We spend a lot of time trying to figure ourselves out.
Who am I?
What do I want?
What am I good at?
What are my weaknesses?
What makes me happy?
What doesn’t work for me?
Self-awareness matters. The better we understand ourselves, the easier it can be to make choices that actually fit who we are instead of living according to who everyone else expects us to be.
But there’s a strange thing that can happen along the way.
We can become so certain about who we are that we stop leaving room for who we might become.
The things we’ve learned about ourselves slowly become definitions.
Then the definitions become rules.
And eventually, without realizing it, knowing ourselves can become another way of limiting ourselves.
Prefer to listen? The Audio Blog version is available here.
SELF-AWARENESS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE A CAGE
There is power in being able to say, “I know myself.”
I know what matters to me.
I know what drains me.
I know what I value.
I know what I need.
But knowing yourself and deciding you have yourself completely figured out are two very different things.
One creates awareness.
The other can create boundaries around your identity that you never think to question.
“I’m shy.”
“I’m not creative.”
“I’m terrible with money.”
“I’m not athletic.”
“I don’t like change.”
“I’m not a relationship person.”
“I could never run a business.”
“I’ve always been the responsible one.”
Sometimes those statements are useful observations.
But sometimes they are old conclusions masquerading as permanent truths.
YOU MAY BE DESCRIBING SOMEONE YOU USED TO BE
Think about how many things you know about yourself because of experiences you had years ago.
Maybe you decided you weren’t good at public speaking because you froze during a presentation in school.
Maybe you decided you weren’t athletic because you hated gym class.
Maybe you decided you weren’t creative because someone else was better at drawing.
Maybe you decided you weren’t good at relationships because several of yours ended badly.
At the time, those conclusions may have made sense.
But you kept living.
You learned things.
You had experiences.
You developed skills.
You healed.
You changed.
And yet the description remained.
Sometimes the person we think we know so well is actually someone we haven’t been for years.
IDENTITY LIKES EVIDENCE
Once we believe something about ourselves, we tend to notice the things that support it.
If you believe you’re socially awkward, the conversation that goes badly may stay with you much longer than the five that went well.
If you believe you’re someone who always quits, you may remember every unfinished project while overlooking all the things you’ve stayed committed to.
If you believe you’re bad with money, one impulsive purchase can feel like proof, while months of responsible decisions barely register.
If you believe you’re terrible at setting boundaries, the one time you said yes when you wanted to say no can become evidence that nothing has changed.
We don’t always examine our identity objectively.
Sometimes we defend it.
Even when the identity isn’t particularly flattering.
Because there is something strangely comforting about being able to explain ourselves to ourselves.
At least we know who we are.
The problem is that when we become invested in a particular version of ourselves, we may unconsciously keep collecting evidence that allows that version to survive.
“THAT’S JUST WHO I AM” CAN END THE CONVERSATION TOO SOON
There are few sentences more effective at stopping growth than:
“That’s just who I am.”
Sometimes it’s true.
You don’t need to turn every preference into a personal development project.
You’re allowed to dislike things.
You’re allowed to have limits.
You’re allowed to know what works for you.
But “that’s just who I am” can also become an easy way to avoid asking whether something is actually part of our identity or simply something we’ve practiced for a very long time.
Maybe you aren’t “bad at confrontation.”
Maybe you’ve spent years avoiding it.
Maybe you aren’t “someone who can’t be alone.”
Maybe you haven’t learned how to be comfortable in your own company yet.
Maybe you aren’t “terrible with change.”
Maybe uncertainty makes you anxious, and you’ve built your life around avoiding that feeling.
There is a difference between describing yourself and sentencing yourself.
LABELS CAN HELP UNTIL THEY START MAKING DECISIONS FOR YOU
We have more language than ever for understanding ourselves.
Introvert.
Extrovert.
People pleaser.
Perfectionist.
Highly sensitive.
Overthinker.
Type A.
Avoidant.
Anxious.
Independent.
Empath.
Labels can be incredibly helpful when they give us language for something we’ve struggled to understand.
There can be relief in discovering, “There’s a reason I experience things this way.”
