There was a time

when I believed healing

meant becoming a better version of myself.

Less afraid. Less tender.

More even-tempered. More relaxed.

I thought the anxious parts needed fixing.

The grieving parts needed replacing.

The insecure parts needed outgrowing.

I didn’t realize that, for so long,

I was innocently declaring war

on versions of myself

that had only ever been asking

to be met with kindness.

I spent years trying to improve

the very parts of me

that were quietly asking

to be loved.

But lately, I have been wondering…

What if healing

is not a self-improvement project?

What if it is stewardship? Kindness? Grace?

What if the goal is not to become a better version of myself?

What if it is simply to remember to be KIND

to the versions of myself

that my culture taught me to hate?

So, today, I begin with clarity—

a deep understanding of the mind’s function.

A knowing that the mind naturally bends toward negativity—

catastrophe

urgency

and a desperate need for answers.

A realization that this tendency is not a flaw

but rather a feature of a healthy, protective human mind.

And in truly seeing this,

kindness and grace are what want to happen.

When attention is pulled toward negativity and urgency,

something new is available.

Not as a strategy to solve, to figure out, or fix—

but as way to meet what is arising.

A kinder place to meet the feelings, the memories, and

the sensations.

I am not here to become so wise that sadness no longer visits,

or so “healed” that fear never returns.

I am here to become a kinder steward of myself

my little one—my inner landscape

when those feelings and sensations do arise.

To remember that the frightened parts of me

are not at all what my mind is telling me.

To recall that the insecure and confused parts of me

are simply old energies making their way to the light.

And perhaps over time,

it becomes easier to remember

that healing was never about banishing

any of these versions of me.

It was about remembering to greet myself

Again and again and again with the same gentle words:

Ah...here you are.

Come in.

Sit down.

Rest a while.

Nothing has gone wrong.

You belong here, too.

A few weeks ago, before my family and I left for Martha's Vineyard, I made myself a little Vacation Bingo card. I realize that sounds slightly ridiculous since I'm a 55-year-old woman who has spent the past six years exploring truth and reality. But, for whatever reason, it made sense to me that the BINGO card was the KINDEST thing I could do for my nervous system before embarking on a family vacation with 24 people.

And here's the interesting thing: When I was creating the BINGO card, I didn't put things like sunsets or lobster rolls or shopping sprees on it. I didn't put laughter or beautiful beach days or delicious meals or family adventures. I don't need reminding that those experiences belong. My culture has taught me well that experiences like joy and laughter always belong. Even my adorable little mind is fully on-board with that.

Instead, I filled the card with experiences that our culture has taught me to call unwanted, awful, or painful. Since I am fully aware of how the human mind prefers negative, serious, urgent stories, I decided it might be helpful to give myself a way to meet any so-called negative experiences with a little more grace.

So my brilliant BINGO card included words like: frustrated, weary, overwhelmed, anxious, concerned, guilty, stressed, regret, shame, loneliness, left-out, drained, insecurity, hurt, and panic.

And honestly, I think that's what strikes me most when I look at this little card now. I included all of the everyday human experiences that seem to arise most often during times that our culture calls SPECIAL.

Like vacations, holidays, birthdays, weddings, and any other occasion that our culture has decided should include only happy, blissful, grateful feelings.

I know all too well now that believing those cultural expectations like, “Oh, it’s a sunny day on vacation—I should feel relaxed and happy” can feel like a shit-ton of pressure to a normal human nervous system. I also know all too well how human minds LOVE to make meaning out of every single emotion and physiological sensation.

Minds love to say things like, “I can’t believe it’s my birthday and I can’t muster up an ounce of joy. What is wrong with me? I will probably always be like this.” OR, “Oh no—what is that itch? Is that a tick? I heard there is a massive outbreak of ticks here! I’ll probably end up with Alpha Gal or Lyme and then I will never be the same again!”

Oh—the human mind is such a predictable little primitive machine!

So, I made sure to include experiences that my own hot-running nervous system tends to have in these kinds of situations.

And do you know what happened?

That little Bingo card became one of the kindest things I could have brought with me to Martha’s Vineyard.

Because every time one of those experiences showed up—and every single one of them did!—I didn't fight with it. I didn't try to figure out WHY it was there. I didn’t attempt to push the thoughts or sensations away. I didn't have to wonder what it meant about me or about the trip or my emotional or physical health.

I simply smiled to myself and thought:

"Oh…there it is. Insecurity! Of course it's here. That one belongs here. It is a perfect part of my path."

And somehow, that simple act changed everything. The card helped remind me that the direct experience of ANY emotion or physiological sensation is 100% safe and in service of me.

It helped me remember that NOTHING has gone wrong simply because I was having a human experience that Instagram says that I should not be having on vacation. I realized that I didn’t need to abandon myself just because a so-called challenging human experience was arising.

As I thought about it later, I realized that what I had really created for myself wasn't a game at all. It was a permission slip. A soft place to land.

An act of kindness for a beautiful, perfect nervous system.

A way of saying, "Sweet girl, when these experiences show up—and they will—please don't make them mean that you've done vacation wrong or life wrong or healing wrong. Please remember that this is simply the precise human experience that is MOST in service of your waking up. Let it move through and do its good work.”

And honestly, I can say that I did not suffer one single time while I was on vacation. I checked every single experience on my BINGO card. And I silently celebrated each one. Panic, urgency, and all.

It helps to remember that the primitive mind has ONE very specific job description.

It is not a joy detector. It did not keep your ancient ancestors alive by caring about happiness.

The mind is a danger detector. More accurately, it is a "potential danger" detector, meaning its job is to detect any remote possibility of danger.

The mind is not scanning our lives asking, "What is beautiful here?" or "What is meaningful?" or "What else might also be true?"

Instead, it is constantly scanning for uncertainty, for potential threats, for what might go wrong, and for what IT believes requires our immediate attention.

And none of this is a problem. REALLY—it’s not!

This ancient, adorable little mind has kept human beings alive for a very long time.

But it also means that our minds have a natural tendency to pull our attention toward the negative, the catastrophic, and the urgent.

I actually laughed when I saw that little square on my Bingo card that simply says: URGENT. Because when I felt urgent about something on the very first day we arrived, my mind only held me captive for about five seconds before I remembered—OH! This is one of the experiences that I am meant to have. Hello, there!

Human minds love to protect us by predicting every possible future loss. And truly understanding this helps me ask very different questions now:

Before, my mind demanded answers to questions like, "How do I stop thinking these anxious thoughts?" or "How do I catch the terror spirals more quickly?"

Now, I find myself asking, "Knowing how beautifully and predictably human I am, how could I care for myself when these thoughts arrive?"

Even as I type that, I can feel the physiological shift in my body.

Knowing that my mind naturally bends toward catastrophe and urgency and worst-case scenarios, how wonderful that I can support myself with kindness and compassion.

How beautiful that I can prepare soft places to land.

I was never meant to be a self-improvement project. I am not here to become a better version of myself.

Now, it is clearer than ever that I am here to be a kinder steward of my inner landscape—my “little one”—while Life unfolds through me with all of its beauty and its storms.