vulnerability

Sometimes It’s Not The Light That Guides Us But The Darkness That Pushes Us

We often hear that we should follow the light—look for hope, positivity, and healing to guide us forward. But what happens when the light feels too far away? When we can’t see it, let alone follow it?

There was a time in my life when the darkness wasn’t just around me—it was in me. It wrapped itself around everything I was and everything I believed about myself. It suffocated every flicker of light I had left. And the scariest part? I accepted it. I thought I belonged there. I convinced myself that if I just waited long enough, it would somehow resolve itself. But darkness doesn’t heal. It deepens—until you forget what light even looks like.

The Fear That Became Fuel

I’ve shared before that it was someone else’s story—someone brave enough to speak their truth—that gave me a tiny sliver of hope. Just enough to cling to. That story became my lifeline. I wasn’t ready to see my own light yet, but the fear of sinking further into that darkness became the fuel I needed to ask for help.

Sometimes, it’s not inspiration that gets us moving. It’s desperation. It’s the pain of staying the same. It’s the crushing weight of knowing if you don’t do something—anything—you might not make it. That fear can become a gift. A push. A nudge in a direction you’re not sure of, but one that takes you somewhere new. Somewhere better.

I often talk about seeking the light. But I know all too well that sometimes, the light isn’t what gets us started. Sometimes, the darkness is what pushes us toward the light we didn’t even know we were searching for.

The Lies Darkness Tells Us

Darkness is cunning. It doesn’t always show up like the monster under the bed. Sometimes it sounds like safety. Familiarity. Comfort. It whispers, “Stay here. At least here you know what to expect.”

But here’s the truth: darkness may feel familiar, but it is not safe. It convinces us we’re unworthy. It tells us we’re too broken to be seen, too far gone to be helped. It keeps us stuck with stories we’ve outgrown but don’t know how to let go of.

I used to think there was only one “right” way to heal. One perfect path forward. But that belief only kept me stuck longer. It wasn’t until I realized that healing isn’t a straight line—and it doesn’t always begin with light—that I gave myself permission to find my own way. Whether it’s a flicker of inspiration or a fire lit by fear, what matters is that you start.

The Gift of Desperation

They say necessity is the mother of invention, but I believe desperation is the spark of transformation. For me, it was the fear of staying in that deep, dark place that finally opened me up to something new. I call it the gift of desperation.

When what I was doing stopped working, I had to be willing to try something different—even if it scared me. Especially if it scared me. And that willingness, however small, cracked the door open to a new path.

It didn’t look like anyone else’s journey. It was messy. Uneven. Sometimes I was crawling more than walking. But I kept moving. I kept showing up. And little by little, I found my way out of the dark and into something resembling light.

Your Path Doesn’t Have to Look Like Anyone Else’s

There’s no single right way to heal, grow, or change. No template. No “should.” The truth is, we all have different catalysts. For some, it’s hope. For others, it’s heartbreak. For many of us, it’s both.

What matters is direction. If you’re moving toward a better version of yourself—whether by chasing the light or running from the dark—you’re on the right path.

The key is to remain open. To trust that no matter what’s behind you, what’s ahead can be better. And that willingness to shift—even if just a little—can create space for something powerful.

You Don’t Have to Stay Where You Started

If you’re in a dark place right now, I want you to know: you don’t have to stay there. The fact that you’re reading this means there’s still a flicker of light in you. Hold onto that. Feed it.

And if you can’t find your own light just yet, borrow someone else’s. Let their story, their voice, or even their presence guide you until you find your own strength. Sometimes the push of darkness is the very thing that leads us to the path we were meant to walk.

Always look for the light. But if you can’t see it yet, let the darkness give you the push you need for a better view.

SLAY Reflection

Take a moment to reflect, SLAYER:

  • S: Do you make changes by moving toward the light—or away from the darkness?

  • L: What moments in your life were driven by fear, and where did they lead you?

  • A: How can you reframe your current struggles as a push toward something better?

