on the trail. I felt a sense of satisfaction in once again recognizing my pattern of people-pleasing and choosing to change course. However, irritation soon followed—despite passing many perfectly nice spots, we continued hiking as our friend was determined to find a pristine, isolated area to swim. While I appreciated her vision for an adventurous day, I began to feel confined by it, realizing I was still prioritizing her desires over my own. We wound up stumbling upon a crowded nude beach—and while I have no judgment against nudity, the situation was uncomfortable for my teenage daughter. My friend tried to convince us to swim past the bathers to find a quieter place, but I knew this wasn’t right for my daughter. This time, I didn’t hesitate. It felt incredibly uncomfortable, but I firmly said no. I told my friends I wanted us all to enjoy ourselves at our own pace. So, I encouraged them to keep adventuring while my daughter and I turned back to where we’d started—a spot that had always felt perfectly fine for swimming. My friend seemed disappointed, and guilt once again crept in, but I felt grateful for my decision. How often do we let ourselves be swept up by others’ desires, ignoring our own? Years ago, I might have felt annoyed or even resentful that my day wasn’t unfolding as I’d imagined. I might have blamed my friend for being “pushy” and not listening. This time, however, I focused on observing my inner reactions rather than letting them take control. Each obstacle became an opportunity to examine my responses. I noticed again and again how easily I slip into accommodating others, even at the expense of my own comfort—a pattern rooted in a fear of losing connection. I felt no resentment toward my friend; I know she’s simply adventurous and eager to create memorable experiences. Alongside my love for her and trust in her good intentions, I’ve engaged in considerable shadow work. I recognize that judgment and blame are often projections, ways we avoid taking responsibility for our own feelings and needs. So, when that familiar pull to please others arose, instead of giving in to resentment or going along just to keep the peace, I practiced something different: listening to my inner voice and aligning my actions with what I truly wanted. It took three instances of going along before I finally gained clarity. While openness and flexibility are valuable traits, we must also be willing to risk disappointing others to honor our own needs. Far from weakening our connections, this kind of self-honoring fosters genuine relationships with ourselves and others. My daughter and I ended up having a relaxing time in our chosen spot while our friends enjoyed their adventure. When they returned, we all took a final swim together, diving into the cool water and drying off on the warm, sunbaked rocks. On the way home, we shared a fun conversation and even stopped at a roadside stand for some of the best key lime pie any of us had ever had. It turned out to be a wonderful day filled with connection after all. Reflecting on this experience highlights common patterns we often encounter: the tendency to please others, the fear of disappointing them, and the guilt that can arise when asserting our needs. My relationships and enjoyment of life have significantly improved as I’ve learned to

“Take a little time to be amazed by something you won’t enjoy unless you consciously choose to focus on it. See the things you can’t see when you’re rushing. Hear the things you can’t hear when you’re stressing.  Get so caught up in your senses that everything else seems to stop for a moment—because things don’t actually stop. So we have to be the ones who do it.” ~Lori Deschene As December unfolds, I’ve made a conscious choice that feels both liberating and true to myself: I’m celebrating a quiet Christmas at home with just my best friend. While my family lives far away, and tradition might dictate buying plane tickets and planning an elaborate holiday visit, I’m listening to a deeper wisdom this year—one that honors my personal growth, sense of balance, and need for peaceful reflection as we approach 2025. This decision wasn’t made lightly, but it feels right. Instead of navigating crowded airports, juggling the stress of travel logistics, and potentially diluting my focus on what truly matters to me, I’m creating space for an intentional end to 2024. It’s not about loving my family any less—it’s about loving myself enough to recognize what I truly need right now. Examining What Matters The path to this decision became clear when I started examining what truly matters to me right now.  While my family gatherings are always wonderful, they also come with different expectations and dynamics—competing priorities and well-meaning but sometimes overwhelming input about each other’s life choices. By staying home, I’m creating a sanctuary where I can remain deeply connected to my own inner compass as I prepare for the year ahead. My best friend shares this vision of a peaceful holiday. Like me, his family also lives far away, so we’ve embraced the opportunity to enjoy each other’s company this holiday season, celebrating our friendship and shared values. Together, we’re planning simple but meaningful celebrations that focus on joy, rest, and genuine connection. Our plans include a holiday movie marathon at home, filled with plenty of festive classics and rom-coms.  We’re also trying out new recipes and baking to our hearts’ content, transforming the kitchen into a festive hub of delicious treats. There’s something powerful about choosing to celebrate differently—about saying yes to what feels authentic rather than what’s expected. I’m fortunate that my family demonstrates a beautiful kind of understanding, though it didn’t come without a touch of disappointment at first. When I shared my holiday plans, I could sense their initial sadness at us not being together. But that feeling quickly morphed into compassion and love as they recognized how important this choice was for me. Their response reflected the very love and support that make our relationship special. They get it—they understand that sometimes taking care of yourself means making choices that look different from the traditional script. This conversation helped me embrace my decision even more deeply. It reminded me that love and connection don’t depend on proximity or performance but thrive when we trust each other to honor what we need.  