Peer Reflections

Nurturing Wellness through Creativity and Compassion
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Category: Peer Support

  • Emotional First Aid: Fear

    When Fear Keeps Us Paralyzed

    Fear has a job—to keep us safe. It’s wired into us to notice danger, to warn us when something feels off. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need. But there’s a fine line between fear that protects and fear that paralyses and controls.

    I’ve written getting to know fear and how it can show up in the body and how to make a plan to deal with fear, but when fear starts speaking louder than everything else, when it keeps us from showing up, speaking out, or trying again, it’s no longer serving us. It’s holding us back.

    Fear doesn’t always look like full-blown panic. Sometimes it shows up quietly.
    In the hesitation.
    In the excuse.
    In the “maybe later” that becomes never.

    It can look like avoidance, distraction, shutting down—or keeping yourself so busy you don’t have time to feel it. It can convince you that staying small or quiet is safer than risking the unknown.

    And I get it. Fear is persuasive. Especially when it’s rooted in real experiences or old wounds.

    But here’s what I’ve learned:

    Fear can shrink our lives.
    It narrows our world, until everything starts to feel like a risk.
    Until we stop trusting, stop trying, stop living the way we really want to.

    Maybe fear has told you it’s safer not to trust people.
    Or that your voice doesn’t matter.
    Or that if you’re too much—or too honest—people will leave.

    Sometimes the walls we build to protect ourselves become the very thing that keeps us stuck.

    This post isn’t about “being fearless.”
    I don’t think that’s the goal.
    What I do think is important—is noticing when fear is driving the car.
    And starting to take the wheel back.

    That starts with awareness.
    With curiosity.
    With asking: Is this fear keeping me safe… or is it keeping me small?

    Tomorrow, I’ll share my own story—about how fear hijacked my body after a scary experience, and how I’m still, day by day, working to find safety in places that once felt threatening.

    If you’ve ever felt afraid to live fully… I hope you’ll come back.
    You’re not alone in this.

  • Emotion First Aid: Anger

    Emotion First Aid: When Anger Consumes

    Anger often simmers just beneath the surface. What begins as a mild irritation can rapidly escalate—shifting from discomfort to overtaking our ability to think or respond clearly. The volcano can erupt and splatter heated words and poor intentions like a lava flow.

    Here are a few core skills that can help you pause, regulate, and regain control when anger begins to rise. These skills suggested here will be most effective in interpersonal conversations; talking with a loved one, a friend, or even an employer. The skills listed below work most effectively when we can catch the anger rising. They do require careful communication, while in the heat of the moment, which can make or break the plan. 

    The plan includes four parts: notice when anger is rising, communicate your need to calm down, step away and take a break, and then return to the conversation. This might seem too easy, but of course, all things on paper are easy. It’s when the emotions are elevated that this plan can get a little out of whack. And the hardest part is that the only time we can practice this anger management plan is when anger is present. It takes time to rewire and change our patterns. Try and try again.

    The Plan

    • Notice when anger is rising in the body.
    • Communicate your need to calm down
    • Step away and take a break
    • Return to the conversation

    Notice When Anger is Rising

    The goal during an argument is to express  your frustrations or the thing that upset us, but in a way where we remain in control of our thoughts and emotions. Learning the subtle changes in our bodies as anger rises is the most effective way to tame the rage monster. When we feel our hearts beginning to beat faster, our faces turning hot and breathing that is shallow, this is the time to step in and utilize some skills.

    In a previous post, “Emotional Regulation: Anger,” I shared how anger can show up in the body. In my opinion anger is the emotion we need to become acquainted with and understand how it shows up in our body before we can move skillfully through it before it spirals to rage.

    Communicate Your Need to Calm Down: 

    If you are anything like me, shouting aggressively seems to come naturally to me when anger surfaces.  The end goal is not to let anger take over. So continuing to use a calm voice is a healthy choice. You are allowed and encouraged to express yourself and your emotions, but there is not a reason to raise your voice. Yes it happens, but as soon as we raise our voice we begin to lose control and risk spewing off hateful words that we don’t really mean.  If and when you find yourself in an argument and things are getting intense, try using the phrase, “I am feeling pretty heated, I am going to take a short 15-20  minute break.” 

