Society has conditioned us to believe that abandonment of the self at the mere whiff of romantic interest or a potential relationship is normal. We think it’s the cost of finding love, so we’re willing to exchange loss of self for someone else’s company or promises. It’s so embedded in the culture that many of us don’t realise that we are not and haven’t been ourselves. That is until the relationship ends abruptly or we wake up knee-deep in an unhealthy or unfulfilling relationship.
Based on a minimal understanding of that person’s attraction to you and who they are, you abandon yourself. You take their interest along with the feelings and sense of potential it engenders, and you blend, morph, adapt and basically edit yourself to fit with who you think this person is or could be, or what you think you will get. It’s pure fantasy.
Do you know why it hurts so much when you experience rejection and disappointment despite the lengths you went to to be ‘good’, to be their ‘perfect partner’? It’s that the ‘fake you’ didn’t ‘win’.
You then wonder what you’re doing wrong and possibly tell yourself that maybe relationships aren’t worth the effort. That they hurt too much. It’s like, Wait, so even the version of me that accommodates everything they want and need gets rejected?Wow, I really must be unworthy. See, this is why I can’t let my guard down and be myself. If they won’t love the fake me that caters to their fantasy, what chance does my unworthy self stand?
You came into this world already worthy, already ‘enough’; various internalised experiences, messages and self-criticisms and judgements convinced you otherwise. Maybe, instead of thinking that relationships not working out is proof positive that you aren’t enough, let them awaken you to the truth that abandoning you to pursue ‘worthiness’ isn’t necessary. By choosing a loving, caring, respectful and trusting relationship with yourself, you will value you too much to dismiss your needs, values and boundaries. And yes, it will take time. Still, if you choose that relationship with you, you will choose it with others by extension.
Sometimes we compartmentalise a person’s behaviour and focus on our feelings or the picture we’ve painted in our mind. The back and forth with our ex continues even though they still insist that they don’t want us or a relationship. We claim that we love ‘the person’, not ‘their actions’ even though we don’t receive love, care, trust and respect.
Separating this person from their behaviour means that we might rationalise that they’re not rejecting us. We fervently believe that they share our feelings and desire for a relationship. An unfortunate series of obstacles causes them to reject the type of relationship we’d like to have with them, right? So we remain invested. We think we know better and then use this to build a case for holding out for the fairy-tale ending.
Hell, we might reason that half-interest and being used for sex, an ego stroke or whatever, or them being willing to take our calls or reply to texts is a sign that they want us. Or we might argue that these mean that they’re not outright rejecting us so we’re still ‘in’.
We want to believe our feelings and the illusion, but we need to believe the pattern.
The need to compartmentalise someone to continue engaging with them doesn’t bode well. It’s denying, rationalising, minimising, excusing and presuming to avoid dealing with the truth.
But given that we co-create our relationships and they also need to be co-piloted for them to be healthy, we can’t act as if the person and their behaviour are separate entities. In fact, by separating the person from their actions, we separate from (and abandon) ourselves.
We have to love the whole person in reality and also be willing to love and take care of us at the same time. The fact they still toy with us, get back together (and then go again), hang around, use us for what they can get, doesn’t mean it’s ‘love’. Compartmentalisation causes destabilisation. And while it hurts to face reality and let go, on the other side is a life where we can be fully ourselves and fully loved.
Thanks to our underlying feelings of low self-worth, we’ve spent most or all of our life overcompensating for our supposed lack of enoughness with the likes of people pleasing, perfectionism and settling for crumbs. And as a result, it makes absolutely no sense to us when someone we deem to be a ‘bad’ person is loved or enjoying good things.
This sense of unfairness can become all-consuming, fuelling resentment, envy, contempt, shame, and depressed feelings. We don’t recognise where this person’s experience highlights the mental gymnastics we engage in to continue with patterns that aren’t serving us.
‘Love’ isn’t about being a Good Person. It’s not a reward.
