Quick note first: If you tried to sign up for The Awakening and the discount code didn’t work—you’re not imagining it. The brief tech hiccup on launch day is all fixed now. You can grab your spot here and use code AWAKEN for $300 off (good through April 30). We emailed everyone who wrote in, but if we missed your message, just let us know.
And now, onto the regularly scheduled soul-stretching. . .
She interrupted me mid-sentence.
“You know I work for you, right?”
I was on a call with a trusted collaborator.
And I froze—not because I misunderstood, but because I understood all too well.
During our conversation, I’d been bending over backward, soothing, over-accommodating—all in the name of “being easy to work with.”
And that sentence—“You know I work for you, right?”—didn’t just rearrange the conversation. It rearranged something deep inside me.
As a child, I had learned: If I anticipate what others need, I’ll stay safe in their approval. If I make myself small and agreeable, I won’t be abandoned. If I endlessly give, I’ll be loved.
And then that child grows up and becomes successful and sought-after. Yet the old patterns remain—now dressed up in business casual.
You probably recognize your own version too. Somewhere along the way, you learned that your right to exist came with terms and conditions—you had to please other people and disappoint yourself.
That one sentence—“You know I work for you, right?”—wasn’t about partnership roles. It was about roles we unconsciously play—the identities passed down, the costumes we continue to wear long after they stop fitting.
It was as if she held up a mirror and asked: “You built this life. Why are you still playing the supporting role in your own story?”
Here’s the truth (one I keep reminding myself):
You’re not a living apology. You don’t have to be sorry for your preferences.
It’s not a betrayal to say “no.”
It’s a betrayal to keep saying “yes” to rooms you don’t want to walk into.
Yes, relationships do involve love and reciprocity. But there’s a crucial difference between care and caretaking.
Care is reciprocal, grounded, life-giving. When you care, you pour from a full cup.
Caretaking is compulsive, performative, rooted in fear. Caretaking empties you to keep others full—until there’s nothing left but exhaustion and resentment.
You can love your children without subordinating yourself to them. You can be a great manager without erasing yourself. You can support your partner without making their moods your responsibility.
For years, the loudest internal voice said, “Do what makes sense. Do what they need. Do what gets you praise.”
Now you’re learning to hear a quieter voice—one that speaks in felt sense, not in bullet points.
And yes, it’s terrifying.
We assume healing brings immediate clarity. But at first, healing is disorienting. By honoring your boundaries, you might assume you’re becoming selfish, unreliable, and even hard to love.
That ache you feel when you say “no”? That whisper of guilt when you cancel plans? That strange disorientation when you choose yourself over someone else’s comfort?
Those sensations aren’t your intuition.
They are your conditioning.
They are the withdrawal symptoms from a lifetime of people-pleasing.
So if you’re in the middle of that transformation—if the guilt is loud and the path unclear—keep going.
The discomfort isn’t a sign you’re lost. It’s proof that you’ve stopped running on autopilot.
You aren’t malfunctioning. You’re remembering.
You’re no longer contorting to fit a role.
You’re writing your own part now—and taking center stage.
P.S. If you’re in the messy middle of your own reordering—questioning old roles, shedding what no longer fits, and wondering what comes next—I’m hosting an intimate in-person experience this June in Portland called The Awakening.
It’s not a workshop. It’s a portal—to release what’s done and give birth to what’s possible.
If you’re ready to stop performing and start becoming . . .
You don’t have to do it alone.
There are only 20 seats—and they’re filling up fast.
👉 Learn more and sign up here.
Use code AWAKEN for a $300 discount (expires April 30th).
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