It’s 3 p.m. Your shoulders are up near your ears. You’re hungry, you’ve needed the bathroom for an hour, and you’re telling yourself you’ll deal with it after this one email. Then the next one.
I think most of us were never taught to feel better. We were taught to get better: better grades, a better job, a better body, a better life. Somewhere along the way those two things got confused, and we started abandoning ourselves in small ways to chase them.
But doesn’t the chase feel necessary?
I know it can. We live in a goal-oriented culture. Maybe we heard it from family, friends or teachers. Nobody says it quite this upfront, but the message is the same: once you buy the house, once you make a certain amount of money, once you find that partner, then you’ll be happy. The problem is that it never ends. It’s never enough, and after a while that starts to feel like we’re never enough.
For a lot of us, that lands right on an old wound. Somewhere along the way we learned that love and approval came from being useful, successful or easy to be around. So the chase isn’t really about the house. It’s about finally proving we’re okay. And the grind does give something back. People praise you, rely on you, tell you that you have it all together. But it can feel lonely, because it’s hard to let anyone close enough to see that not everything is actually fine.
Coming back to yourself vs. getting away
I think one of the hardest parts of this is that we learn to depend on things outside of us to change how we feel inside. Scrolling, shopping, food, a drink, staying busy. Anything that takes the edge off. It works for a moment, which is exactly why it sticks.
Now, to be clear, reaching outside yourself for support isn’t the problem. Grounding strategies, a friend’s voice, therapy: these all come from outside of you too. The real question is whether something helps you come back to yourself or helps you get away. When it’s mostly getting away, we lose practice sitting with any bit of discomfort. The problems don’t go anywhere. We just disconnect further from ourselves.
What self-abandonment actually looks like
It’s usually not one big dramatic moment. It’s small stuff. Saying “I’m fine” before you’ve checked whether you are. Answering a work text on your day off. Staying up way too late because it’s the only time that feels like yours.
A hundred small moments where your body asks for something and you override it, telling yourself you’ll feel better once you get there. But will you? That disconnect is still going to be there when you get the house or the title. We can’t run from ourselves.
This doesn’t mean you should never push yourself. Doing hard things can be good for us. The difference is whether you heard your body and chose, or stopped hearing it altogether.
And sometimes you truly can’t stop, like in the middle of a busy shift or with a toddler at home. Then the practice is noticing, and meeting the need at the first real chance instead of forgetting it was ever there.
Building internal safety
Understanding the pattern isn’t enough, because it doesn’t just live in your thoughts. It can become an automatic way of functioning, almost like muscle memory.
So what we build instead is internal safety. That doesn’t mean chasing feeling “good” all the time. That would just be another finish line. Internal safety means being able to feel what’s actually here, stay present with it without getting overwhelmed, and know how to take care of yourself.
A few places to start:
- Catch the override. Once a day, notice a moment where you push past a need. Just notice it: “I’m hungry, and I’m ignoring it.”
- Name what you feel. Plainly. “I’m tired.” “I’m sad.” Naming a feeling tends to take a little of its charge away.
- Meet the micro-needs. Eat lunch. Drink water. Go to the bathroom when your body asks. Each one tells your body: I’m listening.
- Stay a little longer. Before you reach for your phone to make a feeling go away, pause. Breathe. Give it a minute.
If you catch yourself trying to do this perfectly, that’s the pattern too. And if slowing down brings up more than you can handle on your own, that’s not failure. It’s a really good reason to have support.
What this looks like in therapy
In my work, we slow down and notice what happens in your body as you talk, and we stay with it at a pace that feels manageable. That’s where change starts to happen, somewhere deeper than insight.
The house, the partner, the paycheque might all still come. I hope that when they do, you’re actually there to feel them.
If this sounds familiar, you’re welcome to book a free consultation. You don’t have to hold it all together here.
