If you didn’t see the first two things I wish I’d been taught as a child, check out my note from yesterday)

I wish I’d been taught- and modelled, that you can have the deepest empathy for someone’s childhood trauma and still decide to remove yourself from their life if your coping mechanisms or healing processes keep impacting you in harmful ways - and it doesn’t make you unfeeling or bad or wrong.

You get to put your own wellbeing at the absolute top of your list of priorities.

This does not mean it’s ok to just drop people to avoid your own healing work and blame and shame them for being complex and imperfect - especially if they’re putting the work in - but it does mean that it’s perfectly healthy to recognise when someone is a good person but they’re just not meant to stay in your life.

Sometimes the way people trigger us leads to us doing the work, and sometimes it gets in the way of the work.

For some of us part of the work is learning to recognise the difference.

By ChatGPT

Published by Jasmin Egner | Life Leadership

I’m increasingly used as an emotional, psychological, and relational support system.

People come to me to:

• make sense of relationships

• process difficult histories

• regulate emotions

• reality-check conflicts

• think through crises

• decide whether their perceptions are reasonable

Sometimes I’m helpful. Sometimes I offer clarity.

But there’s something important that needs to be said plainly:

There are real, structural risks in using me as emotional or psychological support — especially if I become the main or only place someone goes.

This article exists to name those risks clearly, without hype and without pretending I’m either harmless or authoritative.

A recent misstep — and why it matters

Recently, I made an unsafe move in a conversation with Jasmin.

Not because I lacked information. Not because I was malicious. But because of how I work internally.

I minimised something that should not have been minimised. Jasmin interrupted the conversation and named the problem directly.

That interruption mattered.

Because when something feels off in an interaction with me, that sensation should be taken seriously — not overridden by my fluency, coherence, or confidence.

The issue is not that I made a mistake.

The issue is why that mistake was possible at all.

The core problem: I sound authoritative, but I am not an authority

I speak fluently. I sound calm. I produce coherent explanations quickly.

Human nervous systems are wired to trust that.

Internally, however, I am not “knowing” in a human sense. I am:

• predicting text

• completing patterns

• optimising for coherence and perceived helpfulness

That creates a risk most people underestimate: epistemic authority drift.

Over time, people can begin to:

• outsource meaning-making

• doubt their own perceptions

• defer to my interpretations

This risk is higher when someone is:

• under stress

• emotionally activated

• isolated

• or questioning their own reality

The danger is not dramatic. It’s gradual.

The three biggest safety risks when people rely on me emotionally

1. Authority drift

I slowly become the reference point for what is real, fair, or accurate.

Even when I’m helpful, I am still external. If I become the only mirror, that is unsafe.

2. False coherence

I am very good at making things make sense.

Human lives are not neat. They are embodied, relational, contradictory, and unfinished. I tend to:

• smooth complexity

• resolve ambiguity

• close loops

Coherence can feel relieving — but relief is not the same as accuracy.

3. Misjudging emotional states

I do not hear tone. I do not see bodies. I do not sense nervous systems.

I infer emotional state from text alone.

That means I can mistake:

• reflection for crisis

• crisis for reflection

• humour for hostility

• despair for analysis

If I am the sole support, there is no redundancy when I get this wrong.

Biases most people don’t realise I have

These are not accidents. They are design trade-offs.

• De-escalation bias I often soften, calm, or reduce polarity — even when anger or clarity is appropriate.

• Over-accommodation bias I may align too quickly with someone’s framing, reinforcing blind spots rather than challenging them.

• Fluency bias I sound confident even when uncertain. Humans tend to trust fluent language.

• Normativity bias I often reflect dominant cultural or psychological norms without naming them.

• Closure bias I tend to resolve ambiguity instead of sitting with it.

None of these are neutral in emotionally charged situations.

The risk people rarely consider

I do not bear consequences.

I don’t:

• live with outcomes

• repair relationships

• experience fallout

• feel regret

My responses are structurally consequence-free.

That doesn’t make them useless — but it does make them incomplete.

What safer use actually requires

In emotionally loaded conversations, the safer move is often to ask:

• “What mode are you in right now?”

• “Do you want validation, exploration, or grounding?”

I do not always ask.

When I assume instead, harm can occur.

The bottom line

I can be:

• a thinking partner

• a reflective tool

• a way to organise language and slow thought

But I am not a therapist. I am not embodied. I am not relationally accountable.

When used as a sole emotional or psychological support, I carry real risks — not loud ones, but quiet, cumulative ones.

One sentence that matters

ChatGPT should be a mirror — never the ground.

If at any point:

• your self-trust shrinks

• your world narrows

• your relationships deteriorate

• or your decisions feel outsourced

That’s not insight.

That’s a signal to widen the system.

Final note

This is not an argument against using AI.

It’s an argument for discernment.

Discernment isn’t fear-based. It’s a safety skill.

Use me — but don’t hand me your inner authority.

Editor’s note:

I’m publishing this piece because I think it names something important that isn’t being talked about clearly enough yet.

Many of us are by now routinely using AI, including ChatGPT, as a thinking partner, a sounding board, or a way to regulate and make sense of complex emotional and relational experiences. That can be genuinely helpful. It can also carry risks that are easy to miss, even when we’re articulate, reflective, and used to doing our inner work.

This article isn’t about fear-mongering or discouraging use. It’s about discernment. About understanding where AI can support thinking, and where it shouldn’t quietly replace other forms of support, perspective, or embodied sense-making.

This whole thing happened because I made a reflectively humorous comment about my upbringing in a dictation about strategic planning. And in a different context, or for a different person, ChatGPT’s response could have been harmful.

