The critic in your head is your bodyguard. Its job has long been done.
The cruellest thing you say to yourself was designed to keep you safe.
The cruellest thing you say to yourself was designed to keep you safe.
You’ve been paying rent on your own existence for years.
Someone says two words and you’re gone for three days.
Anger isn’t a character flaw. It’s an alarm with a specific message.
Every time you rescued someone, you stole a lesson they needed.
You’ll set the boundary kindly. And they’ll say, “What’s wrong with you?”
No one can know you’re hungry but you.
Everyone thinks you’re lovely.
You know the words. “No, thank you.” “Not this time.” “I’d rather not.”
Everything that finally helped me could be written on an index card.