But here’s something we sometimes forget: The strong people in your life need support, too.

And if you’re the strong one, this applies to you: You need—and deserve—support, too.

Being “the rock” can be wonderful. Strength, resilience, dependability, and the ability to remain grounded during difficult circumstances are valuable traits. But being the person everyone relies on can also come with a unique kind of loneliness and exhaustion that others rarely see.

Misconceptions About Strong People

Strong people are sometimes misunderstood precisely because they handle difficult situations well. When someone appears capable and resilient, others may make assumptions about what must—or must not—be happening underneath the surface.

“Rocks” may hear things like:

• “You’ve always been strong.”

• “You’ve had an easier life than I have.”

• “Things just don’t bother you like they bother me.”

• “You seem almost inhuman. Don’t you have feelings?”

• “You don’t understand because you haven’t struggled the way I have.”

• “Must be nice to have it all together.”

These comments can be surprisingly painful and isolating because they confuse resilience with an absence of struggle. Strength isn’t evidence that someone has had an easier life. In fact, sometimes the opposite is true: Many strong people became strong because life required them to. They may have faced difficult circumstances early in life or endured experiences that repeatedly required them to adapt, persevere, solve problems, manage intense emotions, and keep moving forward.

What looks effortless from the outside may actually represent years of hard-earned resilience.

The person who remains calm during a crisis may still feel afraid. The person who keeps functioning may still be hurting. The person who supports everyone else may sometimes desperately need someone to support them. Strong people aren’t necessarily experiencing less. They may have simply learned how to carry more.

Characteristics of “Rocks”

Strong people often:

• Become the person others rely on;

• Put others’ needs ahead of their own;

• Naturally take leadership roles within their families, friendships, or workplaces;

• Remain relatively calm and capable during stressful situations;

• Keep perspective when emotions are running high; they feel the emotions but don’t let them take over or guide their decisions;

• Process their most vulnerable emotions privately or with one or two deeply trusted people;

• Have difficulty asking for help, even when they need it;

• Dislike being pitied and often prefer encouragement, understanding, or practical support;

• Keep functioning even when they are hurting.

They aren’t emotionless. In fact, they may feel things very deeply. They’ve simply learned how to carry difficult emotions without allowing them to completely take over.

How Did They Become “The Strong One”?

Sometimes strength is a part of a person’s natural temperament. But often, it was also developed through experience. Some strong people learned very early in life that other people needed them or that they couldn’t count on others. Perhaps a parent leaned on them emotionally or practically, causing them to take on responsibilities beyond their age—a dynamic referred to as parentification.

Maybe a sibling was sick, struggling, or required more of the family’s attention, so they learned to be independent and not create additional problems. Or maybe they had to care for younger siblings themselves. They may have been the oldest child, although this certainly isn’t always the case. Often oldest siblings, especially in larger families, take on more responsibilities in caring for their younger siblings.

They may have grown up hearing messages such as:

“You have to be strong.”
“Don’t let your emotions get the best of you.”
“I need you to help me.”
“You’re the responsible one.”

Eventually, strength can become more than something they exhibit—it becomes part of their identity.

The Unique Challenges of Being Strong

Being capable doesn’t mean being unaffected. In fact, being the person everyone relies on can be incredibly lonely. It can feel one-sided, like they’re caring for everyone, but no one checks on them.

Strong people may experience deep exhaustion from constantly holding things together—not only for themselves, but for everyone around them. They experience fear, sadness, disappointment, insecurity, and overwhelm just like anyone else. The difference is that fear often isn’t allowed to take the wheel. They have learned how to manage their emotions, maintain perspective, and continue functioning in the middle of difficult circumstances.

Strong people may hear:

“You’re my rock.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Thanks for always being there for me.”
“You’re so strong.”
“Don’t you ever struggle?”

Those words can feel meaningful—and heavy.

Because sometimes the person who is everyone’s rock quietly wonders:

“Who is strong for me? Why do people always assume I’m fine, even in stressful times? Why do people in my life show up for others, but not me?”

Why Vulnerability Can Be Difficult

For someone who has spent years being capable and dependable, vulnerability can feel uncomfortable. They may not know how to let someone else take care of them. They may worry that if they fall apart, everything else will fall apart too.

And sometimes their past experiences have reinforced the belief that vulnerability isn’t particularly helpful. If opening up has resulted in pity, overreaction, unwanted advice, judgment, or someone making their struggle about themselves, they may decide it’s easier to handle things privately.

“Rocks” don’t need someone to rescue them. They need someone who can simply communicate: “You don’t have to be strong with me.”

How to Support the “Rock” in Your Life

Check on them, too.
Especially when you know they’re going through something difficult. Don’t assume they’re okay simply because they’re functioning well.

Ask twice.
If they automatically say, “I’m fine,” gently try again: “No, really. How are you doing with everything you’re carrying right now?”

Don’t wait for them to ask for help.
Strong people are often much better at giving help than requesting it. Bring dinner. Take something off their plate. Most importantly, do something thoughtful without requiring them to first admit they’re overwhelmed.

Don’t make their vulnerability a big deal.
If they cry, struggle, or finally admit they’re exhausted, don’t act shocked. Let them know that seeing their vulnerability doesn’t change how you see them. Normalize their reactions.

Don’t push too hard.
Respect their boundaries. Offer a listening ear and make it clear you’re available—but allow them to decide when they’re ready to talk. If you push too hard, your rock may withdraw even more, or feel suspicious.

Give them opportunities to rest.
Take something off their plate. Give them permission to stop doing and simply be for a while. Because the rock often pushes past the point of exhaustion, sickness or deep exhaustion may be the only time they rest.

Acknowledge what they carry.
Sometimes one of the most meaningful things you can say is: “I see how much you do for everyone else. I want you to know you don’t have to carry everything alone.” If they start opening up, remain focused and supportive. Recognize that opening up is a big deal. Show them that they’re safe with you even if they don’t have it all together.

Show your own vulnerability—and your own strength.
Strong people often feel safest opening up to people who can be emotionally honest and strong themselves. Mutual vulnerability can make the relationship feel less one-sided. But a strong person also needs to know that you’re strong enough to show up for yourself in difficult times, and they need to know you can handle their stress and not get more overwhelmed than they are. Otherwise, you become another person they feel they need to support.

Don’t overemphasize their strength.
It’s great to acknowledge and appreciate someone’s strength, but be careful not to make it the quality you praise most. If someone has learned that being “strong” means staying composed, handling everything on their own, or not showing vulnerability, repeatedly praising their strength can unintentionally reinforce the idea that they need to be strong to be valued.

Give them time, and don’t take their quietness personally.
When the strong person in your life is going through something difficult, they may become quieter or more withdrawn. It can be tempting to take that personally—to wonder if they’re shutting you out, upset with you, or simply don’t need your support. Strong people often get through the initial parts of a crisis quite well. Sometimes, they might not be aware of their feelings until the crisis has subsided a bit and they feel they can let go a bit.

But strong people often need time to process. Their first instinct may be to handle what needs to be handled, stay composed, and get through the immediate situation. The feelings may come later. And it may take even more time before they’re ready to put those feelings into words and share them with someone else.

The better you understand the “rock” in your life, the easier it becomes to recognize this pattern without assuming their withdrawal is intentional or meant to punish you. Give them some room to sort through what they’re carrying while gently reminding them that you’re there when they’re ready.

If their quietness immediately becomes about your hurt feelings, they may end up having to reassure or take care of you at the very moment they need support themselves. Over time, this can reinforce the belief that there isn’t room in the relationship for their feelings, their needs, or their vulnerability.

Strong People Need Strong Relationships, Too

Being strong is a wonderful quality. Resilience, leadership, emotional regulation, courage, and dependability are strengths worth celebrating. Tell the strong person in your life what you appreciate about them too, including the times they’ve supported you.

The goal isn’t to convince strong people to become less strong; it’s to remind them that strength and vulnerability can coexist. You can be resilient and still need comfort. You can be capable and still need help. You can be the person others depend on and still need someone to lean on.

