I frequently find myself overly drawn to, or affected by, the moods and attitudes of others, whether directed at me or simply present in my surroundings. Often, this comes at the expense of knowing and regulating my own emotional state.
This is a framework I developed when I was younger. I learned to monitor the emotional temperature of my family members, becoming fluent in the language of conflict avoidance and preemptive soothing.
Decades later, I’m learning that this way of thinking, this muscle memory, still shows up in my day-to-day life with the same automatic precision it once did.
Recently, someone shared a story with me about their child—a story I haven’t been able to shake. I immediately recognised my younger self in that kid. I understood, with visceral clarity, what that child feels and how they currently navigate the world. My heart breaks for them, knowing that it shouldn’t be this way, and that this survival strategy will shape so much of their life to come.
When I acknowledge this part of myself, my first instinct is to abandon it as quickly as possible. Who wants an outdated, harmful way of being to define them?
But this impulse to reject is exactly the wrong response.
Instead of abandoning that part of me, I need to draw her closer. I need to put my arm around her and say, “I know.” I know you’re scared. I know you’re trying to create safety in the only way you understand. But I’ve got you now. You no longer need to carry this burden. You no longer need to be frightened by outcomes you’ve imagined for stories that haven’t been written yet.
Instead of judging that side of me, I can choose to help her—to rewrite her narrative and learn new frameworks that are life-giving and restorative.
She deserves love and comfort just as much as I do. Perhaps more, because she’s been waiting the longest. And I should be the one to finally provide it.
