Coping With Anxiety

What is Anxiety?

COVID-19 Loss of Routine

Politics and you

The question isn’t whether you’re a Democrat or a Republican. It’s not whether you lean left or right, progressive or conservative, blue or red or somewhere in the exhausted middle.

The real question, the one I would ask you if you were sitting across from me on the couch, eyes wide, heart heavy after another headline is this:

What is the current political atmosphere bringing up in you?

Because before it’s about policy or power, it’s personal.
And underneath the rage, the arguments, the “can-you-believe-this?!” texts to your friends, there’s something else going on.

Do you feel helpless?
Unheard?
Hopeless?

You wouldn’t be alone. It’s not hard to feel those things, especially when you live somewhere like Hawaiʻi, where Washington, D.C. doesn’t just feel distant in ideology, but in actual miles. The decisions made over there can feel abstract, out of touch, and frustratingly disconnected from your lived experience. But don’t let that distance fool you into believing you are powerless. Or worse, that you don’t matter.

Because something is happening when you watch the news, scroll through headlines, or overhear yet another political conversation at the grocery store. Something inside you stirs. And that, the internal experience is where your agency lives.

No, I’m not talking about organizing a protest or launching a revolution (although those things have their place).
I’m talking about something quieter. More intimate. More radical.

I’m talking about you.

What is the drama of politics, its chaos, its contradictions, its relentless noise triggering in you?

Let’s say you turn on the news and you feel a surge of fury. Or maybe your body tightens with fear. Or maybe you just go numb, zoning out with a familiar sense of, What’s the point?

That moment? That’s your opportunity.

Instead of reacting (or repressing), try pausing. Get curious.

Ask yourself:
What am I feeling right now?
Anger? Sadness? Fear? Disgust?
(And yes, you’re allowed to feel all of them at once. Feelings aren’t linear.)

Once you name the feeling, here comes the hardest part:
Feel it.

Don’t talk yourself out of it.
Don’t analyze it just yet.
Don’t shame yourself for feeling it.
Just. Feel. It.

As I often tell my clients: Feelings are for feeling—not fixing, explaining, or justifying.
Let them pass through you like weather.
Let them tell you their story before you decide what they mean.

And then, when the wave subsides, then you can write about it. Reflect. Journal. Get curious again.

Ask:
What was that like to feel?
What did it remind me of?
How old did I feel just then?
Where in my past did I feel that same helplessness?
Did I feel unheard in my family growing up? Unseen in school? Invalidated in past relationships?

What’s different now?

This is where things get interesting. Because the emotional intensity of today’s events might actually be illuminating old wounds. Old narratives. Old adaptations you made to survive.

And that’s the gift hidden inside the noise.
Every time you feel triggered by something “out there,” it’s pointing to something “in here.”
It’s a chance not to react, but to respond.

And healing starts here. With this brave, honest pause.
With the willingness to own what’s yours.

Because your emotions are your responsibility. Not Washington’s. Not your neighbor’s. Not your Facebook friend who keeps posting conspiracy theories. Yours.

That’s not a punishment. That’s a liberation.

You are the one who gets to take care of your inner world. You are the one who can soothe the ache, update the outdated belief, hold the scared part of yourself and say, I’ve got you now.

So the next time you find yourself yelling at the TV or rage-scrolling on your phone, I want you to pause.
Take a breath.
And ask yourself:

“What is this triggering in me?” “What does this feeling remind me of?” “What do I need right now?”

Because the path to changing the world doesn’t start with screaming louder.
It starts with tending to your own wounds.

And as we each begin to do that, bit by bit, breath by breath, we become a little less reactive and a lot more whole. And that wholeness? That’s how healing spreads. Not just personally. But collectively.

Because a healed heart makes room for a clearer mind.
And a clear mind is what leads us forward.

“I dream of a world where truth is what shapes people’s politics, rather than politics shaping what people think is true. ”

— Neil deGrasse Tyson

Ask For What You Need

Recovery from codependency isn’t about fixing what’s broken, because you’re not broken. It’s about uncovering what’s been buried. Reclaiming the parts of yourself you tucked away to survive.

One of the core tenets of this recovery? Learning to ask for what you need.

I know, easier said than done. Because for the codependent, the very idea of having needs can feel… foreign. Or worse, shameful. It’s as if you were wired with an internal alarm system that says, “Needing something makes you weak. Inconvenient. Too much.”

So what do you do instead? You anticipate. You over-function. You become the emotional concierge in every relationship, offering room service-level attention to everyone else’s needs while ignoring the quiet whisper inside your own chest.

The truth is, codependents often don’t even know they have needs. Not because they’re out of touch or dramatic or lacking self-awareness, but because they were taught, explicitly or implicitly, that their needs weren’t safe. That survival required silence, hyper-vigilance, self-sacrifice.

But survival is not the same as living.

So what now?

Let’s say you’ve made it to that crucial first step in recovery: you’ve realized there is a worthy person inside your skin. Someone who has feelings. Desires. Limits. A voice. And now, your work is to learn how to speak up on her behalf.

Here’s a simple three-part framework I use with my clients:

1. Identify what you're feeling.

2. Name the behavior (yours or someone else’s) that triggered the feeling.

3. Get clear on what you need around this.

Let’s bring this to life with a couple of examples:

Vignette 1: The Quiet Husband

You’re standing at the sink, hands in soapy water, when your husband walks through the door. He breezes past you, wordless, and disappears into the bedroom.

You freeze. Your mind starts spinning. Did I do something? Is he mad? Does he even see me anymore?

