Bob often gets angry and accuses his wife of overlooking and dismissing him, to which she defends herself, claiming that her behavior has nothing to do with him, that she’s just being the confident and independent woman that she is. But Bob remains convinced that it’s Jan who’s deliberately disappearing him, and that she’s responsible for his feelings of irrelevance and humiliation.

Bob is a 51-year-old, highly intelligent, well-educated, and ambitious man. He was raised in a tiny midwestern town, with parents who were absent in all ways imaginable: physically, mentally, and emotionally. They took no interest in Bob whatsoever. Professionally, Bob has spent his life creating projects, both artistic and business-oriented. Despite his great intelligence, original ideas, and hard work, he hasn’t (as of yet) been able to build any of these projects into a career that provides him with recognition or acknowledgment. He also, for that matter, has not yet been able to translate his efforts into financial stability or true independence. He calls himself a “failure” and suffers with shame and low self-esteem, which makes it hard for him to form close friendships. Bob has struggled his whole life, trying to create a place for himself in the world, one where he matters and his talents and wisdom are seen, validated, and respected.

From what Bob describes, Jan is a woman in her late forties who’s built a successful career as an illustrator. An award-winning, highly-respected artist in the publishing and music industries, she’s a sought-after artist who gets to make her own choices on the projects she takes on and how much she gets paid (which is a lot).

While Bob acknowledges that Jan has worked hard for and earned her success, he’s also quick to point out that the only difference between him and her is that the “universe” has rewarded her efforts and not his.

Bob also acknowledges that Jan is a confident and highly likable woman who makes friends and connections easily. She was raised in a financially well-off family, which has allowed her and Bob to enjoy (and provide their kids with) a comfortably cushy lifestyle. There’s no question that Bob respects and adores his wife, but it’s also clear that he resents her. He believes that life has come easier for Jan and that her success is just part of her privilege. While he, on the other hand, was offered nothing—no guidance and no support.

The relational framework from which Bob operates, namely, that his wife is making him feel humiliated and irrelevant (and choosing to do so), is, in fact, very common in relationships. We blame those people we’re closest to for causing our feelings and conflate our experience with their intention to create it.

Different people trigger different feelings in us, and specifically, different feelings about ourselves. Our narrative of the other person, and most importantly, who we are in comparison with the person we’ve constructed in our narrative, then creates a particular self-experience, an identity that crystallizes in their company.

Rather than own our feelings and acknowledge the source of our vulnerability, shame, anger, or whatever else we’re feeling, we decide that the other person is responsible for making us feel our difficult feelings. We disown our own shame and insecurity and project it onto the other person; we are not insecure…they are responsible for it; they are the ones doing it to us.

Bob struggles with powerlessness and humiliation as a general theme in his life. And yet, he needs to believe that his wife is responsible for these feelings. His humiliation is not about him, and not about what he’s (sadly) experienced in his life, or for that matter, what he’s been able to generate and make happen for himself.

There’s no question that other people affect how we feel; we are not islands. And yet, when we hand responsibility off to others for our own difficult feelings, for creating them in us, we effectively escape and reject responsibility and authorship for our own life. In so doing, we deprive ourselves of the opportunity for self-compassion—to acknowledge what we’ve lived and how we got to these feelings, which would then allow the feelings to transform and heal. Simultaneously, making our suffering something the other person is doing to us deprives us of the opportunity for autonomy and ultimately, growth. If our shame, inadequacy, rage, or whatever else were to be about us, about what we’ve actually lived, then we can get on with the job of changing it, creating a different life and different experience of ourselves.

In Bob’s case, as long as his sense of failure still belongs to his wife, if it’s still her casting failure upon him, nothing can, or will, change for Bob.

This example may sound obvious, but projection in the face of the obvious happens all the time and causes unimaginable stress and conflict in intimate relationships. If the partner being projected onto is not incredibly conscious, present, and grounded in the moment it’s happening, they can easily fall into the trap of defending themselves and going into battle to prove their innocence, which is never productive or affirming.

Some of it is just biology: the ego’s survival instinct gets activated when we’re accused of something and triggers a kind of fight-or-flight response in the nervous system. Being told we’re responsible for (and intentionally creating) bad feelings in another person we care about launches us into a defense or counter-attack—into proving that we’re not to blame, and not the bad person we’re accused of being.

This cycle of projection and defense keeps our relationships stuck and keeps us stuck in our own evolution. We focus on our partner and what they’re doing to cause our experience. We devote our attention and energy to how they need to change—to fix our pain and make us feel differently. We insist that a different reality exists, one in which we don’t feel what we feel, a reality that we imagine our partner controls and could create for us…if only they were different.

In part 2 of this series, I will look at ways to break out of this cycle of projection and defense, both for the projector and the projected upon and how to free ourselves from this repetitive loop that leads to conflict, disconnection, and, in a word, suffering. We’ll look at how to move our relationships to a more evolved, conscious, and harmonious state.

The post Projection and Defensiveness: The 2 Relationship Toxins that Can Poison the House appeared first on Nancy Colier.

In this series, I’ve been looking at the experience of living with a partner with anger issues, as well as ways to shift your thinking so as to maintain peace of mind, regardless of your partner’s state of mind. Now I want to offer some practical strategies, things you can do to keep yourself separate and protected in the face of your partner’s anger.

When it comes to separating from your partner’s anger, the simplest strategy is to do just that: Separate yourself, by leaving the space where they’re angering. By removing yourself, you’re inviting (and requiring) your partner to sit with their own anger without you there to absorb it or put it on. You can exit the space tactfully, with or without words, but if it feels right, you can tell your partner that you need to remove yourself from the conversation—just for now—for your own peace of mind. You might say something like, “I understand you need to vent, and I get and respect that…and…what I need right now is to not be in this; I need to feel safe and calm.” Or perhaps, “I’m not comfortable (or okay) with what’s happening here, but perhaps we can talk more about this later, when it might be easier to talk through for both of us.” With some practice and determination, you can learn to do this calmly and directly. Speaking up for yourself and establishing your own experience in the face of their anger is important, and a powerful and effective strategy for shifting the anger experience. Speaking up for your own needs in the face of anger is not easy. You didn’t get to where you are in this relationship overnight and it will take time to undo the unhealthy patterns. Start with baby steps, be patient, and stay the course.

You may have forgotten that you can be the agent of change at any moment in your life. You can change what’s happening and remove yourself from harm’s way; you can give yourself what you need. One of the beautiful things about being an adult is that you have the power to take care of yourself when someone else is not taking care of you. Use that power wisely.

