When we recognize that many people are emotionally wounded kids in adult bodies, it’s a huge relief—because we can stop taking things so personally. But there’s another layer: we’re carrying our own emotional wounds, too. And that complicates everything. Our reactions are shaped not just by what others say or do, but by our own unresolved hurts. That impatient coworker? They’re triggering something in us. That friend who pulls away? They’re scratching at an old wound. When we see others’ behavior as rooted in their own pain, it allows us to approach the situation with more understanding and less defensiveness. But it doesn’t mean we’re free from our own stuff. Knowing we have our own emotional baggage helps us approach situations with humility and curiosity instead of judgment. We don’t just get to say, “Oh, they’re wounded.” We have to turn that lens inward, too: What’s mine here? What past hurt is making me feel this way right now? It’s a two-way street—cultivating compassion for others and ourselves in equal measure. When we bring awareness to our own wounds, it helps us show up with more honesty and less need to control or “fix” others. We realize that we’re all just trying to do the best we can, each of us navigating our own messy, imperfect, neverending healing. And that’s where real connection happens: not in expecting each other to be whole, but in understanding and supporting each other while we do human stuff together.

Think about those times when you’ve been in a tough spot, feeling stuck or like you’re trying to find your way out of something hard. It’s tempting to want someone to swoop in and fix it for us, right? But when it comes to our own growth, our own healing, there are some things that can only come from within us. Just like a butterfly can’t skip the struggle to break free from its cocoon, we can’t skip our own journey of becoming stronger and more whole. We all have our own cocoons—the layers of protection, the old patterns, the fears we hold onto. And breaking out of that cocoon? It’s complicated and uncomfortable. However, that struggle is where we build the strength to truly be who we are. If we let someone else try to “fix” things for us or give us all the answers, we don’t get the chance to build those muscles ourselves. Real transformation happens when we take those steps, one at a time. It’s about letting ourselves emerge on our own terms. We don’t have to be perfect, and we don’t need to rush it. Sometimes, our journey feels slow or confusing. Sometimes, it’s two steps forward and one step back. But that’s okay. Because when we’re ready, when we’ve grown strong enough inside to break through, that change is ours. And it’s real. And it sticks. So maybe the most compassionate thing we can do for ourselves is to trust our own timing. Trust that every experience, every challenge, every hard-fought inch is part of the process of becoming who we truly are. It’s a journey that comes from the inside out, and no one else can do it for us.

Hope is one of our greatest human strengths and is far from a fluffy concept. Hope is essential for survival; it helps us navigate the most challenging times when everything feels overwhelming. And it's important to understand that hope isn’t passive; it’s an active force closely linked to our ability to recover and bounce back. Here’s the truth about hope: it’s not about knowing things will work out exactly as we want. It’s about believing we have the strength and courage to face whatever comes, even if it’s messy, painful, or different from what we expected. Hope is a function of struggle—it’s forged in the fire of our challenges, facing our fears, and holding on to the possibility that things can change, even if we don’t know how or when. And we all need that. We’re wired for it. Psychologists call it “learned optimism.” Hope comes from the belief that we have a say in our lives—that our choices, actions, and perseverance matter. Hope doesn’t eliminate fear, but it gives us the courage to stand up in the face of it. Nurturing hope isn’t just about waiting for a better tomorrow; it’s about standing up for ourselves right now. It’s like saying, “I might not know what’s ahead, but I believe I can handle it.” That belief is what keeps us moving forward. It’s what keeps us putting in the work and taking risks. Without hope, we’re just going through the motions. But with it? We’re unstoppable.

We’re wired for connection, but let’s be honest—sometimes, “fitting in” feels like the only way to find it. The truth is, trying to fit in isn’t the same as belonging. Fitting in is all about changing who we are to be accepted. It’s saying, “I’ll twist myself into whatever shape you need me to be so that I’m not left out.” But here’s the hard part: when we’re constantly trying to fit in, we lose touch with who we actually are. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn’t require us to change a single thing about ourselves. It’s about showing up as we are and finding a space where we’re valued for our true selves. And sometimes, not fitting in is actually the bravest thing we can do because it means we’re choosing our own path over someone else’s idea of who we should be. Yes, not fitting in can be painful—our survival brain loves the comfort of a group. But being okay with not fitting in means trusting that we’re enough, exactly as we are, even if we don’t get everyone’s approval. It’s knowing that we can stand alone if we have to, with the integrity that comes from honoring our own values and truth. It’s okay to be different. It’s okay to feel like you’re walking your own path. Because when we stop trying to fit in, we make space to truly belong—to ourselves, to people who see us, and to a life that feels real and right.

We all want love, don’t we? To feel it, give it, be surrounded by it. But here’s the kicker: so often, we misunderstand what love actually is, and that misunderstanding can cause us some serious heartache. See, most of us grow up learning that love is about being wanted, pleasing others, and doing all the right things to be deemed “worthy” of it. So we hustle, we try to be perfect, we people-please, thinking that if we just try hard enough, we’ll finally earn the love we crave. And when we don’t feel that love coming back, or when relationships break down, we start to believe that maybe it’s us. Maybe we’re not enough. Or maybe we’re too much. But that’s not what love is—not real, grounded, soul-deep love. Real love is about showing up, not just for others but for ourselves. It’s about being seen and accepted as we are, even when imperfect, or scared. Love doesn’t demand perfection; it asks for authenticity. But that can be terrifying because it means showing up without our armor, without hiding behind achievements or people-pleasing. Love is also about boundaries. Boundaries are a huge part of love because they allow us to show up as our truest selves without feeling drained or resentful. It’s not selfish to say “no” or to put limits on how we give ourselves. It’s actually an act of love for ourselves and others, because it keeps us honest. And when we love from a place of authenticity and healthy boundaries, love becomes expansive. It’s no longer about what we’re getting or proving; it’s about what we’re experiencing, sharing, and building together. But to get there, we have to let go of the myths we’ve been taught about love. We have to trust that love doesn’t come from hustling, pleasing, or perfecting—it grows from vulnerability, acceptance, and the courage to show up as we really are. That kind of love? It doesn’t just fill us up; it frees us.