A father grumbles to himself, “Why can’t I figure this out? Don’t be an idiot.” His son hears that and remembers the math homework he was struggling with earlier. He decides he’s not good at math.

A sister lists her to-do list, the pressures she feels as a parent, the ways she isn’t measuring up. Her sibling hears this and internally writes a to-do list, feeling inadequate.

In each scenario, someone’s self-critic spoke out loud and someone else internalized its message. One person’s suffering multiplied and spread. Living with persistent self-criticism means living with chronic stress — self-criticism literally ignites our fight/flight response — and the effects ripple outward.

I like to think of our self-critics as masters of the conga line: they will get anyone and everyone to join their hateful little dance. The standards we have for ourselves extend to those around us, even when we don’t mean them to. When our self-critic is running amok, out loud and unchecked, it isn’t just hurting us. It’s hurting everyone around us.

Now. Let’s pause together. I can hear your self-critic trying to pick this up and run with it so hear me when I say: you did not choose to have an internal critic. It was handed to you. It might even repeat things you’ve heard — my neurodivergent readers will intimately know the ways criticism and “just try harder” got internalized. The self-critic is like malware that got installed, but now we need to address it head on, without more scrutiny and self-hatred.

The self-critic often defends itself. Like a toxic employee desperate to keep their job, the self-critic will tell you that you will become complacent without it. As if the only thing keeping you from abject failure is the voice telling you you’re failing (the same voice that will criticize you for being so hard on yourself in the next breath). So while the self-critic hurts you, the fear of who you are without it stops you from really addressing it.

And then it leaks out. Over brunch, in a spiral, as a casual comment thrown away. And the people around you all have their own critic that picks up that comment, stores it away. You were just processing, just trying to get yourself to do the thing, just thinking out loud. In that moment, you might really feel irresponsible, stupid, fat, lazy, a failure. And then, unchecked, the loop continues.

And if you’re a parent? Your child is just absorbing that self-hatred.

This is what haunts me a bit: I’ve noticed that most of the adult women I work with who struggle with body image and eating also grew up with a mother who criticized her own body. Mothers never have to tell their daughters to lose weight; they just need to hate their own beautiful bodies long enough. And they were once daughters too, maybe daughters whose bodies were directly criticized. These wounds run deep and go back for generations. The cycle is tragic.

Subscribe now

Please know this: you should not swallow your self-criticism like it’s poison. I am not screaming from the rooftops that more of us need to silently suffer, watch our words, be more palatable. The sharing isn’t what is hurting us. The critic, the unrelenting standards, those are what hurt us.

Silence is where shame flourishes.

I’m suggesting something more radical than silencing your critic. I’m inviting you to be kind to yourself out loud. Yes, so that people can hear you. Because if self-criticism radiates outward, then so does self-compassion. It turns self-compassion from that thing you mean to try into the practice that could actually change our communities.

What this looks like, actually: on a Tuesday walk, catching up with a friend, “Ugh I am such a mess” becomes “Ugh I’m such a — that was about to be harsh. I guess I’m confused and worried about handling things wrong. I feel a lot of pressure.” And that’s the moment. The moment the conga line of hate stops in its tracks. The moment that a private struggle becomes a public permission slip to be gentle. More honest.

If you’re a parent, you are teaching your child to be kind to themselves when you are kind to yourself, out loud, on hard days. Even if your children are grown, I can promise you that they will notice if you start to say “I love that my aging body still gets to move like this.”

By practicing self-compassion out loud, you are also bolstering yourself to be accountable to your community. Self-compassion is what gives you the steadiness to be there for the people you love; not because you have all the answers and never mess up, but because you can hear their struggles and complaints without feeling like a failure.

Instead of dancing a conga line from hell, we can become sturdy, owning our flaws and our contributions, apologizing when we hurt people, celebrating wins. We become more alive.

Knowing that our own unresolved shame impacts others actually becomes the most beautiful reason to heal our shit. Because imagine what happens when you start saying out loud, “I’m struggling and this is hard and I can’t possibly be alone.” And your friend tears up and says, “oh my god me too.” Me too are the words that spark change.