When faced with anger, however, our body often freezes, as part of the fight-flight-freeze fear response. Like a deer in headlights, we remain frozen as the truck hits us head-on. But remember this: No one has the right to make you sit for an emotional eruption or attack because that’s what they need to do. No matter how your partner may try to make their issues your issues, you have the right to take care of yourself, and remove yourself from any interaction you don’t want to be in—no matter what. It’s a mightily powerful technique, to simply say ”I cannot do this right now.” And to say it without apologizing, elaborating, invalidating or explaining it further—that’s a game-changer.

It goes without saying (but I will say it anyway): If for any reason your partner prohibits you from physically removing yourself from their anger, then you need to separate from this person in a more concrete and definitive way, now.

Getting in the habit of creating distance in the face of anger, and actively taking care of what you need, is life-changing. It’s defining your own separate and independent space, internally and externally—from within the relationship. It’s reminding yourself that what you need also matters. Ultimately, it’s taking control of your own well-being, which is everything.

It’s important to create not just physical separation, however, but mental and emotional independence as well. When your partner is caught in their anger, and possibly spewing it at you, focus your attention on a single intention: not biting the hook, not getting engaged in their spinning. It can be helpful to silently repeat to yourself: “Don’t bite the hook,” “Don’t go there,” “Stay here,” or some short mantra that helps you stay grounded inside yourself. If it feels useful, you can also visualize a shield around yourself, made of light, armor, gold, or whatever suits you, and see their anger bouncing off of you.

Simultaneously, you can reflect your partner’s anger in a neutral but kind way, saying things like “I hear you,” “I get it,” or “I see how upsetting this is—for you.” These acknowledging statements can help your partner feel heard, but without your getting entrenched, taking the blame, or taking on their experience. It offers empathy while keeping your partner’s anger at arms’ length—from you.

Perhaps the most obvious strategy, but one that’s often avoided, is to initiate a conversation about your partner’s anger—with your partner. It’s surprising how few people actually do this, precisely because they’re afraid of the anger that raising the issue will trigger. As a result, you’re bullied into silence and held hostage by their anger. But addressing the anger directly, as its own issue, can sometimes help. Be mindful of your timing, however, and initiate the conversation when the relationship is intact and calm. Most people with anger issues know they have them, and thus will marinate with your words and concerns in their own time.

Before you have that conversation, however, write down examples of when their anger felt out of control to you and what you experienced as a result. Come prepared, and use the words “for me” a lot. If your partner becomes angry, as feared, you can explain that what’s happening right in that moment is exactly what you’re talking about and hoping to improve. It’s also wise to seek professional help from a couples therapist or counselor, to have a neutral and trained person in the room who can help navigate the situation. Remember: You didn’t cause the your partner anger issues and you can’t fix them on your own. Ask for help.

It’s also wise to seek your own therapy when you live with someone with anger issues. Investigating and acknowledging your own feelings is often the best thing you can do, for yourself, and paradoxically, the health of the relationship. Your own therapy can help you separate and protect yourself from your partner’s anger issues; it’s a powerful opportunity for becoming emotionally independent.

Even with all these strategies in your pocket, anger can be frightening and disturbing. Anger triggers neurological changes and alters the chemicals in your brain and body. There are real, physiological challenges when anger is coming at you, which can disrupt your ability to respond from your wisest self, and sometimes to respond at all. As you embark on this path and try out these strategies, be vigilant, most of all, about staying connected with yourself and treating yourself with kindness. Meet the intensity of your partner’s anger with the intensity of compassion—for yourself. Let your self-compassion be its antidote. Don’t judge or criticize yourself for being affected in whatever way you’re affected, or for not being able to respond perfectly. You’re human and related, which means other people’s behavior affects you. Refuse to add more anger to your reality by getting angry at yourself. Anger is tough… stay on your own side.

Anger is a big deal, and needs to be addressed one way or another in a relationship. The way anger is managed needs to work for both people in a relationship, not just the angry (or angrier) person. At the end of the day, creating a healthier relationship with an anger bully involves giving their anger back to them to work with, allowing (and requiring) them to contend with their own unresolved stuff. Simultaneously, it’s about taking charge of your own well-being, and not leaving your peace and well-being in anyone else’s hands.

What they don’t tell you in relationship school is that you don’t need your partner to be okay for you to be okay. And not only that; you don’t need to share your partner’s experience in order to understand or care about it. Ultimately, we’re all responsible for our own well-being, and once we realize that, we also know we’re in the best of hands.

The post Do You Feel Like A Hostage to Your Partner’s Anger? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

For the first year of the pandemic, couples actually managed well. The physical and emotional consequences of the virus, being cooped up in the house together, the losses endured, fear, anxiety, financial instability, all of it was handled, by and large, with compassion and patience. Many couples, in fact, grew closer and more appreciative of each other over the first year of pandemic isolation. And yet, something has definitely shifted.

Perhaps it’s the fallout from all the time spent together, or all that required compassion, but what’s showing up in my office right now is a whole lot of impatience—and conflict. Particularly, that is, when it comes to what’s safe, how to re-enter life, and at what pace.

Two couples who disagree about COVID

Chloe and Zach are struggling. Both are vaccinated, but for Chloe, being vaccinated means she has the green light to get back to normal life; COVID is in her rearview mirror. It means she can go out to restaurants and events without fear. She still wears a mask when she goes to indoor events, but for the most part, she is living a post-COVID life. Her husband Zach, on the other hand, doesn’t trust the vaccine like his wife does. He is still anxious about breakthrough infections and avoids all indoor events, even masked. After Chloe attends in-person events, which she has started to do (alone), Zach spends a period of days quarantining in their small studio apartment, so as not to be potentially exposed to the virus. His anxiety about getting sick from COVID was only mildly eased by the vaccine, and he is definitely not ready to join his wife in regular life, and not ready to take advantage of all the possibilities that are opening up.

In another example, Steve received the vaccine as soon as it came out; he never gave it a second thought. He understood that it might not be foolproof, but felt the benefits far outweighed the risks. Steve trusted what the scientists and health organizations were saying and was ready to roll up his sleeve, and move on with life. He was particularly excited about being able to travel again with his wife, as this had been one their favorite activities as a couple.