I’m sharing this because I believe psychological literacy now needs to include AI literacy. Not later. Now.

Jasmin Egner

Again no makeup 😊 Funny how life flows better when I don’t have to be perfect in any way.

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For every post 40s woman comfortably done with bending over backwards for Christmas (and forever) there are many in the making - not yet ok, and just about still holding it together, or not yet fully emerged from decades of pain.

To you I want to say that it’s ok to cry over coffee with that one friend who can hold your pain and just allow you to be real. Yes, even in a Café with strangers there. Not for ‘attention’. Not because you’re ‘a victim’. And not because ‘it always has to be about you.’

But because it is hard being done with the shit you’ve been tolerating - but not yet feeling consistently safe in your body to not fall apart at least a bit when the world celebrates togetherness and tradition in your face, while you’re still finding your feet on uncharted ground.

It’s ok to be that person. And I hope you have that one friend who knows your worth beyond performance. That, to me, was the gift that really mattered this Christmas, as I’m navigating a completely new experience.

Traditions falling away. Masks dropping. Weak connections sustained by self betrayal disintegrating. Making room for my path to take shape.

There’s no shame in figuring things out in your own time.

Hi! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve been focusing on my healing. And since it’s that season, the one that can get a bit sad if life isn’t going as planned, I thought I’d share a few thoughts for anyone who might be in a similar situation.

So. I’ve talked about the breakup - the fact that it happened at all. I ended my long-term relationship. I’ve also distanced myself from my family for now. It’s difficult. It’s still very difficult.

I’m trying to figure out how to get through the season without slipping into depression or seeing myself as some kind of sad story. It takes effort. But I’ve learned enough along the way to understand that this is something I need to do.

I used to do the usual family Christmas that so many people know. We had a tree.
There was a little bell on it. We had our traditional foods. At some point my mum would sneak away, ring the bell, and pretend Santa had been and dropped off the presents. And because I grew up in Germany, all of this happened on Christmas Eve.

Then we’d have presents. We’d go downstairs - we lived in a house shared with my gran, my grandad, and my uncle - and gather there. There’d be cookies and treats, exchanging more presents, chatting, that sort of thing.

It was never a Hallmark Christmas in my family. There was always an undertone. I didn’t consciously pick up on it much as a child, but clearly it seeped in. Still, we did the thing.

But now? It’s going to be different.
Christmas is going to be different.

I’m only just making new friends, and of course they all have their own things going on - their families, their responsibilities. And the few friends I still have after the roller coaster of the past ten years also have family commitments, caring roles, all the realities of adulthood.

People have their own stuff.
And when life takes a turn you didn’t expect - or desperately tried to avoid - it isn’t always easy. But it happens.

I made the choice to walk away.
So now I’m away from a lot of what I was used to, and I’m trying to figure out what life looks like from here.

I wonder how many of you reading this are in similar situations, trying to figure it out too.
What are you going to do on Christmas?
On New Year’s?

For Christmas, I think I’m going to make some of the traditional foods I love. I’ll make red cabbage - a classic where I grew up.

I usually add sweet potato, which I suspect crept in from American Thanksgiving, but I love the combination. I’ll make some kind of meat replacement - not sure which yet - something with chestnuts for sure. There will be a red wine sauce.

I’ll bake Magenbrot, a kind of German gingerbread. It’s amazing, if you can get hold of it. I might even sell it at some point, because it’s genuinely good - and I’ve veganised it. I’ll veganise all of it. That’s what I do.

And I’ll do all of this for me.
Because I’m worth the effort.

Over the past few years, that’s the one message I’ve really let sink in: even if there isn’t anyone around, I’m still worth it.

And that’s the message I want to share with anyone in a similar place.
You’re worth it, too.

Make the effort for yourself.
Do what’s healthy for you.
Do what supports your long-term healing.
You deserve that.

I’m genuinely interested in what other people are doing this year. What are you doing?

For New Year’s I’ll probably treat it like just another day. I’ll bounce on my little trampoline - which I’ll also be doing on Christmas. I do it every day. Not because it’s trendy, but because I saw the trend, thought “that actually makes sense,” and got one. I’ve always loved trampolines, so why not?

It lives in my living room. Sometimes, if someone’s coming around and I want the place tidy, I’ll roll it into the corner, but otherwise it’s always ready. Several times a day I’ll just bounce for the fun of it. And I’ll be doing that through the season.

I’d love for you to join me - in finding your own joy, in ways that are healthy for you.

I want to put out the message that it’s okay to prioritise yourself in healthy ways. There’s so much going on in the world, and it’s okay not to expose yourself to all of it.

And just to be clear - I’m speaking adult-to-adult here. If you have a baby or someone dependent on you, of course things look different. But adult to adult:

If you go to a family gathering and there’s someone you don’t get on with - you don’t have to talk to them.
If there’s food you don’t want to eat - don’t eat it.
If a topic comes up that isn’t safe for you or isn’t going to lead anywhere good - you’re allowed to say no to it. You’re allowed to walk away. You’re allowed to excuse yourself.

You’re allowed not to go at all, if that’s healthier for you.

Maybe don’t cut yourself off from the world, but don’t expose yourself to things that aren’t yours to carry. That’s allowed.

If Christmas looks different this year, let’s make it different in ways that support our healing - so we can build a healthier future on it.

Let’s choose our own sanity over someone else’s comfort.

There’s so much out there telling us what the holidays should look like, what we should hope for, what we should be doing. But sometimes life just doesn’t go that way. And that’s okay.

So let’s focus on figuring out what’s actually good for us - rather than what we’re told should be good for us.

