“What am I doing with my life?”

My therapist smiles. “You ask this question every week. It’s too big. A life is a long time. It must feel stressful always worrying about this.” 

She’s right. It does feel stressful, and also daunting. But then why can’t I let it go?

Let’s be honest, journaling can become a tedious task on the healing journey. Sometimes instead of helping, it becomes one more thing on the to-do list. This can feel stressful or overwhelming, which is the opposite of what we are trying to achieve. 

I remember a time not too long ago where every single day I lived with deep anxiety, fear, regret and uncertainty. I often asked myself if I would feel this way forever. I asked people for their perspective, wondering if it was possible to go a full day without ruminating on thoughts or memories that pulled me down.

Choosing myself isn’t always the easy answer. It often feels like the toughest choice to make. I like helping others, and making others happy. Why should I choose myself? Isn’t that being selfish? But recently, someone told me - ‘how can you help others if you won’t help yourself first?’ The truth stung.

Let hard things soften you. Sometimes I think life tries to send us messages. Sometimes they come as gentle nudges, other times they hit like a freight train. If we ignore the subtle hints, they tend to come back louder and impossible to miss. Over the last year or so, one message has kept resurfacing for me: release control. It’s shown up in different ways, over and over again.

Currently, I am outgrowing who I thought I was. And let me tell you, it’s uncomfortable. What does it mean when you outgrow who you thought you were? When you outgrow who you thought you were, it means you’re growing and evolving from a version of yourself that no longer aligns with who you are becoming. It feels like people, goals, and daily routines no longer bring you the satisfaction or joy they once did.

Sometimes I have to remind myself: other people don’t determine my value - I do.

With the nature of my work, I spend a lot of time around people. Big groups, small groups, social settings of all kinds. And sometimes, I catch myself wondering if I fit in. If I’m good enough. If people even notice I'm there.

The other day on TikTok, I saw a video of a girl sitting in her car talking herself through the anxiety she felt about having to go to an event. I thought back to situations where I felt the same way and saw how I also tend to talk myself through these situations. I realized small actions can help us move through situations that trigger anxiety.

I used to think of self-care as a dedicated, uninterrupted ritual- a long bath, an hour at the gym, a massage.

But with three very young kids, I’ve had to completely reimagine what it means to take care of myself. There’s rarely a seven-step skincare routine. No gym classes. For a while, I felt bogged down by the thought that I didn’t get any time to myself. But I’ve come to realize-that was just a story. I do get time. It just doesn’t always look the way I want it to. Lately, I’ve been playing with the idea of microdosing self-care.

After that all I could think about was what happened to me when I was a teenager. It was clear I didn’t have a choice anymore. This part of me was not going anywhere. That’s how I found myself talking to a new therapist on a farm. I had chosen equine therapy for two reasons. One, I had heard that working with animals could help me to trust people again. And two, I thought I may be able to skip right over the speaking about the horrible thing that I labeled all my fault, and just ride horses.

Recently, I have found myself on the verge of burnout. Balancing work and personal responsibilities has felt overwhelming at times, as though I am neglecting myself in order to keep up with everyday tasks. Sometimes it feels like life has become less about living and more about keeping up with the piling responsibilities. Here are 7 Simple Ways to Manage Stress -

I was eighteen, and I would have sworn I was in love.

But, was love supposed to be inconsistent, painful, and confusing? And could I truly love someone else if I didn’t yet love myself? 

I started dating my first boyfriend—let’s call him Calvin—when I was a senior in high school.