Lynn, however, who had grown up in an authoritarian country, felt differently. The idea of having to take a vaccine and show papers in order to be able to participate in daily life made her distrustful and afraid. In addition, she followed a rigorously healthy diet and what she called “toxin-free-lifestyle” and simply didn’t want the vaccine in her body. All this to say, Steve was vaccinated and Lynn was not.

Learning to hold differing truths

I’m not here to discuss the rightness or wrongness of any of these choices regarding COVID. For each of these individuals, the virus and vaccine elicited very different experiences and feelings, all of which were real and true for the person experiencing them. Each of these well-educated and well-informed individuals had heard the science and arguments in every direction. They already knew everything I could tell them in terms of stats and studies.

The problem that needed immediate attention was the fact that their differing feelings and beliefs about the vaccine made it impossible for them to resume their pre-COVID life as a couple. They could no longer go out to restaurants, attend events, travel, or do any of the things they used to enjoy together…to live as a couple in the world, either because of not having been vaccinated or not feeling safe to do so.

As a result, the partner who is ready to re-enter life generally feels resentment, judgment, and anger toward their partner for depriving them of the chance to enjoy life again, and for feelings that they deem as crazy or overly-anxious. Their partner’s experience is something that needs to be fixed (hopefully by me). At the same time, they feel fear and sadness over potentially losing their partner, and the person they want accompanying them in normal life. Simultaneously, the partner who chooses not to be vaccinated, or is still anxious even with the vaccine, feels judged, pathologized, and blamed. They feel that their experience is not heard or allowed; they feel rejected.

My intention in this situation, which is appearing more and more frequently these days, is not to persuade anyone out of their truth or convince them of any other truth than the one they hold. Rather, it is to help the couple find a way to be together with their differing truths—to reinvent who and how they will be a couple in their new post-COVID incarnation. If that’s possible…

If you are in this situation, regarding COVID or any other highly impactful life choice, the first thing to remember is that you are not the keeper of The Truth. It’s not up to you to decide what your partner’s experience is or should be. What’s true for you is true and what’s true for your partner is also true—even when the two truths are radically different.

The beginning of a new relationship is joining these two differing truths with an and not a but. Until you can meet your partner’s truth with curiosity and some degree of friendliness, real progress will be stymied. So, step one is to meet your partner’s truth, to try and understand their experience, not judge, pathologize, or blame it. And not blame them for holding you (both) back from life, assuming that if they chose to, they could have a different truth than the one they have. This truth that you are rejecting, no matter what you think of it, belongs to someone you love, and therefore is a truth you must be able to allow.

The second step is to talk about how you want to be together or if there is a way to be together with your differing truths. Are there other ways to enjoy each other as a couple, to feel enjoyment and intimacy? These are hard conversations but conversations that need to happen. If your partner is not willing, for now, to join you back in the world, or welcome your experience as it is, what will this new reality mean for you as a couple? Furthermore, what are the losses that will come with this new reality. These losses need to be recognized and honored, without blame.

At the same time, remember that whatever situation is happening right now, it will pass. Your relationship existed before COVID, and it can and will exist after it’s through. If, that is, you have the courage to allow your reality, your partner’s reality, and your new reality as a couple, to allow all of them to exist right now, as they are.

The post When COVID Threatens to Break Up Your Relationship appeared first on Nancy Colier.

My work with Anna and James was not just to mediate their current and ongoing struggle, but to create relational harmony between them, to help them be together in a way that was indeed harmonious. So then, what is harmony in a relationship? We usually use the word to describe a relationship in which the people seem happy, and the interactions are easy and relatively conflict-free. We consider two people in harmony when they fit together like concordant notes in a pleasing musical chord. And yes, all this is true; such relationships are harmonious. But, there is one element of relational harmony, which may be the most important and defining one, that we deeply misunderstand and that causes much of our unhappiness in relationships.

Because we think of harmony as an agreement between two people, we spend our energy trying to agree on some version of what’s true. We fight until we determine a shared reality. Undoubtedly, agreeing with another person’s version of the truth, their ideas, values, and belief systems, certainly makes things easier in a relationship.  But in fact, deep and lasting emotional, mental, and spiritual harmony requires something other than just agreeing on a shared experience.

Harmony in a relationship means understanding; we don’t need to agree to be in harmony, but we do need to be willing to understand another person’s experience and actually hear their truth.

From the time we’re born, we’re conditioned to believe that our thoughts, opinions, and beliefs define us, that they are who we are. At the same time, we believe that our thoughts are true, but not just true, fundamentally true as in, the Truth. If someone disagrees with us or experiences something differently, it can feel like our identity or very existence is being threatened. How can we exist harmoniously with this other person if they disagree with us, and don’t see it the way we do? This implies that they disagree with who we are, which means there can be no harmony between us, and maybe more importantly, within ourselves.  We must get this other person to agree with us and our experience; we must win the battle of whose version of reality is true so that we can feel better and find harmony again, at least temporarily.

Returning to our couple, Anna and James were in a state of disharmony when they first came to see me, not because they disagreed on the role that money should play in their relationship, but rather because they were unwilling to listen to or even try to understand each other’s experience around money. They were locked in a brutal fight to determine whose version of reality was right, whose experience was going to be allowed to exists as valid and real. And, they were in my office for me to serve as the umpire in their battle, and award one of them with the badge of truth.  As in, you win… this is what money should mean!  This couple needed not to agree on who was right, since they both were right, and both of their experiences mattered, but rather to learn how to hear each other and understand each other’s truth—to coexist in disagreement and simultaneously, in harmony.

Harmony in a relationship, whether romantic, platonic, professional, familial, or any other kind, stems from our willingness to understand another person’s truth, without judging them or defending ourselves, to let their truth be true for them, and therefore, true. Harmony is born from our desire to genuinely know what another person’s reality looks and feels like, through their eyes and heart—not ours. To understand their truth beyond what we think of it.

Harmony blooms when we have the courage to stop hearing another person’s experience solely through the lens of what it means to and about us. Like grace, it appears when we listen to know another human being—not as they exist in relation to us, but as they are.

At the most profound level, harmony in a relationship does not mean that we agree with each other on the contents of life, on what should or shouldn’t be, what happened or didn’t happen.  In other words, what’s true. However, it does mean that we share an intention to understand and know each other, in agreement, disagreement, and everything in between.

In service to our desire for harmony, we can start by learning to ask harmonious questions: What is this like for you? How do you experience this? What does this mean for you? And not just to ask the questions, but to set your self and your opinions aside long enough to really listen to and hear the answers. And…to let them be.