  • Y: What small shift can you make today to move forward, even if the light isn’t visible yet?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
Have you ever been pushed by darkness toward a better place?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s feeling stuck in the dark, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

It’s OK To Feel Out Loud

I used to believe that showing my feelings meant weakness.
For most of my adult life, I stuffed down every emotion I thought was “bad,” “embarrassing,” or would put a negative light on me.

When those feelings bubbled up, I’d shame myself. I told myself I was stronger for not showing them. And I looked down on others who wore their emotions on their sleeves.

I thought I was in control.
But the truth was, I was being controlled—by fear, by self-judgment, by the belief that emotions were dangerous.

And it worked… until it didn’t.

The Truth About Suppressed Emotions

Eventually, I couldn’t hold it all in anymore.
Those feelings I refused to acknowledge started eating me up inside. They fueled the negative self-talk that looped in my mind, telling me I was “less than,” “unworthy,” and “weak.”

I had to learn—slowly, painfully—that feeling my feelings wasn’t dangerous.
Trying to keep them hidden was.

When I finally reached out for help, I stripped away the distractions and coping mechanisms that kept me from facing how I truly felt.

It was terrifying. I felt exposed, raw, and fragile.
At first, I thought I couldn’t handle it. The emotions overwhelmed me, and my anxiety spiked. But I was encouraged to breathe through them, to sit with them, and to talk with others who understood.

Even then, I tried to keep up appearances.
I remember sitting in a support group, listening to another woman share her truth, and recognizing my own story in hers. My eyes filled with tears, but I fought to keep them hidden.

A friend noticed. She placed a gentle hand on my knee and said, “It’s OK to be sad.”
It was the first time anyone had given me permission to just… feel.

So I let go. And I cried.

The Power of Feeling Out Loud

That moment changed me.
I realized that suppressing my feelings wasn’t strength—it was isolation.

Over time, I learned that sharing my feelings—when safe and appropriate—allowed me to connect with others. It helped me release the weight I carried alone.

I gave others permission to feel their feelings, too.
I discovered that when we let ourselves feel out loud, we remind others that they’re not alone.

Your Feelings Deserve Space

There’s nothing wrong with having feelings—sadness, fear, anger, joy, love.
But there’s something deeply harmful in denying them.

When we stuff them down, they don’t disappear.
They fester, attaching themselves to other experiences, or exploding when we least expect it.

Letting your feelings out is not a sign of weakness—it’s a sign of honesty. It’s a way of staying connected to your truth.

Feel your feelings. Feel them out loud. Let them move through you, and then let them go.

SLAY on.

SLAY OF THE DAY: Reflect & Rise

  • Do you share your feelings, or do you keep them bottled up?

  • If you don’t, what holds you back?

  • If you do, how does it feel afterward?

  • Have you always been open with your feelings, or was there a time you hid them?

  • What changed?

  • What feelings do you still struggle to show?

  • What might happen if you let them out today?

Find the courage to feel, SLAYER.
Let your feelings out. Let them go.
Free yourself from the weight you’ve been carrying.

Call to Action: Join the Conversation
I’d love to hear from you.
What feelings do you find hardest to express, and what’s one small step you can take today to give those feelings space?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s support each other in honoring our emotions.

And if you know someone who might need a reminder that it’s OK to feel out loud, send this to them.
Sometimes, a gentle nudge is all we need to step into our truth.

It’s OK Not To Be OK

After a challenging week, I realized I needed a mental health break. And maybe you do too. So, here’s something I want to share with you again: It’s OK not to be OK.

Living Behind a Mask

For most of my life, I was an expert at pretending everything was fine. I stuffed down my feelings and convinced myself that showing emotion was a sign of weakness. Even when I was falling apart inside, I smiled and put on a brave face. I believed that if I pretended everything was OK, no one would ask questions. And I was right—until I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I surrounded myself with people who were emotionally unavailable, people who wouldn’t ask too many questions. If someone did get too close, I’d quietly phase them out. I believed that admitting I wasn’t OK would push people away. What I didn’t realize was that hiding my truth was isolating me—and killing me from the inside out.