It’s only by removing the pre-requisite for a stellar performance, an unblemished record, and faultlessness and perfectionism, that we experience the vulnerability and extent of love.
If anything, knowing that love isn’t a reward for being a Good Person should be liberating. But for a lot of us, it isn’t.
We don’t like the antagonists in our story to be loved, to have good things (or at least not before us) because it upends the lies we’ve told ourselves. We definitely don’t want them to do well in life without having to break themselves as we do.
Saying we’re not ‘good enough’ and acting like love is a reward gaslights the hell out of us. It puts us in a double bind.
We say that everything we don’t like about our life is about our lack of worthiness, about not getting rewarded for being good, for our efforts. But we love people who are not always ‘good’ to us. We do. Hell, we love people who inadequately parent us, who don’t be and do enough.
So, either we don’t really love them, or we know deep down that all the things we blame on our worthiness aren’t our fault. They’re certainly not an I-must-accept-less-for-the-rest-of-my-days kind of thing.
We also know deep down that we don’t have to do all of, for example, the people pleasing. Continuing, though, lets us feel in control and anaesthetises us against the pain of the stories we’ve told us about ourselves and our experiences. It numbs the pain of what we’re doing. We also get to keep chasing the reward and the absolution we didn’t and don’t need in the first place.
If love isn’t a reward for being a Good Person, for doing all the things, who would you choose to be? Go do that. It’s more honest. It’s more loving.
It’s time to recognise, though, that there are other reasons for us having been inadequately parented that have nothing to do with our worthiness.
Some parents had/have such low feelings of self-worth and fear of failure and disappointing us that they’d rather not try at all. They did the bare minimum, the best they could, when coming from that headspace, or they left. They may have emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually abandoned us even though they were ‘there’ for all intents and purposes. Or, they left.
Some parents were very loving but sometimes sheltered us too much. Or they inadvertently gave the impression that we were responsible for their happiness. There may have been this pressure to be good, to achieve, to only have pleasant feelings. We may have started to believe that we needed to be perfect or who we thought they needed or wanted us to be because of how invested and interested they were in us.
Some parents had parented their parents and/or siblings. It made them exhausted and old before their time. Then they inadequately parented us because they were still playing the Good Daughter/Son/Sibling. They quite simply didn’t have enough bandwidth to go around. Playing roles created inner conflicts, including fear and guilt about stopping.
Some parents thought that given how shit their own childhood experiences were that anything they did was ‘better’ even if it wasn’t much or great. In fact, some thought that all they had to do was show up because it’s what their parents did.
Some parents believed that their focus on success, providing and pushing was all of what parenting entailed. They didn’t have time for emotions, possibly because there wasn’t room for them in their own upbringing.
Some parents were so afraid of being like their own parents that they went from one extreme to another. They overcompensated, controlled, gave too little structure, or bailed altogether.
Some parents didn’t become aware of how certain things bothered them until they became parents. And some of these parents’ trauma manifested in their parenting without awareness of what was happening. Hell, some parents were traumatised by the childhood they claimed was “great” or that they couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about.
Some parents were so abused, neglected or deprived that they did the same thing to us. We might be the first generation to break a longstanding cycle within our family.
Some parents were still so angry about their role in the family and where they felt they’d been wronged that they were immature parents. They treated us like siblings (or even their parents) to compete, argue with or rebel against.
Some parents didn’t feel capable or worthy of receiving love, so they pushed us away.
Some parents felt overwhelmed by our needs because they’d never had their needs met. And some were very “It’s my time now” and made up for lost time. They put all of their needs and wants ahead of their child, making them unreliable, unstable and, yes, sometimes selfish parents.
Some parents (and caregivers) were really passive. It was their pattern to not stand up for themselves. It meant that even though it may not have been what they intended, they abandoned us when we needed them the most. Or we just didn’t feel safe and secure with them. We may have felt more responsible than our parent. Through their inaction, they may have turned a blind eye or left us exposed to danger from the other parent or a caregiver.