New Possibilities and Intentional Celebration This simplified holiday season is already opening up new possibilities. Without the usual rush of travel preparations and extensive gift shopping, I’m finding time to reflect deeply on my goals and aspirations. My best friend and I are looking forward to savoring time together. What feels especially refreshing is the quiet spaciousness of this season. It’s not just about what we’re doing—it’s about what we’re not doing. There’s no rushing, no overextending, and no pressure to meet anyone’s expectations but our own. What makes this setup truly special is how we’re blending celebration with intention. From Christmas through New Year’s Day, we’re creating a space for reflection and renewal. This isn’t just about savoring the holidays; it’s about entering the new year with a clearer sense of what matters most. Whether we’re brainstorming dreams for the future or simply enjoying the aroma of freshly baked cookies, this intentionality feels like the perfect way to honor the spirit of the season. It’s a reminder that peace and joy aren’t things we find—they’re things we create. Choosing to forgo the usual holiday hustle has also given me an unexpected gift: the freedom to focus on what truly fills me up. Instead of stretching myself thin trying to do it all, I’m finding joy in the simple pleasures—a heartfelt conversation, a home-cooked meal, and the sense of ease that comes with slowing down. It’s remarkable how small shifts can create waves of change in so many areas of life. This choice has reminded me that less truly can be more. Creating Your Own Meaningful Holiday For anyone considering a similar choice, here’s what I’ve learned about creating a meaningful holiday season on your own terms. 1. Trust your instincts about what you need. Sometimes the greatest gift you can give yourself is permission to break from tradition when it serves your well-being. 2. Simplify your celebrations. A meaningful holiday doesn’t require elaborate plans or expensive gatherings. Often, it’s the quieter moments that bring the most joy. 3. Set loving boundaries. If family members express hurt or disappointment through guilt trips or emotional pressure, remember that their reaction often comes from a place of love. You can validate their feelings while still honoring your decision, using phrases like “I know this is different from our usual tradition, and I understand why that’s hard,” followed by a clear, kind explanation of your choice. Consider suggesting specific ways to make the holiday special despite the distance, perhaps by having a virtual gift-opening session or planning a dedicated family celebration for another time. This shows your family that you’re still committed to maintaining meaningful connections with them. 4. Embrace creativity. Whether it’s trying out a new tradition, experimenting with a recipe, or simply finding new ways to connect, creativity can infuse the holidays with fresh meaning. 5. Prioritize rest and reflection. The holidays can be an emotionally charged time, so give yourself space

“The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle.” ~Steve Jobs In 2017, I stood at a crossroads. Armed with a law degree but burdened by uncertainty, I faced a future that felt both daunting and uninspiring. The path I had chosen—the one society had essentially prescribed for me—suddenly seemed hollow because the path did not align well with my values and a vision of fulfilling life. I knew I needed a change, but the prospect of starting over terrified me. Today, I wake up every morning filled with purpose and excitement. I’m a passionate educator, inspiring students and shaping futures. The transformation from confused law graduate to fulfilled teacher didn’t happen overnight, but it did occur in just one year. Here’s how I navigated this life-changing career transition, and how you can make a change too, regardless of your starting point or destination. The first step was reframing my mindset. Instead of viewing my career change as a risky leap into the unknown, I decided to treat it as a year-long experiment in self-discovery. This shift allowed me to approach each day with curiosity rather than fear. I set a simple goal: learn something new about myself or a potential career path every single day. Some days, this meant reading articles about different professions. Other days, I attended networking events or conducted informational interviews. The key was consistency. I committed to doing something every day, no matter how small. One of the biggest hurdles I faced was the weight of others’ expectations. Friends, family, and even strangers had opinions about my choice to leave law behind. “But you worked so hard for that degree!” they’d say, or “Lawyers make such good money; why would you give that up?” I had to learn to silence these voices—not just externally but internally too. I realized I had internalized many of society’s expectations about success and prestige. Letting go of these allowed me to truly listen to my own desires and intuitions. Each evening, I spent fifteen minutes journaling about my experiences and feelings. This simple practice became a powerful tool for self-discovery. I asked myself questions like: What energized me today? What drained me? What am I curious to learn more about? What fears or doubts came up, and where did they come from? I also began noting moments of gratitude, no matter how small—like a kind word from a friend or the warmth of the evening breeze. These reflections not only helped me understand my emotions but also shifted my focus toward growth and possibilities. Over time, patterns emerged. I noticed how my energy soared when I helped others