The Moment of Truth

Everything changed the day I finally reached out for help. In a place of desperation, I said the words that had been trapped inside me for so long: “I’m not OK, and I don’t know what to do about it.” To my surprise, the world didn’t fall apart. Instead, it opened up. People I expected to retreat actually drew closer. They offered support, love, and understanding. My honesty became a bridge—connecting me to others who were also struggling, or who had found their way to the other side.

That moment wasn’t just about seeking help. It was about reclaiming my power. Speaking my truth loosened the shame that had gripped me for so long. Instead of feeling weak, I felt strong. Instead of feeling alone, I felt connected. And for the first time in a long time, I felt hope.

The Strength in Vulnerability

No one is OK all the time. No one. Yet we hold ourselves to impossible standards, expecting to be strong, unshaken, and fine—even when we’re anything but. When we keep our struggles hidden, they grow heavier. They fester. They become harder to carry.

Sharing your truth doesn’t make you weak. It makes you brave. It doesn’t push people away—it invites them in. And it creates space for healing, connection, and community. I know because I’ve lived it.

A New Kind of Courage

I’m not saying it’s easy. The first time I admitted I wasn’t OK, it was terrifying. But with each honest conversation, it got easier. Over time, I discovered that vulnerability was not my enemy—it was my greatest ally. It connected me to a SLAYER army of people who understood, who had been there, and who were ready to stand beside me as I fought my way back to the light.

You’re Not Alone

If you’re reading this and feeling like you’re the only one struggling—hear me now: You’re not alone. We all have days when we’re not OK. And when those days come, it’s not a failure. It’s a sign to reach out, to lean on others, and to remember that you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.

Speak your truth. Share your struggle. And know that in doing so, you’re taking the first step toward healing.

SLAY on.

SLAY OF THE DAY: Reflect & Rise

  • When you’re not OK, do you share that with others?

  • If you don’t, why not? What are you afraid of?

  • Are these fears based on facts, or imagined outcomes?

  • Who in your life do you trust to share your truth with?

  • Think of a time when you shared your truth. How did it feel?

  • If you’ve never shared, I challenge you to start today.

  • Remember: It’s OK not to be OK, and just saying so gets you on the road to recovery. Take that step, SLAYER.

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
What has helped you feel more comfortable sharing when you’re not OK?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who needs this reminder, send this to them.
Sometimes, knowing they’re not alone makes all the difference.

Solidarity In Solitude

There was a time when solitude wasn’t something I chose—it was something I used to survive.
Before recovery, I isolated myself because I was afraid of being seen. Not seen in the beautiful, vulnerable, soul-baring way—but seen in the truth-revealing way. I was scared someone would notice the mess I had become.

So, I disappeared. I self-quarantined long before the world made it a shared experience. I believed I was safer alone, but really, I was hiding—from you, from judgment, and mostly, from myself.

It’s been over 14 years since I spoke my truth and reached for help, but during global moments of isolation—when the world closes its doors—I can still feel echoes of those darker days. I remember what it was like to live in solitude and mistake it for safety.

When Solitude Turns to Isolation

Solitude can be healing. But left unchecked, it can slip into something more dangerous: isolation.
When routines fall away, when connection fades, and when fear rises—our minds can convince us we’re better off alone. That no one wants to hear from us. That we’re too much, or not enough.

Sound familiar?

In times like these, it’s easy to slide down the emotional spiral. To disconnect. To feel like you’re the only one struggling. But that’s a lie the darkness tells us. Because you are not alone. And you are not the only one who feels this way.

We’ve all lost something—our routines, our rhythm, sometimes even loved ones. We’re all navigating this new version of life with uncertainty in our hearts. And yet, in the stillness, there’s a new kind of connection forming. One that doesn’t require proximity—but vulnerability.