The post Harmony in Relationship Does Not Require Agreement appeared first on Nancy Colier.

If we’re no longer a child, we probably already know that our feelings are going to change over time. We’ve had enough life experience to trust this truth. So, when we are reminded that what feels terrible now will eventually feel less terrible, and maybe even normal, we don’t actually feel any better. We don’t feel comforted or supported, not really. But it’s not just because we already know that our feelings will eventually change that this kind of “you won’t always feel this way” reassurance is unhelpful and sometimes actually feels even more painful.

When we’re in the midst of great sadness or grief, what we really want is someone to be with us in our pain, to essentially, keep us company in our grief.

When we’re suffering, counter-intuitively, we don’t actually want advice or someone to remind us that we will feel better in some future now. What we long for is another human being who’s willing to be with us in this now…to let our suffering be what it is. Someone who has the courage to let us suffer and not try/need to change our grief into something better or more tolerable.

We share our pain so that we’re not so alone in it, so that we can have company in our present moment with the pain that’s here. But when someone tells us that we’ll grow accustomed to what feels terrible right now, the result is that we feel even more alone in our pain.  In being pointed towards an imaginary future, we feel abandoned in this now, and this moment’s grief. The reassurance of a better tomorrow leaves us without comfort, company, or support today.

So too, when something terrible has happened in our life, the point is, we don’t ever want it to feel normal or okay again. That’s what grief is all about. After a friend lost her son in a car accident, she said the thing that scared her the most was that her life without him would ever seem okay or normal again. The normalizing of this new reality is what she was most afraid of. The idea that this new unbearable truth would become something bearable was the most horrifying part of all of it. That would mean that her son’s life and death were actually over, and a new reality had begun.

My friend needed to know that this moment’s grief was infinite in its magnitude. To know that it was forever and would never feel okay was paradoxically comforting.  When we are reassured that a time will come when we won’t mind this new dreadful reality so much, it feels as if we are being asked to minimize our current pain and thus betray our aching hearts.

Finally, when we receive “this too will feel okay” comfort, it can feel like the other person has offered assurance that allows them to feel better about our suffering, but at our expense. They can now sleep at night because they know we won’t have to feel so bad forever.  But in making it all okay for themselves, we who are suffering are left feeling even lonelier in our grief. The other person has rejected our invitation to be with us in the messy, hard, unknown of our real truth. Our suffering has been wrapped up with a bow and presented back to us, kept at a distance from their heart, safely understood and intellectualized, but without ever having been held or shared. We get back an idea and a theory on our pain, in place of the real company and understanding we need .

The next time someone close to you, or not even close to you, trusts you enough to share something painful and present, see what it feels like—for you—to refrain from giving them advice or making their suffering okay. Refrain from turning their experience into an idea or an opportunity to be helpful or wise. Rather, just as an exercise, let your job be to try and understand their experience and just allow it to be what it is.  Set your intention to try and keep them company in their truth, however bumpy it is. Notice what happens inside when you let another person reside in their real experience, without demanding that it or they change.

In those rare moments when someone has the courage or desperation to be truly vulnerable with you, to show you their living pain, trust that advice and guidance are not what they long for or want. Know that, most of the time, that person wants company, and someone to be with them where they are and with what they’re feeling. You can be that person, that friend—real company—for another human being.  And, what a gift it is to be able to offer your presence in this way. When those remarkable opportunities to be a real friend appear, which isn’t often, recognize them and rise to the challenge!

The post Do You Have the Courage to Be a Good Friend? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

Based on the fact that he was a public figure and had planned a jam-packed few days of in-person social and professional meetings, she had assumed (without realizing it) that her friend had recently tested for the virus, although she hadn’t confirmed that assumption.

They met on a chilly evening in New York City.  Without thinking, Petra grabbed a table inside the restaurant.  Her friend showed up wearing a mask and they elbow bumped a warm hello.  But then, her friend took off his mask, claiming that it wasn’t required because they would be eating.  For a moment, Petra also took off her mask, and the two dove into conversation.

After a few minutes, however, Petra was overcome with fear.  It suddenly dawned on her that her friend had been on an airplane the previous day.  Her friend had also (nonchalantly) mentioned that the last time he’d been tested was more than two weeks before the trip to New York.  As he went on talking, Petra found herself feeling increasingly afraid, and simultaneously, utterly trapped.

Petra made the decision to put her mask back on.  But what she didn’t do, and was so angry at herself about, was ask her friend to put his own mask back on.  She felt paralyzed, as if she had to stay in the seat and also had to stay silent.  Why hadn’t she asked her friend to be safe?  This was the question we explored the morning after.

What became clear was that Petra felt guilty about asking him to put his mask back on.  To ask felt unkind, particularly given how much pain he was in, and how happy he seemed to take it off.  Asking would have been a “bother,” and she certainly didn’t want to be that.  So too, it would suggest that he might be infected, which would be insulting, and a way of saying she didn’t trust him.  As if that weren’t enough, being honest about her concern would have made her a “buzz-kill,” difficult,” and “neurotic.”  Clearly, in Petra’s mind, there were huge risks associated with taking care of herself.

Petra was aware of her fear, and even the legitimacy of her fear, but nonetheless, could not bring herself to voice it.  No matter how she tried to rationalize what was happening, she knew she was putting herself at risk.  Still, she sat there like a “good girl,” quietly and empathically listening to her friend, watching the saliva droplets fly from his mouth.  Despite her discomfort and dread, she was not willing to stop what was happening.  She was not willing to risk being unpleasing.  In the end, Petra chose to protect her friend’s experience over protecting her own.

It can feel so hard, particularly for women, to not be what we imagine other people want us to be, to let other people down.  To please or not to please can feel like a life or death choice, like emotional survival.

Most of us have lived something similar to Petra’s experience, and also the regret, confusion, and anger that result from it.  What’s important is that we remember (and continue reminding ourselves of) these experiences, and how we felt in their wake.  These experiences are fundamental to our growth; we cannot change if we don’t recognize and deeply respect the power of our conditioned need to be what we imagine others want us to be.  Petra may or may not end up with COVID, but either way, she put herself at increased risk for it because she couldn’t risk not being what her friend wanted her to be. The threat of not being pleasing proved stronger than that of getting a potentially deadly virus.  If we resist the impulse to criticize ourselves for our choice, and instead use such experiences as teachers, they can lead us to change—and serve as fundamental turning points in life.

