“You can fold yourself up, into halves, quarters, or more. And still, You won’t be small enough for the ones who feel entitled to your space. So fuck it. Unfold.”"
Parm K.C.
It's the evening of your 30th birthday. Woo. Fucking. Hoo.🎉
You had grand illusions about how this day would go. You were supposed to be surrounded by your best pals, glass of bubbly in-hand, sparkling with laughter while a birthday cake glided toward you. Yet…
Here you are on your 30th birthday. Alone. Eating your favorite pad thai. Well you do have your dog, Koda. You order red-velvet Georgetown cupcakes to lift your spirits. You pull your sweet pup in for a snuggle on the couch, flipping on Friends.
As you watch Rachel, Phoebe, and Monica navigate the latest kerfuffle, aches begin to spread. “I don’t have that”.
You really shouldn’t be surprised though.
As TSwift so aptly put it, all you’ve done is bleed as you tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting wars for others on their front lines.
Your tiredddd, burnt out even. And it hurts that they’ve missed all your acts of valor, dismissing your endless empathy and care. They ignore the effort, taking it as a given. Subtly choosing themselves, when all you want is to be seen.
And one by one they. all. Canceled.
The shitty part? You’re really not even that surprised.
Here’s the thing, you’re not alone on your birthday because you’re unworthy, or have a shame problem that even Brené Brown couldn’t solve.
I know you’ve tried to self-care the shit out of some Rehoboth weekends to recharge so you can do even more. Told yourself to keep reaching out because “they’re in a busy stage of life, it’s not fair to expect them to hire a babysitter so we can hang out”.
You’ve learned to reassure yourself with the empty promise of “soon”, pretending their lack of reciprocity doesn’t cut you.
Hell, even rendering yourself the “fixer” at work just to get an ounce of recognition from another human being. Same mess, new address.
The real reason you’re alone on your birthday? You suck at showing up for yourself.
To make matters worse, you hope people magically anticipate your needs the way you magically do for others.
While I’ve only known you a little bit, I’m already feeling fiercely protective of you. You have to stop burning yourself down to save everyone else.
Don’t betray yourself any longer. If you do you may only have ashes left.
Wonder how I know?
Oh forgive my manners, I’m Nicole by the way. 👋
I’m sensitive too. My education in Clinical Psychology tells me I’m fancy™ highly sensitive aka an HSP. And before I started working on my own stuff (rather than just helping everyone else with theirs) 12 years ago, I had arm-chair expert diagnosed myself with being:
Let me know if this resonates. Emotionally high maintenance looks like:
You know your co-workers coffee orders like the back of your hand, and others just think it’s a funny quirk about you.
You feel your emotions like an enchantingly complex symphony, while others be huffin 'on a freakin’ four note recorder.
And damn it, you freak out/meltdown/turn into uber-bitch when you’re overwhelmed, which happens pretty easily nowadays.
Wonder how the hell I know so much about you?
Easy.
I’ve been there, not just myself but I’ve logged thousands of hours sitting with people and I always come back to those irrefutable truths.
I specialize in working with thoughtful doers, caregivers by default, who are on the brink of burnout. They’re questioning their whole damn life and neglecting their intuition.
I’m not just in this to point out all the ways you’ve gone wrong, but rather to walk with you as you:
Set and keep boundaries (like when your mom passively aggressively comes at you, you’re able to tell her to cut it out, and not just scream at her in your head).
Revel in rest (with book, blanket, and beverage in hand without double checking to see if anybody texted you back).
Skip the extra work (which opens you up to get the job/promotion that values you and what you have to give.)
Sound too good to be true?
(Lovingly…Stop it! No more sacrificing yourself on the altar of other people’s desires–because this is just the start of it all).
And because I know a thing or two, I bet you’re freaking out about what therapy looks like.
Hint. This is not Dr. Wayne’s therapy, where I nod a lot and stare at you, while you’re laying on a couch.
Here’s how it plays out:
You preemptively apologize for the flood of tears and word vomit in my office.
You joke, and apparently some on Insta agree, that you should have come in with a Powerpoint on all your stuff to catch me up to speed.
I smirk and say “That would be a first. But I’m not in a rush. Let’s not insult all you’ve been through by reducing it to a slidedeck”.
Instead we look at the silhouette of your life like it’s a piece of art, and you're able to beautifully explain it to me (even with snot running down your nose), the problem really is:
You want too much. You feel too much. You are too much.
(I beg to disagree, but we’ll get to that.)
Together we look at your fall from grace, how you went from functioning above your pay grade (you were never a child, you were a tiny therapist who mastered soothing your mother’s fears before you learned your ABCs) to failing every. single. relationship you’re in.
You do a double take when I say, “You’ve got a thing for people who are all about themselves, huh?”.
Let me paint you a picture of what happens when you stop betraying yourself, everyone gets the gift of appreciation.
You emerge amidst the bouquet of balloons that threaten to escape the sleek Escalade your friends ordered to deliver you in style. You’re just in time to walk into the priority line at Delta.
Meeting your friends, who make Phoebe and Monica look like frenemies, at the gate, your stomach rumbles. “OO girl I heard that. What’ll it be?” they ask. “White cheddar cheese-it’s? Swedish fish? Cashew Crunch?” No way they have all your favorite snacks.
Your friends have been dying to fly first class without a toddler for forever. On board, you each get a glass of champagne, toasting to the beginning of an amazing getaway to Blackberry Mountain.
Upon arrival, a bouquet of peonies beckons from the side table. The card reads,
“ Happy 40th birthday to the birthday queen herself. The rest of your present is waiting for you back at the house. Live it up my love. Xoxo”.
Smiling, you flop onto the down-filled comforter, reveling in the warm glow suffusing your body.
What Our Clients Say
Steps to work together
Hold all the excuses you’re about to give yourself for why now’s not the time. You owe this to yourself and you know you can't do it alone.
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Schedule a free 15-minute chat. Pick a time that suits you and hit “schedule” to send it my way.
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Check your email for a quick questionnaire from me. Fill it out, easy peasy.
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