And sometimes one of the greatest gifts you can give “the strong one” is a relationship where they finally know: I don’t always have to hold everything together.

Yours,
Jennifer

You Keep Replaying Old Trauma

Trauma has a way of taking over our minds and bodies. It pushes us into survival mode, where staying alert and protecting ourselves becomes the priority. At first, that’s completely normal. Our brains are designed to keep us safe.

The problem is that many of us stay in survival mode long after the danger has passed.

When that happens, we begin seeing threats everywhere. Healthy people don’t feel safe. New opportunities feel dangerous. We expect rejection before we give others a chance to accept and love us. We interpret neutral situations as negative because our nervous system has learned to assume the worst in an effort to prepare us. But it keeps us in fear, expecting the worst.

Fear convinces us that avoiding discomfort is the safest choice—but that avoidance only keeps us trapped.

While it’s good to recognize the roots of your fear (often rooted in old trauma), watch that you don’t keep using the beliefs from old trauma as your excuse to remain stuck. You deserve better, and with continued exposure to healthier stories and people, you’ll learn to expect that as your new normal.

You Need to Control Everything

Fear often shows up as control.

You overbook your schedule. You stay constantly busy. You micromanage every detail because slowing down might force you to sit with feelings you’d rather avoid. You struggle to adapt to changes in plans.

Busyness can become another form of escape.

Healing begins when we stop outrunning ourselves. Slow down and acknowledge your fears. Naming them aloud can help to tackle them. Then identify how you try to control things, people, or situations in order to avoid getting hurt. Work on letting go of control where it’s holding you back from taking healthy risks or getting closer to someone.

You Avoid Discomfort

Last week I was at a water park with everything from a kiddie pool to huge, enclosed, FAST water slides where you couldn’t even see when you’d hit the water.

Watching people navigate those rides was fascinating. Observing my own thoughts as I navigated the rides was also fascinating.

Some avoided the wave pool completely. Some adults wouldn’t even try the children’s slides.

Fear has a remarkable way of shrinking our lives.

I feel incredibly grateful that I had a parent who consistently pushed me outside my comfort zone. Sometimes it felt extreme, but it taught me something invaluable: every time you face fear, you weaken its grip.

Every time you avoid it, you strengthen it.

Avoidance teaches your brain that the world is dangerous. Courage teaches your brain that you’re capable.

Your World Keeps Getting Smaller

Fear loves small worlds.

You stop trying new things. You avoid unfamiliar people. You stick to routines that feel safe.

The COVID pandemic highlighted this for many people. Staying home became comfortable. Food was delivered. Relationships happened through screens. Eventually, leaving the house felt harder than staying inside.

I saw many clients whose anxiety increased exponentially because they stopped exposing themselves to everyday life.

The same thing happens with children. When anxiety becomes the reason they continually avoid school or activities, their anxiety doesn’t improve—it grows.

Avoidance always reinforces fear.

My partner was recently injured in a motorcycle accident. Once he determined the bike was mechanically safe, he rode it home.

Some people would call that reckless.

I see something different. The longer he avoided his motorcycle out of fear, the more likely it would be that he never returned to riding again—and what a loss that would be.

Sometimes getting back on the bike prevents fear from becoming your identity.

You Fall Back on the Excuse, “I’m Just an Introvert”

As an introvert myself, I understand how tempting it is to hide behind that label.

For years, I declined invitations to join a women’s running group. I convinced myself I wouldn’t fit in, that I wasn’t a good enough runner, and that everyone else belonged except me.

Those stories weren’t true.

Today, several of those women are close friends. We have a lot in common, and they help me grow.

For twenty years, fear disguised itself as “I’m just an introvert.”

If you’re always spending time with the same people, doing the same things, your comfort zone may be keeping you from growing. Start branching out by saying, “Yes!” to invitations, new people, new situations.

You’re Still Believing Old Lies

Fear often speaks in familiar sentences:

“I’ll never fit in.”

“People always leave.”

“I’ll fail, so why bother?”

“If I love someone and show the real me, they’ll reject me.”

Most of these beliefs weren’t born in adulthood. They began much earlier.

Children naturally assume that if they’re mistreated, they must be the problem. They don’t have the perspective to recognize that an adult’s harmful behavior reflects the adult—not them.

Without healing, those childhood conclusions become lifelong beliefs.

“I must be broken.”

“I’m not worthy.”

“I don’t deserve healthy love.”

Those lies shape every relationship, every opportunity, and every decision—until they’re challenged.

How Do I Choose Courage Over Fear??

Remember What You’ve Already Survived

Whenever I’m facing something frightening, I intentionally recall other difficult moments I’ve survived.

One experience stands out.

In my early thirties, I was completing my scuba certification in Utah. During one exercise, my oxygen hose became tangled as the instructor asked me to remove my mask. I couldn’t reach it.

My instinct was to panic.

Anyone who’s scuba-dived knows you can’t simply rush to the surface. I cried, choked, even vomited into my regulator—but I stayed underwater, finished the exercise, and earned my certification.

Years later, during an MRI for complications related to breast cancer, I remembered that moment.

Lying inside the machine, with my jaw painfully propped open, I reminded myself: I’ve been scared before. I’ve experienced bad physical pain before. I’ve gotten through much worse.

Some days, fear still wins for a moment. That’s human.

But confidence isn’t built by never feeling afraid. It’s built by repeatedly proving to yourself that fear doesn’t get the final say.

Acknowledge Your Fears Aloud, and Ask for Help

Fear grows in isolation.

One of the hardest moments during my cancer treatment wasn’t physical pain—it was feeling alone.

During my simulation appointment before radiation, the technician was cold and impersonal. She didn’t explain what was happening; in fact, she seemed impatient and frustrated with me. I was lying in a room full of intimidating machines, facing another unknown step in treatment, and I felt completely alone.

I cried.

Later, I realized it wasn’t just the procedure that overwhelmed me. It was the loneliness.

Thankfully, moving forward, my radiation team was entirely different. They greeted me warmly, offered heated blankets, explained every step, and treated me like a human being. I also met other women going through treatment, and suddenly I wasn’t carrying my fear alone.

Support doesn’t erase fear—but it makes fear manageable.

Like shame, fear loses power when it’s brought into the light.

Choose Courage When You Feel Afraid

When I was twenty-three, I enlisted to become a Navy officer after finishing my bachelor’s degree.

The reactions from people around me couldn’t have been more different.

Some immediately imagined worst-case scenarios. Others celebrated the adventure and opportunity.

Those reactions reflected two very different mindsets I grew up around.

One taught me the world was dangerous.

The other taught me to be courageous.

Throughout my life, courage has led me to move across the country, change careers at thirty-five, leave unhealthy relationships, learn to ride a motorcycle, scuba dive, skydive, and pursue experiences that stretched me.

But underneath all of those adventures, fear still existed.

The difference wasn’t that I lacked fear.

The difference was that I refused to let fear make my decisions.

Surround Yourself With Courageous People

Fear is contagious.

So is courage.

Recently, I heard someone say, “I chose to have the difficult conversation because I wanted to choose courage.”

That resonated deeply with me. I notice when I’m anxious about something and have learned to push myself to do it anyway.

For years, my internal dialogue has sounded something like this:

“Notice the fear. Feel it. Then do it anyway.”

That mindset has carried me through countless experiences—from navigating waves in deep water to jumping out of an airplane to facing cancer treatment.

I don’t admire people because they’re fearless.

I admire people who choose courage despite fear.

That’s the kind of life I want to keep building.

Because courage isn’t the absence of fear.

It’s refusing to let fear decide who you become.

Jennifer

As Father’s Day approaches, I find myself reflecting on the profound ways fathers shape our lives—for better or for worse. In counseling, so much attention is given to the influence of mothers, and for understandable reasons. But over the years, I’ve come to recognize just how deeply a father’s presence, absence, or emotional availability can impact a child’s sense of self.