The need to people-please is a complicated topic about which I will write more in future posts.  But for now, here’s what I suggest.  First, start by paying close attention to your own experience.  Awareness is key; without awareness, we will continue acting out our habitual people-pleasing patterns.  Notice where you’re straying from your truth, where you’re “behaving” and becoming who you think is wanted.  If we don’t become conscious of our unconscious efforts to be pleasing, we cannot change them.

Furthermore, when you notice that you’ve slipped into pleasing mode, consider the possibility of pleasing yourself too.  If it helps, you can close your eyes, so as not to see the person you think you’re disappointing.  Now, say the words that are true.  Imagine saying them to yourself, but say them out loud.  And remember, everything can be said nicely.  In our re-written script for Petra, she said, “Hey, you just got off an airplane, I’d be more comfortable if you wore a mask.”  The ask is simple, direct, and honest.  It doesn’t seek to explain her feelings. What’s most important in these moments is that we own our own experience, without blaming or defending, and without indulging the story we have going in our own mind.

While some of you may see Petra’s choice as incomprehensible, something you would never do, in reality, most of us fall prey to the habit of people-pleasing, at our own expense, in one way or another.  Let me be clear: Taking care of others is not a bad thing and we’re not bad for doing it.  But we run into trouble when taking care of others comes at the expense of taking care of ourselves.

Remember too, each time we people-please, we strengthen the belief that it’s not safe to be who we really are, and that the only way to be accepted is to become who someone else wants.  This keeps us stuck in the same habitual patterns.  And worse, it can keep us feeling fundamentally unloved, and un-lovable, believing that our lovable-ness depends upon our willingness and ability to please.

We don’t become people-pleasers overnight and we don’t recover overnight.  It’s a process.  We start with small steps, practicing in what feel like low-risk situations.  Maybe we tell the waitress, nicely, that this isn’t what we ordered, or let a friend know that we don’t really want to take a walk in the cold, even though she needs some exercise.  Through practice, we build the muscle for taking care of ourselves. And, each time we practice, it gets a little easier and the muscle gets a little stronger.

The more we learn to express our needs, the more we feel we deserve to express our needs.  Each time we choose to be real, rather than to be pleasing, we experience a feeling of strength, self-respect, and groundedness.  Furthermore, we end up building relationships that are correspondingly grounded and real, based in the truth, and therefore, trustworthy.  Precisely what we’re trying to create by pleasing.  Most importantly, we build a relationship with ourselves that is self-loving and unshakably on our own side.

The post Are You A People-Pleaser at Your Own Expense? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

She tried to let it go, not wanting to create a conflict and upset the “good stretch” they were in. She was worried about how her husband would react to her insecurity. But after a few days, her hurt feelings were still weighing on her mind and heart. Worse, they were turning into resentment—a narrative about her husband that started with “How could he? How dare he?” She knew she had to say something when she found herself obsessively ruminating and snapping at him over small things.

A few days later, she decided to “risk it” and be honest. Over a nice dinner, Jill shared her feelings, saying that while she trusted that he wouldn’t cheat, nonetheless his being holed up with this other woman all evening in the corner of the room made her feel afraid and hurt. Most of all, it triggered her fear of abandonment and inadequacy, her sense of being “not pretty enough, not young enough, not cool enough, not anything enough.” Jill’s own father had left the family when she was young, something her husband was aware of and of which she reminded him. She spoke openly about how his choice to spend the evening enjoying this other woman triggered her deepest insecurity.

Sadly, her husband’s reaction wasn’t the warm reassurance she had hoped for and needed. Rather than saying the loving words she craved—that he cherished her and would never leave her—he angrily questioned her use of the terms “holed up,” “in the corner of the room,” and “enjoying this other woman.” He rejected her description of his actions and accused her of calling him unfaithful and assuming the worst about him. When she defended herself, he told her that she was “nuts.” He said she was overly sensitive and had to get her jealousy under control. Moreover, he said that he was sick and tired of being monitored.

The conversation (which was never really a conversation) ended with his saying, “Nothing I do is ever enough for you,” and the couple retreated to their separate rooms.

Some version of this scenario plays itself out in every relationship I’ve ever seen or experienced: One partner shares his or her experience, longing to feel less alone in his or her pain, to be reassured and comforted, and to move the relationship into something more real and connected. But the result is a further wounding experience. He or she ends up feeling misunderstood, and more alone. The other partner’s anger and criticism then obstruct and add to the original pain.

These kinds of tragic “misses” happen in every relationship. We open a conversation with the desire to feel understood and known. But before we know what’s happened, we’re in a huge fight, tangled up in a lifetime of suffering. Instead of feeling more connected, and we feel profoundly cut off. Instead of feeling understood, we feel rejected. We started out feeling hurt and ended up accused of doing the hurting. We are miles from the empathic embrace we were craving.

Emotional safety is a universal human longing. We yearn for someone with whom we can be completely open; we want to express our real thoughts and feelings without being criticized or blamed. Deep down, we ache to be known.

As a therapist, I hear this same longing from people of every age group, race, gender, and socioeconomic background. The longing is to not have to twist our truth into a pretzel so as to make it palatable, to not have to silence our experience to maintain the relationship and the other person’s ego. We long to be heard without judgment. And yet, even as we are denied this kind of openness, we also have difficulty offering it to our partner.

The Persian poet Rumi wrote, “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing, and right-doing, there is a field. I will meet you there.” That’s it, exactly. And yet, despite our longing and effort, again and again we find ourselves in the loneliest of places, feeling unloved and unknown. Worse, we feel unknowable. We question whether there is anywhere we can be received wholly, without judgment, and without having to fight vigilantly to get there. What we know is that we’re failing to gain entry into that union we crave, where egos fall away and the love is big enough to hold all our separate stories.article continues after advertisement

We long for the kind of love that can include everything. And yet, we get caught again and again in our humanness. We want unconditional love, but seem relentlessly stuck in the conditional.

A part of this pain is simply failing to accept the basic reality of being a human being. As human beings, we are condemned to live in separate bodies and separate minds, which makes for different thoughts, feelings, and experiences. We live in different realities, with different relative truths. We expect something different, especially in our closest relationships. We expect our partners to have an expansive understanding and acceptance of us, and then we experience great suffering when that expectation isn’t fulfilled.

