I started hiking about a year ago, on the recommendation of a dear friend. Since then, we have been going to the mountains together almost once a week. I never thought I would be able to take up mountaineering.

I always saw it as something too difficult and beyond my reach. But after buying my hiking boots and backpack (we already had trekking poles), joining a small group, and completing my very first hike, I realized that I could no longer stay away from the mountains. I began to miss them every week.

Gradually, I added more equipment to my collection and started strength training to improve my fitness. During the summer, when the weather became hotter, we started hiking at night. We would make our way up the mountain under the moonlight, without using headlamps.

Anyone who has experienced night hiking knows how different the mountains feel after dark. Watching the moon rise while standing high above the ground is simply breathtaking.

I thought I couldn’t do it, but I kept taking one step at a time

A few weeks ago, quite by chance, I came across an announcement on a mountaineering club’s page about a planned ascent of Mount Nilkooh.

I discussed it with my friend, and we decided to join the group and travel to Galikesh for the climb.

We only made it as far as Mordab, at an altitude of 1,050 metres, leaving the final 250 metres to the summit unexplored. We did not reach the top.

The climb turned out to be extremely demanding for both of us. In fact, out of the 88 participants, around 12 stayed behind at the Mordab shelter and did not continue any further.

It was a challenging but deeply educational experience. Many times along the way, I felt I could not go on. The slope was steep, heavy rain began to fall, and the forest trail became muddy and slippery.

Yet, after every short break, when I had caught my breath, I knew I had to keep going. And I did. It was a struggle to make my way uphill.

What I learned: Even when I felt incapable and had almost no energy left, I kept moving. Sometimes, we think we cannot go any further, but if we keep trying, we discover that we can still make progress, even if it is difficult. We have more energy left in reserve than we imagine.

Our self-confidence was put to the test

My friend and I had underestimated Nilkooh. We were quite confident in our fitness and physical abilities. We also thought that a 1,300-metre ascent was not particularly demanding because, based on our own calculations, we had previously climbed mountains involving a 1,500-metre ascent.

As it turned out, our initial calculations were wrong.

To be honest, if we had calculated everything correctly and known from the beginning what we were about to face, we would never have signed up for this climb.

Now, a week after that exhausting hike, I am actually glad I did not know what was waiting for me and went anyway.

If we had not taken on Nilkooh, we might never have discovered so many of the weaknesses and mistakes in our preparation and approach.

What I learned: We should never assume that we are fully prepared, under any circumstances. We should always leave room for unexpected situations and possibilities we may not have considered. More importantly, we should never underestimate any mountain. Every summit deserves our respect.

The mountain is not our enemy; it is a reflection of ourselves

A few days before the climb, I watched the film Tenzing, which tells the true story of Tenzing Norgay, a Nepali Sherpa who, together with New Zealand mountaineer Edmund Hillary, became one of the first two people to reach the summit of Mount Everest in 1953.

They were part of a British expedition, and ultimately, only these two men completed the ascent. At one of the camps, Tenzing realized that the expedition leader regarded the climb as an all-out war and Everest as an enemy that had to be conquered.

Tenzing said something beautiful to his New Zealand climbing partner:

“Chomolungma (the Nepali name for Mount Everest) is not our enemy. We are not at war with her. Chomolungma is us. She is the bones, and we are the blood.”

I found this perspective fascinating. Tenzing Norgay did not see Everest as something separate from himself.

It was almost as if he had to go beyond himself to reach it.

Nilkooh presented us with many difficulties and challenges, but we kept trying to climb higher. I did not have Tenzing’s perspective, but whenever I felt I could not take another step, I would tell myself: Be brave. Don’t give up. Slow down if you need to, but keep going.

(Of course, there were also plenty of moments when I said to myself, “What on earth was I thinking?”)

What I learned: When I finally managed to reach the Mordab shelter despite all the difficulties and exhaustion, I realized that I could face everyday problems and challenges on the ground with greater ease. Something had changed inside me. A new source of strength had emerged. I felt that from then on, I would be less likely to make problems seem bigger than they were and would have greater confidence in my ability to deal with them.

The art of knowing when to stop

We set off from the village of Tarajik towards Nilkooh at around 5:15 a.m. It took us until 8:30 a.m. to reach Mordab. The entire route was steep, extremely long and exhausting, and we covered almost all of it without stopping.

We took just one ten-minute break at the beginning of the forest. After that, we struggled relentlessly to make our way uphill.

When the rain started, it was initially light, but it gradually became heavier, making the climb even more difficult.

The Hyrcanian forest was breathtaking, with its dense oak trees and forest floor covered in large, colourful mushrooms. It was the most beautiful autumn landscape I could have imagined.

Yet, I barely noticed it.

I tried hard to take in more of the scenery, but I simply couldn’t.

All my energy was going into climbing.

By the time we reached Mordab, it was still raining. Exhausted, helpless, and completely drained, I sat down beside a tree. That was where I told the group leader that I could not go any further.

• My friend asked, “Are we really not going to continue?”
• I replied, “I have absolutely no energy left. If you want to and feel able to continue, go ahead. I’m done.”

My friend decided not to continue either.

What I learned: Reaching the summit mattered to us, but we were not competing with anyone. We did not have to reach the top at all costs just to take a photograph next to the 1,300-metre Nilkooh summit sign. When our bodies tell us they cannot go on, we need to listen. The best decision is not always to reach the destination. Sometimes, we need to stay where we are and stop in order to avoid injuring ourselves or putting others at risk.

Sometimes, you have to go through an experience to understand it

The rest of the group returned to Mordab at around 12:30 p.m. after reaching the summit. We had lunch together and, after a short rest, prepared to head back down to the village.

The descent was almost as difficult as the climb. Although the ground had dried and the morning mud was no longer an issue, our exhausted knees were struggling.

My physical endurance was actually adequate for this hike. Neither my friend nor I experienced altitude sickness or had our knees give out (several other members of the group did experience problems).

However, our overall energy levels had dropped to almost zero.

It took us two and a half hours to get back to the village.

Throughout the descent, I kept repeating to myself: I should have done more research. I should have been more careful. I’m never coming back here. That’s it.

I simply don’t have what it takes.

A few hours later, we said goodbye to beautiful Galikesh (A city in northern Iran) and Nilkooh and began our journey home.

On the way back, I kept thinking about my exhausted body, my aching knees, and whether the whole experience had been worth it.

What I learned: If I had known more beforehand, I probably would never have gone to Nilkooh. I think sometimes it is better not to know everything in advance, because too much information about the challenges and difficulties ahead can discourage us from experiencing something new. When you dive headfirst into a challenge, you don’t necessarily drown. You try, struggle, and eventually find a way forward. You may not be fully prepared, and you may reach the point of complete exhaustion, but if you never take that first step, you will never learn as much as you could have.

What I learned

For me, Nilkooh was much more than an opportunity to climb a mountain. It was a chance to get to know myself better, recognize my limitations, and discover abilities I might never have known I possessed.

It reminded me of something important: we are not always as prepared as we think we are.

Sometimes we underestimate our abilities, and at other times, we are overly confident in ourselves.

I learned that perseverance is valuable, but not at any cost. Just as we need the courage to push through difficulties, we also need the courage to stop at the right moment and accept our limitations.

We did not reach the summit, but we certainly did not return empty-handed. We came back with a new experience and lessons that I might never have learned in quite the same way from any book.