understand complex topics and how I lit up when discussing ideas rather than legal statutes. Leaving the familiar world of law behind was uncomfortable. There were days filled with doubt and anxiety. But I learned to lean into this discomfort, recognizing it as a sign of growth. I started small, challenging myself to do one thing outside my comfort zone each week. Sometimes this meant attending a meetup group alone; other times it was reaching out to a stranger for career advice. Each small step built my confidence and resilience. The pivotal moment came when I volunteered to teach a weekend workshop on basic legal concepts for high school students. Standing in front of that classroom, watching eyes light up with understanding, I felt a spark I’d never experienced in law. This experience led me to seek out more teaching opportunities. I tutored, led study groups, and eventually secured a position as a teaching assistant at a local community college. With each experience, my passion for education grew stronger. My year of self-discovery wasn’t just about passive reflection. It was an active cycle of learning and doing. I’d learn about a potential career path, then find a way to experience it firsthand. This hands-on approach accelerated my growth and helped me quickly identify what resonated with me. Looking back, I realize that the most crucial factor in my successful career transition wasn’t innate talent or lucky breaks. It was consistency. By committing to daily action and reflection, I made steady progress even when I couldn’t see the end goal. This consistency put me ahead of 99% of people who dream of career changes but never take sustained action. It’s not about making huge leaps every day; it’s about small, consistent steps in the direction of your dreams. My path led me from law to education, but your journey might look entirely different. The beauty of self-discovery is that it’s uniquely yours. The “right” path isn’t always obvious or immediate, but by giving yourself permission to explore, you open the door to possibilities you might never have imagined. As you embark on your own journey of self-discovery, remember: 1. Reframe challenges as experiments and learning opportunities. Each hurdle is a step closer to understanding yourself and what you’re capable of. 2. Practice daily reflection to uncover your true desires and motivations… …perhaps using the questions I shared above to identify what energizes and drains you, what excites your curiosity, and what might be holding you back. Writing your thoughts consistently will create a map of your inner world. 3. Embrace discomfort as a sign of growth. The moments that feel challenging often signal transformation. Lean into them with trust and courage. 4. Seek out hands-on experiences in fields that interest you. Whether it’s through volunteering, interning, shadowing, or simply having conversations with people in those spaces, the exposure can illuminate paths you hadn’t considered. 5. Stay consistent, taking small actions every day. Progress doesn’t require giant leaps; steady steps compound into meaningful outcomes. 6. Be patient with yourself and the process. Meaningful change and self-discovery don’t happen overnight. Celebrate the small wins, and remember that setbacks are part of the journey. Lastly, cultivate gratitude and curiosity. These are the twin forces that fuel resilience and creativity, helping

Hi friend! Today, I’m excited to share with you an extraordinary upcoming event (from this month’s site sponsor) that could be a bucket list experience for many—the International Yoga Festival, taking place in Rishikesh from March 9th-15th next year. Situated in the foothills of the sacred Himalayas, Rishikesh is known as the Yoga Capital of the World and believed to be the birthplace of yoga—the place where the sage Patanjali wrote the yoga sutras over 2,000 years ago. The annual International Yoga Festival at Parmarth Niketan attracts thousands of participants from nearly 100 countries every year since it first launched decades ago. It’s an opportunity to connect with like-minded, conscious yogis and supercharge or kickstart a journey of personal transformation. In this 7-day immersion and celebration, you’ll experience every major style of yoga and learn from enlightened spiritual leaders, master yoga teachers, evolutionary thought leaders, and wellness specialists from around the world. I’ve always loved the word “namaste,” which we say at the end of our yoga practice, because it means “I bow to you,” or, as I was told years back, “The light in me honors the light in you.” I believe the world would be a much kinder, more loving place if we could all set the intention to ignite our inner light and learn to see and honor the light in each other. Though you don’t need to leave your city, or even your own home, to do this and experience the many benefits of yoga—including pain relief, heart health, stress reduction, and improved sleep—a shared experience in a beautiful spiritual haven can be truly life-changing. The festival will take place at Parmarth Niketan Ashram, the largest ashram in Rishikesh and one of the largest interfaith yoga institutions in India. Throughout your week there, you’ll have the opportunity to participate in over 70 hours of yoga classes in multiple styles, as well as spiritual and philosophical discourses by renowned masters, and you’ll also be able to enjoy cultural song and dance, ecstatic kirtan, and enlightened entertainment, with a schedule that you can fully customize to meet your needs. If you’re itching for adventure and eager to awaken and connect, I highly recommend you consider attending the International Yoga Festival this March. And if you do, I hope you’ll share some pictures with this mother of two young sons so I can live vicariously through you! You can learn more about the International Yoga Festival here. Be sure to use the promo code Holiday15 to get 15% off! About Lori Deschene Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha. She started the site after struggling with depression, bulimia, c-PTSD, and toxic shame so she could recycle her former pain into something useful and inspire others do the same. She recently created the Breaking Barriers to Self-Care eCourse to help people overcome internal blocks to meeting their needs—so they can feel their best, be their best, and live their best possible life. If you’re ready to start thriving instead of merely surviving, you can learn more and get instant access here. See a typo or inaccuracy? Please contact us so we can fix it! https://cdn.tinybuddha.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/image0.jpeg 2024-12-10 14:29:25