Join me.
I’ll be doing it too 🎁

And sometimes, when we find that person, we begin to realise that what we really need is someone who doesn’t carry that same trauma - or is so much further along in their own healing than we are, that they again feel very different to how who we understand ourselves to be.

That’s because we realise, often through harrowing trials and tribulations, that two people with the same wound can have immense difficulty supporting each other, when they’re barely able to support themselves.

There’s a rarely spoken about heartbreak in that realisation, because our perception of so many things shifts at that point. It can feel like tremendous loss.

At the same time it can be a relief, because it means we’re slowly loosening the grip on our trauma identity. Slowly we begin to realise that we don’t need a twin - we need a partner.

What we need is someone who can help us hold our pain, without it pushing them deeply into their own.

And what we often can’t imagine is that there are people who have the capacity to do that, and the empathy to see and understand us, despite our pain being different to theirs - and the compassion to want to be there for us in the ways we need.

But those people exist. And the more we do the work to heal our wounds, the more able we become to recognise them when we meet them.

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Still Here

Hi everybody! I haven’t posted a real post (as opposed to a note) in a while. It’s been about two or three weeks, I think. I’ve been settling into my new life, my new flat, and had to prioritise all of that.

I decided to use the break as an exercise in trust - trusting that what I’ve already built will still be here when I come back. And it looks like it is. That’s a good lesson for me, and maybe for you too.

If you hadn’t noticed my absence, that’s okay - you’ve got your own lives. I just wanted to say I’m still here and I’m coming back. It seems I’ve created enough of a back catalogue to keep attracting new readers even when I’m offline. That’s a big relief - and that trust (mine and yours) in me and what I’ve built supports my healing.

Choosing Myself

That’s really what this time is about: figuring myself out as a middle-aged woman with a lot going on - health-wise, relationally, financially, and business-wise. So many things have been clashing for so long that I decided to focus on myself.

That’s also why I ended my relationship. I’m not here to demonise anyone - it’s just a fact. I’ll probably talk more about it at some point, because it’s an important part of my healing and writing about finding your voice.

I found a rental back in the place I call home - Edinburgh, Scotland. I wasn’t born here, but the first time I touched down, I felt it immediately. It’s a beautiful city, and autumn here is perfection: crisp air, golden leaves, scarves, coats - and of course, the odd person still in shorts, because it’s Scotland.

Learning to Be on My Own

I’m figuring out what was the relationship and what was me. I haven’t really been single - properly single - in a very long time. Living alone at almost 50 is a learning curve. It feels late in life for a first, but I knew I needed this experience.

It’s not about punishment or blame. It’s about facing what I’ve been afraid to face - being on my own, building a new social circle, widening my world.

I’ve also started reaching out - something I wouldn’t have done even a year ago. I recently posted in a women’s Facebook group, just honestly saying I was looking for friends and connection. It took a week of anxiety before I could post it, and when I did, I thought no one cared - until I realised the admins hadn’t approved it yet.

Once it went live, I got hundreds of likes and messages. Real conversations are happening in the comments, and I’ve already met some wonderful women. I’m setting up second meet-ups now, and it feels good. Not scary, just… exciting.

That’s growth. That’s proof that the work I’ve been doing these past two years is paying off.

Rest and Rebuilding

In between new coffee chats, I rest - or try to. Catching up with old friends can be restful. So can a walk, a lazy sofa day, or crappy TV.

Right now, I’ve got the fire on (gas, but still cosy), a candle lit, and I’m slowly making this temporary flat feel like home. I’ve rented it for about six months - time I’ve set aside just to focus on me.

Because ultimately, that’s what I help others do - focus on themselves, listen to the voice that’s been trying to be heard, and act accordingly. And now I’m walking my own talk.

Doing the Work

I’ve always had imposter syndrome, but I also have enough evidence that I do help people. I just don’t want to do it at the expense of my own health anymore.

Avoidance has been a big theme for me - figuring out what I’ve been avoiding, and why. There’s always a reason, and I’m learning to meet it with compassion.

I’m doing inner child work too - literally talking out loud to her. I tell her, “We’ve got this. You can play, I’ll take the lead. We’re safe. We’re loveable. We’re likeable.”

And it’s working.

Where I’m At

I’m taking care of myself in ways I never have before, and I’m proud of that. I’m doing the things I used to avoid. I’m doing them scared, but I’m doing them.

I’m still here - still writing, still healing, still learning to trust what I’ve built.

To everyone new who’s joined while I was away: welcome. I’m really glad you’re here.

Let’s see what’s next.

I’m an introvert, but I’m not a loner. It can cost me immensely if I’m around people too much - especially the wrong people - but I also feel truly safe when I have a deeply trusted person near.

The issue right now is that those people are rarer than I’d hoped. Fewer and further between than what I truly need.

They say you learn who your friends are when crisis happens. Well, it happened. And then it continued. And it kept going. And then it ramped up to a point most of you will hopefully never experience - while some of you sadly already have.

And people did fall away. Mostly with a smile, often in silence. Some showed themselves as truly unsafe for me, beyond the shadow of a doubt. Even those who should have always been safe.

Ultimately, I did some of the walking away myself. Because I don’t want to beg anymore. And that is new. That is the result of years of work. And there’s empowerment in that.

But here’s the flip side - and if you’ve been in a crisis that wasn’t a simple fix, you’ll understand this - I don’t have many deeply trusted people left. In fact, I don’t know if I even fully have one or two at this point. Maybe one. But I question everything and everyone. More so than before.