The Power of Reaching Out

Connection doesn’t always have to look big. Sometimes, it’s a text. A check-in. A voice memo that simply says, “Hey, I’ve been thinking about you.”

For me, reaching out is part of my daily practice. It’s tied to my recovery and to my ability to stay grounded. On days when I’m struggling, being of service—asking someone else how they’re doing—pulls me out of my head and into something greater than myself.

When we shift our attention from our own anxiety to someone else’s experience, we gain clarity. We create space for compassion. And we remember: we’re never really alone.

You don’t need a grand gesture to make a difference. Sometimes just asking “How are you really?” is enough to change someone’s day. And, maybe, your own.

Solitude as a Shared Experience

Something beautiful has happened during times of collective pause: we’ve reached for one another. We’ve shared our fears, our frustrations, our funny moments. We’ve created art, music, stories—and sent them out like lifeboats into the unknown.

We’ve remembered what matters most: people. Connection. Empathy. And in this shared stillness, we’ve found solidarity.

We’re walking forward—not hand in hand, but heart to heart. And though we may be separated by space, our spirits remain side by side.

We were never meant to do this alone. Not healing. Not grieving. Not growing.

We Are Stronger Together

When we choose to stay connected—even in the smallest ways—we create a safety net. We tether ourselves to something real. And if one of us starts to drift, there’s someone who will notice. Someone who will reach back and say, “You’ve been quiet. Are you okay?”

That’s the power of community. That’s the gift of solidarity.

So, if you’ve been isolating—whether out of fear, shame, exhaustion, or uncertainty—I want to remind you that connection is still available. Right now. Today.

Open a window. Wave at your neighbor. Call a friend. Join an online support group. Say hi in the comments. Let someone know you’re here.

Because when we reach for one another, solitude becomes strength. And our solitude becomes solidarity.

SLAY Reflection

Let’s reflect, SLAYER:

  • S: Have you been staying connected or isolating lately? What do you notice about that?

  • L: What fears come up for you when you think about reaching out?

  • A: Who could you check in on today, even just with a short message or call?

  • Y: What does community mean to you, and how can you stay more present in it—even from a distance?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
How are you staying connected, or where are you struggling to reach out?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s isolating, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

One Voice In A Large Choir

It started with a single tap. Then another. Then a steady rhythm.

I was sitting in my car when the rain began to fall. It started slow—one drop, then another—until it became a chorus. And as I sat listening, it reminded me of the beginning of my recovery journey.

That quiet build into something greater reflected what it felt like to go from being alone to being part of a group. From silence to solidarity. From isolation to inclusion.

Becoming a “Group Person”

For a long time, I insisted I wasn’t a group person. I told myself I preferred one-on-one connection, that I worked better alone. And in some ways, that was true. But it was also a shield. A story I told myself to avoid being seen too closely.

When I started recovery, I was encouraged to join a group. Just try it, they said. Keep an open mind. So I did—nervously, reluctantly, with my heart pounding in my chest.

As I scanned the room that first night, I was sure I didn’t belong. These people looked “normal.” They laughed. They smiled. I made a quiet deal with myself: stay for the hour, then leave.

But then a woman began to speak. And what she shared—her pain, her fear, her struggle—sounded a lot like mine. My guard dropped just a little. I kept listening. More voices joined in. Not every story mirrored my own, but enough did. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.

From Loner to One of Many

I kept going. Not just to that meeting, but to others.

Even when it was hard to speak. Even when it felt awkward to introduce myself. Even when all I could do was sit and listen—I showed up. And slowly, I found myself becoming part of something.

For someone who had always prided herself on independence, this shift felt strange—but also incredibly healing. There’s power in walking into a room where no one needs you to be anyone other than who you are that day.

In group, we’re not our resumes. We’re not our past mistakes. We’re not our fears. We’re just people—trying, learning, healing. Together.

And eventually, I stopped saying I wasn’t a group person. Because I realized I’d become one.

The Strength of a Shared Voice

There’s strength in numbers, but more importantly, there’s connection in numbers.