I believe this is the true meaning of some journeys: stepping onto an unfamiliar path in the hope of discovering something within ourselves that we never knew was there.

I learned so much from beautiful Nilkooh, and today I can confidently say:

“Yes, it was worth it for everything I learned along the way.”

Will I return to Nilkooh?

Absolutely. Once I have done more endurance training, worked on the mistakes I made during this climb, and sought advice from experienced mountaineers, I will return and make it to the summit of Nilkooh.

We cannot change other people, even when their behavior is hurtful, passive, or malicious. This can be especially frustrating and painful for those who hope that their parents, siblings, or other family members will listen to reason and change their behavior.

For me, living with my parents makes this issue particularly significant and, at times, distressing.

At a certain age, living with your parents can become less comfortable and enjoyable. You have developed your own independent way of thinking and have plans for your life, while your parents are getting older and are no longer the people they were in their younger years. They may expect more from you, become more demanding and difficult to please, refuse to listen, and sometimes behave with the stubbornness of children.

I have often concluded that my parents may never change, and this has been a painful realization. I never expected these behaviors from them. They had always represented something good and admirable to me, but now some of their behaviors hurt me.

I have tried many times to talk to them about these issues. They listen, looking thoughtfully into my eyes, only to mutter something along the lines of, “So this is what it has come to: our own child telling us what we can and cannot say.” Then they go right back to their old ways.

Three things that helped me:

1. Grieve the relationship you hoped your parents and family could offer you.

As I gradually came to terms with my parents’ unwillingness, or perhaps inability, to change, I was overwhelmed by a deep sense of sadness. I realized that I was grieving something I had wanted but never received.

I had hoped to develop a close relationship with my father and to share meaningful, quality time with both of my parents. But that vision never became a reality.

One day, I realized that I needed to let go of that dream, despite the pain it caused me, and allow myself to grieve it.

I learned that this process was essential to finding a new balance in my relationship with my parents.

2. Try to change the way you respond to their behavior.

Once I accepted that my parents might not change, I began to focus on changing the way I responded to them.

Instead of reacting impulsively or emotionally, I tried to pause, remain silent when necessary, and respond in ways that aligned with my values.

When your parents fall into their usual pattern of arguing and starting conflicts, you might choose to go for a walk in a nearby park instead of engaging in another confrontation. You could listen to a good podcast or some white noise as you walk.

When you respond differently, your experience of being around your parents begins to change, too.

Stepping away from familiar patterns of interaction allows you to find calmer ways to respond or to disengage when necessary.

Your new responses may even have a ripple effect on other family members.

In my experience, this approach has helped.

3. Build relationships outside your family

When spending time with your parents becomes difficult, building a chosen family a network of people you choose to have in your life can be incredibly helpful.

I do not have many friends, but I have learned that the quality of your friendships matters far more than the size of your social circle. My friends and I meet regularly every week, and we genuinely enjoy ourselves and have a wonderful time together.

I also meet with a therapist friend for peer consultation sessions focused on countertransference. We take turns discussing experiences and situations that have come up over the previous few weeks. These conversations have been very helpful and meaningful to me.

Building new relationships and nurturing existing ones can create a supportive network that helps ease the pain of family estrangement and difficult family dynamics.

None of these things, however, compares to the relief of seeing a family member recognize that their behavior is hurtful and make a genuine effort to change.

But since we cannot control other people’s behavior, I believe the next best thing we can do is find ways to heal our own pain and focus on what is within our control.

Final thoughts

One of the hardest parts of growing up is accepting that our parents, like everyone else, have limitations that our love for them cannot erase and that explanations or rational arguments cannot always overcome.

Accepting this does not mean we love them any less, approve of their hurtful behavior, or have to give up on the relationship. It means letting go of a responsibility that was never ours to carry alone: the responsibility of changing someone else.

We may never receive the heartfelt conversation, mutual understanding, or apology we have been hoping for. Accepting this loss is painful, but it can also free us from an endless cycle of waiting for others to change before allowing ourselves to move forward with our lives.

Emotional maturity means learning what choices we have in response to other people’s behavior.

We can love our parents without sacrificing ourselves. We can empathize with them without taking responsibility for their feelings and decisions.

We can establish boundaries to protect our peace, even if they never understand or accept those boundaries.

We may not always have the family relationships we wish we had, but we can gradually build lives in which our sense of peace and self-worth no longer depend on how our family members behave.

Perhaps this is the point at which we stop spending all our energy trying to change the people we love and begin learning how to care for ourselves, too.

Ultimately, we must come to terms with a simple truth: Loving others should never mean abandoning ourselves.

I know I’m going to spend most of today writing this Medium article.

Although I genuinely enjoy writing, and I experience a real sense of flow when I do it, there is still a voice inside me saying, You didn’t get to read a few pages of Dante’s Paradise. You haven’t read those two Psychology Today articles, either, and the two pages of the Masnavi, along with several other things, will remain unread and unfinished because you want to publish a Medium article tonight.

Have you ever felt that even doing something you love can leave you wondering why you couldn’t make time for everything else?

Have you ever felt disappointed in yourself for choosing something you genuinely enjoy?

If you’re nodding your head or answering yes, this post is for you.

On days when I write for Medium, I feel that there are so many other things that matter to me, things I would love to make time for, too. It feels as though every activity expects more of me. If I have to choose, I can only get to one or two things today.

Does making that choice feel like failure?

And a better question: failure in whose eyes, exactly?

Not Everything Deserves an Equal Share

We are constantly told that we need balance. We are encouraged to distribute our time and energy evenly across different areas of our lives so that we can keep everything in order and stay on top of it all.

Writing this piece requires me to think, read, find creative and meaningful ideas, and reflect on which personal experiences I can draw from to make the article practical, relevant, and valuable to you, the person reading it.

But this is where balance starts to make me anxious. I worry that I cannot achieve it, especially because writing takes time.

Imagine a forest where rainwater is always distributed equally among all the trees. No tree dies of thirst, but a tree with greater growth potential cannot grow beyond the fixed share of water it receives.

I Felt Most Alive During My Most Unbalanced Days

We have been taught to give everything an equal amount of attention so that we can maintain balance and get everything done. It sounds like sensible advice, and I used to believe it, too, until I read an article that made me stop and think.

That article inspired me to write this piece.

If I asked you right now when you felt more alive than at any other time in your life, I doubt many of you would say it was during a period when you managed to keep everything perfectly balanced.

Would you?

When I look back on my own life, I think of the year I cared for my grandmother, or the time I fell in love.

I remember those periods vividly, and interestingly, my life was far from balanced during both of them.

I believe, and perhaps many of you will agree, that giving yourself wholeheartedly and with complete focus to a few things can leave a much deeper impression than doing many things with only half your energy and attention.

Do you agree with me?

What experiences came to mind as you read this?

The Art of Being Intentionally Unbalanced

Of course, we need to be careful not to become so absorbed in our work that we forget our families, or so consumed by a hobby that we allow it to damage our relationships.

Perhaps the better approach is to be intentionally unbalanced, with our eyes wide open.

I have met many people who seemed to have extraordinary professional and family lives from the outside. But when I got closer to them, I realized that their success in one area often came at the expense of another.

People who choose to invest more in one area of their lives and leave another for later are courageous. They understand that balance cannot always be maintained, and they are willing to make that choice consciously.

What’s the Minimum We Can Give?

