- Published on
"When our choices are mostly guided by seeking approval, we hand over a lot of power."
Many of us are taught to think of decision-making as a process of weighing pros and cons, choosing the “right” option, and making sure everyone involved is okay with the outcome. But sometimes the hardest part of making a decision isn’t figuring out what to do. It’s learning how to stay connected to ourselves while we decide.
For many people, decisions are shaped by questions like:
“What will they think?”
“Will they be disappointed in me?”
“Will they be upset?”
“Am I being selfish?”
“What would make everyone else happy?”
There is nothing wrong with caring about the people in our lives. Healthy relationships require consideration, compromise, and empathy. But when we repeatedly make choices by abandoning our own feelings, needs, or values, something important starts to happen: we lose touch with ourselves.
And over time, that can become exhausting.
The cost of always putting yourself last.
Many people who struggle with burnout are not people who don’t care enough. Often, they are people who have cared so much for so long.
They say yes when they mean no.
They push through when they need rest.
They adapt, accommodate, and try to prevent conflict.
In the moment, these choices can feel like the easiest path. Keeping others happy can create a sense of safety or relief.
But the feelings we ignore don’t disappear. They often show up later as resentment, frustration, exhaustion, or a sense of feeling disconnected from our own lives.
Sometimes resentment is not a sign that we are an unkind person. Sometimes it is a signal that a part of us has been asking to be heard.
Before asking “What should I do?” ask “What do I feel?”
A powerful shift in decision-making is learning to check in with yourself before checking in with everyone else.
Before immediately looking outward, try asking:
These questions are not about becoming selfish. They are about including yourself in your own life.
Decisions based on approval can become a heavy burden.
When our choices are mostly guided by seeking approval, we hand over a lot of power.
We start measuring our decisions by other people’s reactions instead of our own sense of alignment.
The difficult truth is: someone may be disappointed even when we make a healthy choice. Someone may not understand. Someone may prefer the version of us who was easier to accommodate.
But disappointing someone is not the same as harming them.
Sometimes the most honest decisions create temporary discomfort because they require us to step out of old patterns.
A healthier way to decide.
Instead of asking:
“How do I make sure nobody is upset?”
Try asking:
“How do I make a choice that respects both myself and the people I care about?”
There is room for compassion toward others and compassion toward yourself.
The goal is not to stop caring. The goal is to stop disappearing.
The decisions that create the most peace are often not the ones where everyone else approves. They are the ones where we can look back and say:
“I listened to myself. I respected what mattered to me. I stayed connected to who I am.”
And that is a skill worth practicing — one decision at a time.
For many people, decisions are shaped by questions like:
“What will they think?”
“Will they be disappointed in me?”
“Will they be upset?”
“Am I being selfish?”
“What would make everyone else happy?”
There is nothing wrong with caring about the people in our lives. Healthy relationships require consideration, compromise, and empathy. But when we repeatedly make choices by abandoning our own feelings, needs, or values, something important starts to happen: we lose touch with ourselves.
And over time, that can become exhausting.
The cost of always putting yourself last.
Many people who struggle with burnout are not people who don’t care enough. Often, they are people who have cared so much for so long.
They say yes when they mean no.
They push through when they need rest.
They adapt, accommodate, and try to prevent conflict.
In the moment, these choices can feel like the easiest path. Keeping others happy can create a sense of safety or relief.
But the feelings we ignore don’t disappear. They often show up later as resentment, frustration, exhaustion, or a sense of feeling disconnected from our own lives.
Sometimes resentment is not a sign that we are an unkind person. Sometimes it is a signal that a part of us has been asking to be heard.
Before asking “What should I do?” ask “What do I feel?”
A powerful shift in decision-making is learning to check in with yourself before checking in with everyone else.
Before immediately looking outward, try asking:
- What do I actually want?
- How does this choice feel in my body?
- Am I choosing this because it aligns with my values, or because I’m afraid of disappointing someone?
- If nobody was judging me, what would I choose?
- What do I need right now?
These questions are not about becoming selfish. They are about including yourself in your own life.
Decisions based on approval can become a heavy burden.
When our choices are mostly guided by seeking approval, we hand over a lot of power.
We start measuring our decisions by other people’s reactions instead of our own sense of alignment.
The difficult truth is: someone may be disappointed even when we make a healthy choice. Someone may not understand. Someone may prefer the version of us who was easier to accommodate.
But disappointing someone is not the same as harming them.
Sometimes the most honest decisions create temporary discomfort because they require us to step out of old patterns.
A healthier way to decide.
Instead of asking:
“How do I make sure nobody is upset?”