One memory has stuck with me for nearly three decades: I was twenty-three years old and preparing for a road trip to San Diego with a friend. We had recently graduated from college, and her father had generously offered us his truck and camper so we could save money by camping.

The night before we left, my friend and I spent some time at her parents’ home. As we all settled in to watch a movie, my friend curled up beside her dad on the couch. He held her hand as they watched. There was nothing unusual about it to them—it was simply a father enjoying time with his daughter. He clearly adored her and wasn’t afraid to show it, even with me sitting near them on the couch.

At the time, I remember feeling strangely uncomfortable—not because there was anything wrong with what I witnessed, but because it was so foreign to me. I had never experienced that kind of tenderness from a father. I couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be cherished in that way. Even now, twenty-eight years later, I can picture that moment as clearly as if it happened yesterday.

Recently, my partner shared a story from his own childhood. Raised by a devoted single father, he remembers asking his dad one day, “Dad, does it bother you that your friend has all of those hot rods and toys, and you don’t?”

His father responded, “That guy goes home to an empty house. I get to come home to you kids.”

The story brought tears to my eyes.

What a beautiful expression of what truly matters. His father saw his children not as a burden, but as his greatest blessing and a compelling reason to hurry home from work. Imagine how it would feel to know that you’re so deeply loved. Have you experienced that kind of adoration from your own father?

When children know they are deeply loved, protected, and valued by their fathers, something foundational is built within them. They learn, often without words, “I matter. I am worthy of love. I am worth showing up for.”

These messages become part of their identity and worth as little humans, which sets a great standard for how they’ll learn to see themselves and how they’ll choose people in relationships.

When a father’s positive messages are absent, children often draw very different conclusions.

The heartbreaking reality is that children are not developmentally equipped to understand that a parent’s shortcomings belong to the parent. Instead, they tend to internalize the pain. They wonder if they weren’t lovable enough, important enough, or worthy enough to receive attention, affection, or protection. This can lead to a life-long quest for external validation and an assumption that they aren’t inherently worth showing up for.

As adults, we can recognize that a father’s emotional unavailability, absence, addiction, or harmful behavior says far more about his own wounds than it does about his child’s worth. But children can’t make that distinction. They often carry those hurts into adulthood, negatively affecting self-esteem, relationships, trust, and attachment.

I see this regularly in my counseling practice, and it’s something I’ve had to work on overcoming and not taking personally. When fathers have not dealt with their own father wounds, they unknowingly pass the wound down to the next generation. For example, if your father was raised by an abusive father, he learned early on that he wasn’t worthy of protection. If he hasn’t worked to resolve that wound, he could either show up similarly (abusively), or he could be so afraid of being abusive that he overcompensates and stays distant to avoid the temptation to get angry and abuse his own children.

Some daughters grow up questioning their worth and repeatedly find themselves drawn to emotionally unavailable partners. Some sons struggle to develop a secure sense of identity, emotional regulation, or confidence. Many adults continue to wrestle with feelings of abandonment, rejection, or inadequacy that trace back to unmet childhood needs and a false assumption that the negative treatment was because of their lack of worth.

Of course, every story is unique. Many people raised without an involved father become resilient, compassionate, and emotionally healthy adults. Likewise, simply living under the same roof is not enough. A father can be physically present but emotionally absent.

Presence is about more than proximity.

A father’s presence can be found in conversations, encouragement, affection, guidance, and consistent involvement. It’s found in the father who attends the games, listens to the stories, asks questions, offers comfort, and makes his child feel seen. It’s found in the father who makes it clear that he loves his daughters even if he secretly wanted sons, and the father who shows the world that his children are the apple of his eye, and he will stand between them and danger.

Research consistently shows that children benefit when fathers are actively engaged in their lives. Father involvement is associated with better emotional well-being, stronger academic outcomes, healthier relationships, and greater resilience throughout life.

Sadly, millions of children grow up without a father in the home, and many more grow up with fathers whose work demands, emotional struggles, or unresolved wounds limit their ability to be fully present.

This is not written to shame fathers. Many fathers are carrying enormous pressures and responsibilities. Some are working long hours to provide for their families. Others are navigating challenges they were never taught how to handle. Many are doing the best they can with what they were given. Rather, this is a reminder—a reminder to dads that your presence matters.

Your words matter.

Your attention matters.

The time you spend tossing a ball, attending a recital, listening to a teenage story, or simply sitting beside your child may feel ordinary to you. But to your child, these moments become part of the foundation upon which they build their understanding of themselves and the world. These moments help to encode a child’s worth right into their being.

Even if your “children” are middle-aged or older, it’s never too late to recognize the impact of your absence and start showing up. You may heal something that has been an intergenerational curse—and it could bring a new level of closeness to your relationship.

For those who had loving, present fathers, Father’s Day is often a celebration of gratitude.

For those who experienced absence, loss, neglect, or pain, Father’s Day can bring grief and longing.

Both experiences deserve acknowledgment.

For fathers currently raising children, the greatest gift isn’t perfection. It’s simply showing up—again and again—with love, consistency, humility, and presence.

Because long after children forget the details of what you bought them or where you took them, they will remember how it felt to be loved by you.

And that feeling can shape a lifetime.

I’d love to hear your own stories on this topic.

Yours truly,

Jennifer

Work hard. Stay busy. Help others. Be humble. Achieve my goals. Look put-together. Act strong.

These values surrounded me—in my family, my church, my Midwestern hometown, and the culture around me. My parents are in their seventies and still working. Rest wasn’t something I observed growing up. In fact, it was often viewed as lazy or indulgent.

Ironically, I still believe in many of those values. Hard work matters. Kindness matters. Helping others matters. Pursuing meaningful goals matters. But I’ve learned that even good values can become unhealthy when taken to extremes.

How much should we prioritize helping others if it comes at the expense of showing up for our own families? If we build a wildly successful business, what unseen costs are paid by the people closest to us? If we’re constantly selfless, at what point do we begin to resent the very people we’re trying to serve because our own needs are being neglected?

Trying to keep all those balls in the air is exhausting.

The problem is that hustle often gets rewarded. We receive praise, recognition, promotions, acceptance, and financial success. The external feedback reinforces the behavior, making it difficult to recognize when it has crossed the line from healthy motivation into obsession.

I’ve worked with many clients who know this pattern well. Often, they don’t even realize they’re trapped in it until burnout, illness, or a crisis forces them to stop.

The Hidden Cost of Looking Like You Have It All Together

People-pleasing, perfectionism, and relentless striving are tricky to identify because they often look successful from the outside.

The person who is exhausted may also be the person everyone admires. The one carrying too much may be praised for being dependable. The overachiever may seem like they have everything under control.

But beneath the surface often lies:

• Exhaustion

• Burnout

• Resentment

• Anxiety

• Chronic stress

• Physical illness

• Chronic pain

• Emotional overwhelm

• A profound lack of peace

Even when the to-do list is finally complete, peace remains elusive.

Why?

Because when you’ve learned to derive worth from productivity, slowing down can trigger guilt.

The inner dialogue begins:

“I should throw in a load of laundry.”

“I shouldn’t just sit here. What am I, lazy?”

“I’ll relax after I finish a few more things.”

And somehow, those “few more things” never end.

My Own Struggle with Striving

I’ve lived this pattern myself.

For years, I struggled to say no. I volunteered, took classes, took on extra commitments, and constantly looked for ways to give more. On the surface, it appeared generous and admirable.

Underneath, I was exhausted.

Worse, I often found myself resenting the very people I was trying to help.

That’s the trap of unhealthy self-sacrifice. We convince ourselves we’re doing the right thing while slowly draining ourselves dry. At some point, I realized I was chasing an impossible standard. I could meet everyone else’s needs and still feel like I wasn’t doing enough.

The result wasn’t good for me—and it certainly wasn’t good for my family.

I remember making homemade baby food when my daughter was an infant because I believed that was what a “good mom” should do. Looking back, I can see how much fear and perfectionism were driving those choices. I worried about being judged.