In an article I read, the author used the analogy of making deposits into a bank account. I found it interesting because it raised a simple question:

What is the minimum deposit we can make?

You can think of every area of your life as a separate bank account. At any given time, some accounts may receive substantial deposits, while others receive only enough to keep them active and prevent them from being closed.

I’ve realized that on days when my workload is heavier, like today, when I’m busy writing for Medium, my reading might be reduced to just twenty minutes before bed.

On days when I go to the gym, and my muscles are more tired, I can still manage to watch a 27-minute episode of a miniseries.

Perhaps, on those days, that is enough.

The account remains open. At another point in time, I can make a much larger investment in a different area of my life.

Doesn’t that make sense?

Maybe this approach allows us to focus wholeheartedly on one thing without constantly worrying about all the other areas of our lives.

We consciously accept a temporary period of doing less in certain areas so that whatever matters most at that particular moment has the opportunity to flourish.

Not Every Account in Our Lives Needs to Be Full All the Time

Honestly, I still find this difficult.

We are expected to excel at everything simultaneously: our careers, our bodies, our homes, our marriages, our children, and our side projects. Anything less can feel like falling behind.

But perhaps we need to practice asking ourselves a different question:

Which account should receive a deposit today? Is it our side project, or is it the time we spend with our children?

We also need to remember that tomorrow, or next week, the account that received no deposit today may receive one again.

These are simply different areas of our lives, and we don’t have to label every temporary shortfall as a failure.

Take a piece of paper right now and write everything down: every role, every goal, and every expectation you have of yourself. Spend a minute looking at the list.

None of Us Can Do It All.

I still haven’t managed to fully put what I’ve written about today into practice in my own life. But I no longer pretend that I can do everything at once, and I no longer feel as disappointed when focusing on one thing means letting another wait.

We are not robots, and admitting that is significant. We are human beings. Even God, our Creator, knows that we cannot bear an unlimited burden.

There is a verse in the Quran that says:

“Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear.” — Quran 2:286

Perhaps part of accepting our humanity is recognizing that our capacity has limits, and that we don’t have to fill every moment or meet every expectation to be living meaningful lives.

Now it’s your turn.

Look back at your week. Think about where your time and energy went, which areas received most of your attention, and which ones had to wait.

Then ask yourself: How can you manage the deposits into the different accounts of your life a little better?

Was It Happening Again? I Couldn’t Sleep Again.

It was the second night of insomnia, and I was sweating heavily. I pushed the sheets aside and sat on the edge of the bed. I was scared. My mind was overwhelmed, and I felt like crying from the exhaustion.

I was terrified that the insomnia had come back.

Three months earlier, I had written several posts about a few weeks of insomnia. If you read them, you’ll understand why I was so frightened on that second night.

At seven in the morning, I texted my therapist friend.

Can you see me today? I haven’t been able to sleep for two nights again.

Don’t worry. Would 4:30 work?

Yes.

You shouldn’t be afraid of it. It doesn’t matter if you don’t sleep for a few nights. You can sleep again.

That message calmed me down.

The Fear of Repeating the Past

When something similar to a painful experience happens again, our unconscious mind often reopens everything connected to the past. All the old fears, worries, and anxieties can suddenly resurface.

If we have developed a negative association with that experience, our mind may bring it back in the worst possible way, adding new fears and assumptions to the old ones. At that point, it can feel as though our mind freezes, and instead of being able to think clearly, we simply fall down a hole of anxiety.

That was exactly what happened with my new bout of insomnia.

On the first night, I didn’t know what was happening. I thought maybe something had upset me, and I didn’t think much of the fact that I couldn’t sleep properly.

But the second night was different.

The worries and fears from three months earlier came rushing back.

I was afraid because I couldn’t sleep, but I was also afraid that this would continue, that I might spend days unable to function normally or take care of my everyday life.

When Your Mind Is Overwhelmed, Pick Up a Pen and Paper

Once the morning came, I messaged my friend, and simply knowing that I could talk to someone made me feel better.

I picked up a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down everything that came to mind about the insomnia and everything that had happened over those two days.

I strongly recommend doing this whenever you need to think deeply about yourself, your thoughts, or something you’re struggling to understand: put your technology aside and use a pen and paper.

There is something about the rhythm of a pen moving across paper that can calm the mind in a way that opening a note on your phone, tapping on a keyboard, and watching words appear on a screen simply cannot.

Writing about our thoughts and emotions is a well-known technique in psychology and psychotherapy called expressive writing.

It became particularly associated with the research of psychologist James Pennebaker and focuses on writing about difficult and emotionally significant experiences.

How can you do it?

Write for about 15–20 minutes about an experience that still has an emotional hold on you. Write about what happened, what you felt, and what the experience means to you.

The goal is to process the emotional experience and develop a clearer understanding of what is happening inside you. Writing can help create some distance from the thoughts and make it easier to process them.

You don’t have to show the writing to anyone.

You don’t even have to read it again.

What If I’m Back at Square One?

When I looked back at the notes and summaries from my previous six therapy sessions, I realized that I might have been making a mistake.

Maybe this insomnia wasn’t the same kind of insomnia I had experienced a few months earlier.

I had followed through on everything I had committed to. Most of the issues we had discussed had either reached some kind of resolution, or we had developed new behavioral strategies for dealing with them. And I was determined to keep putting those strategies into practice.

This is exactly what made me want to write this piece.

I wanted to know whether you have ever found yourself in a similar situation.

More specifically, have you ever gone through a period of depression or anxiety, gradually started feeling better, and then suddenly experienced something that reminded you of that difficult period?

Did you immediately think:

What if it’s all coming back?

If your answer is yes, how did you feel afterward? And what did you do?

Not Everything That Feels Familiar Is a Repeat of the Past

Two experiences can look remarkably similar, especially when they involve anxiety or worry, and yet be completely different in their cause, intensity, and meaning.

It is important to learn how to recognize those differences. You can ask a professional for help, or, if you feel capable of doing it yourself, examine the evidence and separate the two experiences carefully.

The biggest thing pulling me in the wrong direction was a paralyzing fear.

If I hadn’t stopped to examine that fear, and if I hadn’t recognized that this anxiety only resembled what had happened three months earlier, I might have allowed my mind to take me somewhere I didn’t want to go.

Depression, anxiety, and worry can look similar on the surface, but their depth can be very different. They can even emerge in completely different contexts while producing sensations that feel remarkably similar.

That was exactly what happened with my second bout of insomnia.

After my session with my therapist friend — who insisted that, in that session, we were simply two therapists walking through the process together — I realized that this insomnia had a much simpler explanation. It had nothing to do with the issues we had explored during the previous six sessions.

I tried to stop the fear of insomnia from connecting this experience to the previous one.

I reminded myself that these two episodes only looked similar on the surface. They were not the same in their content or depth.

I allowed myself to believe that I could let go of the fear and give my mind a chance to settle down to stop being anxious about not sleeping and simply allow sleep to come.

And that’s exactly what happened.

I was able to sleep again.

What I’ve learned

Those two nights of insomnia reminded me that an experience can resemble something painful from the past without necessarily leading to the same outcome.

Sometimes, what hurts us more than the experience itself is the fear that the past is about to repeat itself the fear that we are heading back toward those difficult days.

When that happens, it is important not to surrender immediately to fear. Instead, we can pause and give ourselves enough space to look at what is actually happening.

