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In a world that constantly urges us to distract, fix, or push through discomfort, learning to sit with our emotions requires quiet courage. Most of us were never taught how to pause and truly feel-how to sit with sadness, fear, or anger. Instead, we’re conditioned to see these emotions as problems to solve or flaws to hide. But emotions aren’t obstacles; they’re an integral part of being human, gentle signals asking us to slow down and listen.

As the year draws to a close, we find ourselves in a space that feels both tender uncertain-a liminal space. This threshold between the old and the new is not just about turning the page on the calendar but about the invitations to reflect, release, and realign.

Beliefs, like the stories we tell ourselves, shape our inner and outer worlds. Some carry us forward, providing strength and guidance. Others, however, weigh us down, holding us in patterns that no longer serve who we are or who we are becoming. As we stand in this liminal space, we are offered a moment of pause to ask: What am I ready to leave behind?

For many of us, the holidays arrive draped in a blanket of expectation: “Joy to the world!” “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!” “Family, gatherings, and connection!” It’s the season of celebration, togetherness, and cheers...or so we’re told.

In reality, this time of year can feel more like a magnifying glass, amplifying what feels messy, painful, or missing in our lives. Well-meaning friends and coworkers ask, “What are your holiday plans? Spending it with family?” And social media doesn’t help, with its endless stream of engagement announcements, smiling families, and carefully curated moments of joy.

Oh, how we try to bypass the risks. I hear it so often:

"I wouldn’t have anxiety if I just knew this relationship was going to work out."

"I’m scared to date; I don’t want to risk being rejected again."

"I know this job isn’t right for me, but what if I fail if I try something new?"

It’s such a common response, especially after experiencing trauma, betrayal, or narcissistic abuse. When our hearts have been broken, the natural instinct is to protect them, to avoid the pain we’ve already endured. Why take the risk of opening our hearts again?

"We overthink when our body has a hard time feeling."

This simple but profound truth captures the essence of rumination—the mind spinning stories to avoid the emotions waiting to be felt.

Here are some of the stories I’ve heard many times over the years:

“How did this happen?”

“I felt something was off. Why didn’t I say anything?”

“Is he/she happy now?”

Spinning, spinning, spinning...

We live in a world that rarely slows down. Social media, emails, phones, TV—the endless stream of stimulation keeps our minds spinning and our nervous systems on high alert. This overstimulation has become so normalized that we forget it’s not how we’re meant to live. It pulls us away from ourselves, leaving us ungrounded and disconnected from the truth that lives within.

In the world of dating, it’s easy to feel a swirl of emotions: excitement, curiosity, hope—and yes, anxiety. When so much of dating is unpredictable, with questions like:

“Will they text back?”

 “Are they interested in me?”

I remember my own heartbreak, the one that left me shattered in ways I didn’t know were possible. I was sitting in my therapist’s office, barely able to hold back the tears, feeling like my whole life had come undone. She looked at me with such steadiness and said, “If you stick with this work, you will emerge a different human.” I didn’t believe her. The pain was so consuming, the betrayal so raw, that it felt impossible to see past the heartbreak. How could something so painful ever be anything but loss?