When we are truly open, we are often denied the understanding we need. Our truth ends up bumping into our partner’s ego, their protective armor. Our experience signals a threat to our partner. They, too, feel misunderstood, expecting us to also have an expansive understanding and acceptance. The result is that our experience sounds like an accusation because it doesn’t reflect what they expect us to already have understood. And so they respond with anger and defensiveness. We end up in a life-or-death battle with our partner’s “me,” their wounds and storylines. Simultaneously, we’re trapped inside the claustrophobic separateness of our own little “me.” 

It’s important to realize that all people suffer to some degree in this inevitable form of isolation; it’s a core aspect of the human experience and a consequence of the terrible inadequacy of words and gestures to convey who we truly are, even to those to whom we are closest.

When we share our experience, we are sending an invitation to our partner to meet us beyond the words, in that expansive field of truth. It’s an attempt to bridge the divide between two people. Our truth is a path out of the isolation we all face as separate human beings. We offer our truth to our partner in search of love.

This attempt is profound. Furthermore, the awareness of what’s really being attempted changes the experience itself. At the same time, there are certain things we can do, and ways we can communicate, that will improve our chances of receiving the kind of acceptance and love we crave.

The post Why It’s So Hard to Be (Fully) Honest With Your Partner appeared first on Nancy Colier.

To recap: After many years of explaining to her partner how and why his anger (and denial of that anger) was hurtful and not okay, his behavior continued, barely impacted by her rigorous and persistent efforts to change it. My client, as I reported, eventually lost the willingness and interest to keep trying to change her partner. At the same time, she realized that her partner’s behavior was not in her control to change.

It was at this point that my client decided to turn her attention away from her partner and toward herself, to get curious about her own response, her own relationship with her husband’s bad behavior. Since changing her partner was clearly not possible and she still wanted to stay married, she began investigating her own narrative, the story she was telling herself about his behavior, and what kind of partner she “should” have, how she “should” be treated, and what her relationship “should” include.

A number of people were angered by this article and believed that my client’s choice to shift her attention away from her husband and his problematic behavior and toward herself and her own process was to demonize herself, make herself to blame. And furthermore, that I was encouraging her to accept what she positively “should not” accept, to find fault in herself. But in fact, it was nothing of the sort.

Turning her attention to her own process was not about trying to figure out how and where she was to blame, nor about denying or condoning her husband’s behavior. Rather, it was about finding a way to free herself from the anger, helplessness, and frustration that her current reaction to her husband’s anger was triggering in her.

What she wanted was to hand her husband’s bad behavior back to her husband, to not have to carry it around as her problem, and to not have to wait for it to change until she could be okay. In short, she wanted to be in charge of her own well-being.

It’s abjectly false and dangerous, in fact, to suggest that focusing our attention on our own response to difficulty, prioritizing self-awareness above fixing anyone else, is negative or self-defeating in any way. For my client, the decision to stop trying to change a behavior she couldn’t change felt immediately empowering and liberating, as if she were taking the reins back in her life. With the shift in focus, she was no longer waiting for her husband to change so that she could be happy. With a better understanding of her own narratives, her husband’s outbursts could be just that: her husband’s outbursts, his problem that he would or wouldn’t address in his own time.

But most importantly, his outbursts could be not about or against her, not something she had to be in charge of correcting. Turning the lens on her own response, and doing what she needed to do to maintain her own peace, was about taking care of herself in the reality she was in, as opposed to fighting with reality and continuing to demand that it be different. One thing we know for sure, when we fight with reality, reality wins, every time.

We hold firmly entrenched beliefs and internal narratives on the topic of relationship. They range from the micro to the macro, the subtle to the obvious. The most troublesome “should” of all, however, may be this idea that we “should” be able to change our partner, fix what we don’t like. And consequently, we can’t be happy or content until we do.

To stay in a relationship with a partner we can’t change, to accept what we don’t like, is seen as a surrender to failure, giving up on our partner and, to some degree, ourselves. When we stop trying to change the parts of our partner we don’t like, we are judged (and judge ourselves) as weak, dysfunctional, and lacking self-respect.

The idea of focusing on ourselves when the problem is our partners sends us into the fiercest of “should” minefields. We get tangled up in the narrative that we “should not” have to live with this problem, “should not” let the problem continue (as if we have a choice), “should not” have to change who we are to accommodate our partner’s problem, “should not” let our partner get away with the bad behavior, and countless other “shoulds.”

But these “shoulds,” while sensible and maybe even true in some perfect universe, do nothing to change the problem, the partner, or the relationship. And most importantly, they don’t bring us peace. These “shoulds” keep us fighting with reality, convinced of our rightness but suffering nonetheless. But worst of all, they keep our well-being hitched to someone else’s capacity or willingness for change, which is never where we want to be.

Contributing to these “shoulds” is the belief that the relationship is either good or bad. If the relationship contains difficulties we can’t fix, then the relationship must be all bad and we “should” leave. If we don’t, we’re agreeing to stay in a bad relationship.

The truth is, we abhor contradiction in this culture; we’re not trained to hold co-existing and contradictory truths. Contradiction, which paradoxically is the essence of a relationship, terrifies us. We can’t wrap up contradictory truths and put them neatly on a shelf. Nor can we categorize a relationship as either bad or good, worth staying in or not.

And yet, every relationship is both bad and good (except perhaps the newest ones). Accepting that good must coexist with bad, and being loving amid the contradiction, is the ground of a healthy relationship. Please note that those bad aspects of a relationship are not abuse. Your partner can have shortcomings that are difficult to bear without them being intentionally hurtful toward you.

A relationship requires an attitude of “and,” not “but.” “But” is an eraser word; it wipes out everything that came before it. Opposing truths can indeed be happy bedfellows.

It’s a healthy drive to want to fix what we don’t like in a relationship, to change what’s not working. And the period of figuring out and fighting with the problem and our partner, in other words, the period of suffering, can go on for a really long time, sometimes the duration of the relationship. For some people, the lucky ones, a moment arrives when we realize that we’ve done everything we know how to do to try to change our partner, and still the problem persists and the partner remains unchanged. We then have the option to take a new tack and examine whether there’s a way to find peace even with the problem. Our partner may keep doing what they’ve always done, but we can do things differently.

At any moment in a relationship, we can choose to get curious about ourselves, our history, our triggers, our stories, and our response to a problem we experience with our partner.

We can unpack our narratives and consider whether there’s anything we can let go of that will ease our suffering and bring us peace.

We do this not to blame or castigate ourselves, but to liberate ourselves from the fight. We do this so as not to be tangled up and victimized by the problem any longer, but to use it as an opportunity for self-awareness and expansion.