Our animal bodies were designed to assess and respond to a time-limited physical threat: a predator, fellow human, natural disaster. And afterwards, they were designed to switch out of threat mode through crying, hugging, laughing. It’s the panic of visiting a loved one in the hospital then hugging and telling jokes when you see that they’re healing.

Except now we watch as the systems we’ve relied on — ones only built for a select few — crumble. We learn about threats to our identities and our communities from the relative safety of our homes, with nervous systems responding to these threats in kind. Our bodies haven’t evolved to witness this moment in history, and yet we have to find a way to live through it in a way that leaves us intact, connected, and whole.

If you’re inhabiting a body under direct attack, your body is responding as it should. This piece isn’t going to be enough for you and I want to name that. I’m writing to those of you who are not untouched by all this — you have skin in the game — but you have enough space to make choices, even if that’s doomscrolling at night.

Nervous system regulation is having a moment and for good reason. But it can’t be the whole answer. Constantly regulating a nervous system responding to a fire hose of threats is like Sisyphus pushing that boulder up that hill day after day. We can’t keep up. I can do all the deep breaths and ice dives and walks in the world and then get a notification of some new horror and I’m back to wanting to cry and rage.

So what do we do with a nervous system meant for small tribe living in a global world full of attacks and trauma? I think there’s a false binary of either numbing out or bearing witness over and over. Making nervous system regulation your full time job as you witness trauma over and over again is a recipe for burnout. And yet for a lot of us, tapping out isn’t an option morally.

As my own therapist reminds me, look for the middle path: be more grounded in your physical body and more connected to your community. Because the resistance needs humans who are nourished, focused, and connected, not overstimulated, frayed, perpetually-online bots.

Grounding then becomes richer than just managing fear as it arises. It invites you to create a more stable life. What is the version of you that is grounded and responsive? Do you turn down work or social obligations? Do you touch grass, cook your own food, make something with your hands even if no one sees it? Movement and creating are two of the greatest gifts you can give a burned out nervous system.

But please don’t stop there. This is not another white woman saying “joy is the resistance” without a follow up. Stay engaged, yes, but focus your attention. You are one person with one 24 hour day. Pick one, maybe two causes. Find the people in your community doing the work in those areas and show up. Not reposting, actually showing up with your labor.

Be in relationship, deeply. Of course that starts with family and close friends. But you’re braver than that. Meet your neighbors. Engage in community beyond the people you are comfortable with. Your body remembers the safety of the tribe. And right now your tribe needs you.

It’s easy to get overwhelmed with all the input and advice. But knowing your north star — what you stand for — cuts through the noise. Did I move closer to this or further away today? You can find your north star by asking yourself: Who do I want to be when the world burns?

Compassion as a north star will shift how you show up in each relationship you have. Justice or freedom as north stars will shift how you spend your precious energy. Aliveness (one of my north stars) will invite you to wake up. Any of these values asks you to be intentional and repeatedly recalibrate yourself; not in a white knuckling, self-critical, gotta-prove-myself way, but in a clear-headed, connected, this-is-what-I’m-about way.

I once told a client that we can’t deep breathe through fascism — the goal isn’t to feel good after you see something horrendous. The goal is to be fully human: awake to what you’re feeling and responding intentionally. It’s closing Instagram and showing up with integrity, especially if it’s in your own community.

So let the rage and grief point you to what’s important. Then come back to this heartbeat, this community, this moment: a body that needs nourishment, a community that needs support, a world that needs more humans who are alive and connected.

After it all comes crumbling down, our world won’t be rebuilt online. It will be rebuilt community by community, body by body.

Part of you probably loves organizing the hangouts and being there for people you love. There’s meaning and value and identity there. And part of you is lonely and overwhelmed and maybe a little resentful. Like it’s never your turn to be held and cared for.

And I’m here to gently ask you - what if that isolation is by design? What if part of you actually feels safer in this role - always giving and never receiving. Because while caretakers are seen as selfless and mature, they are also roles defined by safety and control. And having more reciprocal relationships will mean giving up some of that safety and control, which is - well, scary.

