How to find Happiness? Stop Trying to Be Happy. I’m Serious.
We’ve been taught that happiness is the default state of a well-functioning human. That if you’re doing life correctly, you should feel good most of the time.
And if you don’t? Well, something must be wrong with you.
This is a lie.
Your brain didn’t evolve to make you happy. It evolved to keep you alive. To scan for threats, anticipate problems, and make sure you don’t get kicked out of the tribe and left for dead. It’s wired for survival, not satisfaction.
Which is why the harder you chase happiness, the more it slips through your fingers.
Because happiness was never meant to be the goal.
It’s a side effect.
The More You Chase It, the Further It Gets
If you sit in a chair and think really hard about being happy, nothing happens.
Try it.
Go ahead.
Sit there. Stare at the wall. Force yourself to feel good.
How’s that working?
Exactly.
Happiness works like peripheral vision. If you stare at it directly, it disappears. But when you focus on something else—something engaging, something meaningful—it shows up on its own.
Trying to be happy is like trying to fall asleep. You can’t force it. But you can create the conditions that make it inevitable.
Instead of asking, “How do I feel happy?” ask:
How can I live well, no matter how I feel?
What would I do today if happiness wasn’t the point?
What’s worth showing up for, even when I don’t know the outcome?
Because here’s the paradox: When you stop chasing happiness, it stops running.
And in the stillness, you’ll find yourself actually doing the things you love, happily.
Not because you were trying.
But because you were living.
Living Well Is Always Within Your Control
Happiness is unpredictable.
You could wake up feeling amazing for no reason at all. Or you could do everything “right”—eat well, exercise, spend time with loved ones, accomplish a goal—and still feel off.
If your well-being depends on chasing a feeling, then you will always be at its mercy.
But living well? That’s always on the table.
You can be anxious and still act with courage.
You can be frustrated and still be kind.
You can be exhausted and still take a small step toward something that matters to you.
You can’t control emotions.
You can control the way you respond to them.
And that is what actually determines the quality of your life.
Happiness Isn’t Something You Get—It’s Something That Shows Up
Think about the happiest moments of your life.
Not the Instagrammable ones. The real ones.
A late-night conversation that made you forget about time.
The moment you lost yourself in creating something you loved.
Laughing so hard with a friend that you forgot why you were even laughing.
None of those moments happened because you were trying to be happy.
They happened because you were fully engaged in something worth doing.
When you stop making happiness the goal and start living a life you actually appreciate, something strange happens.
You stop chasing. Happiness stops running. Happiness finds you, living appreciably.
The Healing Trap: Why More Trauma Education Isn’t Always the Answer
If it feels like you’re constantly in danger, if your mind won’t let you rest, if certain patterns keep showing up in your relationships—you’re not imagining it.
This is real. Trauma is real.
When something terrible happens, your brain and body do whatever they need to do to protect you. That might mean shutting down, avoiding conflict, staying hyper-aware of danger, or repeating the same patterns over and over because they give you protection from what had hurt you.
None of this is your fault. And if no one ever taught you how to move forward from it, of course, you feel stuck.
I’ve worked with people who have survived some of the worst things a human being can go through. Childhood sexual abuse. Witnessing a murder. Losing everything. Sometimes, an entire life of minor and major instabilities. The kind of trauma that reconfigures your sense of reality.
For many of them, learning about trauma was the first time they ever felt understood. Suddenly, there were words for what they’d been feeling. There was an explanation for why their body and mind reacted the way they did. They had an opportunity to see that they weren’t broken and defective.
And that’s a good thing…
…and at the same time, what happens when understanding doesn’t lead to healing?
What happens when the same language that explains your suffering also keeps you in it?
It’s not that anyone is doing this on purpose. But in an attempt to make sense of their pain, many people end up caught in the loop of it.
How We Get Stuck in the Trauma Loop
Understanding your trauma can be an incredible relief.
The first time you learn about trauma responses, attachment styles, or nervous system regulation, lightbulbs start firing off.
“That’s why I shut down in conflict.”
“That’s why I panic when I feel ignored.”
“That’s why I struggle to trust people.”
It removes shame. What once felt like a personal failing suddenly has an explanation. There’s a reason why you do what you do.
And that can feel like progress. Because in a way, it is.
Here’s where it gets tricky:
The same language that brings relief can also become a kind of quicksand.
The more we immerse ourselves in trauma language, the more it becomes our primary way of understanding ourselves and others.
It creates a sense of community—we now share a language with others who “get it.”
It gives us a framework for our pain—we can label our experiences, map our behaviors, and try to predict and control our responses.
It allows us to feel safe—because instead of stepping into the unknown of change, we get to stay in the familiar world of understanding. Who wouldn’t want that?
Those are all valuable insights—when kept in balance. At the same time, when trauma becomes the only lens you see your life through, your life stops being about living and starts being defined by trauma. Every challenge, every relationship, every difficult emotion gets filtered through the lens of trauma.
And social media? It amplifies this.
The more trauma-related content gets shared, the more platforms push it to wider audiences. It spreads because it resonates.
