track 02: change
featuring unplanned breakups (with my therapist) and unexpected growth
I wasn't expecting my therapist to quit. Not on me, but in general—life happened, and she had to leave the practice. It was sudden, after a string of cancellations, and I hope she’s okay. But when I sat with the reality of it, I realized something: I haven’t had therapy since January. And yet… I’m feeling great.
Not in a “life is totally perfect” kind of way, but in a “I trust myself, I’ve got this, and I know I can handle whatever comes next” kind of way.
For a while, therapy was my rhythm. My check-in. No matter what happened, I knew I had a space to unpack, to process, to figure out which tools I needed to use. And then, suddenly, that space was gone. I’ve been through this before—losing therapy because of job changes, insurance lapses, even the pandemic. But this time was different. This time, I didn’t spiral. This time, I saw that all the work I put in before mattered.
And that’s something no one really prepares you for. We go to therapy to work through the hard stuff, to build tools, to heal. But we don’t go to therapy to prepare for the moment when we no longer have therapy. We don’t train for the interruptions, the unexpected pauses. And yet, here I was, steady in a way I hadn’t been before.
so what changed?
I started trusting myself wayyyy more.
I slowed down. Let myself process before rushing to the next thing. Stopped looking at my to-do list as a battleground. Took intentional breaks from social media—because comparison is a thief, and I refuse to let it steal my joy. I realized that being a hyper-independent, hyper-functioning, hyper-everything person wasn’t a badge of honor—it was exhausting. And maybe I didn’t have therapy to reinforce these lessons, but I had me. I had everything I’d learned before.
I also started paying attention to triggers—not just the ones I couldn’t control, but the ones I could. Some triggers hit out of nowhere—a song, a scent, a memory that sneaks up on you. But others? They were patterns I was letting play on repeat. Piling too much on my plate. Overextending myself emotionally. Speaking to myself in ways I would never speak to a friend. Letting my to-do list dictate my worth, feeling like if I wasn’t crossing things off, I was somehow failing. Absorbing the weight of the world through social media, where every scroll reminded me of bad news, of things I couldn’t fix, of people accomplishing things I felt I should be doing.
I realized that the way I treated myself—how I pushed through exhaustion, how I held myself to impossible standards, how I convinced myself that I had to be the one to hold everything together—was just another trigger. It was me creating an environment where burnout was inevitable. It was me reinforcing the belief that slowing down meant I was falling behind, that taking a break meant I was doing something wrong. And that belief? It was slowly breaking me down.
There are things I can’t control—the unpredictability of life, the unexpected losses, the way the world keeps spinning even when I feel like I need it to pause. But I can control my pace. I can control how much I take on, how I respond to my own needs, how I speak to myself when I feel like I’m not doing enough. I can control how I manage my energy, how I protect my peace, how I stop myself from spiraling before it happens.
And that’s where the real work is. Not just in knowing what triggers me, but in interrupting the cycle. In telling myself a different story. In choosing, every day, to be softer with myself, to give myself space, to remind myself that just because I can push through doesn’t mean I should.
I’ve also learned firsthand that empath burnout is real—and I was feeling it heavy. I tend to carry other people’s emotions like they are my own, rearrange my words, my actions, my self to make sure they feel okay. And the people I tend to do this for? Most of them don’t even notice. Some of them don’t even care, honestly. And that realization stung, but it also freed me. Not everyone deserves that much of me. I deserve that much of me.
And when I really sat with that, I realized that this—this habit of overextending myself, of making sure everyone else was okay before checking in with myself—was just another trigger. One I had been overlooking for years. I had trained myself to filter every action, every word, through the lens of how it might impact someone else, and in doing so, I had been silencing my own needs.
I also started paying attention to triggers—not just the ones I couldn’t control, but the ones I could...
the lesson in the pause
I had to sit with some hard truths these past few months. Like the fact that I don’t have to hold space for people who don’t hold space for me. That I need to pour into myself first—not because I don’t care about others, but because I can’t keep pouring from an empty cup.
I also had to remind myself that slowing down isn’t failure. Like my guy J. Cole said, “I’m growing and getting stronger with every breath.” Every time I give myself permission to rest, to pause, to not rush to the next thing, I realize I’m still moving forward in ways that matter.
I tend to push myself so hard, feeling like I have to be constantly productive, constantly achieving. But when I slowed down, I didn’t fall apart. I didn’t get left behind. I got present. And that made all the difference.
Most importantly, I had to remember that just because something isn’t working out the way I planned doesn’t mean it’s not working out the way it needs to. Therapy paused. Life didn’t. And somehow, through all of it, I’m still standing. I still have peace. And that’s not by accident—that’s by grace.
At the core of it all, I trust myself. And I trust God. Even when I don’t understand the plan, even when things don’t make sense, even when I wish things were different—I trust that I’m being guided. I trust that every moment, every challenge, every pause is shaping me into the person I’m meant to be.
And if you’re in a season where your safety net isn’t there, where things feel uncertain, where life just isn’t cooperating—I hope you know that you can handle this too. You’ve been through things before. You’ve learned, you’ve grown, you’ve survived. You’re still here.
And maybe you don’t feel as steady as you’d like. Maybe you’re trying to figure out how to navigate something you never expected to do alone. Maybe you're fighting the urge to panic, wondering if you’re about to slip into old patterns, or feeling the weight of triggers you thought you had under control. But let me remind you: You’ve been preparing for this moment, even if you didn’t realize it. Every lesson you’ve learned, every time you picked yourself back up, every tool you’ve gathered along the way—it’s all still in you. You know how to slow down when you need to. You know how to protect your peace. You know how to take care of yourself, even when it feels like everything is out of your hands.
And even if you don’t fully trust yourself yet, trust that you are capable. Trust that you are stronger than the things trying to shake you. Trust that what you’ve built within yourself is enough to hold you, even when the safety nets are gone.
Because you are still here. And that means you’re doing better than you think.
So take a deep breath. Give yourself grace. Trust that even in the unknown, you are finding your way.
Until next time—keep feeling, keep growing, and always forward.
xo,
Tiffany 💜
Pledging doesn’t charge you unless I decide to enable payments, but it’s a huge way to show that my work is valued. Whether you subscribe for free or choose to pledge, I appreciate you being here more than you know.