But a label should help you understand yourself.
It shouldn’t become your instruction manual.
There is a subtle difference between:
“I tend to be introverted.”
and
“I’m an introvert, so I would hate that.”
One describes a tendency.
The other may make the decision before you ever have the experience.
SOMETIMES WE BECOME LOYAL TO OUR OWN STORY
Changing your mind about yourself can feel surprisingly uncomfortable.
Because identity creates continuity.
It connects the person you were yesterday to the person you expect to be tomorrow.
So when you begin behaving differently, part of you may resist.
Someone who has always been independent may feel uncomfortable asking for help.
Someone who has always been the caretaker may feel selfish when they begin putting themselves first.
Someone who has always avoided attention may feel exposed when they begin allowing themselves to be seen.
Someone who has always been practical may feel irresponsible pursuing something uncertain.
Nothing may actually be wrong.
You may simply be behaving outside the boundaries of the person you have decided you are.
Sometimes growth feels unfamiliar because you are meeting a version of yourself you haven’t had enough time to recognize yet.
YOUR PREFERENCES ARE ALLOWED TO CHANGE TOO
Not every change in identity needs to be profound.
Sometimes you simply change your mind.
You discover you like something you once hated.
You become interested in something you once dismissed.
You want a life you once swore you would never want.
You stop wanting something you spent years pursuing.
You enjoy staying home when you used to want to be out every night.
You become adventurous after years of playing it safe.
You discover that solitude feels peaceful instead of lonely.
We sometimes treat consistency as proof of authenticity.
But being authentic doesn’t mean remaining identical.
It means being honest about who you are now.
You don’t owe lifelong loyalty to every preference you’ve ever had.
SELF-KNOWLEDGE SHOULD INCLUDE CURIOSITY
Maybe the healthiest version of knowing yourself still includes a question mark.
Instead of:
“I’m not good at that.”
Try:
“I haven’t been good at that.”
Instead of:
“I could never do that.”
Try:
“I’ve never done that.”
Instead of:
“That’s not me.”
Try:
“That hasn’t been me.”
Those small changes leave something important intact.
Possibility.
They acknowledge your history without requiring your future to repeat it.
You can know yourself deeply and still remain curious about yourself.
In fact, maybe real self-awareness requires both.
YOU ARE NOT A FINISHED PERSON
We often talk about “finding ourselves” as though somewhere inside us is a completed person waiting to be discovered.
But much of who we are is still being created.
Through experience.
Through failure.
Through love.
Through loss.
Through curiosity.
Through choices we haven’t made yet.
Through places we haven’t gone.
Through people we haven’t met.
Through things we haven’t tried.
There are parts of you that may only exist because of something that hasn’t happened yet.
That doesn’t mean you don’t know yourself.
It means there is still more of you to know.
KNOW YOURSELF, BUT KEEP THE DOOR OPEN
Self-awareness should help you move through life with greater clarity.
It shouldn’t shrink the number of lives you believe you’re capable of living.
Know your patterns.
Know your values.
Know your boundaries.
Know what brings you peace.
Know what you need.
But leave a little space around the edges.
For surprise.
For contradiction.
For growth.
For the possibility that something you once believed about yourself is no longer true.
For the possibility that you might enjoy something you thought you’d hate.
For the possibility that you might be capable of something you assumed you couldn’t do.
For the possibility that tomorrow’s version of you might make absolutely no sense to yesterday’s version.
You are allowed to know yourself without deciding you have yourself figured out.
Sometimes the most important thing you can discover about yourself is that you were wrong about who you thought you had to be.
SLAY REFLECTION
S — Spot the Definition What is something you regularly say about yourself as though it is an unquestionable fact?
L — Look at the Evidence Is that belief still supported by who you are today, or are you using old experiences to describe your current self?
A — Allow for Change Where could you replace “I am” with “I have been” and leave room for another possibility?
Y — Your Next Discovery Do one small thing this week that doesn’t fit the version of yourself you think you know. You don’t have to become someone new. Just give yourself the opportunity to discover something new about who you already are.