Writing down our thoughts and feelings can help us organize a chaotic mind and understand more clearly what is happening inside us.

Talking to someone we trust, or to a professional, can also give us a different perspective and reduce the intensity of our worries.

We need to learn that two experiences looking similar does not mean they have the same cause, intensity, or consequences.

If we find ourselves facing anxiety or a situation that reminds us of the past, instead of immediately predicting the worst, perhaps we can examine the evidence and ask ourselves:

“Is the same thing really happening again?”

We also need to remember that recovery is not always a straight line. Experiencing an uncomfortable feeling again does not necessarily mean that we have returned to where we started.

So the next time the fear of repeating the past comes knocking, perhaps we can remind ourselves:

This time, I can face it with more awareness, more calm, and a better understanding of what I’m going through.

Liked this post? I’d love to hear your comments.

You don’t have to hate yourself to become a better person.

I’m sitting on a bench in the park, thinking.

The autumn wind moves gently through the poplar trees, making the leaves tremble. There is something comforting about the soft rustling of leaves and the sound of the wind moving through the branches. I have always loved it.

Today is one of those days when I find myself looking back at my life and wondering about the roads I didn’t take.

Sometimes I do this.

I think about the mistakes I made. The decisions I could have made differently. The moments when, if I had known then what I know now, perhaps my life would have taken another direction.

I love the life I have today. I truly do.

But as I approach 46, I realize that the life I imagined when I was younger looked very different from the one I’m living now, and sometimes, the things I lost and the things I never reached bring me back to this park bench. For an hour or so, I wrestle with the past.

You Don’t Need More Self-Blame

I’ve met many people who believe that constantly reminding themselves of their past mistakes, blaming themselves, or feeling ashamed of their decisions will eventually make them better people.

As if suffering enough for what they did will somehow make up for it.

But it doesn’t work that way.

Self-hatred doesn’t make you grow. Awareness, accountability, and self-compassion do.

Many of us carry the weight of our mistakes for years. Something may have happened five years ago, ten years ago, or even just a few weeks ago. The moment itself is over. But somehow, our minds are still living inside it.

Have you ever felt that way?

I have.

I experienced it when I was in a relationship that wasn’t right for me. I was tired, quiet, and restricted. I had become so limited by that relationship that I could barely imagine creating a new version of myself.

And as long as I kept myself imprisoned in the past, a significant part of my mental and emotional energy remained there too.

It took me a long time to understand that forgiving myself was not going to be simple or superficial.

Forgiving yourself is one of the most important steps toward moving forward.

Guilt Can Help You Grow, Shame Can Hold You Back

When I finally left that toxic relationship, my aunt’s husband helped me enormously. I will always be grateful to him for the support he gave me during that period of my life.

But there was another side to his support. He made me feel ashamed.

I don’t believe he intended to hurt me. He probably thought he was helping me by making sure I would never make the same mistake again. But the way he spoke to me made me feel as though I didn’t deserve to be treated well. There is an important difference between guilt and shame.

Guilt says:

“I did something wrong.”

Shame says:

“There is something wrong with me.”

They may sound similar, but they take us in completely different directions.

Guilt is about what we did.

When we behave in ways that go against our values, guilt can be useful. It can tell us:

This is not who I want to be. I don’t want to repeat this.

That kind of guilt can lead to growth. We recognize what we did, take responsibility, learn from it, and make a different choice next time.

But when guilt becomes part of our identity, it turns into shame.

Consider the difference:

• I yelled at my child today → Guilt
• I am a terrible mother → Shame
• I made a mistake at work → Guilt
• I always fail → Shame
• I wasn’t honest in my relationship → Guilt
• I am a liar → Shame

One describes a behavior.

The other defines a person.

And that distinction matters.

What You Did Is Not Who You Are

You can have a terrible day. You can make a terrible decision. You can behave in a way you deeply regret, but none of those things by themselves define your entire identity.

My aunt’s husband had come to see my behavior as a reflection of who I was as a person.

That was the mistake.

I had been in an unhealthy relationship, but I also had reasons for staying. Over time, I realized I needed to leave. But leaving wasn’t as simple as walking away from a person. My relationship was tied to my job. If I left the relationship, I risked losing my job and the social position that came with it. I was stuck in a situation that was much more complicated than it looked from the outside.

I had made mistakes, but I was not my mistakes

That distinction changed everything.

When we tell ourselves, “I am a failure,” “I am a bad person,” or “I always mess things up,” we take something that happened in the past and turn it into a prediction about the future.

And then something dangerous happens. We start behaving according to the identity we have given ourselves.

If you believe you are a bad person, why keep trying?

If you believe you always fail, why take another risk?

If you believe you are broken, why believe you can change?

Shame closes the door before you even have a chance to walk through it.

But saying, “I did something wrong, and I can learn from it,” leaves the door open.

There is still possibility.

There is still room to grow.

Guilt Creates Responsibility, Shame Creates Paralysis

Some of the things my aunt’s husband said to me came from a desire to make sure I would never enter another unhealthy relationship.

I understand that now. But the shame I carried from those conversations had a very different effect.

Instead of thinking, “I made a mistake, and I need to learn from it,” I began thinking, “There is something wrong with me. Maybe this is the kind of life I deserve.”

And once I believed that, I allowed other people to treat me in ways I would never have wanted for someone I loved. I told myself I had made a terrible mistake. So perhaps I deserved the punishment.

I didn’t.

What I needed was not more punishment; I needed to forgive myself.

Because only after forgiving myself could I fully accept responsibility for what I had done, understand why I had done it, and learn from it.

Forgiving Yourself Doesn’t Mean Excusing Yourself

There is a misconception about self-forgiveness.

Some people think that forgiving yourself means letting yourself off the hook.

It doesn’t.

Forgiving yourself does not mean pretending that what happened was okay. It means being honest about what happened without allowing it to become your entire identity.

I also needed to understand my circumstances, my limitations, and the reasons I had made those choices.

One day, I realized I couldn’t take my aunt’s husband’s words anymore.

I had had enough.

I realized I had two choices:

I could stay there and punish myself for the rest of my life.

Or I could learn from what happened and build a different life.

For the first time, I had a serious conversation with him. He didn’t necessarily change his opinion of me, but that was no longer the point.

I had changed the way I saw myself. I had forgiven myself, not because I believed I had done nothing wrong, but because I no longer wanted my mistake to become my identity.

With the awareness I have today, I am not the same Sara I was years ago. Time changed me. Experience changed me. Reflection changed me, and once I stopped defining myself by that one chapter of my life, something inside me shifted.

He may not have changed his behavior very much, but my relationship with myself had changed completely. I no longer believed I deserved to be constantly blamed.

Four Practical Steps Toward Self-Forgiveness

1. Bring the Mistake Into the Light

The first step is to stop hiding from the thing you are ashamed of.

Write down what actually happened. Be honest.

What did you do?

What happened?

What part of it still bothers you?

Maybe it involves the way you treated your children. Maybe it was a past relationship, a career decision, a friendship, or another choice you wish you could undo.

You don’t need to spend your life replaying the memory. You simply need the courage to look at it honestly.

Shame grows in the dark. When you bring it into the light, you create the possibility of healing and change.

2. Take Responsibility for Your Part and Only Your Part

Be careful not to take responsibility for everything that went wrong.

Ask yourself:

“What was my actual part in this?”

