Julia, kudos to you for your self-awareness. And a BIG thank you for sharing so vulnerably your inner experiences with us.
I believe it takes a lot of courage—first, to admit these things to yourself, and second, to put them out there.
But oh, how beautiful it is to read something so honest—something in which you so deeply find yourself.
Being single has shown me, so clearly and painfully at times, just how much I tend to lose myself in relationships—despite a great deal of determination not to do it.
I want to believe I’ve grown out of that pattern, but then someone comes along, and suddenly it’s like some invisible force takes over. My emotional state becomes entirely tethered to how things are going between us.
Are we communicating enough (by this imaginary standard that I created)? Do I feel seen, wanted, important? If yes—great! Then I can feel good about myself.
But if, God forbid, something on my relationship wellbeing assessment goes unchecked… there goes my whole day.
Everything takes on a bitter aftertaste. Whatever else I try to do and think about, my mind spirals back to him, and my body clenches with this hollow, miserable feeling I can’t shake.
In my case, I think I know why this happens. (Or at least I’m arrogant enough to think that I do—I never had a professional confirm it—but I feel confident about it nonetheless.)
I operate from a place of deep unworthiness. At my core, I don’t believe I’m good enough, or worthy, or important. And my brain—too skilled for its own good—is constantly interpreting every word and action (or lack thereof) as evidence to support that belief.
Is it accurate? No. And although I’m aware of that, it still hurts like hell. Because it only deepens a very old, very painful wound—and it fails to recognize that it has little to do with what’s actually happening in my current reality.
It’s frustrating, because I’ve put so much work into the relationship I have with myself these past few years. On a conscious level, I genuinely like who I am. I can see how much I’ve grown, all the good things about me that I’m proud of, and the evidence that I can, indeed, trust and love myself.
It’s my subconscious that has some serious catching up to do. And every single relationship—or even the attempt at one—reminds me of that.
Okay, I’m done now playing the victim.
Because, truthfully, I’m not.
What I am is extremely lucky and privileged to live in a time and place where I have access to all kinds of support, resources, and opportunities to help me work through all of this.
I believe it’s a luxury to be able to preoccupy oneself with pursuits like healing and self-growth. I try to remind myself of that whenever I feel defeated by my (apparent or not) lack of progress.
So no, this isn’t coming from despair (despite what it looks like so far). It’s coming from a place of utter confidence that both you and I—and anyone else who feels this way—can figure it out. Slowly, imperfectly, but surely.
It’s a journey, isn’t it? And in the thick of it, it often feels like nothing’s changing. Confusion, frustration, and disappointment inevitably keep showing up.
But one day, we’ll find ourselves looking back at these versions of ourselves—bravely learning how to finally choose themselves—with unbelievable pride and joy.
And if you ask me, I think the path forward is built on tiny, defiant acts of self-trust.
Speaking up when you’re most afraid that what you say might cost you the other person…
Meeting your own needs first, despite how selfish it makes you feel…
Learning to be okay with being misunderstood, because you no longer need someone else’s understanding to define you…
Leaning into the discomfort of being the truest version of yourself…
Btw—have you read Glennon Doyle’s book, Untamed?
If not, you really should. It felt like the warmest hug and the biggest wake up call, all at once. I read it a few years ago, but writing this now makes me want to pick it up again.
It reminded me that discomfort is often the doorway to becoming who we truly are—and that it’s all so worth it, for how sweet life can be on the other side.
Aaaaaaaaaall of this to say… Thank you. It felt so good hearing some else talk about this. And it was, frankly, hella inspiring.
I just hit ‘post’ and I’m kinda embarrassed by how long this comment got. And by "kinda" I mean "extremely". “Who do I think I am, asking this much of your time to read a manuscript-length reply???”
I felt the need to acknowledge that. But I will be practicing my “leaning into the discomfort of being the truest version of yourself” advice and use every ounce of strength I have not to apologize for it. 😅
Oh Bianca - thank you thank you thank you. It’s taken me a couple of days to get to replying to this comment because honestly it hit really hard and I was wondering if I was even going to continue this newsletter for a while. But knowing that someone can read my words and feel connection is honestly what it’s all about, no matter how cheesy that sounds. There are too many of us who lose ourselves, little by little, in relationships - purely out of generosity to the other person. Finding my way back to myself is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, but man, it’s so fun too. So incredibly interesting. And generous, to myself. (And thank you for the reminder about Untamed, it’s probably time to pick it back up again for me too)
Julia, kudos to you for your self-awareness. And a BIG thank you for sharing so vulnerably your inner experiences with us.