Some parents were overwhelmed by their roles, day-to-day life and the past. They anaesthetised their pain, fear and guilt with addictions, affairs, compulsions or overwork.
Some parents and caregivers did terrible things that no parent, no person, should do because they’d shut down. They’d lost their compass and/or were re-enacting their childhood torment. Some had undiagnosed disorders. Some were diagnosed but hid it. Society, our community and our own family, failed to protect us.
Some parents inadvertently communicated that something was wrong with us because they were so critical of themselves.
Some parents thought we were better off with someone else. They believed that someone else would give us a better life than they could.
Some parents were so used to not feeling their feelings that parenting threatened the status quo.
There are so many reasons that explain why our parents may have inadequately parented us. None have anything to do with us.
Many of our parents and caregivers, even with the best of efforts, and especially given the time they were raised in (and the time when we were), struggled to break free of old roles and their trauma. We were all raised during the Age of Obedience.
Our parents also had emotional baggage. Some of them still do and are out here on these streets acting out. It’s why there’s such a thing as family estrangement.
We like to think that a parent should change when they become a parent. We imagine that our arrival should make them spontaneously combust into a healthy, loving parent. There’s a sense that all of their problems should fade away or that, at the very least, our goodness should make up for it. That’s a lot to put on us, on a little kid. And it’s also a lot to put on our parent(s).
Our parents are (and were) humans first and foremost.
They were once children themselves with their own personalities, characteristics, circumstances, resources, level of abundance and backstories that explain who they are and were. Whoever they failed to be for us was not our fault. Our worthiness isn’t to blame. Our assessment of our faults is and was incorrect.
Recognising the journey they travelled and what contributed to their pattern of behaviour isn’t an excuse to use against ourselves. It doesn’t mean that what we went through wasn’t painful. What it does mean is that we need to and have to stop making it about us.
We have to stop carrying the blame and using it against ourselves. There is no need for us to accept crumbs, to keep persecuting ourselves over old judgments and misunderstandings. We need to stop holding ourselves hostage in shitty and unfulfilling relationships and hiding from our potential and purpose. We need to stop settling for crumbs and mistreating ourselves so that we can cut back on people pleasing and burning out from expecting too feckin’ much from ourselves. Some parents weren’t (and aren’t) who we need(ed) them to be, but we can forgive us by taking better care of ourselves. The self-care of how we lead our lives will set us free.
In this week’s episode of The Baggage Reclaim Sessions, I discuss secrets and lies with my brother, Richard. Have you ever known that a loved one is holding back parts of themselves and essentially lying to you, but they won’t talk to you about it? This is what happened with us for over twenty years despite being very close.
We share the story of what happened when he could finally be honest with me, the impact of generational trauma, and what happened when we accidentally discovered we’d both been lied to for over forty years about a crucial aspect of our childhood. I’m so grateful to be able to share our conversation.
In this episode:
01:48 Setting the scene
03:56 The secret revealed
07:10 Our childhood and family dynamics
13:25 Navigating identity and acceptance
16:51 Uncovering family secrets
23:06 The impact of secrets and lies
29:56 Living a lie and the struggle for authenticity
30:42 Struggles with honesty and mental Health
37:40 The impact of bullying and discrimination in the workplace
47:38 Reflecting on our respective journeys navigating this
In this week’s episode of The Baggage Reclaim Sessions, my brother Richard and I reflect on our childhood and how repeatedly wondering ‘Is there something about me?’ affected our sense of self and working lives. We discuss how (and why) our sense of worthiness has been intertwined with our professional success and personal relationships. This honest conversation unpacks feelings of abandonment, rejection, and the lifelong struggle of feeling ‘good-enough,’ highlighting the importance of acknowledging and healing from our past to reclaim our present.