    If more explanation is needed or the other individual shares that you are walking away or abandoning the conversation you can elaborate more, “this issue is important to me, but communicating my needs clearly and remaining in control of my emotions is just as important. In order to regulate my emotions, I need to take a break.”  

    I will state that it is super important to communicate that you will return to the conversation and set a time, say 15-30 minutes. If you or the other party is still feeling unregulated it is okay to extend the break or even revisit the issue the next day.

    Take a Break:

    Taking a break is a healthy way to allow yourself the time and space to deep breathe and work towards slowing your heart rate and your racing mind. During a short break go for a short brisk walk, tighten your muscles and then release them. Grab a cold drink of water. Basically find a way to change your body temperature and slow yourself down. The body can begin regulating in as little as 20 minutes, but each person is different-some need more time, some need less time. The goal here is to take a break long enough to allow yourself and your body to return to calm.

    Returning To The Conversation

    We are not returning where we left off, things got heated and that’s why we needed to communicate our need to take a break. When returning to the conversation it is always a good bet to openly communicate that you feel calm and ready to return to the conversation, but also to check to see if the other person is also taking the time to regulate themselves. 

    I want to mention that Returning to the conversation is one way to build trust. Resolving the issue is important to maintain and repair issues in a relationship, friendship or with a family member. Sometimes the end result, when compromise and resolutions can’t be agreed upon, understanding and agreeing that maybe we need to agree that we disagree can be an acceptable conclusion or settlement.

    After using some skills and returning to “normal” you can resume the conversation. Sometimes the difficult conversations will escalate again and again, use these skills as many times as you need to keep yourself out of rage mode and spiraling out of control.  At first these skill will feel clumsy and awkward, but with time and practice these skills will come second nature to you. 

    Looking Forward

    Tomorrow I plan to share my own personal journey through these skills- I will give you a little snippet and let you know that during arguments I was so far gone, so out of control that it actually took several attempts to even achieve the skills of communication and taking a break. I had to work backwards. If this sounds like you or you share a similar struggle, tune in tomorrow to see these skills in action.

  • Emotional First-Aid: For Grief

    When Grief Feels Like a Sink-Hole

    Sadness—no matter the reason—can feel like a heavy blow. Like getting knocked down with the wind taken from your lungs. For some, it can feel like your heart is breaking into pieces. When grief and gloom wash over us, they can alter the way we move through daily life. (Click here to read more about sadness.)

    And yet, the world doesn’t always give us the time we need to grieve. In most workplaces, the offer is three to five days off for bereavement. But grief doesn’t follow a calendar. It doesn’t clock in and clock out. Grief can pull us into a disorienting fog—sometimes mirroring depression. There’s a fine line between the two. Grief is often temporary, while depression lingers, but the symptoms can overlap:

    • Losing interest in things we once loved
    • Changes in appetite
    • Disrupted sleep—too much or too little
    • Difficult concentrating

    Grief is Complex

    Here’s what I believe: everyone grieves in their own way and in their own time.
    If you’ve never experienced grief, it can feel impossible to navigate. How do you practice handling something you’ve never faced? The truth is, you can’t truly prepare—but you can learn and practice a few skills that might help for when the time comes.

    Even if you’ve experienced grief before, every loss is different. Each loss may hit you in a new, unexpected way. So today, I want to share a few gentle tools that can support you during those moments when it feels like you’re sinking into sadness. I want to be clear: these skills aren’t a magic fix. They won’t erase your pain or end your sadness—but they might help ease it, even just a little. The more tools you have in your emotional first aid kit, the better prepared you’ll be to weather the storm.

    Four Skills to Practice

    1. Movement

    Now, I know—when you’re curled up in bed crying, the last thing you’re thinking about is exercise. This isn’t about hitting the gym or pushing yourself to do a full workout. (Although if that’s your thing, go for it!) It doesn’t need to look like much to make a difference.

    Instead, think of movement as gentle motion with intention. A slow walk around the block. Standing outside and feeling the sun on your skin. Five minutes is better than zero. Ten minutes is better than five. Small wins matter while we are grieving. Try to notice your surroundings—look for birds, blooming flowers, or the feel of the breeze.

    You can also try stretching, yoga, or a short bike ride. Movement helps shake up stuck emotions. It reduces stress, boosts your endorphins, and offers your mind a gentle shift in focus.