Instead of spiraling, try this:

• Step one: What am I feeling? Sadness.

• Step two: What triggered it? He didn’t say hi when he got home.

• Step three: What do I need? A moment of connection.

Now, here’s how you put that into words:

“When you came home and walked straight to the bedroom without saying hi, I felt sad. What I need is just a quick hug or hello when you get home. It helps me feel connected.”

Notice what you didn’t do: You didn’t accuse. You didn’t shame. You didn’t make him wrong. You simply stated your emotional truth, and your need. Direct. Honest. Vulnerable.

Vignette 2: The Accountable Teen

Now for a happier moment. You walk in after a long day and find your teenage daughter doing her homework, no reminders, no nagging. Just… doing it.

Something inside you softens.

• Step one: What am I feeling? Joy.

• Step two: What triggered it? She’s being responsible and self-motivated.

• Step three: What do I need? To express love and appreciation.

Here’s how that might sound:

“When I came home and saw you doing your homework, I felt so happy. I just need you to know how much I love you and appreciate your effort.”

This might seem unnecessary. You might think, Well, she knows I love her. But expressing our needs isn’t always about the outcome. It’s about staying connected to your truth, to your emotional world, to you.

And here’s the part most people miss:
Asking for what you need isn’t about getting a guaranteed “yes.”

It’s about honoring your voice. It’s about stepping into your rightful place as a full human being, not just a mirror for everyone else. Whether the answer is yes or no, you still win. Because you showed up for you.

This kind of communication might feel clunky at first. Like learning a new language when you’ve only ever spoken the dialect of self-denial. But with practice, it becomes second nature. You build emotional fluency. You stop contorting yourself. You start existing in the world with clarity, dignity, and kindness toward your own experience.

Because here’s the truth: your needs aren’t negotiable. They’re part of what make you you.

And when you stop performing for love, and start connecting from your center, something beautiful happens:
You become someone who knows herself.
Who speaks her truth.
Who shows up for her own heart.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the most revolutionary act of love there is.

“You cannot share what you do not have. If you do not love yourself, you cannot love anyone else either”

— Don Miguel Ruiz

Independence Day

As the United States of America celebrates its 242nd year of independence from England, I find myself wondering, what do you want to be independent from?

Not in the patriotic, fireworks in the sky kind of way. But in the personal, quiet, soul-searching kind of way. What’s the thing, person, belief, habit, history that has been holding the pen while you try to write your own story?

What does independence mean to you?

How do you experience the cost of not having it, when some part of you is still tethered to something or someone outside of yourself for safety, permission, identity, or even love?

These are the kinds of questions I might ask you if you were sitting on my couch, legs curled under you, hands anxiously fiddling with the corner of a throw pillow. They aren’t always easy questions. But they’re the kind that open doors.

Most of the clients I see, whether they know it or not, are yearning for some form of independence. Freedom from PTSD. From loneliness. From addiction. From perfectionism. From dysfunctional family patterns that were handed down like heirlooms no one wanted but no one knew how to refuse.

We all have something to be free from. Some internal monarchy we’ve been bowing to without realizing it.

Codependent patterns. Cultural conditioning. Childhood beliefs that no longer fit. Relationships we feel responsible for maintaining, even if they shrink us. Careers we’re over-invested in to avoid confronting our inner emptiness. The chains look different, but the result is the same: we’re stuck. Stuck in systems that no longer serve us, rules written by people who were often just as wounded as we are.

When the American colonies sought independence from England, it wasn’t because they hated their roots. It was because the structure they were living under had become oppressive. Outdated. Misaligned with their evolving identity.

Sound familiar?

Sometimes, in order to truly grow, we need to step back and say: This no longer fits who I am or who I want to become.

That’s not rebellion for rebellion’s sake. That’s the beginning of personal sovereignty.

And no, I’m not saying you need to declare war on your parents or burn every bridge with people who didn’t know how to love you well. That’s not healing, that’s just reenactment with fireworks. What I am saying is that independence requires honesty. And courage. The willingness to look at your relationships, your inherited beliefs, your survival strategies, not with judgment, but with curiosity.

What am I still unconsciously loyal to?
What did I need to believe in order to stay safe?
Who told me I couldn’t have needs?
Who benefits from me staying small?

These questions are uncomfortable. And beautiful. Because they crack open the door to something bigger: your freedom.

Had the United States never risked the discomfort of defiance, we wouldn’t have the colorful, rebellious, adventurous (and yes, sometimes messy) country we have today. The same is true of you. If you never risk the discomfort of change, you’ll miss the opportunity to live your full, technicolor life.

Independence, true independence, isn’t about isolation or doing it all on your own. It’s about living in alignment with your truth. It’s about choosing your life from a place of wholeness, not habit.

And like all things worthwhile, it’s a process.

The colonies didn’t become a nation overnight. There were battles. Losses. Standstills. Hopeful declarations followed by moments of uncertainty. That’s what becoming yourself looks like too. There are days when you feel brave and clear and sovereign—and days when you still feel like a frightened child in an adult body, just trying not to get in trouble.

That’s okay. That’s human. That’s the journey.

So if you’re not sure where to begin, try here:
Start by questioning.
Not with blame.
Not with shame.
Just gentle, intentional curiosity.

What do I want to be free from?
What might my life look like if I were truly independent, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually?

And remember: you don’t have to have all the answers to begin. You just have to be willing to ask the questions.

Let your independence begin here.

“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an of rebellion”

— Alber Camus