CALL TO ACTION: JOIN THE CONVERSATION
I’d love to hear from you.
What is something you believed about yourself for years that eventually turned out not to be true?
Maybe you discovered you were braver than you thought. More creative. More independent. More social. More capable of change. Or maybe you simply realized that something you had always described as “just who I am” wasn’t who you were anymore.
Share your thoughts in the comments. Your experience may help someone else question a definition of themselves they’ve been carrying for far too long.
And if you know someone who has been living inside an old description of themselves, send this to them.
Sometimes we don’t need to find ourselves.
Sometimes we need to give ourselves permission to keep discovering who we are.
Give it a shot because you might regret it if you don’t.
And sometimes that advice is exactly what we need.
Fear can keep us standing safely outside experiences that could change our lives. Growth often requires uncertainty, and there are opportunities we would never discover if we waited until we knew exactly how everything would turn out.
But not every hesitation is fear.
Sometimes it’s discernment.
There are moments when we already have enough information to know that something probably isn’t right for us.
The relationship that requires you to overlook things you know matter to you.
The opportunity that looks impressive but asks you to sacrifice something you’re no longer willing to give up.
The person whose potential keeps tempting you to ignore their pattern.
The invitation you keep trying to get excited about because everyone else thinks you should be.
The situation you’ve already experienced in enough different forms to recognize where it leads.
You don’t always have to go all the way to the ending to know you don’t want the story.
That can be difficult to trust.
Especially if you’ve spent years believing that saying no means you’re closed-minded, afraid, negative, or unwilling to take risks.
So you override yourself.
You give things chances you never really wanted to give.
You stay curious long after your instincts have given you an answer.
You tell yourself you should at least try.
And sometimes you end up exactly where you suspected you would, wondering why you needed the experience to confirm what you already knew.
Experience is a powerful teacher.
But it isn’t the only teacher.
So is observation.
So is history.
So is self-awareness.
So is everything you learned the last time you ignored yourself.
Growth isn’t only becoming brave enough to take more chances.
Sometimes it’s becoming wise enough to know which chances are worth taking.
That doesn’t mean you’ll always get it right.
There will be opportunities you decline that might have turned into something wonderful.
There will be doors you walk past without ever knowing exactly what was behind them.
That’s part of making choices.
Every yes closes something.
Every no does too.
A meaningful life isn’t built by experiencing every possible version of it.
It’s built by learning which possibilities deserve your time, energy, trust, and attention.
You don’t have to date someone just because there might be something there.
You don’t have to accept an opportunity simply because it’s available.
You don’t have to revisit something you already know doesn’t work for you just to make absolutely certain.
And you don’t have to collect another scar to prove you learned from the last one.
Sometimes wisdom looks less dramatic than taking the leap.
Sometimes it looks like recognizing the edge and deciding you don’t need to jump from it.
This is your reminder:
You don’t have to experience every wrong choice firsthand to trust yourself enough to make a different one.
We can be remarkably patient with other people while giving ourselves almost none of the same grace.
We understand when someone else is struggling.
We remind them that change takes time.
We tell them one mistake doesn’t define them.
We encourage them to keep going when they stumble.
But when it’s us?
Suddenly the rules change.
We criticize the body we’re trying to care for.
We shame ourselves for choices we made when we didn’t know better.
We replay mistakes as evidence of everything that’s wrong with us.
We compare ourselves to who we think we should already be.
And somewhere along the way, we convince ourselves that being harder on ourselves will somehow make us better.
If I hate this part of myself enough, maybe I’ll finally change it.
If I criticize myself enough, maybe I’ll become more disciplined.
If I keep reminding myself of everything I’ve done wrong, maybe I won’t do it again.
But shame is a terrible architect.
It may motivate you for a moment, but it’s difficult to build a healthy relationship with yourself on a foundation of constant rejection.
Growth requires accountability.
It requires honesty.
Sometimes it requires admitting that you’ve hurt people, made poor choices, ignored what you knew, or stayed somewhere long after you should have left.
Self-love doesn’t mean pretending those things didn’t happen.