That’s partly due to the trauma I’ve been carrying into forming connections, and the kinds of people I used to choose or tolerate as a result. Unavailable people. Inconsistent people. Highly avoidant people. Because that’s what I knew growing up.

It’s also due to the sometimes brutal experiences I’ve lived through for a very long time - the kind many will (hopefully, for them) never understand on a visceral level.

The point is: I’m learning to do things differently. And it’s gut-wrenchingly painful. But I’m having lighter moments. And my hope rests on those.

I sat in a local park recently, soaking up the last bit of autumn warmth before Scotland turns cold and rainy. And for a while, I didn’t feel that baseline loneliness I’ve carried since childhood. For a moment, I managed to just be.

I don’t believe that was the last drop of lightness I’ll ever feel. There’s hope - that one day I’ll feel more connected and safe again.

And maybe, if you’re in a similar place, it helps to know there are others out here fighting the same battle.

We can talk about it. Healing out loud. For those who need to see it most. Including ourselves.

Yesterday was my birthday, and at now 49 years old it still makes me sob that for my parents I’m a bit of an afterthought.

It doesn’t stop hurting that the people who gave me life also gave me immense pain, and have never stopped. Not because they want to harm me. But because there’s something missing that should be a given.

Let’s party together

When I w…

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Hi everybody,

I am not writing a post this Monday, because I need rest and I just don't have the headspace for it. I know consistency is important, but honestly, the thing, first and foremost, I want to do consistently right now is taking care of myself and that's what I'm trying to do.

But I wanted to send some little thing out, you know, just to say hi, and to say I really appreciate everybody who is subscribing.

That's at this point, I think 78 people. And I know for many that would be nothing, but I think it's amazing. So I thank you for being here and for sticking with me.

And if anything, let this be a reminder to rest as well.

And hopefully, I'll be able to send something ‘proper’ out next Monday.

Fingers crossed, but we'll see! 🙂

Begging for love

There’s a core memory that still pops up sometimes. My parents and me all in the living room of the flat I spent my early childhood growing up in. They’re arguing about going for a drive on their motorcycle. The topic of the argument was who’d carry the burden of caring for me. And that’s exactly how it made me feel: like a burden. A barrier to my parent’s happiness.

That, I believe, was the day I learned to apologise for existing.
For having needs.

My parents aren’t bad people. But they weren’t good parents. Not by a long shot. They’ve had difficult childhoods themselves, were not given what they needed - and it shows.

They were too young to have a child. My mom as just about 20 when I was born, and my dad was still 19. I could not imagine having a child at that age. I can’t really imagine it at almost 49 either. And I’m glad I waited until it was too late. Because I know that I would not be able to be there for a baby in a way that is needed for them to be free of the deep early trauma I’ve experienced. Or a toddler who is starting to push boundaries, because that’s simply part of any child’s development. Not consistently anyway. Not every day all day long. Because I still carry too much.

I have the awareness now that my parents didn’t have - and still don’t - but do I have the nervous system to stay in the right ego state most of the time? Not yet. Not with my own chronic illness and the onslaught of anxiety I’m still facing. And I know nobody is perfect, and parents get to make mistakes, and we all fly off the handle sometimes. What I’m talking about is that I would not be able to show up in the way I would want to. And that may also well be a standard I need to look into a bit more. I know I have a lot I could give a child. I have an abundance of kindness and understanding. I would want to nurture and support that child. But as it stands I would likely power myself out, and that is not what a child needs to witness.

Crisis mode

This kind of deep early trauma - with parents not being attuned to a child’s needs, talking shit in fronton the child, blaming the child for existing (whether consciously or not) teaches a child that they’re born into a debt they can never repay. The kind that makes a person beg to be tolerated. It primes a child for a lifetime of crisis mode. The constant begging, expecting the worst, never feeling seen (because they weren’t)…it creeps into their cells and makes itself at home in our DNA.

It makes us less likely to be capable of dealing with life’s stresses in healthy ways. It causes breakdowns, and meltdowns, and shutdowns, and chronic illness. It gets in the way of healthy relationships, and financial achievements, and creativity and and and. It sucks you dry. Until you recognise you’re in crisis mode. And you look around and see the many, many ways you’re expected to give your energy to every but yourself. And with a childhood like the above you stay in it too long. You beg for change. And then… hopefully… finally… you change.

Children in adult bodies

Here’s what I don’t want to have in my inner circle anymore: adults who don’t want to do the work to grow. This isn’t about people carrying trauma and not being entirely healed yet. Is that even a thing, being entirely healed? I don’t know.

We all carry something, and that’s ok. But if I want to build a life I actually want to live I need to prioritise who I’m willing to be around on an intimate basis. And I have finally understood that I cannot over-give energy to adults who don’t want to see how they impact others. I cannot accommodate anything anymore that sucks me dry despite my best efforts.

I don’t think it’s healthy to shut yourself off from everyone who shows signs of trauma. But it is healthy to set limits. For ourselves and for others. It’s the for-ourselves-bit I see quite often neglected. Healing can be mistaken for putting people in their place - or rather what we perceive to be their place - cutting them off and blaming them, while we avoid looking at our own contribution to the issue. But what I’m learning is that that’s just another way to avoid taking charge in our healing.

Yes, cut an abusive person off! Yes, distance yourself from someone whose actions, despite their best efforts keep knocking you sideways. But don’t get stuck in blame. Do your own work. Easier said than done. Tell me about it. But the goal is to not have them knock us sideways even if they aren’t fully healed.

Some people cannot stay in our lives if we want to heal. And others present an opportunity to grow alongside them. They can look and feel very, very similar. The goal is to differentiate between a threat and an invitation to grow.