Try asking:
“How do I make a choice that respects both myself and the people I care about?”
There is room for compassion toward others and compassion toward yourself.
The goal is not to stop caring. The goal is to stop disappearing.
The decisions that create the most peace are often not the ones where everyone else approves. They are the ones where we can look back and say:
“I listened to myself. I respected what mattered to me. I stayed connected to who I am.”
And that is a skill worth practicing — one decision at a time.
- Published on
Why Change Feels So Scary (Even When It Might Be Exactly What You Need)
One of the things I find fascinating about the brain is that it doesn't actually care whether you're happy.
It cares whether you're safe.
And unfortunately, the brain often defines safe as familiar.
Which means that when you're standing in front of a change: a new relationship, a career shift, setting a boundary, ending a pattern that's no longer serving you...your brain may respond as if you're about to wander into the wilderness with no food, water, or Wi-Fi.
Suddenly, you find yourself thinking:
Your brain interprets uncertainty as a potential threat and starts scanning for danger. This isn't a character flaw. It's a very old survival system trying to do its job. This topic comes up a lot in my sessions with clients.
The problem is that your brain isn't always great at distinguishing between actual danger and emotional discomfort.
So a difficult conversation can feel like a threat.
A career change can feel like a threat.
Saying no can feel like a threat.
Even when none of those things are actually dangerous.
Humans are incredibly skilled at thinking ahead.
The challenge is that sometimes our minds skip over all the likely outcomes and head straight for the worst-case scenario.
A small uncertainty becomes:
"What if I make the wrong decision and ruin everything?"
This is where catastrophic thinking sneaks in.
When you notice it happening, try asking yourself:
"Is this a possibility, or am I treating it like a probability?"
Almost anything is possible.
But is it likely?
That question alone can help bring you back to reality.
Instead of asking:
"What if this goes badly?"
Try asking:
"What if I can handle whatever happens?"
That question shifts the focus from controlling the future to trusting yourself.
Because self-trust isn't believing that nothing will ever go wrong.
It's believing that you can cope if it does.
Sometimes we interpret fear as evidence that we're making the wrong choice.
But fear can also mean:
Sometimes it simply means you're leaving the familiar.
If you're facing a change right now and your brain is sounding every alarm bell it has, know that you're not alone.
Your nervous system may be treating uncertainty as danger.
That doesn't mean danger is actually present.
Sometimes the next chapter feels scary not because it's wrong—but because it's unfamiliar.
And sometimes the most important step isn't eliminating fear.
It's learning not to let fear make all the decisions.
It cares whether you're safe.
And unfortunately, the brain often defines safe as familiar.
Which means that when you're standing in front of a change: a new relationship, a career shift, setting a boundary, ending a pattern that's no longer serving you...your brain may respond as if you're about to wander into the wilderness with no food, water, or Wi-Fi.
Suddenly, you find yourself thinking:
- What if this is a terrible mistake?
- What if everything falls apart?
- What if I regret this forever?
Your brain interprets uncertainty as a potential threat and starts scanning for danger. This isn't a character flaw. It's a very old survival system trying to do its job. This topic comes up a lot in my sessions with clients.
The problem is that your brain isn't always great at distinguishing between actual danger and emotional discomfort.
So a difficult conversation can feel like a threat.
A career change can feel like a threat.
Saying no can feel like a threat.
Even when none of those things are actually dangerous.
Humans are incredibly skilled at thinking ahead.
The challenge is that sometimes our minds skip over all the likely outcomes and head straight for the worst-case scenario.
A small uncertainty becomes:
"What if I make the wrong decision and ruin everything?"
This is where catastrophic thinking sneaks in.
When you notice it happening, try asking yourself:
"Is this a possibility, or am I treating it like a probability?"
Almost anything is possible.
But is it likely?
That question alone can help bring you back to reality.
Instead of asking:
"What if this goes badly?"
Try asking:
"What if I can handle whatever happens?"
That question shifts the focus from controlling the future to trusting yourself.
Because self-trust isn't believing that nothing will ever go wrong.
It's believing that you can cope if it does.
Sometimes we interpret fear as evidence that we're making the wrong choice.
But fear can also mean:
- you're doing something new
- you're stepping outside an old pattern
- you're growing
Sometimes it simply means you're leaving the familiar.
If you're facing a change right now and your brain is sounding every alarm bell it has, know that you're not alone.
Your nervous system may be treating uncertainty as danger.
That doesn't mean danger is actually present.
Sometimes the next chapter feels scary not because it's wrong—but because it's unfamiliar.
And sometimes the most important step isn't eliminating fear.