It means refusing to use them as weapons against yourself forever.
There is a difference between saying, I need to change this, and saying, There is something wrong with me.
One creates possibility.
The other turns growth into punishment.
You are allowed to want more for yourself without despising who you are today.
You can work on your habits without hating the person who developed them.
You can regret a decision without turning that regret into an identity.
You can recognize where you’ve fallen short while still believing you are worthy of patience, care, and another chance.
Because the person you’re trying so hard to become is still going to be you.
And if every step toward that person is fueled by rejection, there will always be another flaw to find, another standard to miss, another reason to postpone loving yourself.
Maybe the goal isn’t to finally become good enough to deserve your own love.
Maybe part of becoming who you want to be is learning to stop withholding it.
This is your reminder:
You don’t have to love everything about yourself to stop treating yourself like someone you’re trying to defeat.
We have a habit of reaching one destination and immediately looking for the next one.
The promotion happens, and we start thinking about the next level.
We finally build something we’re proud of, and almost immediately notice everything that still needs work.
We create the stability we once craved, then wonder why life doesn’t feel more exciting.
We reach a milestone and barely give ourselves time to stand there before asking, What’s next?
There’s nothing wrong with wanting more.
Dreams are supposed to evolve as we do. New possibilities appear because we’ve grown enough to see them. What once felt like the destination can eventually become the starting point for something bigger.
But sometimes, in our eagerness to keep moving, we forget to look around.
There may be things in your life today that an earlier version of you desperately wanted.
A relationship you once hoped you would find.
A career you weren’t sure you could build.
A home that once existed only in your imagination.
Peace you fought hard to create.
Boundaries you never thought you’d have the courage to set.
Confidence that arrived so gradually you barely noticed it becoming yours.
What once felt extraordinary can become ordinary simply because we’ve lived with it long enough.
That’s one of the strange things about progress.
We adapt.
The impossible becomes possible. The new becomes familiar. The achievement becomes part of everyday life.
And suddenly, instead of seeing how far we’ve come, we’re focused entirely on the distance still ahead.
Wanting more doesn’t make you ungrateful.
But constantly measuring your life against what you haven’t reached yet can make you overlook everything you already have.
You are allowed to have another dream.
You are allowed to want the next chapter.
You are allowed to keep building, stretching, changing, and imagining something beyond where you are today.
Just don’t let tomorrow steal your appreciation for today.
Every once in a while, turn around.
Look at the ground you’ve covered.
Remember the things you once hoped would happen that eventually did.
Remember the version of you who wondered whether you would ever make it this far.
There will always be another horizon if you keep looking for one.
But life isn’t only happening somewhere ahead of you.
Some of it is happening in the very place you once worked so hard to reach.
This is your reminder:
You don’t have to stop reaching for what’s next to appreciate how much of what you once wanted is already here.
There is a strange comfort in knowing what comes next.
Even when what comes next isn’t particularly good for us.
We know this person will disappoint us.
We know this job will drain us.
We know this friendship will leave us feeling like an afterthought.
We know this habit will make us feel worse tomorrow.
And yet, there can be something strangely reassuring about returning to what we already know.
Because familiarity has its own kind of gravity.
We know the rules there.
We know who we are there.
We know how to survive there.
And sometimes we mistake that recognition for a sign that something belongs in our lives.
But familiar doesn’t mean right.
Sometimes it just means we’ve been there before.
Prefer to listen? The Audio Blog version is available here.
YOUR BRAIN LIKES TO KNOW WHAT COMES NEXT
We tend to think we make decisions based entirely on what we want.
But predictability has tremendous power.
When we know how something works, we don’t have to spend as much energy figuring it out.
Even an unpleasant pattern can offer that predictability.
You know which subjects not to bring up.
You know when someone is likely to withdraw.
You know how much of yourself to reveal.
You know when to apologize, smooth things over, work harder, stay quiet, or make yourself useful.
You may not be happy.
But you know the choreography.
That can create an illusion of comfort.
Not because the situation is actually comfortable, but because you have become skilled at navigating it.