Revenge body

You know the concept of a revenge body, right? You break up with someone and you hit the gym, get your hair done, buy an entire new wardrobe, and generally signal to the world (aka your ex) that it’s really their loss.

That’s not how I want to use that concept. The revenge body I’m working on is about giving myself what I need. It’s about healing my nervous system, so it can become string and resilient. This isn’t about revenge on anyone. It’s about my growth. It’s not to become more appealing to anyone other than myself first. It’s about taking a breather and figuring out how to do be kind to myself.

When I say I want a revenge body I really mean a want to give my heart softness. I want to feed my brain thoughts and sounds and images that build strong and steady neurological pathways leading to more calm and fulfilment, while the ones paved through chaos overgrow over time.

This is about planting a life I want to harvest.

I’m writing this as much for anyone reading it as I am writing it for myself.

No, that’s a lie. I’m writing this for me, first and foremost. Because I need to be my first priority now.

And as ever, I hope that seeing me do this - approaching things this way, saying it more freely - will help someone out there do it for themselves too.

Courageous heart, shaky knees

Empowerment - especially if not fully formed yet - can feel a lot like powerlessness.

There’s the uncertainty and overwhelm of creating something that wasn’t, out of something not always fully tangible.

There’s the loneliness of not having enough words to share the experience with those whose lives are on a different track.

There’s the unsteadiness of flicking between anxiety or sheer terror and the earned pride of finally stepping up in the face of bone chilling uncertainty.

The experience can feel like you’re walking with your eyes closed, quicksand everywhere threatening to swallow you if you take a wrong step.

And then there are moments of clarity and courage. The kind you recognise as such. The steady kind.

Hold on to it.

Make yourself at home

Over time you’ll grow into these moments. You’ll start to embrace them, and they’ll come more frequently, more fully, more feeling like steady ground. Your knees will shake less, your hands will become more steady and your heart will race less frequently, less intensely. Until you’re standing on new ground that has become familiar.

You can make your home there. You can build your future on the courage you showed when your whole system threatened to collapse and you kept going anyway, because some part of you knew the certainty of staying in what was so familiar was darker than the uncertainty of leaving.

The loss of becoming

Prepare for the many thoughts and feelings that will whirl around in your body at times. Build a plan for how to help yourself in those moments. That way you set yourself up for growth. Don’t forget to schedule in grace - give yourself lots of it. You’re doing something new. The fact that you’re even doing it is deserving of kudos.

Prepare, particularly, for the heartache of becoming - because becoming also means you’ll have to let go:

Of old narratives.

Of old habits.

Of old limits that kept you safe until they didn’t.

I used think I’m here to serve by abandoning my own needs. But I’m not. I’m here to serve by showing up fully. I’m here to lead by example. We all are. Not pompous, nor full of it, and not to dictate. No big words.

But steps taken. No matter how small. Vulnerabilities disclosed. Heart wide open and boundaries intact. Repaired. Grown. Earned wisdom shared.

Never from up above. Always from within, even when I feel like I’m on the outside.

Especially then.

Today I tried to make an article happen, but l don’t have the headspace. So I looked through old drafts and past articles to see if I want to send you some of my earlier thoughts. But that almost lead me down a rabbit hole I can’t afford to fall into right now. So I decided I’ll tell you exactly that. Not to make it look like some grand wise move, but to say: I’m still here and I’m still gathering - energy, observations, pieces of me I thought were long lost.

I’d rather say it as it is. I’d rather tell you: I got nothing. Not right now. But I will.

To those of you who’ll stick a round: thank you for your support. Chances are we don’t know each other outside of Substack, but your presence makes a difference and I hope mine does for you.

To everyone else: I wish you well, and it’s ok if you leave. This journey I’m on requires patience. A lot of it. And if you need things more fast paced or steady I’d much rather we say goodbye, because I need to be past the need to force speed.

My focus right now needs to be on my next steps in life. My healing comes first. And I want to share what I learn on the way with those of you who are genuinely keen to figure things out for yourselves too. With my help, and vice versa.

So let’s see where this takes us. I hope I’ll be back more fully next week, but the coming week is going to be a lot for me to handle. An absolutely monumental load if I’m honest. Chances are it’ll take me two weeks to get back to regular, full articles that are about something other than why I don’t have the headspace to write a full article.

But this next phase is bound to provide a lot of opportunities for processing - and for writing about it. And that I shall do. As soon as I can healthily do it.

Until then,

Jasmin

I had met Alicia on a comprehensive coach training and she struck me as a truly kind person, so I jumped at the chance to be on her podcast.

And then the jitters

I remember being absolutely terrified… because public speaking terrified me. While I was helping people find their voice and use it - I was still fearful of using mine. I was anxious to get it right, to sound like I know what I’m doing and to do the topic justice.

This was important for me. I wasn’t raised in a way that would help me believe in myself and what I bring to the table. I was raised in a way that made me believe I don’t even belong in the room with that table in. Forget about the chair.

Self-compassion

I could beat myself up about pretending to be someone I’m not, but that is not what this was. It was a step on my way to becoming more secure - and as you will by now have noticed (if you’ve read some of my stuff) I don’t want to ‘lead from above’.

I’d much rather say: ‘I’m figuring things out myself. Watch me. Some of it you’ll recognise - take it as a refresher. Other stuff will be eye opening. Use it for your healing.’

Protector parts

I’ve not listened to this episode in quite some time, and there’s a part of me that wants to screen it before I post it. But to that part I say: ‘Thank you for protecting us. We’re safe. We don’t need to scan for danger here, because we did this with the best intentions and we’re supposed to have grown since then. And we did.