    2. Journaling

    Writing can be a powerful release. Journal doesn’t need to make sense or be neat. Let it be messy, raw, real. Don’t worry about grammar or spelling.  You can journal about what happened, about your person, about what you’ve lost. You can also write about the good—the joy they brought to your life, or the lessons they left behind.

    Reflecting on positive memories might even bring a smile through the tears. Write about how your life is changing, or how you’re feeling at the moment. Let your journal hold the sorrow and the sweetness, side by side. Example:

    “It hurts to lose my friend. But before she left this earth, she taught me so much about kindness, laughter, and resilience.”

    You might be surprised what comes up when you let yourself write; grief is complex. By allowing both the hard and the good to coexist on the page, you begin to make space in your heart for both pain and peace.

    3. Connection

    Grief can make us isolate ourselves. I know that’s my pattern—I tend to be alone… a lot.
    But connection is one of the most healing things we can offer ourselves.

    Reach out to a friend—not necessarily to talk about your loss, but just to chat, to hear about their day, to remind yourself that life is still unfolding outside of sadness. It can be a breath of fresh air.

    You might also find comfort in support groups. Hearing from others who are grieving can remind you: you’re not alone. Through sharing your story, you can receive guidance and care while offering the same to others.

    Professional support is another form of connection. I know this one can be hard—it might feel vulnerable to reach out. Like, “I should be able to handle this on my own.” But asking for help is not weakness—it’s courage. It’s saying, “I’m feeling this deeply, and I need support to move through it.”

    Connection can offer new perspectives. It can open the door to healing.

    4. Distraction

    Distraction isn’t about avoiding your feelings—it’s about giving your system a break. I’ve found that doing something simple and low-effort helps lighten my emotional load, even if just for a little while. 

    It might be:

    • A puzzle or diamond dot art
    • Reorganizing a drawer
    • Watching a light-hearted show
    • Playing a silly game on your phone
    • Listening to a podcast while folding laundry

    It doesn’t have to be meaningful or productive. It just needs to give your brain a different task—something that gently interrupts the spiral of grief and gives you space to breathe. Our brain and body weren’t meant to feel everything all at once, all the time. Be kind to yourself. Give yourself permission to use distraction.

    Bridge Forward

    These skills aren’t a cure—but they can be a bridge. They can carry you through the hard moments, so you can come back to your feelings when you’re ready, rather than wearing them or being consumed. Grief is temporary, it is not designed to be worn for long periods of time, if that ends up being the case the consequences and results can be more challenging to overcome. You owe it to yourself to choose compassion and grace, there is no need to rush grief. We can change our patterns and learn to ride along with grief with grace.

  • I’m Back

    April arrived with the weight of a thousand bricks. I lacked motivation and felt a heaviness that slowly dissolved into emptiness. Yup, depression decided to join me for a time. I didn’t recognize it at first- my typical bouts of depression are usually triggered by situations or events—but this time was different.

    It crept in quietly. I worked with my therapist, and at one point he said, “Sounds like depression.” I was angry with him and disappointed in myself, which, of course, only deepened the spiral. But over time, I found acceptance. I’m not immune to life, after all. I named it, accepted it, adjusted my plans, and shifted my focus to gentle living.

    I recently ran into a friend who asked why I hadn’t been blogging. I shared that depression had visited, and May had been wild with the kids and end-of-school activities, but reassured them I was doing better and would be writing again soon. They looked at me with compassion. Then they asked something that surprised me:

    “How did you move through your depression?”

    Their question felt safe, and I found myself opening up. I shared how I transitioned into a gentle living pattern—showing up as I was for what I had to do: being a mom, doing my job, being a friend. Everything else was placed on a leveled playing field. Over those 6–8 weeks of depression, I repeated a simple mantra and focused on the bare minimum. Sure, the laundry piled up and I fell behind in a few areas, but I allowed myself to rest. I listened to my body.

    I pulled out my weighted blanket (which had been packed away for over a year). I did a few minutes of laid-back yoga. I made sure I ate when I was hungry. Showering stretched to every 3–4 days; but I was doing it.

    “Wow, you have so much strength,” my friend said.
    And it hit me; yes, I do.