There is an important difference between feeling safe and feeling competent at surviving something.
We don’t always recognize that difference.
WE CAN MISTAKE RECOGNITION FOR CONNECTION
Have you ever met someone and immediately felt like you had known them forever?
Sometimes that’s wonderful.
Sometimes it deserves a closer look.
Because what exactly are you recognizing?
Maybe you recognize their humor.
Their energy.
Their values.
Their openness.
But sometimes what feels instantly familiar is a dynamic you’ve experienced before.
Someone emotionally unavailable can feel compelling if you’ve spent much of your life trying to earn closeness.
Someone who needs constant help can feel strangely attractive if being needed has always made you feel valuable.
Someone unpredictable can create an intensity that feels like chemistry when what you are actually recognizing is uncertainty.
The feeling is real.
Our interpretation of the feeling isn’t always accurate.
“I know this feeling” can easily become “This must be right.”
Those are two very different statements.
SOMETIMES WE KNOW EXACTLY WHO TO BE IN THE WRONG PLACE
There is another reason familiar situations can be difficult to leave.
They give us a role.
Maybe you’re the fixer.
The peacemaker.
The responsible one.
The one who never needs anything.
The one who keeps everyone laughing.
The one who absorbs everyone else’s emotions.
The one who proves their worth by being indispensable.
You may have played that role for so long that it no longer feels like something you do.
It feels like who you are.
Then something changes.
You enter a relationship where nobody needs rescuing.
You find friends who don’t require you to perform for your place in the group.
You work somewhere that doesn’t expect you to sacrifice your life to prove your commitment.
Suddenly, an unexpected question appears:
Who am I if nobody needs me to be that person anymore?
Sometimes we miss the old dynamic not because it was good for us, but because we understood ourselves inside it.
HEALTHY CAN FEEL STRANGE AT FIRST
We often imagine that when something healthier enters our lives, we’ll immediately recognize it.
Finally.
This is what I’ve been waiting for.
Sometimes.
Other times, healthy feels surprisingly uncomfortable.
Consistency can make you suspicious when you are accustomed to unpredictability.
A relationship without constant conflict can feel strangely quiet.
Someone respecting your boundaries can initially feel like they don’t care enough to fight for access to you.
A friendship without competition can make you wonder what the other person really wants.
A workplace that doesn’t expect you to answer emails at all hours can leave you feeling guilty when you close the laptop.
Rest can feel irresponsible.
Peace can feel boring.
Receiving can feel selfish.
And none of those feelings necessarily mean something is wrong.
Sometimes they mean something is new.
DISCOMFORT ISN’T ALWAYS A WARNING
We are often encouraged to trust our feelings.
And we should listen to them.
But listening to a feeling doesn’t mean automatically obeying the conclusion we attach to it.
Discomfort can tell us something is wrong.
It can also tell us something is unfamiliar.
Those require very different responses.
If you’ve spent years saying yes when you wanted to say no, setting a boundary may feel terrible.
That doesn’t mean the boundary is wrong.
If you’re accustomed to explaining yourself until everyone approves of your decisions, saying, “This is what I’ve decided,” and leaving it there may feel almost unbearable.
That doesn’t mean you owe another explanation.
If you have always measured your value through productivity, taking an afternoon off may make you restless.
That doesn’t mean you should get back to work.
Sometimes discomfort is an alarm.
Sometimes it is simply the sensation of stepping outside an old pattern.
Learning to tell the difference is part of growth.
DISTANCE CAN EDIT OUR MEMORY
There is another trick our memory can play on us.
Once we get far enough away from something, we can begin remembering it selectively.
We remember the good conversations and forget how anxious we felt waiting for the next one.
We remember the laughter and forget how often we cried.
We remember belonging and forget how much of ourselves we had to edit to belong.
We remember what the job gave us and forget what it took from us.
We remember the comfort of the habit and minimize the consequences.
Distance can soften sharp edges.
That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We don’t need to carry every painful detail forever.
But nostalgia is not always an accurate historian.
Missing something doesn’t automatically mean you should return to it.
Sometimes you miss something because it was important.
