John Miles (3:39)
Nobody wakes up one morning and says, you know what? Today I'm gonna throw myself under the bus. It doesn't work like that. It's death by a thousand tiny cuts. You swallow one. No, you let one boundary slide. You tell yourself, it's fine, I'll deal with it later, about 400 times. And then on some random Tuesday, you look around and think, wait, whose life I even live in? It still looks like your house, your job, your people, but it doesn't feel like you're in there anymore. I've watched this happen to literally thousands of people, and every single time, the same four patterns show up. And this week, Susan Grau and Ann Libera basically held up giant neon signs pointing right at them. All right, let's just call this first one what it is. Fear of disappointing people. And don't even try to act like this isn't you, because I'm raising my hand over here too. This is the one where you would literally rather chew glass than tell somebody no or let them down for five seconds. You will cancel your own plans, drain your bank account, show up sick, lie, whatever it takes. Because God forbid somebody thinks you're not nice or you're selfish or you're letting the team down. That feeling in your stomach when you're about to say no and it feels like you're jumping off a cliff, that's this. That's the fear of disappointing people running the show. And I'm telling you right now, it's gotta go pattern number two. And buckle up, because this one is gonna sting. Getting tangled up in your own damn roles. You know exactly who you are in this one. You're the strong one. You're the fixer. You're that person Everybody texts at 2am when their life's on fire because they know you'll pick up. You're the human Swiss Army Knife. And you love it. Until you realize you have zero clue who you are when nobody needs anything from you. You got the capon 247 and you're wondering why you're exhausted and resentful and empty. That's this pattern. That's you turning yourself into everybody else's answer key and forgetting you're a whole ass person underneath the superhero costume. Let's burn that cape right now. Pattern number three. And oh my God, this one is sneaky emotional outsourcing. This is when you have handed the remote control of how you feel about yourself to every single person in your life. Your mom's mood controls you. Your boss's tone in that email controls you. Your friend not texting you back fast enough. Spiral city. You wake up and your self worth is basically a group chat vote. You feel good only when everybody else is happy with you. You feel like trash the second somebody's quiet or pissed or distant. You have outsourced your entire emotional operating system to people who don't even know if they have the password. And I'm here to tell you, take that damn remote back today. Pattern number four. And this one pisses me off. The most learned self minimizing. This is the voice in your head that still sounds like your third grade teacher, your mom, your ex, whoever, telling you don't be loud. Don't want too much. Don't take up too much space. So we get really, really good at making ourselves small. Earlier this week, Susan Grau talked about banging her head against walls trying to force life to look right. And Libra talked about how creativity dies the second you start playing it safe. Same energy. Choosing yourself again is deciding you're done folding yourself up to fit somebody else's box. Those four things, they're not character flaws. They're survival strategies that we picked up because at one point they kept us safe or loved or accepted. The problem is they don't expire on their own. You have to fire them. And one day, maybe on a random drive, maybe at 2am, maybe in the middle of another fight, you're too tired to have. You finally feel it. Staying small is starting to hurt worse than whatever happens if you stand up. That's the moment. That's the threshold. And next we're walking straight through it together. Here's the thing about choosing yourself again. It never starts as a grand declaration. It starts as a crack. A tiny internal rupture that says, I can't keep doing this. Sometimes it shows up as exhaustion that you can't push through anymore. Sometimes it's anger, the quiet kind, the kind that tells you you've ignored too many truths. Sometimes it's grief, sometimes it's clarity that feels like it came out of nowhere. But underneath all of it is the same sentence. I'm done abandoning myself. And once that line appears, it never goes away. It doesn't show up when the calendar is empty, or when you've had a good night's sleep, or when the people around you are finally ready for you to change. It usually arrives in the middle of a mess, when you're holding everything together, when you're bending in 12 directions at once, when you're trying so hard to keep the peace that your soul is the only thing not invited. Choosing yourself again rarely arrives as relief at first. It arrives as truth. And truth is disruptive. It's the moment your soul stops negotiating. For years, your soul will whisper, it will nudge, it will give taps. But there comes a moment, and Susan described it so well this week, when that whisper becomes a knowing. Not loud, not traumatic, just undeniable, susan said in our interview. When your soul is done, it's done. It won't let you pretend anymore. And that line right there? That's the moment people confuse with crisis. But it's not crisis. It's the awakening. It's the moment you stop asking for permission. This is the internal shift that changes everything. You stop waiting for someone to validate your feelings, someone to give you the green light, someone to say yes, you're allowed to change, someone to make it easier for you. You stop outsourcing the decision. You stop pulling the room. You stop negotiating your needs with people who benefit when you have none. And you choose yourself not because you're ready, but because not choosing yourself is no longer survivable. It's the moment that fear flips direction. People think that moment of choosing yourself is about becoming brave. It's not. It's when the fear of staying the same finally outweighs the fear of changing. It's when remaining silent feels more dangerous than speaking up, when staying small feels more painful than growing, when pleasing everyone feels more suffocating than disappointing someone. That's when the access tilts. It's the moment you stop performing and start living. Ann said something in our conversation from yesterday that fits perfectly here. She told me improv breaks the second you try to look good instead of being real. And that is so true in life, too. Choosing yourself again is the moment you drop the performance. You stop acting out the version of yourself that keeps everyone comfortable and you let the real version, the messy, honest, intuitive, evolving version, step forward. It's the moment you stop editing your existence. It doesn't come with fireworks. It comes with a full body exhale. People romanticize choosing yourself, but it's not a movie montage. It's not a big speech. It's not a triumphant song playing while you walk into the sunset. It's quieter than that. It feels like a deep breath you haven't taken in years, a loosening in your chest, a sense of home you can't logically explain. A tiny spark of recognition. There I am. Choosing yourself again is not about becoming someone new. It's about returning to the person you were before the world convinced you to shrink. And when you make that choice, even once, even in the smallest way, something incredible happens. Your energy shifts, your confidence lifts, your. Your intuition sharpens, your relationships recalibrate. Opportunities you couldn't see before start to appear. Because choosing yourself again doesn't change what you do. It changes who you become next. We're breaking this down piece by piece. What actually changes when you finally stop abandoning yourself and start betting on you? So here's a question I want you to sit with for a moment. What's one small way you you could choose yourself today? One boundary. One truth. One pause, one I matter to moment that could shift the entire direction of your life. If you want to reflect on it with me, come share your thoughts over@theignitedlife.net my substack community, where we go deeper into these conversations every week. And before we continue, I want to tell you something I'm incredibly proud of. I just announced my first children's book, you Matter Luma. It's a story about a little bunny who feels too small to matter until she discovers her light changes everything. It's a story about belonging, empathy, and self worth, the same themes we explore in today's episode. And when you pre order, you're helping bring this message of mattering to families everywhere. You can pre order now at Barnes and noble or visit umatterluma.com to learn more. Now a quick word from our sponsors. Thank you for supporting those who support the show. It truly helps us keep bringing you conversations that matter.