In this week’s episode of The Baggage Reclaim Sessions, Jolene Park, wellness coach, speaker, and former Baggage Reclaim student, joins me for a necessary conversation about gray area drinking. We delve into how our relationship with alcohol intersects with our emotional and psychological well-being.
Jolene shares her personal journey with alcohol, how it ties into dealing with anxiety, and the physiological aspects of drinking. I also share my personal journey with alcohol. We discuss the impact of trauma, societal norms around drinking, and the importance of addressing underlying issues. Whether you’re a gray area drinker or curious about your own relationship with alcohol, this episode provides valuable perspectives and practical advice.
IN THIS EPISODE…
00:48 On being an Adult Child of an Alcoholic
04:39 Introducing Jolene Park
07:49 What is gray area drinking?
09:55 Jolene’s story
13:35 Personal biochemistry, including GABA, and the effects of alcohol on the body
19:47 “That’s how I drink” – Connecting with our stories and experiences
21:23 The going back and forth on ourselves
23:25 The decision to quit alcohol
26:46 Relationship sobriety and Build Your Self-Esteem
30:49 Natalie’s story of her relationship with alcohol
32:21 Cultural and familial influences on drinking
37:39 The pivotal moment in Natalie’s twenties that began to shift her relationship with alcohol
38:38 Health challenges and sobriety
39:02 Social perceptions of drinking
40:12 Changing relationship with alcohol
40:56 Reflecting on alcohol’s impact
42:39 Evaluating personal alcohol use
53:40 The definitive line about alcohol from medical research
54:34 GABA, high histamine response, blood sugar responses and depletions and deficiencies
56:38 Fight, flee, fawn and freeze plus attachment and abandonment’s influence on why we drink
59:00 Societal comparisons and personal health
01:12:05 Next steps for addressing alcohol Use
01:14:19 Conclusion, final thoughts, and resources
In this week’s episode of The Baggage Reclaim Sessions, I chat with one of my closest friends, Karen Arthur, about our 16-year friendship and her remarkable journey of reinvention after 50. From experiencing burnout as a teacher at 47 to becoming a fashion designer, Specsavers model, podcaster, author, and menopause campaigner, Karen shares how she’s discovered more freedom, purpose and authentic joy in her later years than ever before.
We discuss how societal expectations about aging limit our sense of possibility, why “age-gap friendships” isn’t a necessary term for what is simply a meaningful connection between two people, and the powerful shifts that happen when you finally prioritise yourself after decades of putting others first. If you’ve ever worried that your best years are behind you or that it’s “too late” to change direction, this conversation will remind you it’s never too late to become more of who you really are.
IN THIS EPISODE…
Life’s most significant transformations can happen at any age. Karen’s journey from burned-out teacher at 47 to thriving creative entrepreneur at 63 demonstrates that our best years aren’t necessarily behind us. The societal narrative that we must achieve everything by our 30s or 40s is a harmful myth that limits our potential for growth, exploration, and joy in later decades.
Friendship isn’t defined by age brackets. When we limit ourselves to connections with people who match our age, background, or life stage, we miss out on rich relationships that can provide different perspectives and mutual growth.
Mental health challenges like burnout can become powerful catalysts for change when we finally listen to what our bodies and minds have been trying to tell us. Karen’s experience of rocking in a dark room marked the beginning of her journey toward prioritising herself after decades of putting others first.
Our relationship with money is often shaped by childhood experiences and cultural messaging that may no longer serve us. Transforming this relationship from scarcity (“I’m terrified of being homeless”) to abundance (“I am blessed and highly favoured, and I will never fail”) can open doors to opportunities we never imagined possible.
Learning to mind your own business becomes an important part of growth in later years, particularly for people who’ve spent their lives as fixers and caretakers. Recognising that even adult children don’t “belong” to us and need space to make their own decisions is challenging but liberating work that creates healthier relationships for everyone involved.