You don’t want to overcorrect and become helpless or worse - selfish. So how do you continue being the loving friend you so deeply want to be, while having more reciprocal and vulnerable relationships? Well, first we have to look at what’s happening under the surface.

You know that feeling where you finally open up and let someone see your pain and their response absolutely misses the mark? Like Charlie Brown kicking the football just to have Lucy swipe it away at the last second. Well if you’re the Competent One of the group, you just might be trying to avoid that feeling. Because showing your weaknesses, your fears, your vulnerabilities will open the door for disappointment or hurt. If you never share what you’re going through, they can never say the wrong thing, right?

If you never share what you’re going through, they can never really see you. That’s what you’re missing out on.

The people in your life will screw it up at times. They won’t hear your pain or will make a wrongly placed joke. Let yourself hear this: you are strong enough to tolerate that disappointment. You are also assertive enough to say “Hey. I don’t think you really got that.” or “Ouch. Try again.” Being everyone’s parent is just making you feel alone in your overwhelm. Let people in and you can share the burden together.

If something in you clenched up at that last sentence, be real with me for a second: does a part of you relish the control taking care of others gives you? The sense of competence is real. You see a problem, offer a solution, and everyone wins. It’s validating to be helpful, to be the competent, together one and not the one who needs something. And then if they screw up helping you? Well that’s just a bridge too far.

Because at the end of the day, being helpful has a sneaky way of reassuring you that you are lovable, that you have a role. People like helpers! No problem is left unsolved when you’re on the case. And shifting into the person who needs help can feel like giving up an entire identity. Who are you when you aren’t being helpful? Will people stick around when you don’t offer something to them?

And here’s the hard thing. You can begin to let people help you, stop identifying as the Helper, and then hit a wall of grief and rage. It could have been like this all along?! is excruciating. There is grief to living life harder and lonelier than necessary. Sometimes we choose to stay in the hard we know rather than feel grief. You are well acquainted with this brand of hard: the hard of seeing everyone else and feeling like they don’t see you. The hard of showing up and giving and listening, then feeling alone when it’s your turn.

But the hard of realizing people closest to you might not actually be there for you? The hard of sitting with loneliness and uncertainty when you decide that relationships moving forward have to be more reciprocal? That’s uncharted territory. So you stay stuck and a little resentful because the alternative is scary.

And yet. Others also like to give support and help. People want to show up for you. Helping creates closeness and intimacy. By being the Competent One, you may have been depriving your circle of really knowing and loving you. Basically, stop hoarding all the likability!

I can’t know what will happen when you stop identifying as the Helper, when you start actually showing up in your relationships as a whole ass person with needs and problems and vulnerabilities. Your people might disappoint you. You might lose relationships. You might grieve a lot. That is hard, truly. But it’s more alive. It means you have a fighting chance at creating or finding relationships that actually meet you, that actually feel alive and reciprocal. You will free yourself from the cage of the Competent One. And then there’s a whole life to live, one where your worth just... exists.

Even after you’ve done a phone consultation, a new therapist is still a stranger. You hope therapy will help with the anxiety and overwhelm you’re struggling with, but not knowing what to expect from those first sessions just adds to the pile of worries.

Starting any relationship requires vulnerability and risk. Therapy above all is a relationship: the same rules apply here. It’s normal to feel nervous at starting. But something important led you here and diving in is the only way through.

Where Should We Begin?

Unlike the meme, you do not need to download your entire history to a new therapist. The relevant parts of your past will unfold naturally as they relate to the present: knowing your family tree before I really know you doesn’t speed things along. I’m a fan of context, always.

So, we will start with where you are. This is true for the first session as well as the fiftieth. Name that you’re nervous. Acknowledge that you aren’t sure this will work or that you feel overwhelmed at starting something new. If that feels too personal or difficult, then you might start with how you’ve been feeling. Why are you seeking therapy right now?

I like to start with what I know from you from our phone consultation. It might sound like: “You mentioned going back to school while working and taking care of your mom who is aging. That sounds like a lot to manage! Tell me about how that works.”