But looking back, I wish I’d asked myself: If someone judges me for buying store-bought baby food, do I really want that person in my inner circle? And did the positive goal of making nutritious baby food outweigh my stressed and tired presence as a mother? I have a feeling I was trying to do so much that I wasn’t as present as she needed me to be.

We’re all doing the best we can.

Cancer Changed My Perspective

Breast cancer became an unexpected wake-up call.

Every morning for four weeks, I’d wake up at 4:30am, work out, go to radiation treatments, and then head straight to my counseling office to see clients. Despite repeated warnings from my oncologist that radiation would cause significant fatigue, I was determined to power through.

I wanted to be the exception.

I wanted to stay positive. Encourage other patients. Keep my schedule. Maintain my commitments. Show everyone—and maybe myself—that cancer wasn’t going to slow me down. Looking back, I put an enormous amount of pressure on myself. When I inevitably began to struggle, the self-talk was harsh and unforgiving. Instead of extending compassion toward myself, I judged myself for not maintaining the impossible standard I had created.

When “Helping” Hurts

During that same period, I also volunteered with the Red Cross Disaster Mental Health Team. The work was meaningful and humbling. But it was one more thing on an already overflowing plate.

Sometimes we need permission to let things go.

Some people may not like your boundaries.

That’s okay.

The people who truly care about you will be relieved to see you protecting your energy and prioritizing your well-being. The people who become angry when you set healthy limits often reveal more about themselves than they do about you.

As Brené Brown famously said, “Choose discomfort over resentment.”

Boundaries may feel uncomfortable in the moment, but resentment is far more damaging in the long run.

Why Do We Keep Doing This?

Many of us can hustle for years—even decades.

I certainly did.

But eventually, we have to ask ourselves why.

When I looked honestly at my own behavior, I realized much of it was tied to a deeply ingrained belief that my worth was connected to what I accomplished.

I still value hard work. I always will.

But if all we do is work, strive, and achieve, we’re missing an essential part of life.

My grandfather often said, “Work hard, play hard.” The older I get, the more I appreciate the second half of that statement. But real play isn’t mindless scrolling, shopping, overworking, or numbing out. Those are forms of avoidance.

Real rest restores us. It helps us reconnect with ourselves, process emotions, and step off the hamster wheel long enough to remember what truly matters.

If You Identify with This Pattern

Here are a few places to start:

1. Learn to say no.

Remind yourself:

“I know I can do these things. I simply choose not to. My peace is worth protecting.”

2. Explore where these beliefs came from.

Maybe they were learned in your family, culture, church, workplace, or community. Understanding the origin of these messages helps loosen their grip.

3. Identify the underlying fear.

Many perfectionists and people-pleasers aren’t driven by achievement alone. They’re often driven by fears of rejection, abandonment, criticism, or not being enough.

4. Notice how your loved ones respond when you’re present versus productive.

Most people don’t remember how clean your house was. They remember how connected they felt to you.

5. Decide how you want to be remembered.

At this stage of my life, I don’t want to be remembered for how busy I was or how much I accomplished. I want to be remembered for how I made people feel.

6. Compare your calendar to your values.

Do your time commitments reflect what matters most to you?

Or do they reflect a long list of “shoulds”?

7. Replace shame with balance.

Working hard isn’t bad.

Pursuing goals isn’t bad.

Helping others isn’t bad.

The problem arises when those things become so out of balance that they cost us our health, our relationships, and our peace.

If you’re regularly experiencing burnout, resentment, or exhaustion, consider it an invitation. Not to do more. But to do differently.

Start small.

Take one thing off your plate.

Practice one boundary.

Give yourself permission to rest.

Your worth was never meant to be measured by your productivity.

In support of your peace,

Jennife

r

I want to discuss the term “emotional safety” and how it’s sometimes misused or misunderstood. Allow me to preface this article by saying that I am a teddy bear—someone who sees the best in others, even when others can’t. I find good in everyone, and I am in such a fitting career because I LOVE helping others feel seen, validated, and supported through hard times. I work hard with every single client (AND those in my personal life) to provide emotional safety. However, I see my job as a therapist as someone who also needs to provide loving challenges when necessary. Providing emotional safety is only half of the “secret sauce” that helps people grow; the other half is respectful challenging. Emotional safety without gentle challenging can cause personal growth to stagnate and even backslide, whether in counseling or in personal relationships. Not being open to being challenged makes us weaker and less resilient, and it prevents deepening of our relationships.

Emotional safety is defined as “a state of trust and security where individuals feel comfortable being vulnerable, authentic, and open, without fear of judgment, rejection, or ridicule.” Emotional safety is the foundation on which healthy and effective relationships are built, and loving challenge is a core element of a healthy relationship. Without being able to challenge each other, relationships don’t evolve and grow into something safe, because the absence of challenge means we can’t speak up when someone treats us unfairly, even if it’s unintentional.

Emotional safety does not equal agreement. Because of different lived experiences, you and I could see a topic quite differently. We could disagree. But if we have created emotional safety, we can let down our guards enough to consider each other’s point of view. Allowing ourselves to be respectfully challenged by someone with a different viewpoint helps us to gain a clearer understanding of the topic from different vantage points. When emotional safety is present, we feel less need to defend our positions because we know the other person values us. And when we trust someone enough to let them challenge us, it helps us to see our blind spots or perspectives we hadn’t considered. As a therapist, I could be of a different age, race, religion, sexual orientation, or life experience, and still be able to put myself in your shoes because you are a beautiful human being and I can easily find common ground.

Be careful not to create an inner circle where you’re surrounded by “yes people.” “Yes people” don’t challenge our thoughts, beliefs, or assumptions. They don’t speak up when we’re doing something wrong, when we’re being rude, or even when we’re getting in our own way. They make our lives comfortable, which can feel really nice and cozy—but do we really want people verbally agreeing with everything if they don’t actually agree? If someone disagrees with me, I’d prefer they speak up. And it’s ESPECIALLY important to challenge someone if their beliefs or behaviors are causing them suffering or self-sabotage, or if they’re mistreating others. Have you made it a point in your relationships to allow others to challenge you? And do you feel comfortable challenging others (respectfully) if a situation calls for it?

The Importance of Emotional Safety AND Challenge in Counseling

One of the biggest reasons for seeking counseling is personal growth. As humans, however, we have a huge barrier to personal growth: our ability to self-protect. Meaning: We have blind spots—all of us. True, accurate, objective self-reflection is tricky because we tend to screen out the parts of ourselves that are seen as undesirable and unacceptable (to ourselves and others). This leads to your classic blind spot. We all have them, including me. They’re not fun to discover, but WOW, can the discovery of a blind spot lead to incredible growth! Blind spots are typically the aspects of ourselves that people are afraid to point out because they don’t want to hurt our feelings. However, imagine how much a blind spot can prevent growth. We can’t fix something if we don’t know it exists! Note: If you’re really interested in working on blind spots, look up the Johari Window exercise. It’s a great tool for increasing awareness around blind spots, and you can invite feedback from others to make it even more eye-opening.

I also want to caution you against seeking a counselor who only agrees and validates, with no pointing out of potential blind spots or areas for potential growth. Sure, there is a lot of relationship-building in the beginning, but respectful challenges should be part of the process at some point. Here’s an example: If a client continued to choose abusive partners, I’d gently challenge him or her because their pattern is leading to continued suffering. Or, if a client regularly showed up 20-30 minutes late to sessions, it’s probably a theme showing up in their personal and work life as well. These are examples of topics I’d gently challenge a client about, because I CARE, and because I’m here to help my clients grow and have better lives. I’m often able to see you as the version of yourself that ISN’T held back by fear or continued dysfunctional patterns. Challenges and feedback are sometimes hard to hear, but I think it’s worse for a counselor to see something that’s getting in a client’s way and NOT share feedback, because we are then knowingly enabling behaviors that cause failure or heartache in clients’ lives. And because friends often feel uncomfortable challenging these things, who else is going to challenge you?

I Get Challenged Too!