    I went back to basics without losing myself. I made a softer schedule. I silenced the voice demanding perfection. I used my tools, reshaped my world, and slowly, it passed. It felt like someone flipped the light switch back on.

    I’m proud of myself.
    My passions are back.
    My smile is back.
    My motivation is back.

    I’ve been me the whole time.
     I was enough during the depression, and I remain enough now.

  • Getting to Know: Happiness

    Happiness: A Fleeting Feeling or a Piece of the Puzzle?

    Happiness is one of the most sought-after emotions, yet it remains one of the most misunderstood. Unlike fear, which keeps us safe, or sadness, which allows us to process loss, happiness doesn’t seem to have a survival function. It often feels fleeting, appearing in bursts—when we hear our favorite song, experience an exciting moment, or spend time in a place that feels magical.

    Think about it—many of our most “happy” moments come from vacations, theme parks, concerts, or special events, places designed to pull us out of our daily routines. A trip to Disneyland, for example, is crafted to create a sense of magic, nostalgia, and joy. It’s an environment free from stressors like bills, deadlines, or the unpredictability of daily life. And yet, the moment we leave, reality settles back in. If happiness only exists in spaces detached from real life, then it can’t be the goal—it’s not sustainable.

    What is Happiness?

    Happiness is commonly defined as a state of pleasure, joy, or satisfaction. It can be triggered by external events, such as a fun trip, a delicious meal, or an accomplishment. However, happiness is not a permanent state—it comes and goes like any other emotion. The way society portrays happiness often makes it seem like an ultimate destination, something we must strive for and hold onto, but in reality, happiness is momentary, just like sadness, anger, or fear.

    What Does Happiness Feel Like in the Body?

    Happiness manifests physically in many ways:

    • A lightness in the chest
    • Relaxed muscles
    • A genuine smile or laughter
    • Increased energy
    • A sense of warmth or excitement
    • A release of stress or tension

    Just as we notice the tension of anxiety or the heaviness of sadness, recognizing happiness in the body can help us appreciate it when it arises, even if only briefly.

    How to Cultivate Happiness

    Since happiness is fleeting, the focus shouldn’t be on trying to make it last forever, but rather on creating space for it to naturally occur. Some ways to invite happiness into daily life include:

    • Gratitude: Acknowledging small joys, like a warm cup of coffee or a kind conversation.
    • Mindfulness: Being present in the moment rather than waiting for happiness to come later.
    • Connection: Spending time with loved ones and engaging in meaningful conversations.
    • Engaging in Enjoyable Activities: Doing things that bring natural enjoyment, such as hobbies, music, or nature walks.

    Rethinking Happiness: The Role of Contentment

    Happiness is often presented as the ultimate goal, yet it remains fleeting—arriving in bursts, then fading. Unlike emotions like fear or anger, which serve clear survival purposes, happiness doesn’t seem essential for protection or problem-solving. So, what is its purpose?

    Perhaps happiness isn’t meant to be constant. Instead, it is the peak of an emotional wave, while contentment is the steady ground beneath it. Instead of chasing happiness as an all-or-nothing state, we might focus on cultivating contentment—a lasting sense of peace and balance. Contentment doesn’t mean life is perfect; it means we are okay even in the midst of challenges. It allows us to experience happiness when it comes, without the pressure to make it stay.

    Happiness can be big and loud—laughter, excitement, joyful energy. But it can also be small and quiet—a smirk, the warmth of the sun after a storm, the first sip of coffee. Happiness, in any form, is valid. Instead of asking, “Am I happy?” maybe the real question is, “Am I content?” Because contentment can carry us through even the hardest moments, making space for happiness to visit—without needing it to stay.

    *As a side note, I feel a conversation on joy might need to come into play eventually, but for now, we can begin to notice these few main emotions and investigate them with curiosity.

  • My Walk with Fear

    The Old Me

    As a child, I hated being scared. My brothers used to hide in my room or sneak up behind me. They would jump out and say, “Boo.” I would fall to the floor in tears. I know it was all in good fun, and I’m sure my big reaction kept them coming back for more. Fast forward several decades, and now I have kids of my own. One of my darling children attempted a jump scare at me, and boy, did it work.