Sometimes because there were genuinely beautiful parts of it.
And sometimes because your mind knows exactly where everything is in that old room.
That still doesn’t mean you should move back in.
THE UNKNOWN DOESN’T HAVE A TRACK RECORD YET
There’s another unfair advantage the familiar has over the new.
The familiar has evidence.
You know what happened before.
The unknown has nothing.
You don’t know whether the new relationship will work.
You don’t know whether the career change will be worth it.
You don’t know whether you’ll find your people somewhere else.
You don’t know who you’ll become when you stop doing what you’ve always done.
So we sometimes compare the certainty of something mediocre with the uncertainty of something potentially better.
Of course, certainty can win that contest.
It arrives carrying receipts.
The unknown arrives empty-handed.
But uncertainty is not evidence that something will go badly.
It is simply the absence of evidence about what comes next.
There are possibilities we cannot discover while insisting that the future prove itself before we are willing to leave the past.
YOU MAY NEED TO GIVE GOOD THINGS TIME TO BECOME FAMILIAR
We talk a lot about letting go of what no longer serves us.
We talk less about what happens afterward.
Because there can be an awkward stretch between leaving an old pattern and feeling at home in a new one.
You may question yourself.
You may miss what you left.
You may wonder why something supposedly healthier doesn’t feel natural yet.
Maybe it isn’t supposed to.
You had years to learn the old pattern.
You knew its shortcuts, warning signs, hiding places, and exits.
You knew your lines.
Something new doesn’t have any of that history yet.
You are learning it.
And perhaps one of the most overlooked parts of changing your life is giving yourself enough time for healthier experiences to stop feeling foreign.
For peace to become recognizable.
For mutual support to become normal.
For boundaries to stop feeling mean.
For rest to stop feeling lazy.
For being loved without performing for it to stop making you wonder what the catch is.
Eventually, what once felt unfamiliar can become the new familiar.
FAMILIAR DOESN’T MEAN RIGHT
When you find yourself being pulled toward an old person, pattern, behavior, or version of yourself, it may be worth asking a different question.
Not:
Why do I still want this?
But:
What about this do I recognize?
Maybe you recognize being needed.
Maybe you recognize chasing approval.
Maybe you recognize instability.
Maybe you recognize overworking.
Maybe you recognize putting yourself last.
Maybe you simply recognize the person you used to be when you were there.
Recognition can be powerful.
But it isn’t destiny.
You are allowed to stop choosing something simply because you know how to survive it.
You are allowed to become unfamiliar with an old version of your life.
And you are allowed to feel awkward, uncertain, or even uncomfortable while something better slowly becomes recognizable.
Because sometimes the thing that feels strange isn’t wrong.
It’s just new.
And sometimes the thing that feels like home isn’t where you belong anymore.
SLAY REFLECTION
S — Spot the Familiar Where in your life are you repeatedly drawn toward a person, situation, habit, or dynamic that you already know doesn’t work for you?
L — Look Beneath the Feeling What feels familiar about it? Is it the person or situation itself, or the role you know how to play within it?
A — Allow the Unfamiliar Is there something healthier in your life that you may be resisting simply because it doesn’t feel natural yet?
Y — Your New Normal Choose one healthy experience you want to give yourself enough time to become familiar with instead of retreating to what you already know.
CALL TO ACTION: JOIN THE CONVERSATION
I’d love to hear from you.
Have you ever had something healthier feel uncomfortable at first because it was new?
Share your thoughts in the comments. Your experience may help someone else recognize when they’re choosing what they know instead of what they truly want.
And if you know someone who keeps finding their way back to the same people, patterns, or situations, send this to them.
Sometimes what feels like home is simply a place we’ve been before.
Growth doesn’t always announce itself with a breakthrough.
Sometimes it looks like being offered something you once desperately wanted…
and realizing you don’t want it anymore.
The relationship you once would have gone back to.
The friendship you kept trying to repair.
The opportunity you thought would finally validate you.
The habit that used to make everything feel easier.
The version of yourself that felt comfortable because you already knew how to be them.
There was a time when saying no to those things felt impossible.