From there, we can go in any direction that makes sense to you: you might want to talk about going back to school and what you’re hoping will happen as a result. Or maybe your relationship with your mom is weighing on you and we start unpacking that part of your life. Or maybe you’re overwhelmed and anxious about holding all this and we talk about that.

Because here’s the truth: it doesn’t actually matter *where* we start because all of it leads back to you and the life you want to build for yourself. Anywhere we start, we will find your patterns, your hopes, your fears. So start wherever and we will find our way through to what’s important and worthy of your attention.

Take a breath with me.

I often sense this immense pressure in people to utilize therapy just right. To arrive with a five-year plan, to receive homework tailored to their goals, to hit metrics in a few weeks. And yes, goals and progress and growth are all important, but let me be honest with you: that pressure you’re feeling? It’s at least 60% of the reason you are so overwhelmed with life.

If you feel pressure out there, you will feel pressure in therapy. Our patterns follow us like obedient dogs into the therapy room. And that’s where the magic happens. Together, we can name that pressure, get our hands on it, get curious. Figure out what it’s telling you that’s real and important. Let go of what it says that is just bullshit.

When you’ve been white knuckling it for months or years or decades, it isn’t reasonable to ask yourself to settle into a new therapy relationship, figure out your goals, and move forward in a few hours. Instead, we need to take a breath together. You need to feel yourself land, in this life, in this body. Before we embark on something new.

The first few sessions are like I’m meeting you after you have been thrown overboard and are treading water. The immediate priority is to get you out of the water. You need to be able to breathe again. After that, we need to talk about how you found yourself in the middle of the ocean in the first place.

This is how therapy work evolves. We will address your burnout, your worry, your lack of focus. We will meet you where you are, drenched on the shoreline. Then we will peel back the layers - how did you find yourself in this space for so long? How long have you actually been holding your breath? And what does life look like when you aren’t bracing for impact?

Because this is your life. You’re living it. And if we are meeting, then something about it just isn’t working for you. And I want so badly for you to have a rich, full life that works for you. One that feels magical.

It’s So Good to Meet You

Above all else, the first session is about building a relationship. An important relationship that will contain you on your worst week, invite you to look at that relationship you really don’t want to look at, and challenge you to understand yourself and your life differently.

So yes, your therapist wants to know what you’re struggling with and to understand your goals and dreams, but ultimately, your new therapist wants to get to know you.

New relationships all start somewhere. Work relationships begin with an interview. Friends and partners begin with a date. Therapy relationships begin with a first session. It is an opportunity to be the person you really want to be. If you’ve struggled to be honest when it’s hard to be, this relationship might be the first time you try saying what’s real. Maybe you use humor to deflect and therapy can be the space you try saying the vulnerable thing and letting it live in the room, undeflected. Or maybe you’ll finally stop rushing to over-explain and tolerate the vulnerability of someone trying to understand you.

Therapy is often the place we try new ways of being, new ways of relating. You might not even know what you want to change and that’s okay too! Often as I get to know someone, I see their little tells - the self-conscious laughter, the self-criticism that functions as “you can’t hurt me, I already know I suck,” the minimization of their experience so no one else can. And I point that out over and over again so you can learn a new way of being. One that is more aligned and true.

You will likely never know your therapist’s story and life, but you will, over time, have a deep relationship and know how they show up with you. That starts with the first session. Show up as you are and – as clichéd as it is – trust the process.

You’re Ready for This

It’s often intimidating meeting someone new and sharing yourself. However, the first therapy session doesn’t have to be completely overwhelming. If you hear nothing else, hear this: be present in your therapy session. Be present with the nervousness. Be present with the newness and unknown. Tolerate the uncertainty for a beat longer than you’d like to. You don’t need to rush to the next phase.

You are coming to therapy because something is missing or not working in your life. The part of you that wants to share the PowerPoint presentation just wants the hard part to be over so you can get on with the business of living. But this is the living: the messiness, the uncertainty, the slow building of something important. So set down the presentation, take a breath with me, and let’s build that magical life.

Ready to get started? Let's talk.