    My big reaction to fear has always been just that—I scream, I cry, I freeze. While working through day treatment, I came to understand that my body was basically always in fight-or-flight mode. At times, the normal sounds of the house would make me jump—the air turning on, a sudden noise from another room. I absolutely hated it, but learning the why behind it forced me to see that my heightened startle response made perfect sense.

    Learning a New Skill

    During treatment, I was introduced to the mantra: “I am safe.” I was encouraged to repeat it whenever my body went into fight-or-flight mode, helping to rewire my brain and calm my nervous system. At first, it felt ridiculous—like I was lying to myself. My mind fought against it. Of course, you’re not safe. No one is 100% safe all the time. I would scoff, You’re lying to yourself. But over time, as I practiced, something interesting happened. My body began to respond. It didn’t mean I never felt fear, but my reactions started to shift.

    Once my kids reached elementary age, I finally found my voice. After one particularly bad jump scare, I gathered my children and my husband and calmly explained that I did not like being scared. I shared that it was not a fun emotion for me and that my body reacted strongly to fear. My brilliant little humans, as curious as ever, asked why my body reacted this way and what had happened to me as a child.

    Holding back tears, I told them, Mommy’s life was hard. My childhood was full of angry people, and it made me live on edge. I’m working with my body to remind myself that I am safe now.

    My life Now

    It took years, but I remember the day I was sitting on the deck, reading a book in the sunshine. The air conditioner unit clicked on. I heard it—but I didn’t jump. I noticed the sound, but my body stayed calm. It was a small moment, yet it was proof that something had changed. My body no longer treated a harmless noise as a threat.

    Why do I share these stories with strangers on the internet? Because I know I’m not the only one who struggles with fear and feeling “jumpy.” I know others have lived through similar experiences, and these are not easy things to talk about. It’s not like you can casually tell a friend, “The air conditioner didn’t make me jump today!” without them looking at you strangely. Vulnerability on this level isn’t always met with compassion and understanding.

    I want others to know—they are not alone in their walk with fear. Small victories are worth celebrating. Every time we notice progress, our brain rewires a little more. I used to think I was alone and weird. But looking back, it all makes sense. And I want to empower others to know that in time, things can and do get better. Slowly, with practice, patience, and self-compassion, we heal.

    To this day, I still mute my television when a scary advertisement pops up—and I’m not embarrassed by it. Because I am doing what I need to do to protect my own body and mind.

  • My Walk with Anger

    The Old Me

    You might not believe this, but, I was known for my temper—the smallest things used to set me off. Once, while enjoying a beach day with a friend, words were exchanged, and the tension between us escalated. Back then, I didn’t understand the power of emotions or how to calm myself down so I could respond instead of react. And my reactions? They were explosive.

    As we left the beach, the argument continued in the car. I felt trapped and furious. We were both yelling, and I lost control. In a moment of pure emotional chaos, I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the car door, fully intending to jump out of the moving vehicle.

    Looking back, I see that this reckless decision was my desperate attempt to remove myself from the situation. I didn’t have the skills or the understanding of anger—I only knew that when I was upset, my emotions took over, and I said and did things I never truly meant. I was reacting, not thinking.

    This wasn’t an isolated incident. When anger consumed me, I threw things, kicked things, and said horrible words that couldn’t be taken back. It wasn’t until I started learning about emotions that I began peeling back the layers of my anger.

    For the longest time, when the rage monster appeared, I didn’t even recognize the warning signs. I wasn’t aware of what made me angry or how my body reacted until the fight was already over. I didn’t notice my blood pressure rising or my muscles tensing—anger was so ingrained in me that I assumed those sensations were just part of who I was.

    The Change

    That changed when I started working with my therapist. I learned to recognize the subtle signs: my heart beating faster, my muscles tightening, that slow burn of frustration bubbling inside me. I was taught tools—how to walk away, how to remove myself from the situation, how to disengage before things spiraled out of control. Deep breaths, brisk walks, choosing not to see the other person as an enemy.

    I’ll never forget the first time I put these tools into action. In the middle of a heated argument, I paused and said, “I’m feeling elevated. Let’s take a walk and continue this conversation after.”

    The person I was speaking to didn’t take it well. They told me I was avoiding the conversation, abandoning their needs, and that taking a walk was a stupid idea. But in reality, they were angry because they couldn’t control my emotions or my actions like they had expected.