“When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment it grows in, not the flower.” ~Alexander Den Heijer I remember the girl I used to be. Light, full of life, and constantly in motion—like a little twirl of joy spinning through the house. There was this rhythm inside me, an effortless dance between curiosity and wonder. I’d tap dance through the kitchen, counting how many twirls I could do before I lost my balance. The world felt vast, endless, and open. I didn’t just see beauty in big, grand things. I found it in small moments and delicate objects, like that little glass bird on the sofa table, a tiny piece of my world that always felt so fragile, so full of wonder. As a child, I never doubted that there was more to life than what I could see. I had this deep connection to the world, to the beauty hidden within it. I would hold that bird in my hands while doing my chores, dusting around it with care. It was simple, transparent, nothing extraordinary, but in my eyes, it shimmered with significance. That lightness, that sense of awe, stayed with me for a long time. But somewhere along the way, things started to shift. By the time I was in my thirties, I had built a life that looked perfect on the outside. I worked hard to create it. I was meticulous, structured, dedicated. I followed the steps I thought I was supposed to: high-paying corporate job, beautiful house, two kids, vacations—the kind of life people admire. On Facebook, we looked like the ideal family, smiling on beaches, posting about our Florida trips, standing in front of our towering house with that sparkling SUV in the driveway. But beneath the surface, I was crumbling. The lightness, the sense of wonder that had once danced so freely within me, was gone. I had replaced it with structure, control, and a constant need to keep everything in check. I would lie awake at night, my mind spinning with numbers, running the calculations over and over. The debt we had accumulated was crushing, and every bonus I earned was already spent before it even hit the account. I would total up the bills in my head, again and again, hoping that if I recalculated just one more time, the numbers would somehow change, the debt would somehow shrink, but it never did. I was suffocating under the weight of it all. On the outside, I kept up the facade. I went to work, managed my family, kept the smile in place. But behind closed doors, I was breaking. I’d cry in the shower so no one could hear me. I’d cry in the car, on my way to work, during moments where I was supposed to be “on,” a career woman with it all together. And then at night, after my husband and kids had fallen asleep, I’d lie in bed, silently crying into my pillow, overwhelmed by the crushing realization that despite everything I had built, I was miserable. There was a day, driving to work early one morning, when I saw the sun just beginning to rise. The sky was that deep, almost-black shade of pre-dawn, and then, there it was—the light. The same light I had seen thousands of times before, but this time, it hit me differently. I remember thinking, At least one day I’ll die. At least one day, I won’t have to feel like this anymore. The idea of my mortality didn’t scare me—it brought me comfort. The idea that this pain, this life that felt like a trap, wouldn’t last forever… it felt like relief. In that moment, a quiet truth began to take shape: something had to change. I couldn’t keep living this way, reaching for comfort in places that only deepened my pain. Somewhere, I had lost myself, drifting in an unhappy, unstable marriage, bound by a fear of judgment, a lack of self-worth, and the overwhelming weight of needing to please everyone but myself. The thought of leaving felt paralyzing, so I searched for solace anywhere I could find it. In moments of darkness, thoughts of my own mortality, and even fleeting thoughts about my husband’s, seemed to offer a strange sense of release. But I knew these weren’t answers—they were signals of how lost and trapped I had become, craving a way to ease the suffering but not knowing how. The truth was, it wasn’t freedom from my life I needed; it was freedom from the suffering within it. What I wanted wasn’t an escape but to find my light again, that part of me that once danced through life, open and filled with joy. She was still there, buried beneath years of silence and strain, waiting to be rediscovered. I knew that if I didn’t make a change, I risked losing her—losing myself—forever. And so, that realization became a turning point, a call to rise from within and seek out the light I thought I had lost. It took years—therapy, coaching calls, long coffee dates with friends, journaling, crying, and rediscovering who I am—but slowly, I started peeling back the layers. The walls I had built around my heart, the ones I thought were protecting me, were actually suffocating me. Piece by piece, I took them down, and with every wall that crumbled, more light began to shine through. Then, I met my now-husband. He wasn’t part of the plan. I had been so focused on fixing myself, on healing, that I didn’t expect to find someone who would see me, truly see me, in the midst of it all. But there he was, with love and patience, willing to walk alongside me on this journey. And with him, I learned to let even more light in. But life wasn’t done testing me. After all the healing, all the rebuilding, I lost my dad. His death was like another wall coming down, not in the way the