I believe it takes a lot of courage—first, to admit these things to yourself, and second, to put them out there.
But oh, how beautiful it is to read something so honest—something in which you so deeply find yourself.
Being single has shown me, so clearly and painfully at times, just how much I tend to lose myself in relationships—despite a great deal of determination not to do it.
I want to believe I’ve grown out of that pattern, but then someone comes along, and suddenly it’s like some invisible force takes over. My emotional state becomes entirely tethered to how things are going between us.
Are we communicating enough (by this imaginary standard that I created)? Do I feel seen, wanted, important? If yes—great! Then I can feel good about myself.
But if, God forbid, something on my relationship wellbeing assessment goes unchecked… there goes my whole day.
Everything takes on a bitter aftertaste. Whatever else I try to do and think about, my mind spirals back to him, and my body clenches with this hollow, miserable feeling I can’t shake.
In my case, I think I know why this happens. (Or at least I’m arrogant enough to think that I do—I never had a professional confirm it—but I feel confident about it nonetheless.)
I operate from a place of deep unworthiness. At my core, I don’t believe I’m good enough, or worthy, or important. And my brain—too skilled for its own good—is constantly interpreting every word and action (or lack thereof) as evidence to support that belief.
Is it accurate? No. And although I’m aware of that, it still hurts like hell. Because it only deepens a very old, very painful wound—and it fails to recognize that it has little to do with what’s actually happening in my current reality.
It’s frustrating, because I’ve put so much work into the relationship I have with myself these past few years. On a conscious level, I genuinely like who I am. I can see how much I’ve grown, all the good things about me that I’m proud of, and the evidence that I can, indeed, trust and love myself.
It’s my subconscious that has some serious catching up to do. And every single relationship—or even the attempt at one—reminds me of that.
Okay, I’m done now playing the victim.
Because, truthfully, I’m not.
What I am is extremely lucky and privileged to live in a time and place where I have access to all kinds of support, resources, and opportunities to help me work through all of this.
I believe it’s a luxury to be able to preoccupy oneself with pursuits like healing and self-growth. I try to remind myself of that whenever I feel defeated by my (apparent or not) lack of progress.
So no, this isn’t coming from despair (despite what it looks like so far). It’s coming from a place of utter confidence that both you and I—and anyone else who feels this way—can figure it out. Slowly, imperfectly, but surely.
It’s a journey, isn’t it? And in the thick of it, it often feels like nothing’s changing. Confusion, frustration, and disappointment inevitably keep showing up.
But one day, we’ll find ourselves looking back at these versions of ourselves—bravely learning how to finally choose themselves—with unbelievable pride and joy.
And if you ask me, I think the path forward is built on tiny, defiant acts of self-trust.
Speaking up when you’re most afraid that what you say might cost you the other person…
Meeting your own needs first, despite how selfish it makes you feel…
Learning to be okay with being misunderstood, because you no longer need someone else’s understanding to define you…
Leaning into the discomfort of being the truest version of yourself…
Btw—have you read Glennon Doyle’s book, Untamed?
If not, you really should. It felt like the warmest hug and the biggest wake up call, all at once. I read it a few years ago, but writing this now makes me want to pick it up again.
It reminded me that discomfort is often the doorway to becoming who we truly are—and that it’s all so worth it, for how sweet life can be on the other side.
Aaaaaaaaaall of this to say… Thank you. It felt so good hearing some else talk about this. And it was, frankly, hella inspiring.
I just hit ‘post’ and I’m kinda embarrassed by how long this comment got. And by "kinda" I mean "extremely". “Who do I think I am, asking this much of your time to read a manuscript-length reply???”
I felt the need to acknowledge that. But I will be practicing my “leaning into the discomfort of being the truest version of yourself” advice and use every ounce of strength I have not to apologize for it. 😅
Nothing embarrassing about it! Only love!
Oh Bianca - thank you thank you thank you. It’s taken me a couple of days to get to replying to this comment because honestly it hit really hard and I was wondering if I was even going to continue this newsletter for a while. But knowing that someone can read my words and feel connection is honestly what it’s all about, no matter how cheesy that sounds. There are too many of us who lose ourselves, little by little, in relationships - purely out of generosity to the other person. Finding my way back to myself is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, but man, it’s so fun too. So incredibly interesting. And generous, to myself. (And thank you for the reminder about Untamed, it’s probably time to pick it back up again for me too)