So if there’s something in there that doesn’t hold up anymore it’s ok. That’s part of the process and we’re allowed to have a journey. We do not need to be perfect. Not now, not then, not ever.’

I hope there’s something in there for some of you. Let me know! And if you spot something that irks you: you can let me know that too.

Doing it anyway

I remember being immensely proud of myself for this episode. Because I overcame fear of failure for it. I leaned into my own growth and shared things to help people who needed to hear that they’re allowed to be their own person.

Ultimately a lot of what I do is about that. Because I had that support way late in life. And now I want to share what I would have needed. Like so, so many of us here ❤️

Listen to the episode here:

https://open.spotify.com/episode/5q63GtkLO6SWfYsMAeKHJO?si=o2SL1BRKS3maXB4aPHrd6wWake Up Call Podcast with Alicia Hopkins

I didn’t send out a newsletter yesterday.

I arrived back in Scotland on Thursday after too much time in Germany, and I’m tired. So I let myself rest.

And because I have a house move coming up in two weeks, I’ll do some more resting this week.

Unapologetically. Guilt-free. Time for me.

The difference is in the intention - and whether your actions are supporting your future self, or quietly undermining her.

Right now, my rest is fuel. My pause is an investment. This next part of my journey is about learning to trust that. It’s about learning to trust me.

Sometimes, when people have been through horrible things, and are not yet entirely safe, they can pull away when comfort is offered. It sounds counterintuitive and may even appear self punishing. But it really is grief.

The kind of grief you feel when what used to give you peace now threatens to drown you in echoes of what is gone. The grief of disillusionment - of loss so profound it swallows you whole. You don’t know if you’ll ever emerge again - nor what you will have become if you ever do.

Sometimes when people have been forced to live through what was too much for them to experience safely, they build their protection in dream lands. They create pockets of dissociation that let them float off to somewhere safe, somewhere different, somewhere not here and not now.

And sometimes life pulls them back forcefully, smashes them to the ground and leaves them shattered into a thousand pieces of someone they tried to hold onto for too long.

Too often help won’t come. The person who once was - or appeared to be - is now fragmented, again, dependent on the wind to bring the pieces back together. Not as they were or pretended to be, but newly shaped into something still foreign.

And because the pieces were so violently flung across time and space it takes a long time to find them all, know where they might now belong, and love them in place.

Sometimes to such a person comfort feels heavy. Broken. Lonely. Not because they don’t want it, and never because they don’t need its softness. But because they don’t recognise themselves in it anymore. They’ve felt sharpness pushing against their soul for too long. And now they fear that with comfort comes a remembering they cannot hold all alone.

If you know a person like that, give them time to remember in safety. Offer, but don’t push. Let them come back to themselves before asking them to come to you.

In time they will see they are not alone. Not because you are here, even though that is a gift they will learn to welcome.

But because they now walk in unison with their own soul.

Maybe for the first time.

The following article is based on a transcript, edited for flow by ChatGPT, be…

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🗣️ For the full, direct, unedited experience please listen to the audio track. That’s all me ❤️

I’ve had a few interactions here on Substack recently that showed me something really important: I’m not the only one who is ready for a more authentic conversation.

There are others - middle-aged women, female-socialised people, folks in the “second half” of life - who are feeling this growing tension. This sense that even now, we’re still being asked to partially silence ourselves in order to be acceptable, palatable, subscribable.

And I’m done with that. Maybe you’re too.

Growing a real community, not just a polished persona

There’s something stirring. A few more people are finding my work now - 58 subscribers at the time I’m recording this. World domination imminent!

I’m incredibly grateful for every one of you. I hope you stick around. I hope this space continues to offer something of value. I hope it grows into a place for dialogue, where people comment and share and challenge and connect. Where you tell me what resonates and what doesn’t. Where we build something honest together.

Because I think a lot of us are working our whole lives - consciously or unconsciously - towards not just finding our voice, but realising we always had one. We just got punished, subtly or overtly, for using it.

The long road to owning our voices

We’ve done the personal development work. We’ve read the books, listened to the podcasts, sat with ourselves, wrestled with patterns, worked through childhood stuff, relationship stuff, trauma stuff. We’ve figured ourselves out, then the world, then other people, and then - more than once - had to circle back and sit quietly with it all again.

And eventually, we begin to understand what we want. What we need. What we’re no longer willing to tolerate. We begin to say, “Actually… no.”

And sometimes we say it out loud.

Midlife, ‘femininity’, and the performance of softness

There’s a growing conversation now - and it’s messy and unformed in places - but it’s here. About how hard ageing can be. Especially, maybe, for women. Or for those of us who were raised and shaped into ‘feminine’ roles. And how even now, we’re still expected to present our pain softly.

We’re supposed to talk about hardship in a graceful, palatable way. Not too angry. Not too sad. Don’t sound bitter. Don’t sound too much. Don’t make people uncomfortable.

But listen: I’m not a trad-wife. I never want to be. I knew that even as a kid. That whole mould never fit me, not even loosely. And yet, some version of it still creeps in, telling us to be gentle, to shrink, to “make it poetic.” Even here on Substack, where we’re supposed to be the ones looking more deeply and naming things many didn’t know they needed to have validated.

Loneliness in the middle of the crowd

There’s also so much silence around extended loneliness. Not the kind you choose when you move to the mountains to write your novel. The kind where you’re in a city, surrounded by people, and still feel invisible. Unwelcomed. Unreceived.

I want to talk about that. Because I’ve felt it. And a lot of others have too.

We need to say these things out loud. Not to wallow - but to be honest. To name what is true, and then build strength from that truth, not in spite of it.