Not necessarily because they were good for you, but because they were familiar.
And familiarity can be powerful.
It can make us forget how hard we worked to leave something behind.
It can soften the edges of memories.
It can convince us that going back would be easier than continuing forward.
But growth changes what feels like home.
The things you once chased can stop exciting you.
The behavior you once tolerated can become unacceptable.
The situations you once begged to return can come back around, only for you to realize you’ve become someone who no longer fits inside them.
That realization can be bittersweet.
Because outgrowing something doesn’t mean it never mattered.
It doesn’t mean you regret the person you were.
It simply means you’ve changed.
And one of the clearest signs of that change is when something that once had the power to pull you backward no longer has anything to offer the person you are today.
You don’t have to prove you’ve grown by fighting your past.
Sometimes you prove it simply by no longer being tempted to return to it.
This is your reminder:
Growth isn’t only measured by how far you’ve moved forward. Sometimes it’s recognizing that what once felt impossible to leave behind no longer feels difficult to walk away from.
When we’re hurting, we don’t always know how to heal.
We just know we want the pain to stop.
So we reach for things.
Relationships.
Food.
Alcohol.
Shopping.
Work.
Attention.
Isolation.
Distraction.
Anything that gives us a few minutes of relief from what feels unbearable.
Sometimes those choices help us get through the day.
Sometimes they become destructive.
And years later, when we’re healthier and have more perspective, we can look back at the person we were and feel ashamed of the ways we coped.
Why did I do that?
Why did I stay?
Why did I need that?
Why couldn’t I just deal with what I was feeling?
But you’re looking at an earlier version of yourself with knowledge that version didn’t have yet.
You are not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness.
You were a hurting person trying desperately to make the pain stop.
Prefer to listen? The Audio Blog version is available here.
SOMETIMES COPING IS JUST SURVIVAL IN DISGUISE
We don’t always recognize coping mechanisms while we’re using them.
At the time, they may simply feel like relief.
Something that makes the loneliness quieter.
Something that distracts us from the grief.
Something that makes us feel wanted.
Something that gives us somewhere to put all the feelings we don’t understand.
So we reach for it again.
And again.
That doesn’t mean every coping mechanism is healthy.
Some can hurt us.
Some can hurt other people.
Some can create consequences we’ll eventually have to face.
But understanding why you reached for something isn’t the same as excusing what happened.
Understanding helps you recognize what you were really trying to survive.
RELIEF AND HEALING ARE NOT THE SAME THING
When we’re hurting, we often search for relief before we understand healing.
Relief asks:
How can I stop feeling this right now?
Healing asks:
What is this pain trying to tell me?
Those questions can lead us in very different directions.
Relief can temporarily numb what hurts.
Healing asks us to understand it.
Feel it.
Process it.
And eventually move through it.
There is no shame in having reached for relief when you didn’t yet know how to heal.
But eventually, relief can no longer do the work that healing requires.
SADNESS CAN MAKE TEMPORARY THINGS FEEL LIKE ANSWERS
When something hurts deeply enough, almost anything that makes it hurt less can begin to look like a solution.
Attention can feel like love.
Distraction can feel like peace.
Numbing can feel like healing.
Being needed can feel like being valued.
A relationship can feel like rescue.
Isolation can feel like protection.
For a while, those things may even work.
That’s what makes unhealthy coping mechanisms so complicated.
They often help before they hurt.
Sometimes we don’t recognize the difference until much later.
That’s part of growing.
YOU DIDN’T HAVE THE TOOLS YOU HAVE NOW
It’s easy to look backward and imagine you should have known better.
But healing gives us tools we didn’t always possess.
Boundaries.
Self-awareness.
Perspective.
Emotional regulation.
The ability to recognize patterns.
The courage to ask for help.
You cannot expect a past version of yourself to use tools you hadn’t learned how to use yet.
You can wish you’d made different choices.
You can take responsibility for them.
You can repair what needs repairing.
But you don’t have to hate yourself for not knowing then what you know now.