When we come together with a shared purpose—whether it’s healing, growing, or simply supporting one another—we amplify each other’s voices. We lift one another up. We carry each other forward.

Being part of a group reminded me that I don’t have to do this alone. And more than that, it reminded me that I don’t want to.

That lesson followed me outside of recovery. I began to see how I could be part of something bigger in all areas of my life—work, community, friendships. Today, I don’t walk into a room wondering what I can get. I ask myself what I can give. Even if it’s just a kind word or a warm smile.

You Still Matter in the Crowd

Some of us naturally gravitate toward solitude. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

But if we never join in, we might miss the magic of what happens when our voice joins others. A single voice is beautiful—but a choir? That’s transformation.

Your story, your energy, your experience—they’re all valuable. And when you bring them into a shared space, you become part of something powerful.

Don’t underestimate the impact of your presence. Sometimes showing up is the biggest gift you can give—to others and to yourself.

SLAY Reflection

Let’s reflect, SLAYER:

  • S: Do you naturally lean toward solitude or connection? Why do you think that is?

  • L: What fears come up for you in group settings, and where do those fears stem from?

  • A: Have you ever felt seen or supported by a group? What made that experience meaningful?

  • Y: How can you contribute your voice to a group or community today—without needing it to be perfect, just honest?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
Have you ever discovered strength or healing by joining a group or community?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s afraid to take that first step into a group, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

Our Dark Past Is The Greatest Possession We Have

There was a time when I thought my pain would consume me. Now, I know—it shaped me. Our darkest moments hold the power to help others find light. The only question is: are you willing to share them?

The Unimaginable Becomes a Gift

When I was deep in my darkest season, I couldn’t imagine ever looking back and seeing value in it. Survival itself felt uncertain. There was no part of me that thought these experiences would one day be considered my greatest possession. But that changed.

It wasn’t until I found recovery that I started to understand. I saw firsthand how someone else’s story could offer hope. One man’s courage to speak his truth gave me the strength to try and heal mine. His vulnerability saved my life. That was the beginning of everything.

The Power of Sharing Our Story

Early on, I didn’t believe my story held any value. I thought I needed to be “further along” to help someone else. But then, someone newer than me on this path looked at my progress with awe—and I realized we all have something to offer, no matter where we are.

Whether you’re in the thick of healing or years into your journey, someone else needs to hear what you’ve lived through. You don’t need a polished narrative or a perfect ending. Just your truth. That truth might be the very thing that keeps someone else going.

Letting Go of Shame

For a long time, I only shared the highlight reel. The idea of speaking about my pain? Terrifying. I feared judgment, labels, being seen as broken. But the truth is—I was already saying worse things to myself in silence. And pretending was exhausting.

Letting go of that fear and finally sharing my truth didn’t just help others—it saved me. The freedom that came from owning my past, rather than hiding it, was life-changing. The more I opened up, the more I connected. The more I connected, the less alone I felt.

Reclaiming the Narrative

Looking back, it’s almost shocking how much has changed. My darkest chapters no longer control me—they empower me. I’ve taken responsibility, found forgiveness, and made new choices. That transformation gave me back my power.

And maybe the most beautiful part? It allowed me to receive the light of others, too. I no longer walk alone. None of us have to. We can walk together—on our own paths, side by side—with the courage to show up exactly as we are.

There’s no greater victory than turning your pain into purpose. And no greater connection than meeting someone else in theirs.

SLAY on.

SLAY Reflection

  1. Have you found meaning in your darkest moments? What did they teach you?
  2. Is there a part of your story you’re still afraid to share? Why?
  3. Has someone else’s vulnerability ever helped you heal? What impact did it have?
  4. How can you begin to turn your past into a source of light for others?
  5. What would it feel like to release shame and step fully into your truth?

S-L-A-Y:

  • Speak your truth, even if your voice shakes.
  • Let your past be a bridge, not a burden.
  • Acknowledge your growth—and honor it.
  • You can help someone else heal by being real.