Sometimes, my clients challenge me. It’s a good thing, because I, too, have blind spots! I was challenged recently because, ironically, I hadn’t challenged a client enough! That, too, made me reflect. Sometimes, life is just beating the shit out of my clients, and they are doing their best just to keep their heads above water. Sometimes, clients beat themselves up. In these cases, I want to ensure my client (or a friend) is doing well enough mentally to withstand a challenge. And sometimes, there’s just nothing obvious to challenge. But in general, I need to remain aware of helping clients to reach their goals, and that means remaining open to challenging them. Emotional safety is a given.

I am also challenged by the people in my inner circle. I have people in my life who know me well and will give me difficult feedback. I have invited feedback, because I don’t/can’t see myself the way others do, and I want to hear their perspective on how I’m handling things. And because most of the people in my life are growth-minded, we tend to talk about difficult topics and challenge each other when we’re getting in our own way. What a caring thing to do, honestly! I was recently challenged when I’d slipped into a pessimistic space regarding some physical ailments, to the point that I had lost perspective and my normally optimistic attitude. I needed to hear it, because I honestly couldn’t see it, and the feedback helped me to hear how I was coming across. I used this feedback to examine my overall attitude toward pain, and change how I was thinking. I also realized that I don’t want to be the person who’s always talking about my ailments!

I spent time with a friend of mine last week (also a therapist), and she and I sometimes see things differently, but her objectivity and ability to see two (or more) sides of an issue are so valuable. I love having people around me who can see multiple sides of an issue and can discuss it respectfully while listening to other views on it. These days, with things feeling so divisive, I wonder how often we intentionally spend time with people who are decent and respectful humans, but who see things a little differently than we do. It seems like social media portrays having a difference of opinion as abusive, or awful. But we can’t expect everyone to agree with us. We are all different.

To sum it up, I genuinely think we start craving comfort so much that we surround ourselves with people who agree with us on everything. Feeling emotionally safe is NOT interchangeable with constant agreement. We grow when we feel safe enough to consider others’ viewpoints, even if they’re considerably different from our own. We also grow when we feel safe enough to invite healthy challenges from people we trust, whether that’s counselors, friends, bosses, or partners.

My challenge for today: Ask someone you trust to give you loving, but genuine and honest feedback about where you might get in your own way!

Always,

Jennifer

“The strongest people find the courage and caring to help others, even if they are going through their own storm.” -Roy T. Bennett

In such a “connected” world, ironically, we often fail to connect with and comfort others in meaningful ways—with smiles, handshakes, hugs, or kind words. Oftentimes, we are literally walking through life with our heads down, staring at our phones, disconnected from the people and events around us.

Additionally, when we’re in a negative spot mentally, we tend to withdraw and avoid connection, closing our bodies off, which also prevents others from wanting to interact with us. It makes sense, and I am guilty of this at times myself. After all, sometimes, we just don’t have the reserves or fortitude to show up optimistically for others. However, when we are in a depressed mental state, this is when we really need others’ positive energy. Ironically, though, when we’re depressed, our body language shields us from the very connections that can help us. These connections remind us that we are not alone, and that most people are inherently good—which are huge benefits for a depressed soul.

Early in my counseling career, I worked with a teenager who was depressed and extremely shy, and he was sad that other students didn’t interact with him. After building trust (i.e., showing him that I was on his side), I helped him see that his body language was preventing people from approaching him. Even in my office, he often looked down, was hunched over and folded into himself, and wore “scary” clothing that said, “stay away.” As counselors, sometimes we do work called “in vivo” exposure therapy, which is helping clients confront feared situations in real time. In this situation, I had my client do some “in vivo” work at my office: I asked him to walk through my office building two different ways, noting how strangers responded to him: once doing his usual walk; and once making eye contact, smiling, and saying hi to people. It was eye-opening for him to see how people responded so positively to him making eye contact, smiling and saying hello. Throughout our work together, he learned that people were responding to his unapproachable ENERGY and closed-off body language; it wasn’t because he was unlikeable. When we’re depressed, we tend to filter out positive possibilities and assume the worst. Positive interactions help us counteract the traps of negative thinking.

Even I have been paying more attention to how I show up in public. While I’m generally a friendly and outgoing person, my type-A tendencies sometimes give me tunnel vision and therefore prevent connection. Here’s an example: for the longest time, when I worked out at the gym on weekday mornings, I’d be serious, efficient, and keep to myself. I’d wear headphones and move quickly through my workouts, intent on checking off my list of exercises so I could move on with my day. My partner, who is also my workout partner, is much more outgoing—he greets everyone he knows (and some he doesn’t!), and brings so much positive energy to the gym. Strangers approach him to ask for help, partly because he smiles, greets people, and has such welcoming energy. I have learned from him that it feels so good to bring that positive energy to others, so I’ve started doing it a lot more myself—not just in the gym, but in life. And as I’ve started being more intentional about spreading my own light, I’ve noticed how it affects others—which, in turn, brings that positivity and connection back to me. Do you see the pattern that begins to form here? In essence, you get what you give.

When was the last time you were on the receiving end of someone’s unexpected positive energy? It’s particularly moving when you’re struggling and someone’s positive energy impacts you. A few weeks ago, I was at the UCHealth Cancer Center, waiting on an oncology appointment. I was not in the best spot mentally because I had another cancer scare and was trying to mentally prepare myself for another possible round of treatments. While I was waiting to be called for my appointment, I noticed an employee smiling and chatting with a patient. (I didn’t have my glasses on, so I didn’t recognize her). I thought to myself, “That’s the way we should all come across in our jobs: encouraging, energetic, positive, and interested.” I sat there, deep in thought and feeling some dread about the appointment that was about to happen, when this woman approached me. She just so happened to be a former client, and she hugged me and asked me how I was. She was such a welcoming sight and source of unexpected positivity that day. Sitting in the Cancer Center, it’s easy to feel down and defeated, and there are visible reminders of the pain and struggle going on in that building. BUT, there’s also a lot of willpower, strength, and positivity—not just from the staff, but from the patients. This woman’s presence was a light for me that day, and a reminder that I’m not alone. When was the last time you brought hope and positivity to someone who was down? I bet if you do it, you’ll get a boost from it as well.

Showing Up When It’s Easier Not To

I’ve also had the fortunate opportunity to help some strangers in a couple of situations recently, and I was reminded of the importance of having a servant’s heart. We never know when our help or presence may be needed.

A few weeks ago, I stopped at Walmart after work to pick up a few things for dinner. As I walked down the main aisle to head toward the cash registers, I saw an elderly man stepping out of the aisle. He was getting ready to place an item in the cart his wife was pushing. As he approached the cart, he went to grab the cart handle and fell, hard, onto his hip, almost knocking his wife over in the process. He was lying on the floor as his wife and a Walmart employee stood there looking at him. I walked up and asked if he was okay, and offered my hand to help him up. It took him a minute to gather himself, and I think his pride was a little hurt as I crouched on the floor next to him. At first, he said he was fine and wanted to try and get up by himself. I stood by, keeping a hand out in case he needed it, and when he struggled to stand up, he finally allowed me to help him. He said he had a bad knee and it had locked up, and he said he was very grateful for the help.

The second situation happened one morning at a doctor’s appointment. I was sitting in the radiation waiting room when a woman ran in and asked the receptionist for help after a man had fallen in the parking lot and was unresponsive. (As a patient in a medical setting, I was one of the least-trained people on site. My only “medical training” was a wilderness first aid course and some basic CPR courses over six years ago.) I paused for a second after the woman told the receptionist, and watched as one nurse ran out to the parking lot to respond. As I hopped up and ran after the nurse to offer help, I thought I could at least call 911 and be present as medical professionals helped him. In this case, the man who had fallen had recently suffered a heart attack. When he fell in the parking lot, he hit his head and was bleeding and unresponsive. As I called 911, this man’s wife was crying and beating herself up aloud for not getting him medical help sooner. I talked with the emergency operator until the paramedics showed up, and comforted his wife. I share this not because I think I’m a hero, but because you can often do more than you think you can. Your help and presence are needed!