If you made a mistake, own it, but don’t carry responsibility for someone else’s behavior. This becomes especially important in relationships. You can have made mistakes while the other person made mistakes too.

Take responsibility for your part, not responsibility for everything.

3. Take One Clear Lesson From the Experience

If you are going to forgive yourself, don’t carry the past into the future as a burden. Carry the lesson instead.

Ask yourself:

• If this happened today, what would I do differently?
• What did this experience teach me?
• How would I respond next time?
• What did I learn about myself, other people, or life?

These questions can transform a painful memory from something that simply hurts into something that teaches you.

If you truly learned something from your pain, then that pain was not meaningless.

4. Give the Past a Sense of Closure

Our minds often need a sense of ending. Sometimes, you can create that ending yourself. Write a letter to your past self.

Tell yourself:

I know things were difficult for you back then. There were things you didn’t know that I know today. I see your mistakes. I have learned from them. I understand why you made some of the choices you made. And I no longer want to punish you forever. I understand the limitations you had back then.

You don’t need a dramatic transformation or some profound spiritual experience to let go of the past. Sometimes, you simply need to consciously decide that the chapter is over.

You are allowed to create your own moment of closure.

Maybe Your Past Self Was Just Afraid

One of the most compassionate ways to look at our past is to stop assuming that our former selves were simply bad, stupid, selfish, or broken.

Maybe you were afraid, maybe you were hurt, maybe you were lonely. Maybe you didn’t know then what you know now, and maybe you were simply repeating behaviors you had learned as a child, or trying to meet emotional needs with the limited tools you had at the time. None of this excuses harmful behavior.

Understanding is not the same as excusing. Understanding simply allows you to see the whole picture.

You Are Allowed to Change

Forgiving yourself means allowing your old self to retire. Not because that version of you was worthless. Not because your mistakes didn’t matter, and not because you are avoiding responsibility.

But because you understand that you are bigger than the worst thing you have ever done.

If you know more today, it makes sense to expect more from yourself.

You should grow.

You should learn.

You should make better choices.

But none of that requires you to hate yourself. Look back at your past and tell yourself:

“I didn’t know better then. I know more now. And from this point forward, I can do better.”

That is what growth looks like.

Real growth begins when you stop punishing yourself to prove that you’re not a bad person, and instead use your energy to become the person you want to be.

A flower has to let its old petals fall for new ones to emerge.

Perhaps we have to do the same. Sometimes, we need to let go of an old version of ourselves to make room for the person we are becoming.

Self-forgiveness is not the end of the past; it is the beginning of a future you still have the power to create.

For some time now, anxiety has refused to leave me alone. I have written about everything I have been through in the last three posts. In the last one, I referred to a dream that I feel I have lived through in its entirety during this period. You can read about the dream in that post.

Have you ever experienced anxiety and worry? Have you ever observed your mental and emotional state in those moments?

In my experience, it felt as though my life had slipped away. I cannot describe the inner state I was in during those days in words and sentences. I think words aren’t rich enough to express certain feelings; they cannot fully convey what those feelings mean.

What Did Anxiety Do to Me?

Anxiety did not ask me what would be better or what I should do. It had only one concern:

How can I get out of this situation immediately?

Day and night, every hour, it kept thinking about the same thing. In the end, its goal was to protect me, but I did not like the way it went about it. Through impulsive and costly suggestions, it paralyzed my life and pointed toward an even greater psychological debt in the future.

I could not escape it for even a moment because it kept my mind constantly occupied and did not allow me to ask the right questions. When the right question is not asked, the right answer cannot be found either.

Wouldn’t you agree?

My mind simply kept spinning, crashing aimlessly into every wall in its path.

What Is the Nature of Anxiety?

Anxiety does not speak of doing the right thing, finding security, or creating intimacy. It seeks only relief. It asks about escape and freedom from the present situation.

That was exactly what happened to me. A persistent inner voice kept saying:

You have to leave this place. Go. The only way you will get better is by leaving. Leave this place.

I wanted to leave the tense environment of my home, too. During a brainstorming session, I even wrote down every place I could think of so that I could calmly consider which one would be the most reasonable place to go.

But anxiety kept insisting:

Come on, let’s just get out of here. It doesn’t matter what happens in the future. Calm down now, this very moment, whatever the cost. Make the decision right now. It doesn’t matter what happens afterward.

Anxiety could not understand that refusing to think and acting without careful consideration can create even more anxiety. Under pressure or because of the anxiety we are experiencing, we may take action, only to face painful consequences later.

If I had followed anxiety’s formula, I do not know what I might have done to myself by now.

What Did I Do?

I am someone who thinks about consequences. Even if I had wanted to, I could not have surrendered to anxiety’s uproar and simply walked away. I did not have the conditions necessary to leave the home where I live, either.

So, in a way, I remained in that situation not entirely by choice, but because circumstances and misfortune left me with no other option. Then I examined the situation more carefully.

Instead of running away, I chose to fight back. This is something I have done throughout most of my life, and it has brought me relatively good results.

Keep in mind that even when you give something your best effort, the outcome may not be perfect or exactly what you hoped for. But it can still be good enough to satisfy you.

The Persian poet Saadi Shirazi, who lived in the seventh century AH, writes:

To walk the desert road is better than sitting idle;

Even if I do not reach my destination, I will strive to the best of my ability.

What compelled me to write this piece and share my experience from these past few weeks was the realization that, most of the time, anxiety’s fist is empty.

There is nothing inside it.

Believe me.

All that noise was not entirely meaningless, but it was not as dangerous as it claimed to be. It was not going to destroy me. It was not going to reduce my entire life to ruins. It was not permanent, and it did not truly have the control over my life that it pretended to have.

Anxiety tries to place the repetition of the past and the frustration of unfulfilled desires for the future before our eyes in the most terrifying way possible.

It overwhelms us to protect us in the only way it knows how and to warn us:

This is enough. I cannot endure these conditions any longer.

I sat within my anxiety because I had no other choice. But if you ever find yourself in a difficult situation and have the ability to remain within your anxiety consciously and by choice, I strongly encourage you to do so.

I promise that you may discover how patience and facing the situation, rather than running away, can sometimes improve things and finally silence that relentless alarm.

You may say that this is impossible.

Human beings are driven by the need to survive. Anxiety’s alarm exists for survival, and the world and life themselves seem to be full of danger. Our minds are also filled with traumatic memories, frightening thoughts, and mistaken beliefs we have learned over time.

That is why no one can easily overpower this loud anxiety, a kind of anxiety born from a painful past, a turbulent present, and an inner world full of frustrated desires.

What I Have Learned

Courage does not mean silencing anxiety completely. Perhaps courage means listening to its voice without allowing it to take control of our lives.

Then, instead of running from every pain and every threat, we can ask ourselves consciously:

🟢What is really happening right now?

🟢What is within my control?

And

🟢What is the smallest safe and right step I can take?

Final Thoughts

Perhaps anxiety has never truly intended to destroy us. Perhaps it is simply a guard that has stood at the gates of danger for years and has now begun to speak far too loudly.

It wants to protect us from pain, failure, and the repetition of the past. But because warning and escape are the only languages it knows, it sometimes pulls us away from life itself. Anxiety tries to calm us in the short term by urging us to escape.

I have learned that not every loud voice announces a catastrophe. The sudden urge to leave does not necessarily mean that leaving is the right choice, and not every thought that enters the mind with great force deserves to be obeyed.