    So I stood up, listened to my body, and took the walk alone.

    When I returned, I felt calmer—ready to continue the hard conversation. But the other person escalated again, raising their voice and growing angrier. That’s when I realized: taking a break worked. I was in control of my emotions, and they weren’t.

    That moment was a turning point. The more I practiced, the more I noticed anger’s presence before it took over. I wasn’t perfect, but over time, the emotional explosions faded. I built healthier patterns.

    The New Me

    And then came the day I knew—without a doubt—that I had control over my anger. A loved one, struggling with deep insecurities, projected their pain onto me. In the past, I would have snapped, lashed out, or fed into the fight. But this time, something shifted. I felt the anger rise… and then it subsided before I even responded.

    I saw the situation for what it was—their pain, not mine. I remained calm, stood up for myself multiple times, and ultimately set a boundary: I needed space to process. That was the breaking point for them. They ended the relationship because they weren’t willing to respect my need for space.

    Losing that relationship hurt. The grief was real. But at the same time, I was so damn proud of myself. I hadn’t gotten defensive. I hadn’t engaged in their anger. I had given them my time, my patience, and multiple chances to work through it. Asking for space wasn’t unreasonable—anyone in my life today would understand and respect that.

    I handled it with clarity, self-respect, and emotional control.

    That friendship ended, but I walked away knowing my worth. Knowing that all the internal work I had done was real. That I managed my anger like a pro.

    And that? That was a victory.

  • Box Office Gratitude

    I’m going to be a bit vulnerable today. When it comes to TV shows and movies, I tend to stick with old favorites. Even my kids can predict the general order of what I’ll choose to watch—Gilmore Girls, How I Met Your Mother, Friends, New Girl, and documentaries on Earth, wildlife, Egypt, and space. It’s a familiar cycle.

    I re-watch these shows because I know exactly what’s coming. There are no unexpected triggers, no emotional landmines. This is also why I absolutely detest going to the movie theater. My movie choices follow the same pattern—I cycle through The Mummy (1-3), Harry Potter (1-7), and Jurassic Park (all of them).

    I avoid movies that make me cry. The Croods, almost anything Disney, and Inside Out—I can’t do it. Don’t get me wrong, they’re beautifully made, but they hit too close to home. The emotions they stir up aren’t just about sadness; they bring up grief, loss, and truths that are hard to face.

    Recently, I made the mistake of going to see Inside Out 2 with my family. I had told them I didn’t want to go. I even suggested my husband take them instead. But they were sweet, encouraging me to come along. And so, I did.

    I bawled.

    Not just a few tears—I sobbed. The movie hit me hard, forcing me to confront emotions I wasn’t ready for. By the time the credits rolled and the lights came on, my kids turned to me and said, “Yup, you were right. You cried.”

    My kids are at the age where they ask hard questions. They’re curious, thoughtful, and I’ve done a good job raising them to be unafraid of emotions. They wanted to understand—What part made you cry?

    It was difficult to explain. I shared a little about my past, just enough to help them make sense of my reaction. But their questions lingered throughout the week, popping up at random moments. I wanted to meet their curiosity with honesty, but I also wanted to protect them.

    And then, a realization hit me.

    Their inability to fully understand my grief is a good thing. They’ve never had to hide under a parked car to protect themselves from someone chasing them. They don’t have to fear that when their dad and I get upset, we’ll break their bedroom door in half.

    They don’t carry that kind of fear because they are safe. They are loved.

    And that fills me with pride.

    At the same time, grief sneaks in—because I didn’t get that same childhood. I didn’t grow up in a home where emotions were handled with care. But instead of letting that consume me, I remind myself: I am breaking cycles. I am giving them what I never had.

    And for that, I am grateful.

  • Love/Hate Relationship with Emotions

    I continue to have a love/hate relationship with emotions. Logically, I know that emotions help us figure out our needs, and I love that. It’s something I am continually learning, as each emotion and situation has its own nuances. Emotions are complex, and I often find myself lost in them. But I’m grateful that I can take a curious approach to them. Over time, I’ve learned not to fight my emotions but to sit with them and ask: What does this mean? How can I support myself?