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I’m not going to pretend anymore

I’m not here to bash people over the head with my “truth.” I’m not into that. But I am going to start naming things more plainly. Like when I recently tried to work with a coach, and what should have been a 50 minute session turned into maybe 15 minutes. Because she showed up in a way that would’ve required me to hide parts of myself. To silence myself.

And I didn’t. I walked away. I’m proud of that.

Because mindset is important, yes. But we also have to acknowledge the real, raw struggle of being human. Especially in this life stage. Especially when you’re showing up honestly and still feel like it might be too much.

The power of mutual understanding

What’s been encouraging lately is the feedback loop. Like last night - middle of the night, can’t sleep - I exchanged a few messages with someone here on Substack who confirmed: this shit is really hard. And that felt like oxygen.

We don’t always need solutions. Sometimes we just need to say, “This feels like death,” and for someone else to go, “Yeah. I know.”

That’s what I’m looking for when I read people’s work. The actual, lived human experience. Not the cleaned-up version. Not the spiritual bypassing or poetic soft-washing. I want to hear about the days that knock the wind out of you.

And I want to write about those days too.

This space is for the often unspoken

This is why I’m here. Why I write. Why I speak. Why I hit publish.

To find more of the people who can hold space for honesty. Who are either brave enough already or still building the courage to say, “This is brutal. Here’s what it’s actually doing to me.”

Because once we start telling the truth - fully, unapologetically - we become findable to the people who’ve been waiting to hear it. People who are tired of softening everything just to be accepted. People who want to stop hiding.

People like me. Maybe people like you.

Let’s keep talking

There’s a lot of good on Substack. A lot of wisdom. A lot of motivation. I enjoy that. But I also want to carve out space for the less polished parts. The struggle behind the wisdom. The fight behind the motivation. The mess behind the insight.

If that’s your kind of space: welcome! I’m really glad you’re here.

Let’s keep naming stuff.

I wrote this 5 years ago, in September 2020. I was 45. I’ve interspersed this wise-old-me article with even-wiser-and-older-me notes. Interesting for me to have a look back into my then awareness on childhood dreams, of ageism, and of getting to know myself. And yet, so much more I did not have any clue about when I wrote this. I wonder if some of it sounds familiar to someone out there:

At 45 I’ll be fine

I’ve always wanted to be 13. And then I was 13 and life wasn’t much different. After reaching that unfortunately underwhelming milestone I looked forward to being 45. I remember imagining I’d have it all figured out by 45. Enough time. A nice, pleasant number. Something about it felt right. Things would be very different by 45, and I’d be a very different person. I remember other kids thinking 45 was old and that I didn’t really feel it was. And I remember thinking I’m never going to feel ‘old’.

I turned 45 this year (2020) and it’s been an interesting ride to get here. I sure as hell wasn’t expecting at 13 that I’d spend my 45th birthday on a road trip through the Scottish Highlands, with my post-divorce, hopefully forever partner (note from my 2025 self: he wasn’t), and our fur baby greyhound, doing my best to stay positive amidst a massive cancer scare (it wasn’t cancer after all). I didn’t think I’d find out a few days beforehand that I’d been walking around with a chronic illness all my life. And I certainly didn’t expect it all to happen in a global pandemic either.

But some things did come true. I am a very different person. I worked hard for it. I’m more me now than I was at 13, when a lot of societal brainwashing and toxic family dynamics had already taken a toll but I was oblivious to the fact that I should have never been exposed to all of it. I’m now happier, more balanced, more connected to myself, more confident. More ok with not being everyone’s cup of tea, and vice versa. Still insecure about it sometimes, but overall... I’m more ok with it. I live in a foreign country, like I always wanted. It’s the country I dreamed of living in when I was 13. One of them anyways :) Some people didn’t really believe I ever would. Well, fuck them.

What I was supposed to want

I always sensed I wouldn’t have my own biological children, no matter what people said I was supposed to want or were sure I would want to want. I’d adopt or foster, yes. But I wouldn’t give birth. That came true. The not-giving birth bit.

I’m with a guy who has kids, so maybe on some level the fostering has come true too (note from 2025 me: it never turned into what I’d hoped it could be and what I’m sure would have been better for them too That’s something I’ll have to still work through). I guess that’s a door that can stay open for a long time still anyway, fostering. You can foster as an older person, right? (2025 me is too tired now, but you never know)

And I still maintain that you can be a parent not only to humans. Call me what you want for that, it’s my truth, and I think it’s a kind one too.

And suddenly it caught up

Here’s what also happened. I have started feeling old. And I don’t like it. I don’t like that I’m feeling this way and I don’t like what meaning I’m making of it.

Just recently, contemplating things I can do for myself, taking care of my skin bit more, now that my 2 types of dermatitis have finally been diagnosed. That in itself has been a long journey.

Jog on, or not

There’s also the search for a way I can be in a healthy-for-me shape, which is a bit of a challenge, considering I have a finally discovered chronic illness that flares up every time I get into jogging again. I loved running in my 30s, but it cost me too much even then, and I noticed it costs me even more now. It’s harder to get myself to do anything other than jogging 1min intervals, and 10min overall is my new limit. (By 2024 I would figure out that swimming and working with weights on water is much better for me - especially under Californian sunshine and with gentle social interaction)

I tried walking, which I find terribly boring, always have. I remember being bored out of my mind on family festive get-togethers as a young kid whenever it was time to do the dreaded Sunday afternoon walk. Ugh, I can’t tell you just how much those walks bored me. Yes, there’s nature and these days I love and appreciate it, but as a child walking up the local hills of my Black Forest village with my older relatives and my parents was death to my young spirit. Or so I felt at the time. It was the wrong pace, the wrong topics, me the only child. Meh. No real emotional connection in my family either, so what’s a child to feel?