Sometimes, before making a decision, we need to stay not out of surrender, but so that we can distinguish between real danger and the image of danger created by a tired mind.

Anxiety’s fist is often filled with catastrophes that have not yet happened; the future that the mind has pre-lived in its imagination, in the worst possible way. But when we look more calmly, we begin to see that the fist is not always as full as it claims to be.

All it holds is fear, memory, exhaustion, and a deep longing for safety.

Sometimes, healing begins when we pause for a few moments amid all the noise within us and realize this:

Anxiety’s fist is empty, but we have been afraid of its shadow for far too long.

I’d love to know what you thought of today’s post. Drop a comment or hit reply. I read everyone

One night, I had a dream, and later I realized that what was happening in my life was connected to correctly interpreting that dream.

I wrote about my insomnia in this post, and about the doctor’s prescribed treatment in that post.

If you’d like to follow my journey, please read the two previous posts; they might help with your own issues, too.

My dream began like this: I was somewhere, and I walked into a sports equipment store. I moved through it slowly and exited from the other side. I was wearing a short, comfortable dress, and as I went down the stairs, I worried that my skirt would rise above my knees, so I wrapped a poncho around myself. Then I entered a tunnel whose walls were black and covered in soot. It was extremely dirty, with colorful scraps of fabric scattered on the floor and torn pieces of English-language newspapers pasted on the walls. No matter how far I walked, the tunnel never seemed to end; it twisted and turned endlessly. I stayed in that tunnel for a very long time. Finally, I reached a place with a slight incline. As I climbed it, I arrived at the mouth of a cave and stopped right there. I was standing at a height, and the path ahead of me was beautiful and sloping downward. I saw two women in hiking clothes. I didn’t have suitable clothing, but still, happily and laughing, I moved along with them, heading downward. I laughed as much as I would in an entire lifetime, a very deep, long laugh.

Two weeks after starting the medication the doctor had prescribed, although I could almost sleep, something inside me had gone quiet. Joy, sadness, worry, everything felt neutral to me. Nothing made me happy, nothing made me sad, and I was fully aware of this change in my emotional state.

Even on the day I went hiking with a friend, when we reached the summit and saw the beautiful view of the city, I felt no excitement at all.

My state was like the flame of a match that was lit but produced no heat; it couldn’t even ignite a few small twigs. It was bright only on the surface.

Returning to the Tunnel

I realized I had to return to the dirty, smoke-filled tunnel from my dream and re-examine my life, because I was still stuck in that tunnel.

My therapist friend had analyzed the dream, and up to now, I had passed through two bends in the tunnel and had now entered the third.

I hope this is the last bend I need to examine, so I can reach the cave mouth I saw in my dream sooner.

As you may remember:

• First bend: Let go of excessive self-awareness used for self-interrogation and the feeling of hopelessness.
• Second bend: Stop blaming myself for situations and accept that I’m allowed to be weak.

I thought that by paying attention to these points and accepting what I had previously ignored, healing was close. But it seems the issue is deeper, and I needed more patience, because my soul was still giving signs and signals.

Perhaps for some time, though I don’t know how long, I must live like a silkworm in its cocoon: with patience, and by examining issues that my mind and body can no longer tolerate, transform in silence and darkness into a beautiful butterfly. This butterfly will be so much stronger than the old caterpillar that it can easily leave its cocoon behind.

Try, even during psychological breakdowns, to keep both the positive and negative aspects of the situation in mind.

By striving to understand the messages of your soul and unconscious, give more attention to the positive side.

A highly sensitive person and sensory processing sensitivity

I realized that over the years, I had become sensitive to everything I didn’t like and couldn’t stop or change. When I looked closely, I saw that everything that now keeps me awake at night and causes dizziness and nausea had triggered reactions in me before; I hadn’t liked those things back then either.

So why can’t I reduce their intensity now?

Why has my being suddenly felt that it can no longer cope?

If these questions have made you think, then this post is for you.

What does “highly sensitive person” mean?

Sensory processing sensitivity refers to individual differences in how people perceive and respond to stimuli (for example, noise, light, touch).

Sensory processing sensitivity is a temperamental or personality trait characterized by four main components:

• Strong emotional reactions
• Deep sensory processing
• Greater awareness of subtle environmental details
• High sensitivity to overstimulation

I noticed that just as I react more strongly to positive stimuli, such as having a kind, supportive friend, I also react more strongly to negative stimuli, like repeated and ongoing arguments.

Because a voice inside my head kept saying: I don’t want to hear these sounds anymore. I don’t want to be in this atmosphere anymore. Normally, I would go for a walk, visit a friend, or exercise. But unfortunately, none of these activities reduced the intensity of that inner voice anymore, and I developed 24-hour nausea and mild dizziness.

Sensory processing sensitivity and the impact of negative environments

I realized I have high sensory processing sensitivity and experience more negative emotions, along with lower self-efficacy and life satisfaction, but with greater mental intensity.

Given the home I live in, where there has been tension and conflict for years, I concluded that my vulnerability has increased because of this background. My early life experiences were full of tension and distress. In addition, in recent years, I’ve endured a lot of stress and psychological pressure, including family problems, financial strain, and other stressful events.

In other words, I was personally predisposed to vulnerability, and at the same time, I’ve been exposed to excessive environmental stress.

One of the most important theories in psychology is the diathesis–stress model, which explains why some people develop psychological disorders under difficult conditions while others do not.

It involves two key factors:

• Underlying vulnerability (diathesis)
• Environmental stress

This is why a sensitive person like me, compared to someone else experiencing the same level of stress but living in a low-stress environment, may be in a worse situation.

Small Steps, Quiet Efforts, and Hope on the Path to Healing

Considering everything I’ve understood from the third bend of the tunnel, I’m not exactly sure what specific action I should take.

Following the recommendation of an article that suggested mindfulness and meditation as a potentially effective treatment for highly sensitive people, I’ve tried to practice it more often during the day, since I already meditated before.

From experience, I’ve seen that although experts in this field state that mindfulness practice may reduce negative emotions and at the same time increase positive ones, it usually hasn’t been very effective for me.

Still, I continue doing it, even if it helps me by just 5%.

I use white noise and try to calm my mind a bit with the sound of rain and ocean waves reaching the shore.

Remember

Even the smallest conscious efforts made in the heart of darkness can become a window toward the light and make the path of healing a little easier.

I’m not yet completely sure how much this is helping, but I feel satisfied that I’m making an effort on this path to improve my condition, even if I haven’t achieved the desired result yet.

I’d love to know what you thought of today’s post. Drop a comment or hit reply. I read everyone.

Two weeks have passed since I visited a neurologist.

It was a pleasant summer evening, not too hot. I was sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for my turn. A dear friend who was supposed to accompany me arrived, and shortly after, the receptionist called my name. I walked into the doctor’s room.

I had gone to this kind and skilled doctor on the recommendation of a friend from the gym. I’ve written about the experience in this post.

The doctor asked about my lifestyle and daily activities. The reason for my visit was sleep disturbance and dizziness. He reviewed my test results, conducted a few small examinations, and said, “You don’t have a physical problem; this is related to your mental and emotional state.”

I already knew that I didn’t have a physical issue, but I wanted to be sure.

He carefully went through my blood test results one by one and kindly reassured me: “These are all fine.”

During our conversation, he pointed out something I had already sensed myself, but he emphasized it more strongly.