Call to Action: Join the Conversation
I’d love to hear from you.
How has your dark past shaped your present strength?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s ready to turn their pain into power, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

Looking Through Your Own Tinted Glasses

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we see life through our own lens. How easy it is to adjust the tint to suit the story we want to tell—or the one we’re trying to avoid.

Because the truth is, when we keep those glasses on, we keep ourselves from seeing what’s real.

The Comfortable Distortion

When I was living in the dark, I wore every shade of tinted glasses you can imagine. I’d change the lens to match my mood, my fears, or the lies I was telling myself.

Reality? I didn’t want to face it. It was too painful. Too overwhelming. Too raw.

So I hid. I convinced myself that my version of the story—my distorted, safer version—was enough. I ignored the cracks in my life, the hurt I was causing myself and others, and I justified it all with the filters I chose to wear.

But eventually, the truth caught up with me. And when it did, I realized how small and dark my world had become.

Taking Off the Glasses

It wasn’t easy. Seeing life without those filters meant facing the choices I’d made, the damage I’d done, and the lies I’d told. It meant admitting that I was the one holding myself back.

But in that hard truth, I found something I hadn’t expected: hope.

I discovered that even when the view was painful, it was honest. It was real. And it gave me a path forward.

As I began my journey of recovery, I learned to live in reality. To lean on others who were also learning to live in their truth. To reach out for help when my reality felt overwhelming.

And over time, I realized that reality—messy, uncomfortable, imperfect—is where life really happens.

Seeing Life Clearly

These days, I still feel the temptation to slip those tinted glasses back on when life gets hard. But I remind myself that hiding doesn’t solve anything. It just keeps me stuck.

Reality can be painful. But it’s also where growth lives. It’s where connections deepen, where healing begins, and where we finally get to see ourselves—truly see ourselves.

And the more I practice living in the clear, the more I realize how much beauty there is in truth.

SLAY on.

SLAY OF THE DAY: Reflect & Rise

Do you tend to hide behind tinted glasses to avoid facing your truth?
What fears or stories are you using those lenses to cover up?
What might your life look like if you took them off today?
How can you begin practicing honesty with yourself and those around you?
What’s one small step you can take today to start living in the clear?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
What’s one truth you’re ready to face today?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s struggling to see reality, send this to them.
Sometimes, a small nudge is all it takes to lift the veil.

Expressing Emotion Is A Strength Not A Character Flaw

Let’s get one thing straight: your emotions aren’t flaws—they’re signals. And when you express them, especially the hard ones, you’re not being dramatic—you’re being brave.

I used to think otherwise. I believed showing emotion made me weak, messy, or a burden. So I swallowed my sadness. I masked my fear. I let anger lead because it felt powerful—until it didn’t.

What I didn’t realize then is what I know now:

Pretending you’re fine when you’re not doesn’t make you strong—it keeps you stuck.

Prefer to listen? The Audio Blog version is available here.

I Wasn’t Okay, and That’s Okay

Before I found this path, I believed the lie that being emotional meant I was broken. I wore “I’m fine” like armor. But underneath? I was drowning.

I thought if I kept it all inside, I’d stay in control. But all I did was isolate myself.

When I finally whispered, “I’m not okay,” I expected the world to crumble.

It didn’t.

Instead, it got quieter. Lighter. Kinder.

Speaking Truth Set Me Free

I started sharing more—first in small, scared ways. A tear I didn’t hide. A truth I told out loud. And I discovered something wild:

My emotions didn’t make me weak. They made me real.

And in being real, I connected.

People didn’t run. They leaned in.

They said, “Me too.”

Expression Became My Strength

Every time I gave my emotions a voice, I took my power back.

  • I wasn’t hiding.
  • I wasn’t shrinking.
  • I was healing.

I stopped believing the lie that vulnerability is a liability. I started believing this instead:

Telling the truth—even when your voice shakes—is the most powerful thing you can do.

Boundaries Matter. So Does Honesty.