Even if you’re not the most trained person on the scene (as I surely was not), you can offer something. It’s easy for all of us (me included) to stand back and wait for someone else to help, or to assume that someone more skilled or more capable will handle it. But what if your unique presence is just what’s needed in that situation? The way I saw it that morning, even if I didn’t have the medical training of others nearby, I was an able-bodied person, and I’m able to keep calm during situations like this. Don’t assume that someone is more trained than you, or that it’s none of your business. If we all think like that, then no one will help. And sometimes, we just need to know that others will show up for us. Will you be that person?

Jennifer

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We as humans tend to fall prey to comfort, and we often need a pretty alarming event to be woken up to the inevitability of death and how we’re living. Whether it be a scary diagnosis, an assassination, the death of a loved one, a close call, or an accident, these events have a way of shaking us to the core and making us question our lives. Let me ask you this: If you were to die tomorrow, would you be pleased with how you lived your life? Or would you die with unfinished business and deep regret? How would people describe you after you’re gone—without the titles, roles, appearances, and achievements? Ultimately, who are you if everything were to be stripped away? Trust me—I know these are tough questions to answer, but they’re worth examining because tomorrow is not a guarantee.

Back in 2007, when I was a stay-at-home mom to two young kids, I was craving an opportunity to give back on a different level. After some searching, I found a patient companionship volunteer role for a local hospice program. In this role, I spent time with and helped patients who were given less than six months to live. This role was such a good fit for me. Sitting with people who know their time is almost up is a great way to learn how to LIVE. Some of the people I sat with were at peace, but some of them faced deep regret and crippling anxiety. I felt such empathy for all of the patients I sat and talked with, but I learned that I did not want to risk dying with deep regret. During the initial volunteer training, the other volunteers and I were guided through a difficult visualization which simulated the emotional intensity of approaching one’s own death. On a list, we were instructed to write the people and items that meant the most to us. Throughout the exercise, we were guided to cross off people and items one by one as we approached the end of our lives. I remember thinking how unfair it was to ask me to continue “crossing off” items and people that meant so much to me; it felt so cavalier in its approach, which was so contrary to the purpose of the exercise. The exercise was difficult and sad by design, but it ultimately caused me to view the end of life differently. It also had a potent takeaway: If you had to say goodbye to all of it, could you do it and be at peace? Would you know that your relationships were healthy and nothing was left unsaid? Would you know that you meant more to people than the benefits you brought them, or the things you bought them? Would you know that you impacted your world positively enough that you could say goodbye with true peace in your heart?

If you’ve ever delivered a eulogy for a loved one, you know firsthand how difficult it is to sum up a person’s life after they’re gone. When I wrote the eulogy for my late uncle, I learned that none of the fluff matters. The memories I shared about him had nothing to do with his appearance, who he knew, his status, or how much money he made. Instead, I shared about the times he taught me and my sister how to bait a hook, how he showed up patiently and kindly for my kids and nephews, and how his smile was infectious. I talked about his dry sense of humor, his unwavering support of the people close to him, and his incredible knowledge of all things mechanical. Others shared stories of his kindness, his generosity, and his ability to teach with incredible patience and grace. When everything is stripped away, all we have are memories of how that person impacted us. To know that you had a profound impact on the people in your life…isn’t that the whole point of EVERYTHING you’re doing? How often do you think about the impact you’re making? And how would people describe you and the impact you had on them at your funeral?

So often, we identify ourselves in terms of our roles. In my case, I’m a mother, a grandmother, a partner, a friend, a daughter, a therapist, a volunteer. We tend to identify ourselves by the careers we pursue, the degrees we’ve earned, the status, the possessions, our appearances. Who are you if your appearance is taken away, and how would people treat you differently if they couldn’t see you? What if your gender, your beliefs, and your history were removed, and all you had was a moment in time to examine it all and then let it go? We’ve put too much stock in the boxes we check on questionnaires that put us in certain groups. I’m not interested in that. I’ve always been much more interested in who people truly are underneath appearances, stereotypes, and assumptions. What comes to mind is “The Invitation,” a poem by Oriah, wherein she writes,

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,

Weary and bruised to the bone,

And do what needs to be done for the children.

The entire poem is getting at the same questions I’m asking here—who are you when the superficial descriptors are removed? Would you stand up for me, or for others weaker than you? How have you treated the people who can do nothing for you? We all wear masks at times, whether it’s a mask that hides your pain, makes you appear stronger, happier, funnier, etc. But who are you when the mask is stripped away and you’re alone with yourself?

Having recently completed treatments for breast cancer, I’ve also been reflecting on my impact and these existential questions from a personal health angle. While I feel incredibly grateful for the favorable outcomes I’ve experienced, every step in a cancer journey has a way of eliciting concerns about mortality and quality of life, especially at the beginning when there is so much unknown. With each test, scan, or treatment, fear had me wondering if I’d make it through the journey. These fears became a wake-up call, begging the question of whether I’d be satisfied with my life if it ended soon. Though harrowing, experiences like my cancer journey can be quite beautiful if we allow them to be. I began contemplating the impact I’ve made, thinking about the people in my circle and how healthy and happy these relationships are. I also began thinking about how glad I am that I let some things and people go that weren’t good for me, and I thought about how to make the most of the rest of my life.

Here’s the good news: You don’t have to be diagnosed with cancer or have a near-death experience to contemplate these big questions and make some positive changes. My hope for you is that you address the unfinished business and start living with more peace and meaning before it’s too late. Make that call. Forgive someone. Say “I love you,” and say it again. Stop doing things and spending time with people that make you desperately unhappy. Heal what can be healed, and make peace with the rest. Be your own authentic self, even if people think you’re weird. Take off the masks that hide who you truly are. Do something for someone less fortunate. Be the light in a dark world. Why wait?

I ask all of these questions not because I think I have it all figured out, and not because I’ve been perfect. Like you, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt people. I’ve taken too long to learn certain lessons. But I’m grateful that I didn’t leave all of those things for tomorrow to work on. I’ve made amends, I continue to heal and grow, and I feel pretty at peace. And yet, I want to use the rest of my days to show more courage, to love more and fear less, and to really hone in on being the best version of myself I can be. And I will start on these things today.

Will you join me?

Yours,

Jennifer

Photo by Mike van Schoonderwalt: https://www.pexels.com/photo/group-of-men-in-military-uniforms-5505638/

Note: The Internal Family Systems (IFS) model of therapy views our minds as comprised of different parts (or subpersonalities) rather than one single entity. Often, we may have an inner critic that helped us adapt to certain environments or expectations early in life. When we learn from these parts, we can integrate them and find balance.

Allow me to introduce you to my inner critic, which I’ve named the “drill sergeant.” This is the part of me that pushes me to keep going when I want to quit; it challenges me when I get weak or whiny; and it’s always pressing me to reach higher goals and never give up. Although this part is sometimes a bit ruthless, I credit its influence with a lot of my achievements, and a good 80% of the time, it serves me well and helps me continue to show up when I want to quit.

However, last week at the gym, my inner drill sergeant popped up so quickly and harshly that it shut me down and made me cry. Yep, right there, AT THE GYM. Here’s what happened: As soon as I realized I couldn’t complete my leg presses, my mind went to fear and catastrophe, summoning my inner drill sergeant. This may sound like a ridiculous reason for getting upset, and I agree. But it illustrates the power of an inner critic to hold you hostage based on an old and false belief.

Here is a sampling of the drill sergeant’s commands: “What a weakling; you can’t even power through THIS?! Stop making excuses about how radiation is making you tired and DO IT—and stop whining!” Because I was feeling weak and frustrated at my body anyway, I think the drill sergeant’s shaming just added another level emotionally that led to tears. And although I sometimes cry when I get overwhelmed, I find public crying to be embarrassing, particularly in places I’m expected to be “tough.” (Ironically, I can credit the shame I experience from crying in public to the drill sergeant’s influence as well).

