Mindfulness Practice

  It’s always the small things that tip me over. A cancelled visit. An unanswered text. Something that shouldn’t matter so much, but somehow… it does. It really does. Suddenly, I’m not just disappointed—I’m spiralling. The voice in my head wastes no time. See? You’re not a priority. People always leave. You care too much. You’re too much. Or worse: You’re not enough. I try to quiet it. Try to reason with myself. Tell myself it’s not personal, that they’re busy, tired, caught up in life. But the damage is done. That tiny crack becomes a storm, and I feel myself losing footing. It’s not coming from nowhere. There were times when silence meant punishment. When cancelled plans meant I’d done something wrong. When the lack of response felt deliberate. Cold. Designed to teach me a lesson. That kind of trauma doesn’t just vanish. It lingers in the nervous system, in the body’s quiet reactions, in the way I brace myself for rejection—even when no harm is intended. So yes, i...

I’ve got my square squad . The people who know me—really know me. They see my heart, they see my effort, they see the messy, raw, real me, and they hold space for it all. Their voices are the ones I trust, the ones I go to when the world gets loud. And yet, this week… someone outside that circle said something cruel. Something untrue. And it got to me. I found myself spiralling—defending, justifying, doubting. Then I caught myself trying to apply logic: “She’s not in your square squad. Her opinion doesn’t matter. Don’t let it in.” But here’s the hard truth: It still hurt. Because no matter how strong our boundaries are, or how clear we are on who matters and who doesn’t, we’re human. And words—especially unkind, false ones—can sting, even when we know the source is irrelevant. This is where the work lives. Not in pretending we’re untouchable. But in acknowledging the sting, sitting with it, and choosing not to let it define us. I reminded myself of three things today: Just b...