Let me be clear: You don’t have to spill your soul to everyone. Not all feelings need a stage—but they do deserve space.

Even saying a simple, “I’m not okay right now” can be the start of something powerful.

Because emotional honesty doesn’t just free you—it invites others to show up too.

And that’s how we build the connection we crave.

SLAY Reflection

Ask yourself:

  • Are you hiding your feelings to appear “strong”?
  • What one emotion are you holding in right now?
  • What do you fear will happen if you express it?
  • What do you hope might happen if you do?
  • Who is one safe person you could open up to this week?

Your voice deserves to be heard—especially by you.

S – L – A – Y

S: Stop pretending you’re fine when you’re not.
L: Listen to your emotions without judgment.
A: Allow yourself to feel and share.
Y: Yield to the healing power of emotional honesty.

Call to Action: Join the Conversation
I’d love to hear from you.
What emotion have you been holding in—and what might change if you gave it a voice?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s been holding it all in, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

Feelings Can’t Kill You, But Avoiding Them Can

We can’t outrun our feelings forever. We try. We bury them, numb them, distract ourselves from them. But in the end, what we avoid will eventually rise. And for some of us, like it was for me, it can become a matter of life and death. This is a story about learning to feel again—and finding freedom on the other side.

The Fear of Feeling

Before I started walking the path of recovery, I did everything I could to not feel. I didn’t care if the feeling was good or bad—I just didn’t want it. I got so good at pretending everything was fine that I started to believe it myself, until all that was left was the heaviness I’d shoved deep down. The more I numbed, the more detached I became—from others, from joy, from myself.

I turned to anything I could: food, shopping, relationships, alcohol, travel. And it worked, temporarily. But the feelings always bubbled back up. The older I got, the harder it became to keep them down. I was a pressure cooker on the brink of exploding. And when I couldn’t keep the lid on anymore, it nearly destroyed me.

What I Didn’t Know Then

I thought the only way to escape the pain was to end the struggle altogether. I believed no one would understand, that I was alone in what I was feeling. But that wasn’t true. I was just hiding so well that no one had the chance to see me. Luckily, someone did. Someone who had been where I was bravely shared their story with me—and gave me just enough hope to reach out.

It didn’t happen overnight. It took time, more suffering, and finally a breaking point. But I reached out. And that changed everything.

The Tsunami of Emotion

When I began my recovery, I was told I’d have to learn to feel again—and that it would be OK. That idea terrified me. I hadn’t felt my feelings since I was a kid, and those childhood wounds were exactly what I’d been running from. But I couldn’t keep running anymore.

And when I stopped, it hit like a tsunami. Decades of anger, shame, fear, resentment, grief, and heartbreak came crashing in. There were days I could barely get out of bed. Days I clung to my mattress or curled in the bathtub, afraid I’d drown in it all. But you know what? I didn’t drown. I survived. And each time I allowed myself to feel, the intensity lessened. With the support of others, therapy, and time—I began to heal.

Feeling Doesn’t Mean Failing

What I’ve learned is that feelings are just information. They’re not good or bad—they just are. They tell us what we care about, what hurts, what needs our attention. Feeling them doesn’t make us weak. Avoiding them is what breaks us down.

It took time, but I began to see that not only was it safe to feel my feelings—it was necessary. And it was also OK to feel good. That was a big one. After so much pain, it took work to believe I deserved to feel joy. But I did. And so do you.

Choose to Feel

Today, I still check in with myself often. Some feelings are harder than others. Some still scare me. But I know I can face them now. And I know I don’t have to face them alone.

Your feelings can’t kill you—but avoiding them can. They are part of your story, and they deserve to be heard. You deserve to feel, to process, to heal. Take your time. Ask for help. Let the emotions teach you something. Let them show you who you are.

Because when you stop running, that’s when the real journey begins.

SLAY on.

SLAY Reflection

  1. Do you avoid certain feelings? What are they?
  2. How do you typically numb or distract yourself when emotions get hard?
  3. What’s one feeling you’re afraid to face—and why?
  4. Who in your life could support you in feeling safely?
  5. What might change if you let yourself fully feel, without judgment?