He said, “For a short time, allow yourself to appear vulnerable to yourself. Lower your expectations of yourself.

You are very strong, and you always want to be seen as capable and invincible. You try not to be weak in difficult or critical situations and always look for solutions, which is good. But you’ve overlooked something: you don’t always have to be at your peak.

You need to accept that sometimes you are weak, and you shouldn’t put relentless pressure on yourself to be okay or to solve everything.

Let yourself observe your weaker state for a while.

We tend to avoid seeing our vulnerable selves

Vulnerability is often viewed as a negative trait, and we prefer to hide it from others.

As I was leaving the doctor’s office, my friend said, “What an interesting point: observe your vulnerable self.”

I thought more about the days that had passed and the issues I knew I couldn’t solve.

The doctor was right. I always tried to move through everything not by denial, but by acceptance and doing what I could. Ten years of studying psychoanalysis had taught me its principles, and I applied them well.

But it seemed the strain had become chronic. I was older, I was tired, yet I kept trying to manage everything through careful planning.

All of that was good, but there was an inner voice saying, “I can’t stay strong like this anymore.” I ignored it, thinking I still hadn’t worked on myself enough.

I didn’t allow myself to see my vulnerability, and that was my biggest mistake.

I decided to observe my weak and vulnerable self for two weeks without judgment and without any attempt to be strong.

Why do we value vulnerability in others, but not in ourselves?

When we look at others from a distance, we see vulnerability as something positive that can lead to good outcomes. But when it comes to ourselves, we interpret it as weakness and inadequacy.

Perhaps the most certain reason is our excessive self-closeness.

The German researcher Anna Bruk refers to this as “beautiful disorder,” meaning that our understanding of a situation depends on our psychological distance from it. From afar, we perceive things more abstractly and focus more on their positive aspects. But the closer we get, especially when it comes to ourselves, our perception becomes limited, and we exaggerate the negative aspects.

Vulnerability is less dangerous than we think it is in ourselves. If you pay attention, you’ll notice that what appears messy or disordered from within is often perceived as strength and courage by others.

Think for a moment: the last time a friend shared their vulnerability with you, how did you feel?

You probably admired their courage for opening up and tried to support them. Yet at the same time, you may have felt that it wouldn’t look good if you talked about your own vulnerability.

Am I right?

During this time, I tried to practice seeing my vulnerable self. At first, it was difficult because I saw it as a weakness.

Things that helped me during this period:

• I marked two weeks on the calendar next to my desk and wrote: “Start of being weak” and “End of being weak.”
• When challenges arose, I didn’t act; I observed my weak self.
• I asked my inner critic to be silent.
• I canceled half of my daily routine.
• Every day, I walked for an hour in a park near my home.

After a few days, I felt an overwhelming fatigue. I realized that my vulnerable self had finally been acknowledged.

I still feel fatigued for a few hours each day, but I know I am on the right path. I need to be patient because everything heals gradually.

Rumi, the Persian mystic and poet, often uses the expression “little by little” in his works, especially in his book, Masnavi. He shows beautifully that growth in any area is a gradual process that must unfold slowly and steadily.

“Little by little” reflects the miracle of small steps. Running too fast, stopping too late, and collapsing from exhaustion is not a sustainable way to live.

“Little by little, pour water on the fire,
So that your flame becomes light, O sorrowful one.”

No, I’m not always resilient

I had ignored my deepest, most inner feeling: that I can sometimes be weak, that I can tell those around me, “I’m tired. I can’t take this anymore.

Please, get off my back!

I did that too. I gave a wake-up call to the people closest to me, those who always thought that, because I rarely complained and had applied psychoanalytic principles well, I could endure anything. They would say, “Things have always been like this until yesterday, you could handle it. Don’t you think you’ve become too sensitive?”

This experience was necessary for me. It served as a warning to those around me. Even if it doesn’t change them much, it still matters because I repeatedly and clearly expressed my vulnerability to them.

Remember:

First, you must see your own vulnerability as a signal, not as weakness or inadequacy. Then you can share it with others so they may treat you more gently. Although we often see that revealing vulnerability can lead to others taking advantage of us, research shows that opening ourselves to uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure can at least bring some benefits. As Brené Brown argues, “Vulnerability is life’s greatest challenge. It is life asking: Are you ready? Can you value your own vulnerability as much as you value it in others?”

What do you think? Will you accept this challenge?

It worked for me. I’m sure it can work for you too.

I slowly open my eyes and, through the half-open curtain, I see that it is still dark outside. Anxiously, I look at the clock: it is 3:30 a.m., and I still haven’t been able to fall asleep. This is the second night it has happened. I know that tomorrow morning I will feel drained, exhausted, dizzy, and heavy-headed. I won’t have a good day, and I won’t be productive at all.

I start to worry and ask myself: What is causing my insomnia?

It has been almost two weeks now, and I am still struggling with sleep.

Before analyzing anything else, the first thing that came to mind was to check my vitamins and hormones. So I did that without delay and waited for the results.

While waiting, I didn’t sit idle. I used the “empty chair” technique. I took a pen and paper and began a real conversation with myself.

It’s simple: you address yourself and start asking questions about your current situation until something specific, interesting, strange, or ambiguous emerges. At that point, a part of the issue may reveal itself, and you can begin to understand it better.

• Sara: Yes.
• Me: Was there something I was supposed to do but didn’t?
• I don’t know.
• Can you think a bit more and tell me exactly how you feel? I think something has been bothering you.
• Do you remember the party?
• Yes.
• You had very intense and upsetting reactions; you even cried.
• That’s true.
• This situation isn’t good for you. You need to reduce the intensity of these reactions.
• You saw what happened yourself.
• I did. But it was too much, and I feel it may harm you. I don’t want that.
• So now you’re going to give me insomnia too, knowing how much it affects me the next day?
• Unfortunately, yes. Otherwise, you wouldn’t understand — you would just move on. You’ve organized your daily life so well that I had no other choice.

The lines above were a conversation between “us.”

You might wonder who I mean by “us.”

A force that, in its own way, is trying to protect you

I, Sara, have self-awareness. I know why I do things, for example, when something upsets me, I become angry.

Another part of me is my unconscious. It sees and knows things that may not seem important to my conscious mind but are significant to it.

In my insomnia, the unconscious is involved, along with a concern for my emotional state. It seems it had been sending warnings that my conscious mind either ignored or passed over due to my well-structured lifestyle. Insisting on delivering its message, the unconscious resorted to its harshest method: sleep disruption.

Why?

Because it knows how important sleep is to me. Only by disrupting my daily life would I be compelled to dig deeper, understand the issue, and try to fix it.

So far, everything is clear.

Do you have any questions?

Has anything like this ever happened to you?

Stay with me as I explain further.

How does the psyche force the body to comply?

I often use this method, and most of the time it works. Every change is a sign of something unknown that we are meant to understand.

Many psychotherapists believe that if depression does not have a physical basis, it is rooted in a needed change either in lifestyle or in the way a person perceives their problems.

Depression means something is out of place, and the psyche must search for it.

You’ve probably seen people who sink into depression and remain there for years, living alongside therapy sessions and medication. In contrast, some actively seek change, who use psychotherapy, effort, and persistence to examine the roots of their depression. Over time, they free themselves, learn from the experience, and resume life with a new perspective.