The act of turning the lens on ourselves is a victory, a setting ourselves free and handing the problem off to the one whose problem it is.

We unhitch our own well-being from the other person’s wagon.

Once unhitched, we discover that we can live with that same problem, but not experience it as problematic, our problem, or even a problem. This is freedom. This is autonomy.

The post Freeing Yourself From Your Partner’s Behavior appeared first on Nancy Colier.

Lily recently walked into the bedroom to find her husband, Ken, asleep. His sweater, which was covered in dog hair, was draped across her pillow. She wasn’t in the room but for a few seconds when Ken turned over, spun around to face her, and began unleashing his anger. “Look at it,” he said, accusatorially. “It’s dog hair. She’s been in here, sleeping in the bed. I had to change the pillowcases.” His tone was furious and aggressive. There was also a pile of laundered clothing on Lily’s side of the bed. “What is all this?” she asked. “Put it away,” he said sharply, and then turned back over and, after a few sighs, seemed to be back asleep. And no, he wasn’t dreaming.

Lily felt blindsided and completely confused. Why was he attacking her about the dog? Was he implying that she had left the door to the bedroom open? She had no idea what had just happened. But, given that it was late, she went about her nightly ritual, moved the clothing and hairy sweater, and went to sleep.

Ken was already at the breakfast table drinking coffee when Lily got up. She was carrying a lot of feelings as she sat down to join him. “What happened to you last night?” she asked. “I walked into the bedroom and you shouted at me, attacked me about the dog hair.” “I attacked you?” he said, raising his eyebrows, making a face and other mocking sounds.

Lily spoke quietly, “In my world, that was an emotional attack.”

Ken responded: “I didn’t shout at you. In what universe did I attack you? You think everything is an attack. Whatever you think, I’m sure it’s right.” Lily didn’t say any more. But when their daughter arrived at the table a few minutes later, Lily humorously told the story of what had happened the previous evening, mocking Ken’s rage and actions. As Lily put it, “I expressed myself to Ken, again, backhandedly this time, and let our daughter validate my feelings since he would not acknowledge anything had happened.”

Lily and Ken had been married for 14 years, with a lot of happiness.  Ken had always been quick to erupt over small things. But when his eruptions were done, which was also quickly, he carried on as if nothing had happened. He didn’t remember his anger. Anyone who pointed it out (which Lily had done many times) was then deemed to be distorting reality and attacking Ken. When these eruptions occurred, Lily was left feeling wounded and in need of an apology, which rarely came.  She wasn’t “gaslit” as she didn’t doubt her experience in any way, but still, she wanted Ken to acknowledge his behavior.  article continues after advertisement

After “the dog hair attack,” Lily felt upset, closed off, and emotionally attacked, even if it was in a small way. Maybe worse than the attack itself was the feeling of being further mistreated by what she believed was her husband’s demand that she pretend nothing had happened.

Lily desperately wanted to tell Ken that this was not OK, but she also knew no apology or empathy would be forthcoming. Rather, she would be judged for attacking him and inventing the whole thing. She felt trapped and alone. At the same time, Lily was angry and disappointed in herself for not having the courage to tell Ken how she felt. Lily believed that to truly respect herself, she had to be willing to be honest about how she felt.

She also knew that letting the incident go and moving forward would be the best choice if peace was what she wanted, and indeed it was. As Lily saw it, there was no good option. What she longed for, really, was a simple apology, an acknowledgment that he shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, even if it meant nothing to him.

For Lily, everything wrong about the marriage, a marriage she also very much enjoyed, was contained in this one incident. 

But her response felt inauthentic and incomplete; making fun of his behavior with her daughter didn’t take care of Lily—it didn’t make her feel more understood or loved. Was there a way to take care of herself, she wondered, even if her husband couldn’t give her what she needed?

When Lily and I dove into this experience together, we discovered a couple of powerful “shoulds” operating in the background of her mind, which, although not the problem, were intensifying her suffering. 

To begin with, Lily believed that she “should” be able to share all of her feelings with her partner and have them lovingly received. And that if she couldn’t share her truth, all the time, she should not be in the relationship. Lily also believed that she “should” have the courage (and be willing) to share her feelings with her partner, no matter what consequences doing so would create.article continues after advertisement

Together, we unpacked Lily’s suitcase of “shoulds,” exposing each to the test of the light. Was it really true that Lily “should” be willing to share all her feelings, no matter what consequences the sharing would create? Was sharing, even when she knew it would meet with defensiveness and rejection, really the self-respecting choice?

Was it possible that, in certain cases, the self-respecting and self-caring choice was to acknowledge and honor her experience—to herself—and not to her husband? Was it possible that the self-compassionate move was the one that took care of her pain but protected her from more aggression and misunderstanding?

And was it really true that she “should not” be in a relationship in which she could not share everything? Did Ken really have to always understand how she felt in order for her to feel good about herself? Furthermore, what if the story she was telling herself—that Ken had intentionally hurt her and was now bullying her into silence—was just a narrative of her own making and not the truth?article continues after advertisement

It occurred to her too, that when this happened in the future, she could simply hold up a “stop” hand to her husband, tell him she didn’t like or wouldn’t stand for his tone, or simply leave the room. She could choose to act in alignment with her discontent rather than explain it in words.

With her “shoulds” brought to light, Lily immediately felt freer. She realized that self-respect could come from not sharing rather than sharing—from actively choosing to protect herself from her husband’s defensiveness and anger.  This process was not about excusing his behavior but rather about seeing how her judgments about the what the relationship “should” be like were causing more suffering not less.

She accepted that her husband’s defensiveness was his issue and not something she could fix—and certainly not something that more disclosure on her part was going to change. She discovered that it was enough to acknowledge her experience to herself and take care of herself in the moment; she did not have to share all her feelings with her husband—even when they stemmed from his behavior.  

She also saw through her belief that a worthy relationship was one in which everything could be shared and received with an open heart. This marriage was worth a lot to her, and worth staying in, and at the same time, it contained a difficulty she couldn’t change.  And so, she started accepting her relationship for what it was and was not, which brought a lot of peace. article continues after advertisement

She was better off taking care of herself in the relationship that actually existed and with the partner who actually existed. Finally, Lily loosened her grip on the story she was telling herself about her husband’s intention to hurt her and his “demand” that she pretend nothing had happened.  She decided to let the meaning of his eruptions be the meaning he ascribed to them and not the meaning she had constructed.  When she let go of the idea that he was “doing that to her,”  the whole thing felt a lot lighter.

