I am continuously fascinates by the ways that we human beings soothe ourselves when life feels overwhelming. We use food, alcohol, drugs, distraction, overworking, endless scrolling, isolating, and hundreds of other random things in order to take the edge off difficult feelings.

And at some point along the self-soothing path, we learn to berate and condemn ourselves. We become the judge and jury in our own mental courtroom.

Our culture has taught us that the place to begin when we want to stop self-soothing is with discipline. Willpower. Correction.

But, I’d like to suggest something different—what if we begin with companionship?

Why?

Because most habits that feel hard to change did not begin as problems.

They began as solutions.

For me, the first time I had a panic attack on the highway and it occurred to me to get OFF the road, I felt like I had found the BEST SOLUTION EVER to not feeling panic: get off the road. The relief I felt when I did get off the highway that day was immediate and much appreciated! It did not register in my nervous system as a problem at all—it was, indeed a solution.

At some point, most nervous systems discover something that helps regulate stress, loneliness, overwhelm, or emotional pain. And it learns quickly.

To a primitive survival system, the things that seem to quell our anxious body or soothe our terrified mind are like million-dollar lottery tickets. Why? Because it feels so good to NOT feel anxious, overwhelmed, terrified, or lonely.

The nervous system—that primitive system that has not really evolved much in hundreds of thousands of years—doesn’t prioritize accuracy or truth. It prioritizes relief and safety. It prioritizes keeping you SAFE from having an experience that once felt awful. If something helped once — even imperfectly — the nervous system stores that information and labels it “a reliable solution.”

So when urges show up, it’s not a character flaw. It’s a nervous system doing what it learned to do.

When we respond to those urges with harsh correction, shame, or white-knuckling, the system often becomes even more defensive, more fearful and protective. So, behaviors that we would like to change only grow more persistent.

Correction without safety tends to increase the very behaviors we’re hoping to change.

But, companionship creates the conditions where sustainable change can eventually happen.

So, what I'm pointing to is less about controlling ourselves and more about how we relate to ourselves.

Picture for a moment that there is a part of you that reaches for comfort when you feel anxious, lonely, or afraid. Maybe it’s 3 fingers of vodka or more chocolate than you’d like to admit you have eaten.

This part of you is young, innocent, and simply wants to feel loved and safe.

Now picture the part of you that tends to be the loudest: the part that judges the drinking, the scrolling, the eating, the off ramp.

BOTH of those parts make sense. They are both part of a human system that somehow learned it was UNSAFE to feel certain emotions and somatic sensations. And then learned to berate the part that sought relief from the “bad” emotions and sensations.

This is in no way a bypass or a dismissal. This is not a bury-my-head-in-the-sand kind of thing. This is the beginning of actually understanding how sustainable change can happen. And it begins by building a relationship internally—with ourselves—one that is based on kindness instead of criticism. Inclusion instead of shame. Grace instead of condemnation.

Because TRUE transformation tends to grow out of safety, not correction and shame.

I’ve worked with many people who find that when they stop fighting themselves, their capacity for different choices actually increases.

Not overnight.

But steadily.

I wrote this poem last night when I was feeling into the shifts I have seen in my own life as I have become so much kinder with myself…

There is a protector within you

who has been awake for a very long time.

Long before you had language, context, or perspective,

this protector was learning—registering perceived cues and threats.

It learned the nuance in a voice.

It learned the subtle shift in a room.

It learned the silence that meant something was wrong.

And it learned how quickly love could feel unstable.

And because it loved you,

it adapted.

It braced.

It tightened.

It sharpened its senses.

It memorized what hurt.

Not to punish you.

Not to sabotage you.

But to keep you alive in the only way it knew how.

And so when something today

resembles a painful or frightening experience from back then —

This faithful protector rises again.

It does not pause to analyze or look for truth.

It does not consult logic.

It does not consider pros and cons.

It simply takes action.

This protector learned long ago

that certain comforts

could soften the perceived sharp edges of life.

It learned that something sweet,

or something numbing,

or something steady and predictable

could quiet the storm within.

And then it memorized the pathway to relief.

Not because of weakness.

Not because of a lack of discipline.

But because the survival system learned

a reliable way to regulate itself

when safety seemed scarce.

Today, when those pathways are followed—

When finding relief feels like the only option available,

Correction can sound, to that protector,

like danger all over again —

like another signal to tighten, brace, and defend.

In those moments when relief is sought,

Correction often sounds like this:

“What is wrong with me?”

“I said I would never do this again.”

“I have no self-control.”

“Why can’t I just stop?”

And to that protector within, those words feel like attack.

So, it grips harder.

It hides in shame.

It reaches again —

this time with more urgency.

But what if there is another way to meet this protector?

What if we could meet it with companionship?

Companionship speaks differently. Kindly. Softly.

Companionship does not deny world-of-form consequences.

It does not pretend or bypass.

It simply refuses to confuse coping with identity.

It understands that what looks like compulsion

is simply a survival system trying to regulate quickly.

Trying to soothe.

Trying to settle.

Trying to feel less alone.

And when taking a metaphorical off-ramp is met

with steady presence rather than with condemnation,

Something begins to shift.

The protector feels seen instead of scolded.

Safety begins to grow. Capacity expands.

Not because it was forced.

Not because you conquered yourself.

But because the part of you

that wanted relief

finally felt accompanied; integrated.

Safety begins

when the correcting, admonishing, and shaming dissolve.

When we start sitting beside the one who learned to cope

the only way it knew how.

This young, devoted protector makes sense.

And it is ready to be welcomed home

with kindness

Safety

And a space of love.

One more small piece that I would like to offer is something that was instrumental—and still IS instrumental—in my own reintegration of these old parts—the judge, the self-soother, the one who still sometimes looks for safety outside of myself:

For me, it feels helpful to know, deep down, that there is something larger than me. Call it Life, Love, Wisdom, Awareness, God. No matter what language resonates with you— there is a felt-sense knowing that something bigger than me is holding this entire unfolding. And I am not in charge or in control of any of it.

Sometimes when things in my life appear super messy or wobbly—when it looks like things have gone bad or gone wrong—there is an imperturbable peace in knowing that something bigger than this little Missy-identity exists.

So, instead of assuming something has “gone wrong” simply because it’s messy or chaotic or uncomfortable, I tend to consider that something in my experience is actually optimal for my waking-up. Something in it is instrumental in the growing of my capacity to live more from my true identity as Presence and Love.

Not everything that feels uncomfortable is a setback. Sometimes it’s literally the greatest thing that could have happened. We just can’t see it with our human mind right now.

I never try to force a sense of trust in what is unfolding in my life. Instead, I simply notice the incredible difference I feel in my body when trust and surrender are present.

What if the same intelligence that grows trees, regulates breath, heals wounds, and carries tides also moves you and me. And it feels deeply trustworthy to me.

These days, there is just this felt-sense knowing in my belly that NOTHING arises outside the field of awareness that holds us—nothing happens outside of Love.

As one of my beautiful clients loves to say, “We can’t fall out of God.”

It’s ALL included.

Even coping strategies. Even attempts to find safety outside of ourselves.

So rather than asking, “Why am I like this?” or “Why do I do this?” I tend to take on a posture of openness, spaciousness, and trust that asks, “How is this experience part of my greatest waking up?”