SHAME WON’T HEAL WHAT SADNESS CREATED
Shame has a way of convincing us that our worst choices reveal our truest selves.
They don’t.
A decision is something you made.
A mistake is something you made.
A coping mechanism is something you used.
None of those things have to become who you are.
If you’ve grown enough to look back and recognize that something wasn’t healthy, that awareness matters.
It means you can see what you couldn’t see before.
Don’t use your growth as another reason to punish yourself.
Let it become evidence that you’ve changed.
UNDERSTANDING YOURSELF IS NOT MAKING EXCUSES
Sometimes we’re afraid to show compassion toward our past selves because we think it lets us off the hook.
It doesn’t.
You can understand why you behaved a certain way and still acknowledge the consequences.
You can say:
I was hurting.
And…
I hurt someone.
I didn’t know how to cope.
And…
I wish I had handled it differently.
I understand why I made that choice.
And…
I would make a different choice today.
Two truths can exist at the same time.
Accountability helps us grow.
Compassion allows us to grow without destroying ourselves along the way.
SOMETIMES WE TRY TO FILL WHAT ACTUALLY NEEDS TO BE FELT
There are some empty spaces we cannot fill.
We have to feel them.
Grief needs to be grieved.
Loneliness needs to be understood.
Loss needs to be acknowledged.
Pain needs somewhere safe to exist.
We can spend years pouring things into an emotional hole, hoping something will finally make us feel whole.
But healing often begins when we stop asking what we can put into the space and start asking why the space is there.
Sometimes the emptiness isn’t asking to be filled.
It’s asking to be heard.
YOU DON’T HAVE TO KEEP PUNISHING THE PERSON YOU USED TO BE
There is a strange cruelty in healing that we don’t talk about enough.
We become healthier…
And then use that health to judge the person we were when we weren’t.
We look backward with clarity and expect our former selves to have possessed it too.
But they didn’t.
They were living the experience you now have the privilege of understanding in hindsight.
That doesn’t mean everything they did was right.
It means they deserve context.
You can hold your past self accountable without putting them on trial for the rest of your life.
FORGIVE THE PERSON WHO WAS TRYING TO MAKE THE PAIN STOP
Think about who you were during one of your hardest seasons.
Not from where you stand today.
From where you stood then.
What did you know?
What hadn’t you learned yet?
What were you afraid of?
What were you desperately trying not to feel?
That person doesn’t need another judge.
They’ve probably had enough of those.
They need understanding.
They need forgiveness.
They need you to recognize that somehow, imperfectly, they kept going long enough for you to become who you are today.
YOU CAN LEARN A NEW WAY TO CARE FOR YOURSELF
Maybe you once tried to kill your sadness with relationships.
Work.
Food.
Alcohol.
Shopping.
Attention.
Isolation.
Or anything else that offered temporary escape.
You don’t have to be ashamed that something once helped you survive.
But you also don’t have to keep using a survival strategy after you’ve learned a healthier way to live.
Awareness gives you a choice.
And every healthier choice becomes another way of telling yourself:
I know how to care for you differently now.
You are not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness.
You were hurting.
You were learning.
You were trying to get through something with whatever tools you had at the time.
Now you know more.
Now you can choose differently.
And perhaps one of the greatest signs of healing is being able to look back at the person you once were without shame and say:
I understand why you did what you did.
But we don’t have to survive that way anymore.
SLAY REFLECTION
S — See Yourself With Compassion What past behavior have you been judging without considering what you were going through at the time?
L — Look Beneath the Behavior What sadness, pain, loneliness, or fear were you actually trying to escape?
A — Accept What You’ve Learned What do you understand about yourself today that you couldn’t understand during that difficult season?
Y — Your Next Step What healthier way can you care for yourself the next time you feel the urge to escape what you’re feeling?
CALL TO ACTION: JOIN THE CONVERSATION
I’d love to hear from you.
What have you learned to give yourself today that you once searched for somewhere else?
Share your story in the comments. Your experience may help someone else understand that they don’t have to be ashamed of the person they were while they were trying to survive.
And if you know someone who is struggling to forgive a past version of themselves, send this to them.