When what you want is not possible, and yet you still value and want to stay in the relationship, it is a good idea to investigate the stories you’re telling yourself about your partner and what’s happening in the relationship. Get to know the narrative you’re writing in your head about your partner’s intentions. So, too, it’s important to uncover the silent “shoulds” running in the background of your mind, the “shoulds” that are continually stoking your suffering. Unpacking your stories and “shoulds” is not a replacement for trying to change bad behavior, and not about justifying bad behavior, but it will free you to live more peacefully within your relationship—as it is.

One caveat: If your relationship feels abusive in any way, it’s important to leave, not to learn how to work with it.  This article is not meant to encourage you to find peace with what is consistently hurtful or to turn a blind eye to bad behavior.  Leaving an unhealthy relationship is an option that needs to be considered.  At the same time, every single intimate relationship, even the very best one, contains difficulty.  Joy and difficulty.  We often feel happy and want to stay in relationships that also contain aspects we don’t want and that are painful.  In this article, I hope to offer a path and some peace for anyone who chooses to accept and  stay in a relationship with elements that are not okay, and particularly elements that you cannot change.  

The post When Your Relationship Is Not What You Think It “Should” Be appeared first on Nancy Colier.

Kim could count the number of times she’d made coffee on one hand in the nearly two decades of breakfasts together. As she looked at yesterday’s molding coffee, she remembered her husband’s recent announcement that he was swearing off coffee because of acid reflux. The feeling she had standing there, looking at the old brown liquid, listening to her husband chewing his cereal, was of profound hurt, sadness, and anger. 

“You didn’t make coffee?” she asked, trying to keep her voice and herself calm. “Because you’re not having coffee, you didn’t think you’d make it for me, or didn’t think I was going to have coffee for some reason?”

“I completely forgot, I didn’t even think about it,” he said, oblivious to her feelings. 

Kim, who still had three school lunches to make for her kids, then started to prepare herself a coffee, but soon abandoned the process. 

“Because you aren’t drinking coffee, what about the coffee I drink?” she asked, trying to hold back tears as she moved away from the coffee maker. 

Her husband said nothing, but soon got up and started brewing a pot. Kim continued on with breakfast as if everything was normal, but inside she was struggling with strong feelings. Her chest felt tight, and tears were brimming behind her eyes. 

She felt trapped, knowing there was little she could say about what had happened that wouldn’t set off her husband’s anger and turn her into the “crazy” person who felt so much about something so small and meaningless. Fifteen minutes later, unable to hold her feelings in check, she cracked.

After her husband mentioned his acid reflux yet again, Kim responded with the following: “Yes, your symptoms sound really bad, and, my stomach is actually very different from your stomach. So, the fact that you have acid reflux doesn’t mean I do. 

Her husband once again said nothing in response and nothing for the remainder of the meal.

Interactions like this one, profound but small hurts, happen all the time in couples, at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and every moment between. And usually, they’re not addressed or healed; they just fade away into the giant cauldron that is an intimate relationship. 

In picking apart this experience, Kim and I discovered something surprising and significant: During that breakfast, she had felt guilty for saying something about the coffee. By making those comments, she felt like she had become the aggressor in the situation. She was now to blame; she was the problem. And consequently, she was now at risk of being judged and criticized. What was most painful for Kim was the feeling of having nowhere to go with her feelings of hurt. And, simultaneously, feeling that if she expressed her anger and sadness directly, she would be blamed for having those feelings—she would become the bad guy. article continues after advertisement

While this case may sound extreme, it’s entirely commonplace. These sorts of deep, wounding moments happen all the time. Kim is not different from most of the men and women I see who are in a relationship. We get hurt all the time, and yet, so often, it doesn’t feel safe to express what we actually feel, and so we don’t, or we do it in a distorted way. Or we immediately start trying to fix the problem before it’s even known.     

Kim was hurt when she saw the old coffee. She immediately went into a story in her head about her husband, namely, that he’s self-involved and doesn’t notice what’s happening for anyone but himself. That was her narrative, but under that narrative were big feelings, specifically, feelings of not being taken care of. That little gesture of his making coffee each morning, seemingly meaningless, was, for Kim, a way that her husband took care of her and, ultimately, made her feel loved. 

As we unpacked the experience together, it became clear that Kim did not feel emotionally taken care of in the relationship and had been making do with being taken care of on a practical level. Her husband’s thoughtlessness and disregard for her needs (since his needs had changed) made her feel even less taken care of. She would now have to give up one of the crumbs she received in the caretaking desert she inhabited. The feelings that the stale coffee awaiting her that morning evoked were thick with pain. 

It was also important to notice that when Kim’s strong feelings and physical sensations arose that morning, she immediately shifted her attention away from herself and towards getting her husband to understand how she felt (which she herself didn’t know just yet). Her husband was now the focus of her attention; he had to get how he had hurt her and the meaning of his choice. And when he couldn’t or wouldn’t offer this to her, she felt even more heartbroken.  article continues after advertisement

Our feelings of hurt too often and too quickly morph into a need to get our feelings understood and validated. We start searching to be understood before we even understand our own experience. Consequently, our feelings don’t have the space to exist, don’t get to deliver the truths they hold, and most certainly don’t get taken care of—not by the other from whom we seek understanding and not through our own self-compassion. 

We get hurt and then end up feeling guilty for chasing after the other person’s understanding. In our efforts to be known, we land in the role of the desperate aggressor, the one who’s demanding to have our experience understood, clawing for empathy, and yet suffering deeply throughout the process. It’s a far too common occurrence in a relationship: feeling hurt, guilty, and not understood—all at once.

Just as an experiment, the next time strong feelings arise, see what it’s like to simply experience what you’re experiencing, feel the feelings in your body. Just for that moment, give yourself permission to not have to get your feelings understood by whoever you believe caused them or must understand them.  See what’s underneath the feelings, what deeper hurt has been triggered.article continues after advertisement

When we interrupt our urge to be immediately understood—when we surrender our chase for the other’s empathy and validation—we have a chance to be with ourselves in a loving way, to understand our own experience and be our own container. In so doing, we can take care of ourselves in a profoundly new and powerful way, a way that genuinely helps us heal.

The post Why Trying to Be Understood Is So Exhausting: Rethinking our Response to Daily Hurts. appeared first on Nancy Colier.