A little background: Many of you know that I’m four months into my journey with breast cancer, and you may also know that I strongly value physical fitness, not only for its physical effects, but from the huge emotional and mental benefits I gain from it. However, now that I just completed my four weeks of radiation treatment, I’m experiencing what the doctors warned me would happen: intense fatigue. Somehow, I thought I could “David Goggins” my way through the radiation-induced fatigue and not be fazed by it. I was wrong. (If you’re not familiar with David Goggins, he is an ultramarathon runner, retired Navy SEAL, author, and is sometimes referred to as “the toughest man alive.” He has run long distances with broken bones. He is quite impressive, and I look up to him for many reasons.)

However, what I realized after some reflection was that even David Goggins has had to slow down and rebuild following injuries. I saw Goggins speak in Denver about a year ago with a broken leg, and I thought about how he, a seasoned athlete and hard-core mental toughness guru, still had to rest and build back up after his injury. Since I’m not even close to being a seasoned athlete, why would I expect that the road back to full strength would be different for me? Why haven’t I learned by now to accept setbacks with more grace? Why would I not afford myself the same luxury—because it’s not a broken bone and I should be able to push through? I knew in my mind it was B.S., and I knew it was time to understand the drill sergeant’s motives and gain some perspective so I didn’t keep shutting down.

When I reflect on the fact that I thought I could somehow just toughen my mindset to avoid radiation fatigue and keep reaching my fitness goals, I am at once baffled at my seeming arrogance (am I really that unique or special that I could somehow dodge the fatigue??), and I’m also empathetic toward the part of me that was so shut down by not being able to finish working out. This shame is fueled by the inner drill sergeant. Shame, folks, is a terrible motivator. Shame isolates us and embarrasses us, and in a lot of cases, it leads to feeling paralyzed emotionally—quite the opposite of motivation. That day after the gym, when I collected myself and reflected on why I was so quickly moved to tears, I realized it was a combination of many feelings (including frustration at cancer), but particularly shame—not just shame for being unable to complete my workout like I’d planned, but shame for crying in public.

Now, nearly a week later, I’ve reflected on how many times the drill sergeant part has crippled me emotionally instead of motivating me. I’ve recognized the importance of creating a more balanced part to step in when the drill sergeant is no longer motivating me. Simply stated, the drill sergeant is an old, rigid, inflexible, and unadaptable voice that allows zero excuses regardless of the situation. It’s a part that cannot factor in new variables like medical advice, the effects of radiation on a body’s healthy cells, and sound logic. It’s a voice that is now proving to be maladaptive, which means it’s time for a different voice to be driving the vehicle.

Increasingly, the voice I need for motivation is heavier on encouragement and lighter on bullying. This voice (like that of my partner and workout friends) would have reminded me that the physical weakness and fatigue are temporary, that I’ll work my way back to these goals after I recover, and that I shouldn’t feel ashamed and give up because I’m still showing up and pushing myself. Think about the best coaches and motivators: They are best able to motivate when they know their audience and can adapt their approach to what works best for the student. The drill sergeant part does not do this for me. If I shut down or cry, the drill sergeant storms off and I’m on my own to bounce back and find motivation again.

What I’ve learned from the super-harsh internal critics is that they can lead to immediate shame, which is crippling and can lead to emotional paralysis. That day in the gym, I was stymied by the fact that I had such a hard time moving forward from that small “defeat.” And I’m a therapist! You’d think I could quickly see myself out of this type of mental trap. But shame does this to all of us at some point. It’s important to recognize these quick meltdowns and learn from them. What led to such an intense shutdown? In my case, it was the fact that I set myself up for failure by creating expectations that were rigid and wouldn’t bend as I got weaker and more fatigued from treatment. And when I hit that barrier and truly couldn’t push through it physically, the drill sergeant mentality couldn’t respond to what had happened. This is where I can incorporate a healthier, more balanced part.

If you have your own inner critic, you are not alone. Try to identify where it originated (a critical parent, perhaps? A sharp mind that was able to intuit what was needed in your family of origin, so you learned to fill that need?) Whatever the case may be, recognize that this part was created out of some need at the time, but it may no longer be serving you. And recognize that it is just a part—if you test its logic in multiple situations and find that it’s rigid and unhelpful, maybe it’s time to put a new driver in charge that has a more effective approach.

Sincerely yours,

Jennifer

You learn to control what you can & seek out positive & healthy: getting movement, resting, eating healthy foods, finding inspiring stories of survivors, and filling your life with supportive activities and people. I added more massages, acupuncture, rest, and time with loved ones—and I learned how to accept help.

You also learn to let go of what doesn’t matter, and what/who isn’t good for you. I decreased my time on social media, scheduled shorter work days when possible, and removed negative influences from my life where I could. I just didn’t have the energy for these things anymore.

Sometimes, the fear of what’s to come is scarier than what you’re facing. It can be overwhelming at times, but finding providers you trust is helpful, and it’s crucial to take it one day at a time. Every day alive is a gift.

Even in the struggle, there are incredible moments of beauty. From learning to appreciate the slower mornings that I don’t have radiation, to receiving incredibly loving messages from people; from helping others laugh when they’re scared, to having someone bring me a bag of peaches at treatment, there is such beauty in facing such difficulty because it brings perspective and connection.

As with any stressful event, it helps tremendously to talk with others going through the same thing. The people I’ve met who are also undergoing cancer treatment are some of the strongest, most positive people I’ve ever encountered, despite all they’re facing. It’s really inspiring! And there’s something so equalizing about all of us in treatment having to sit in the same hospital gowns waiting to get radiated, biopsied, or operated on. We are all facing the same struggle, so there’s an immediate knowing and empathy for each other.

You are way more than your cancer diagnosis. You are a full, complex person who had an entire life before this diagnosis, and you will continue to be much more than a cancer patient. Treatment won’t last forever, and if you can learn from it, it just may make you a better, stronger, more well-rounded human.

You realize that someone always has it better than you, and someone always has it worse than you. This realization helps you to empathize with the ones who are facing harder diagnoses, and it helps you feel gratitude for the lucky breaks.

Life doesn’t stop for cancer. Other, non-cancer stresses continue to play out: financial issues, insurance issues, stresses from others in your life, and constant busyness from scheduling treatments on top of working and other responsibilities. In the middle of cancer treatment, my car died, my daughter moved out of state, my son and his puppy moved in, and I faced some hard family conflict. But at the end of the day, I’m still alive, still loved, and I still have my faith.

Depending on the type and stage, a lot of cancer is more treatable these days than the general public thinks. It’s not necessarily a death sentence. Try to focus on getting through the next treatment step, and try to keep your optimism and support strong.

In my experience, cancer is expensive, scary, and it can be lonely. But it has introduced me to more strength and courage than I thought I had, increased resilience, connections with new people, and laughter at some of the absurdities of it (like when my radiation card flew out of my motorcycle vest and I found myself darting out into traffic to retrieve it—only to have the realization that I shouldn’t risk my life for a card that’s supposed to save my life. Yeah, chew on that one for a minute!)

Your body will change, but it’s damn impressive what modern medicine can do—and I feel lucky to be alive (and be loved by my partner) despite my new battle scars.

Cancer is like divorce—you don’t want to think about the idea of it, who you’ll choose to help you, or how you’ll manage it until it’s staring you in the face.

Cancer is a huge test of how healthy and positive your mindset is—do you catastrophize? Worry about the future? Or do you have faith that you’ll be able to handle whatever is thrown at you? Since you truly can’t control the outcome, it forces you to live more in the moment, and adjust to the possibility that life may not be what you planned, but you can grow from it and adjust to a new reality.

For a chunk of time, you’ll be extremely busy with medical appointments. It’s a lot to manage schedule-wise, especially if you continue to work through your treatments. But I remind myself that I’m lucky that there is treatment, and that it will feel quieter and more peaceful once I complete treatment. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Cancer really puts things in perspective. It has a way of making everything else seem small. Other than love and health, does anything else REALLY matter?