One of my friends insisted that I should see a therapist to uncover what I might be missing and to help me adjust my patterns. Perhaps if this had happened ten years ago, I would have gone immediately. But considering my experience with therapy and what I’ve learned over the years studying psychotherapy, I chose not to follow that advice for now.

Thomas Moore, in Care of the Soul, says that those who have a deep understanding of their emotional and psychological states, and who seek their origins, may not always need a therapist.

Of course, this shouldn’t be misused, but for me, it applies. I have tried to experience pain and allow myself to hear the voice of my soul.

In these situations, we usually become impatient and restless.

But we should be:

Patient and less demanding.

I tried to carefully observe the vast process unfolding within me. I didn’t rush to chase happiness or force myself into feeling good. I slowed down almost to a stop so I could see more clearly.

When we go through such states, we often feel like it will never end, that good days will never return, that we are stuck.

Each day, I felt more unsettled, asking myself: Will I ever sleep like before?

But I knew that fighting it or becoming agitated would only make things worse.

After daily conversations and examining my inner states, I realized something new, something surprising. I had always seen my high level of self-awareness as a strength, unaware that our greatest strengths are often where we are most vulnerable.

Surprised? It’s true.

What I finally learned: a strength that can harm

Over the years of studying psychoanalysis on my own, I gradually learned to recognize my emotions, distinguish them, and trace their origins. If I could act on them, I did; if not, I accepted them with respect. I thought that once I could clearly identify Thought, Feeling, and Behavior, no problem would remain.

Until two weeks ago, when my sleep collapsed, and I was forced to think.

High self-awareness, while a strength, has a dark side: it amplifies emotional sensitivity and constant self-questioning. Emotional experiences rarely remain simple. Attention to inner layers, which can lead to deeper self-knowledge, had turned at least for me into an inability to overlook things.

This led to disappointment, dissatisfaction, and inner guilt.

My strength in self-awareness had become an inability to ignore flaws. It turned fleeting reactions into deep self-analysis something I hadn’t even noticed.

I was like a skilled swimmer who, confident in her ability, kept diving deeper into the pool to prove her skill. But the deeper she went, the more breathless she became, until she nearly lost consciousness and had to be rescued.

My unconscious wanted me to stop overanalyzing everything, to stop complicating every experience unnecessarily, and to stop blaming myself for things beyond my control. Even though my understanding had become more compassionate, the constant mental effort had exhausted my soul. With care but also force, the unconscious was trying to free me from it.

I had to understand that self-awareness works best when it is balanced.

In my excessive self-awareness and deep self-analysis, I was imposing two pains on myself:

1. The original issue that was already causing me distress
2. Blaming myself — telling myself I was weak and should have been stronger

My unconscious wanted me to remember: pain and difficulty do not mean that something is wrong with me.

I needed to learn to put down this extra burden to respond only to the original pain, not to carry two pains at once for no reason.

I realized that what I had always been proud of had, time and again, lashed against me, and I hadn’t noticed.

It has only been a few days since this realization, and my sleep hasn’t returned to normal yet.

But I know I must allow it and be patient. Once the unconscious is assured that I have understood and that my reactions have changed, it will restore everything to its place. I am certain of this.

If you have had a similar experience, share it in the comments. I read them all.

What does a typical Monday look like for you in your current job?

No doubt most of you would start by explaining your job title and responsibilities.

I’m not very interested in that.

Don’t be surprised, we’re going to talk about something else. For example, who do you spend your days with? What kinds of problems do you solve? How do you feel when you come home tired after work?

I think you’ve paused and are thinking about it, right?

Let’s jump in.

You probably know exactly what you do during a day at the office, but you haven’t really reflected on the small yet meaningful details of your everyday life because work always seems more important, and we feel we must achieve something.

We learned this wrong

We’ve been taught to see career success as an asset that will make us happy an enduring happiness that never fades, because we have a good job and a high income.

Throughout our lives, we keep accumulating things without truly enjoying the journey. We chase measurable, presentable results so we can show others and society how successful and happy we are.

How many people do you know who have impressive credentials but aren’t happy?

I’m sure you can think of many.

The journey of our lives is defined by our daily steps. No one is saying you shouldn’t have a good job or income, but how you define the milestones along your path is just as important.

You decide which milestones are worth your time and energy.

To be content or to be successful, that is the question

Perhaps Aristotle was the first to distinguish between external goods like wealth and status and what he called eudaimonia: a deeper sense of fulfillment or flourishing that comes from within.

This inner well-being comes from activities that are not goal-driven. Unlike external possessions, we never truly “own” them because they are continuously tied to our talents and identity; they are things we do, not things we have. Like walking, spending time with a loved one, being in nature, reading a favorite book, writing, getting lost in art, or playing with a child.

In eudaimonia, external assets are not the measure of feeling good. What matters is the satisfaction that comes from choosing actions aligned with your values and character.

Are you busy thinking?

That’s okay, but don’t blame yourself. The culture and society we live in reinforce the idea that success happens at the finish line and brings lifelong happiness.

Society tends to see our growth and happiness in golden trophies, not in the ordinary mornings of weekdays that actually make up a full life.

Life is all the days of the week

My story was the same. Years ago, when I got my degree, I believed that hard work meant sacrificing the present so that happiness would arrive in the future. With this mindset, we devote everything to losing a present that will never return, and the future happiness we expect doesn’t last very long anyway.

It took me years to realize that “endure now so you can enjoy later” is a seductive but flawed idea.

Yes, effort and perseverance are necessary to learn and build a good career. But it’s just as important to ask: what are we enduring hardship for? Just reaching a goal or doing things we genuinely care about?

The term “arrival fallacy” refers to the belief that achieving a specific goal will bring lasting satisfaction.

What has your experience been? Have you felt lasting fulfillment after reaching a hard-earned goal?

My answer, after years of studying and working, is no, because there’s a flaw in that belief.

The problem lies in the fact that when we reach these goals, our daily lives rarely change in the way we expected. We adapt quickly, and what once excited us loses its impact. That ideal job, social status, or long-awaited achievement quickly becomes part of our normal life, and the excitement fades just as fast.

We keep running on the treadmill of desire, and what we gain echoes what Arthur Schopenhauer described: we suffer from not having something, we strive and endure to obtain it, we feel a brief moment of joy, and then we grow bored with having it. Then we set a new goal, and this pendulum continues for as long as we live.

New pressures replace old ones, and the future we imagined, one that would bring lasting happiness, simply becomes the new normal.

The main question remains unanswered: how do I actually want to spend my days?

What do you do from nine to five?

Who do you talk to?

Which parts of your work energize you, and which parts drain you?

These questions shift the framework. They ask us not to see success as something we possess, but as something we practice. Finding answers helps us pay closer attention to how we spend our days.

Be grateful. Appreciate what you have. Do one good thing each day for yourself and others. Value the present moment. Work hard but don’t forget to live.

Because when you look back, work and its problems won’t occupy your mind. What you will remember are the good moments: time spent with friends, a walk by the river, a sunset with your child, the moments you truly gave your time to.

A life well lived is found in these short, endless moments

When you prioritize what matters to you in the present, decisions don’t necessarily become easier, but you gain the courage to choose paths that may not look impressive to others, yet bring you inner satisfaction.

Now, your daily life becomes a means of liberation, not just a series of fleeting milestones leading to some future success.

Life and flourishing are found in ordinary days and ordinary actions, not in a vague, promised future.

Source: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/life-well-lived/202603/the-importance-of-an-ordinary-day