S-L-A-Y:

  • Stop numbing and start noticing.
  • Let your emotions rise without shame.
  • Ask for support when you need it.
  • You are allowed to feel—and to heal.

Call to Action: Join the Conversation
I’d love to hear from you.
What’s one feeling you’ve been avoiding—and what’s one small way you could start feeling it today?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s struggling to feel, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

We Are Mirrors Of Each Other

We’re all mirrors for each other.
We have more in common than we think, and when we allow ourselves to look for the similarities instead of the differences, something powerful happens—we begin to see ourselves in others. And when we truly see ourselves, healing begins.

Before I started this path, I wasn’t open to that idea.
I judged others. I needed to feel better than the people around me, so I pointed out what separated us. I picked at their flaws to cover up my own. It made me feel superior—but it also kept me sick and isolated.

The truth?
I believed I was a piece of crap, but still thought I had a better solution than you did. That’s how twisted my thinking was.
It wasn’t until someone shared their story with me—raw and honest—that something shifted. I saw myself in them. For the first time, I recognized my reflection in someone else. And it changed everything.

Prefer to listen? The Audio Blog version is available here.

Seeing the Truth in Someone Else

They had the same mental illness I did. They struggled the way I had. But they were getting help. They were doing the work.

In that moment, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.
I wasn’t different.
I wasn’t better.
I was just like them.
And if they could find a way forward… maybe I could too.

The Power of Similarities

Early in recovery, I was told: “Look for the similarities, not the differences.”
That became my mantra.

So I listened.
I really listened—to what people were saying, how they were living, what they were feeling. And the more I listened, the more I saw myself reflected in their stories. I began to connect.

But here’s the thing: you have to be willing to see it.
You have to let go of the need to feel different or better.
You have to get honest about who you are.

And sometimes that honesty is tough. Those mirrors don’t lie.
They show us the parts of ourselves we’ve been trying to hide.

Learning to Accept the Reflection

Looking in the mirror hasn’t always been easy.
There were times I saw things I didn’t like.
But I knew if I wanted to get better, I had to face it.

That meant living with rigorous honesty.
If I saw something in myself I didn’t like, I had to:

  • Address it
  • Change it
  • Or learn to accept it if I couldn’t

We all walk around with mirrors. Sometimes our reflection helps others. Sometimes someone else’s reflection helps us. Nothing is accidental. We cross paths with the people we’re meant to—people who inspire us, challenge us, or show us who we really are.

And if we’re paying attention, those reflections can save our lives.

From Shame to Shared Light

I no longer hide my reflection. I don’t carry shame about what I’ve lived through or how far I’ve come. My reflection is what connects me to others. And if someone else sees a piece of themselves in me? Even better.

Because just like someone else once helped me recognize myself, maybe my story—my mirror—can help someone else too.

I also pay attention to what I see in other people.
If I’m triggered, if something feels off or uncomfortable, I ask myself: What is this showing me about me?
Maybe it’s something I need to look at. Maybe it’s something I need to change. Maybe it’s something I need to love.

Recognizing myself in someone else’s reflection is what saved my life.
And it might just save yours—if you’re willing to look.

SLAY Reflection: What Do You See?

  1. Are you open to seeing the commonality in others?
    What might be keeping you from looking?
  2. Do you sometimes feel superior to others?
    Where did that come from—and how might it be holding you back?
  3. What reflections have others shown you about yourself lately?
    How did you respond to them?
  4. Are there parts of your reflection you’ve been avoiding?
    What’s one small step you can take toward healing or accepting it?
  5. Have you ever seen yourself in someone else—and felt less alone because of it?
    How did that moment change you?

    Call to Action: Join the Conversation

    I’d love to hear from you.
    Have you ever seen yourself in someone else’s story—and how did that moment change you?
    Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

    And if you know someone who needs a reminder that they’re not alone, send this to them.
    Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.