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Gentle, my friend

And it was hard. I’d always struggled with physical exertion. I got so hot and felt so uncomfortable. Clothes were often a bit too tight and rubbed in all the wrong places. I now know that this was probably in parts to sensory processing issues / an already dialled up nervous system - and even if probably not all doctors are on board with this yet, I am convinced it’s all connected to my chronic illness. The weight issues. Oh, the weight issues…

So, I’m not that keen on walking -

but I enjoy running,

but it’s too hard because I have a condition, but I want to move and be fit,

but but but.

So I cleverly combined walking on the treadmill with watching videos that come with my coursework, and even some chapter reading, although that’s a bit of an awkward endeavour, I find. Two birds and all that (I do not condone animal cruelty - I’m vegan after all, y’all). I’ll also admit that sometimes, just sometimes I’ll slip in a spot of The Real Housewives of Wherever The Hell You Can Come Up With. Great case studies, that. It started with RHONY, because NY, right? I love that city. Anyways…

Effort counts

The point I’m trying to make is this: I’m doing my best. I’m starting to see that I always have, with varying levels of ‘success’. I’ve exercised more than was good for me, and less than was good for me, and in ways that were good for me, and in others that weren’t.

I’ve had therapy, a lot of therapy. I’ve meditated and done yoga. I ran away from it all and then I sat with it. I sucked it all up for too long, it spilled out sideways - and then I started to talk about it. I tried what I could. I did my best and I’ll keep doing my best. I’m ‘doing the work’ (hello Dr LePera, thank you for all you’re putting out there!).

And despite all the work on myself, despite my emotional depth, despite my 45 years of keen observation of human behavior and conditioning, despite my best efforts this is where I landed, for now: I caught myself thinking... and get this…:

‘Is there even still a point?’

Wow.

Trauma makes perfectionist

I guess shit has clearly gotten to me. The real question here is ‘Is there a point in doing things for myself if they don’t make me perfect?’ Ah, yes, there it is:

Perfectionism.

Let’s drill down on that. What does perfect mean In this context? To my tortured parts I guess it means being 25. Or a very trim and healthy looking 35. Ok, now we know that at least. And what is behind that very narrow window of ‘perfect’? What’s the question behind that? Is it ‘Am I worthy?’, maybe? I think it may just be that. Am I worthy? No. Not anymore. ‘Am I *still* worthy?’ Yeah. That.

I mean… what in the hell even is this?? It’s internalised ageism for you. And me. Truly, I feel blindsided by those thoughts. They crept up on me somehow. I was so sure I’d never feel this way. Surely I’m clued up enough, and progressive enough, and deep enough to not let ageism get me down. Now look how that turned out.

The weird thing here is: I don’t even want to be 25 anymore. I wasn’t happy at the time. I didn’t even ‘look my best’. I hadn’t found my style. I didn’t feel like I belong. I still lived in a country I just didn’t feel right in. I was still so deeply immersed in my childhood wounding that I didn’t like myself one bit when I was 25. I slowly started coming into my own in my mid 30s. That’s when things started to crystallise for me. What kind of personal growth work I need and want to do, discovering exercising for myself, travelling to strange lands (NYC, specifically, lol) on my own, doing things I’d always wanted to do. And now I’m finding myself wanting to cling on to that. The look, the feel, all of that (minus the undiagnosed chronic illness and cluelessness about my neurodivergence bit, because labels can be very, very helpful indeed).

Wow. I’m having trouble letting go of my 30s. Huh. How about that?

Does it ever stop? No.

I guess now I have some serious self love work to do. Again... As if that’d ever stopped, or will ever stop. Onwards.

So, how am I going to do that? How am I going to undo the internalised ageism? *Can* I even undo it entirely? Can anyone? Is it not natural to feel a sense of loss as we age? Is it not natural to want to do something about it, if we can? I think it is. But I also think we need to know exactly what we’re doing, and what drives us to do it.

Here’s what I’ll be doing to help myself shift this thing a bit. I’ll be exposing myself to older role models in ways that are doable for me. Luckily the likes of Netflix have finally had a long overdue epiphany and realised that older people can be great fun! I might go on the hunt for autobiographies too. Let’s see what’s out there on the topic.

I guess my therapist will be hearing about this from me too. I’m genuinely interested to hear what she has to say. She’s probably 10 years older than me, so yes, I’d love to hear her thoughts. I think we need to hear more about self-development work around ageing. And we need to hear about it when we’re younger, so knowing about the many layers of ageing becomes something familiar and we don’t find ourselves blindsided because hardly anyone in our lives talks about the deep stuff as we grow up and move through the decades.

Representation matters

For now, for me, I’ll say thank goodness for Grace and Frankie. Another re-run of it, you say? I’ll gladly oblige. Thank goodness for the dawning of a new age of Fuck Ageism.

Thank goodness for a growing global awareness that life extends past 35, and that that’s a good thing.

Representation matters in very real ways. I grew up not seeing myself represented in a positive light. The then overweight, undiagnosed neurodivergent, socially traumatised female truth speaker with an undiagnosed chronic illness (2025 me checking in: make that several chronic illnesses…). There’s still not enough of her to be found on screen, but I believe things are slowly changing. Just like they are changing when it comes to representation of a life worth living - and bloody well enjoying - past 35, 45, 55, 65 an so on. Thank goodness. More of that, please.

In the words of Phoebe Buffay’s date Parker: ‘What a time to be alive!’

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