It's learning not to let fear make all the decisions.
- Published on
"I wish I didn't care so much what other people think."
It's one of the most common frustrations I hear from clients.
They’re exhausted or resentful from saying yes when they mean no. They over-explain, over-apologize, and carry responsibility for everyone else's feelings. What we call “people pleasing” is often not a character flaw, weakness, lack of boundaries, or failure of confidence.
It may be a stress response.
The term "people pleaser" has become almost an insult.
"I'm such a people pleaser."
"I need to stop being so weak."
"Why can't I just stand up for myself?"
The label often carries shame. It implies that you're intentionally choosing others over yourself because you lack courage or self-respect.
But what if that's not what's happening?
What if your nervous system learned, long ago, that staying connected to others was essential for emotional safety? What if it was adaptation?
Most of us learn our coping strategies in environments where they made perfect sense. Some children discover that being easy-going keeps conflict down. Some learn that reading everyone's moods helps them stay safe. Some learn that love feels more available when they are helpful, agreeable, successful, or self-sacrificing.
These strategies aren't signs of dysfunction. They're signs of intelligence and adaptation.
A young nervous system asks one question above all else: "What do I need to do to belong, stay connected, and be safe?"
People pleasing is often one answer to that question.
The problem isn't that the strategy was wrong. The problem is that we continue using it long after the original circumstances have changed.
People pleasing requires vigilance.
You are constantly scanning:
Are they upset?
Did I disappoint them?
Do they need something from me?
Am I asking for too much?
Have I done enough?
Many chronic people pleasers know what everyone around them wants.
But very few can answer a simple question: "What do I want?"
Not because they're incapable. Because they've spent years prioritizing external information over internal information.
Imagine learning that your tendency to over-accommodate developed as a protective strategy. Would you yell at a smoke alarm for being sensitive? Or would you recognize that it was designed to detect danger?
Instead of asking: "How do I stop people pleasing?" Try asking: "What is my nervous system afraid might happen if I don't?"
Many adults continue obeying old rules based on fears that no longer reflect their current reality. If you've spent years people pleasing, there is a good chance you have been carrying a story that says something is wrong with you.
I would like to offer another possibility.
Maybe your people pleasing is evidence of a nervous system that learned how to survive, connect, adapt, and care deeply about relationships.
And for many people, self-trust is the deeper healing beneath people pleasing.
It's one of the most common frustrations I hear from clients.
They’re exhausted or resentful from saying yes when they mean no. They over-explain, over-apologize, and carry responsibility for everyone else's feelings. What we call “people pleasing” is often not a character flaw, weakness, lack of boundaries, or failure of confidence.
It may be a stress response.
The term "people pleaser" has become almost an insult.
"I'm such a people pleaser."
"I need to stop being so weak."
"Why can't I just stand up for myself?"
The label often carries shame. It implies that you're intentionally choosing others over yourself because you lack courage or self-respect.
But what if that's not what's happening?
What if your nervous system learned, long ago, that staying connected to others was essential for emotional safety? What if it was adaptation?
Most of us learn our coping strategies in environments where they made perfect sense. Some children discover that being easy-going keeps conflict down. Some learn that reading everyone's moods helps them stay safe. Some learn that love feels more available when they are helpful, agreeable, successful, or self-sacrificing.
These strategies aren't signs of dysfunction. They're signs of intelligence and adaptation.
A young nervous system asks one question above all else: "What do I need to do to belong, stay connected, and be safe?"
People pleasing is often one answer to that question.
The problem isn't that the strategy was wrong. The problem is that we continue using it long after the original circumstances have changed.
People pleasing requires vigilance.
You are constantly scanning:
Are they upset?
Did I disappoint them?
Do they need something from me?
Am I asking for too much?
Have I done enough?
Many chronic people pleasers know what everyone around them wants.
But very few can answer a simple question: "What do I want?"
Not because they're incapable. Because they've spent years prioritizing external information over internal information.
Imagine learning that your tendency to over-accommodate developed as a protective strategy. Would you yell at a smoke alarm for being sensitive? Or would you recognize that it was designed to detect danger?
Instead of asking: "How do I stop people pleasing?" Try asking: "What is my nervous system afraid might happen if I don't?"
Many adults continue obeying old rules based on fears that no longer reflect their current reality. If you've spent years people pleasing, there is a good chance you have been carrying a story that says something is wrong with you.
I would like to offer another possibility.
Maybe your people pleasing is evidence of a nervous system that learned how to survive, connect, adapt, and care deeply about relationships.
And for many people, self-trust is the deeper healing beneath people pleasing.