    The frustrating part—the part I still struggle to flow with—is when a random emotion hits out of nowhere.

    I wake up in a good mood, feeling rested, going about my day, and then BAM! Like a rogue wave crashing over me, an emotion floods in suddenly and intensely. I’m not always graceful or accepting in moments like this. I get frustrated and overwhelmed. But living with PTSD means this will be a continual battle, and the best way I know to thrive through emotional or physical flashbacks is to give my emotions space.

    The hardest part for me is not knowing what triggered the rogue wave of emotions. I’ve spent hours—even days—trying to figure it out, digging for the root cause. But my best success comes when I acknowledge and validate the emotion rather than interrogate it. Instead of chasing the “why,” I focus on supporting myself through it.

    Sometimes, that support looks like allowing myself to cry. Other times, it’s reaching out to a trusted person who won’t make the emotion worse. It’s giving myself space and time to take care of myself.

    Sometimes, this interferes with my plans—because the emotions feel too big to function. Other times, I can box them up and carry on, dealing with the gnawing annoyance of them in the back of my mind.

    But no matter what, I will carry on.

    I will take the time to address things as they arise and remind myself that taking care of me is not just important—it’s necessary.

  • Gratitude Through Vulnerability

    Relearning Emotions

    During my recovery and fight against mental illness, I had to break down my version and definition of what emotions were. They were labeled poorly—shaped by unhealthy core beliefs and the lessons imprinted on me as a young child. My understanding of emotions, molded by these flawed beliefs, was fundamentally broken. The beliefs I carried about emotions weren’t truly my own; they were absorbed from the people and environments around me.

    Life Before

    As a child, when I cried, I was told to stop or risk being given something to cry about. When I was angry, I heard, “It’s not that big of a deal,” or, “You’re being unreasonable.” Over time, I internalized these messages: certain emotions were unacceptable. Feeling sadness, anger, or frustration meant I was wrong, unreasonable, or dramatic. These beliefs became roadblocks that made it nearly impossible to express or process my emotions in healthy ways.

    Reconstructing my understanding of emotions during recovery was humbling and uncomfortable. At times, I felt like a toddler learning to walk—clumsy, unsure, and frustrated by my lack of control. I had to learn to pause, look inward, and identify what I was feeling. I had to give myself permission to feel emotions I had long been told were unacceptable.

    Life Now

    But even now, the process isn’t easy. Sharing my feelings with others often makes me feel vulnerable, like I’m navigating unsteady terrain. It’s especially difficult when someone responds harshly or tells me I’m being dramatic. In those moments, I remind myself of an important truth: their reaction is often a reflection of their own struggles with emotional awareness, not mine.

    I’ve learned to take a step back and ask myself a simple but profound question: Is this mine to carry? More often than not, the answer is no. Their judgment is a sign of their discomfort with emotions, not a reflection of my worth. I’ve learned to approach these moments with gratitude—for the clarity to discern what’s mine and the strength to let go of what isn’t.

    Powerful Realization

    Through this process, I came to a powerful realization: there are no good or bad emotions. They’re all part of the human experience, each one offering us valuable insight if we’re willing to listen. Ironically, the emotions most people consider “easy,” like joy and happiness, were—and still are—the hardest for me to embrace.

    I had spent so much of my life feeling anger, frustration, neglect, and abandonment that those emotions felt familiar—even comfortable in a strange way. But joy? Love? Happiness? Those were foreign to me. I didn’t know what they felt like, and I didn’t know how to let myself fully experience them.

    Relearning my emotions has been one of the hardest and most rewarding parts of my recovery. It’s taught me to sit with discomfort, embrace vulnerability, and, most importantly, find gratitude—not just for the easy moments, but for the strength to keep going when joy feels out of reach.

    Gratitude became my anchor. It allowed me to shift my focus from what I couldn’t control to the small, meaningful moments of growth and healing I could celebrate. With time, I began to see my emotions not as burdens but as guides—tools that help me navigate life and connect more deeply with myself and others. I welcomed the vulnerability needed to address and share my emotions.

    Have you ever found certain emotions harder to embrace? What beliefs about emotions are you carrying, and are they serving you?

    Remember: there are no “wrong” emotions. They are all valid, and they all matter. The courage to feel them, even when it’s hard, is something to be proud of.