Trauma educators—many of whom are trying to help—naturally start creating more of what gets engagement. Because when you see that certain posts are reaching people, it makes sense to keep going in that direction. Not only that, they’ve likely had their own recovery journeys and want to spread it to the world. I dig that.
The problem?
The content that gets the most consistent engagement isn’t about recovery—it’s about a constant search for understanding.
Simple explanations turn into hyper-detailed, jargon-heavy deep dives. Trauma responses become overpathologized, until every struggle is framed as a trauma symptom—sorted into attachment styles, nervous system states, or trauma archetypes.
Again, these concepts are legitimate. They provide clarity, context, and validation.
But concepts alone don’t lead to recovery, and sometimes, can keep us in a cycle of explaining symptoms instead of learning to respond to them.
Not because anyone is intentionally keeping people stuck. Simply because content that validates and explains tends to spread more than content that challenges and moves people toward change. Imagine you’re just trying to enjoy your relaxing evening on Instagram and someone tosses you a guide on how to dig into your worst nightmares. That doesn’t sound very appealing. Whereas finding yourself in a neatly explained framework is validating. That feels very good.
And without realizing it, we start maintaining the very patterns we were trying to heal from.
Not because we’re avoiding action. But because understanding feels like action.
Instead of mobilizing toward change, we are able to sit in the space of recognizing why things are the way they are.
Instead of moving towards the uncertainty of change, we refine our ability to explain why we do what we do.
And here’s the paradox: The reward for understanding is more understanding.
Healing starts to feel like an endless loop of understanding and fixing—where fixing itself becomes the goal.
And when fixing is the goal, succeeding means needing to understand more about how we’re broken.
The Missing Link: Post Traumatic Growth
What doesn’t kill you doesn’t necessarily make you stronger. If anything, trauma is profoundly difficult. It breaks things. It uproots your sense of safety. It changes how you see yourself, the world, and other people.
However, healing from trauma? Healing does make you stronger.
The process of rebuilding after pain. The ability to meet suffering with action. The resilience that comes from facing what happened, and choosing to live well anyway.
This is Post-Traumatic Growth (PTG)—the idea that after deep suffering, many people don’t just return to baseline. They come back stronger, more compassionate, and more aligned with what truly matters (Tedeschi & Calhoun, 2004).
But here’s the problem: PTG rarely makes it into trauma conversations.
Instead, the focus has been placed almost entirely on symptoms. On defining what’s wrong, identifying triggers, and explaining why things feel so hard.
And of course, understanding your symptoms is important—it gives language to your experience, removes shame, and makes sense of what’s happening inside you.
But understanding alone doesn’t alleviate suffering.
Because trauma isn’t just a collection of symptoms to analyze—it’s an experience of profound distress that requires real support and focused effort to recover.
Healing requires something deeper than explanation. It requires action, guidance, and a move towards what's next.
And when we center trauma support around recovery instead of just symptom management—when we offer people real strategies for healing instead of just more labels for what’s wrong—we help people actually recover.
The Healing Equation: Understanding + Honesty x Action = Healing
If you’ve spent years learning about trauma, you’ve already taken the first step. Understanding yourself is important. Seeing your patterns clearly is important. Finding language for what you’ve been through is important.
And at the same time, understanding alone won’t carry you forward.
Because insight without action is like a map you never use. You might know exactly where you are, however getting to where you want to go will require movement.
Healing isn’t about fixing yourself—it’s about learning to live, fully and freely, acknowledging and learning to appreciate the reminders of what you’ve been through..
I’ve worked with people who have survived things most people don’t have to endure. People who felt shattered beyond repair, who thought they’d never feel whole again. And I’ve had the profound privilege of watching those same people rebuild their lives in ways they never thought possible.
Not by erasing the past. Not by wishing their symptoms away. Not by trying to heal every pain.
By stepping forward, often imperfectly, and realizing that their pain didn’t get the final say in who they were becoming.
Because healing isn’t just about understanding your pain. It’s about what you do with that understanding.
That’s where the healing equation comes in:
Understanding + Honesty x Action = Healing.
Understanding gives you clarity, language, and insight.
Honesty allows you to take count of your life, your response, how you’ve lived, and most importantly and admirably, to acknowledge the truth of some of the darkest moments you’ve experienced.
Action is the multiplier. It turns everything you've learned into something real. All of that time you’ve spent understanding yourself and having the honesty to look at some of the deepest pain gets compounded by your action.
And that’s what moves you forward.
If you’re consuming trauma content, let it lead you somewhere. Find your people, collect your insights, then work together to apply them. Connect with others, take one small risk, step toward the life you want—all while feeling afraid.
And if you’re creating trauma content, keep going—and don’t stop at validation and education. Many are doing a really good job of helping people mobilize and find recovery, even in the face of criticism. I see you. For those who haven’t yet taken then step, that opportunity is there for you. Guide people toward what’s next. What does healing look like? What does growth feel like? What can someone do today to break a cycle?
Because healing isn’t about fixing what’s broken.