Cancer has forced me to ask for help: for meals after surgeries, for connection with my people to take my mind off of stress, for someone to drive me to and from surgery. It helps immensely to allow people to show up for you!

Fighting like hell (& sometimes laughing along the way),

Jennifer

My struggle with perfectionism has led to a number of negative patterns in my life, such as taking on too much in relationships, overdoing it at work, frequently criticizing myself for making mistakes, and holding back my real thoughts (and my writing) for many years. I finally started realizing that the benefits of being REAL and sharing my thoughts and feelings, imperfect as they are, far outweigh the costs. One huge benefit of sharing my imperfections is that I can remain authentic instead of wearing a mask (which takes a lot less energy). Also, the more honest and vulnerable I am with others, the more they feel permission to do the same, which creates emotional closeness. Most of us are truly doing the best we can, so it’s refreshing when we openly and honestly share our struggles. Turns out, putting yourself out there as perfect makes it really difficult for people to connect with you. Plus, perfection is BORING.

I’ve learned through my perfectionistic tendencies that the harsh and undeserved criticism I fear often comes from people I don’t want in my life. The people who know me know I’m always working to be better. And honest, objective feedback from people I don’t know is super helpful, because I will use their feedback to grow. Will it hurt? Perhaps. But I’d rather put my work and my voice out there in the hopes that it helps even one person. And I’d rather be continually improving with the help of other people’s feedback than sitting on something for years, afraid it isn’t quite perfect. Life is short, and your imperfect story could really help someone else.

I recently read a Substack post from an author I deeply respect. It was assertive, smart, and timely…AND it had a couple of misspellings in it. I will admit that I felt a little judgy at first (perfectionism isn’t just directed inward, unfortunately). Then, however, I had an important realization: The author was eager to get the post out in a timely manner and likely prioritized the urgency of the message over the importance of spelling. And due to the subject matter, it needed to be sent out promptly as a response to some medical events. This insight taught me something valuable: in seeking perfection, I procrastinate, waiting to put my voice out there until it feels perfect. Well, perfection never happens, so guess what? Taking healthy risks never happens. Continuing to cling to perfectionism is a good, safe way to never have to take a risk and expose myself to potential criticism. At this point in my life, I’m choosing to take the risk. I may be criticized, but at least I had the courage to put it out there.

Instead of hustling for acceptance from people who are eager to criticize your shortcomings, why not pledge to surround yourself with people who see your good characteristics and appreciate that you’re continually striving to be better?

Yours truly and imperfectly,

Jennifer

As both a therapist and a human, I’ve learned that my ability to forgive others is closely tied to how well I can forgive myself—which isn’t always easy. Early in life, I learned that achievement led to acceptance. As a result, I struggled with perfectionism and found it difficult to slow down. I’ve held others to high standards—and myself to even higher ones. After my divorce and becoming an empty nester, I finally slowed down and began healing my nervous system. In doing so, I started releasing old wounds. Not surprisingly, this healing time has led to other beautiful changes—spiritual transformation, healing in family relationships, clarity around my identity without the role of wife and active parent, and career decisions that have allowed me to slow down.

Understanding Behavior and Letting Go of Blame

Another thing I’ve learned about forgiveness is that understanding why people—including myself—have done hurtful things helps me heal. When I remove blame and recognize the imperfect, human aspect of behavior, I can see that many behaviors are a product of our own traumas and are not done with malicious intent. This helps me remove the personal sting, which helps me to forgive.

For a long time, I feared others’ criticism. I attracted people who mirrored dysfunctional childhood patterns, keeping me on edge—constantly seeking acceptance and trying to maintain peace.

Playing out these patterns certainly took a toll on me. As a therapist, I felt a lot of shame for not recognizing my self-destructive patterns sooner in life and making the necessary changes earlier. That’s why I avoided telling this part of my story—until very recently. But I think it’s important to share my struggle so that others can learn from it and see that even therapists are far from perfect, and can have blind spots.

The Role of Emotional Safety in Forgiveness

At this stage of life, I live alone and am no longer in the role of wife or active parent. Now that I’m not waiting on the other shoe to drop or hustling to raise good humans and provide for them, the people around me are healthier and match my peaceful emotional state. I realized it wasn’t entirely fair to blame people in my life for adding to my trauma because I chose them. I am responsible for these choices, although for a long time I wasn’t aware of my unconscious drive to repeat these patterns. Now I have a lot of painful experiences behind me that have required forgiveness—of others and of myself.

With time alone to heal and find peace, I could finally reflect on my journey and release the pain of the past. I am now able to forgive, knowing I no longer need a hypervigilant state of mind to maintain my sense of emotional safety.

I’ve gotten much better at protecting my emotional well-being by distancing myself from unhealthy relationships. I also have stronger faith now, and believe that no matter what happens, God/Universe has my back.

A calm, regulated nervous system is essential for releasing fear of criticism and embracing forgiveness. We can’t heal if we’re always anticipating danger or problems—plus, we’re more likely to perceive threats even from non-threatening sources or people. It’s nearly impossible to forgive someone who continues to hurt you emotionally or behaves unpredictably.

An Invitation: Embracing Forgiveness Through Boundaries and Safety

I invite you to use your fear, hurt and heartache to become wiser and stronger. Start setting boundaries that protect your peace and make you feel safe. When you start feeling safe, trust that you can find a deeper sense of forgiveness.

- Jennifer

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There are times when life’s challenges feel daunting, unfair, and plentiful. As a therapist, even I sometimes ask myself, “Why is this happening to me?” I float along feeling pretty resilient for a while, and then the challenges outweigh the feelings of strength, and I can fall prey to negative thinking. Often, even the most resilient and optimistic people can relate to negative feelings that arise from challenging periods.

The question is, how do I stay emotionally strong when I really feel like quitting?

Here are some strategies that work for me and my clients:

First off, remember that EVERYONE faces challenges that feel insurmountable at times. Don’t compare yourself and think it’s worse off for you, that your life is harder. It can be tempting to think that others have it better. I have thought this myself and compared my life to others who have seemed to have it easier. Although it’s not fun going through challenging times, people who’ve been living an easy, comfortable life aren’t the people I like being around. They haven’t had to dig deep, humble themselves, or ask for help—and chances are, they are lacking in empathy when their loved ones go through hard times because they can’t relate. I don’t want to be that person. Do you?

Next, avoid falling prey to the worry that you’ve done something wrong in life, and this current challenge is a form of punishment. ALL people go through hard times, despite how “perfect” they’ve been. This theory just doesn’t check out with reality. Hard times eventually hit us all, and in some schools of thought, it’s seen as a positive thing to be exposed to a lot of challenging life events. Don’t believe me? Read “When Things Fall Apart” by Pema Chodron. I like Bruce Lee’s quote: “Do not pray for an easy life, pray for the strength to endure a difficult one.”

Also, reflect on the hard times you’ve already been through. Congratulate yourself on the fact that you got through those times. But also reflect on WHAT YOU DID to get through the hard times. My mom always told me that when times were tough, a night of sleep would shift her perspective just enough to give her strength to face the next day. It’s good advice because when life is incredibly difficult, it helps to simplify and just put one foot in front of the other. What are some other ways to simplify and navigate the difficult chapters? Ask for help. I know sometimes it’s hard to ask for help, even for me. But I go to my own therapist. I’m open with friends about what I’m going through, and they’re supportive. I watch my verbage (both aloud and in my head) to ensure I’m looking for the silver lining and the lesson in any challenge. I remind myself that I’ve conquered challenges before and will conquer this one as well. I exercise. On days when I’m utterly exhausted, I’ll walk around the block to get some sunshine and nature time. I cancel unnecessary plans, and plans that I know will drain me. I rest more. I drink more water. I focus on sleep. I eat healthier foods and cut back on alcohol. I journal. I pray. And most of all, I remind myself that whatever I’m going through will make me stronger and more empathic toward others’ struggles—which, as a counselor, is a huge bonus.

Always growing,

Jennifer

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