It’s about noticing the legitimate ways our bodies have learned to survive and protect us, responding to that in a loving way, living a life you want, and ultimately proving to yourself that you were never broken to begin with.
How to Talk to Your Partner About Their Video Game and Technology Use
There’s a kind of loneliness that hits different when the person you love is right next to you—but not really there.
Maybe it started as a small frustration, just a few extra hours spent gaming here and there. But now, it feels like the game is getting more attention than you are. Conversations get cut short. Date nights turn into them saying, “One more match” for the fifth time. You try to bring it up, but every time you do, it turns into an argument or an excuse.
And so you sit with it, feeling increasingly disconnected, maybe even questioning your own worth. Am I being too needy? Is it selfish to want more from my own relationship?
It’s not.
Wanting connection, presence, and effort from your partner is not unreasonable. And it’s not about the game—it’s about the fact that you’re feeling neglected and unheard.
The problem is, when conversations about gaming go wrong, they don’t just go wrong. They explode.
You call them out → They get defensive.
You try to set a boundary → They push back.
You argue → They escape further into the game.
Nothing changes.
So how do you actually talk about this in a way that gets through?
Let’s walk through it.
1. Regulate Yourself Before You Try to Change Anything Else
Right now, you might feel frustrated. Hurt. Unimportant.
Those feelings make sense.
But if you try to talk to your partner while you’re still simmering in them, the conversation is going to go exactly how you expect: badly.
Because frustration doesn’t invite listening—it invites defensiveness.
So before you bring this up, process your feelings first.
Journal.
Talk to a friend.
Go for a walk.
Do something physically intense to shake off the tension.
Then ask yourself:
"Even with these feelings, am I willing to communicate differently to have a chance at a better relationship?"
If yes, move forward.
If not, that’s okay. Just recognize that waiting for your partner to change while refusing to change your approach is a losing game.
2. Lead With Care, Not Criticism
If your partner feels attacked, they will not hear you. Period.
Instead of saying:
"You’re always playing games and ignoring me."
Try:
"I know gaming is something you really enjoy, and I want you to have that time. At the same time, I miss you, and I don’t feel as connected as I’d like to be. Can we talk about that?"
This isn’t about blaming them for gaming. It’s about expressing your need for connection. And when you make it about the relationship, not just the habit, your partner is far more likely to listen.
3. Listen to Understand, Not Just to Be Understood
It’s easy to assume that your partner is just being careless. That they don’t see the problem, or worse, don’t care about how it affects you.
But the reality? There’s a reason they’re gaming so much.
Maybe it’s how they de-stress. Maybe it’s their way of staying connected with friends. Maybe it’s an escape from something they don’t know how to deal with.
And here’s the part that’s hard to hear: If you don’t take the time to understand that, this conversation will go nowhere.
So instead of just making your case, be curious. Ask them:
What do you enjoy most about gaming?
Do you feel like it’s taking up more time than you want it to?
What do you think would help us feel more connected?
If you can understand why the habit exists, you’ll have a much better chance of finding a solution that works for both of you.
4. Use “I” Statements Instead of Attacks
Instead of:
"You never make time for me."
Try:
"I really enjoy spending time with you, and I’d love to find more ways to connect."
Instead of:
"You care more about that game than you do about me."
Try:
"I feel disconnected when we don’t have quality time together, and I don’t want that for us."
One sparks defensiveness. The other invites understanding.
5. Collaborate on Agreements, not Rules and Boundaries
The moment this conversation turns into you telling your partner what they can and can’t do, it’s over.
Instead of saying, “You need to play less,” ask:
"How much time do you think makes sense for gaming each week? And how much time can we set aside just for us?"
The difference? They’re now part of the solution instead of feeling controlled.
Let them suggest ideas. You might be surprised by what they come up with.
Then, agree on:
A set time for gaming vs. connection.
A plan for what to do if the balance starts slipping.
What each of you will do to make sure the relationship stays strong.
If they create the agreement with you, they’re far more likely to follow through.
6. Expect Slip-Ups—And Know How to Handle Them
Most people expect permanent change from a single conversation.
That’s not how habits work.
If your partner slips up and plays longer than planned, it doesn’t mean they don’t care. It just means they’re human.
What matters is how you handle it.
Instead of letting resentment build up, call it out early—without attacking:
"Hey, I noticed we haven’t been spending as much time together again, and I miss you. Can we talk about how to get back on track?"
No drama. No resentment. Just a simple return to the agreement.
7. If Nothing Changes, Ask the Bigger Question
If you’ve done all of this—calm conversations, mutual agreements, clear boundaries—and your partner still refuses to listen or adjust, then this is no longer about gaming.
It’s about how they show up in the relationship.
At that point, the real question isn’t:
"How do I get them to change?"
It’s:
"Is this the kind of relationship I want to be in?"
And if the answer is no, then that’s the conversation you need to have.
Final Thoughts
Most people approach this conversation by trying to win.
The goal isn’t to win. The goal is to actually be heard.
If you approach this with frustration, blame, and ultimatums, you will get defensiveness, avoidance, and fights.
If you approach this with care, curiosity, and collaboration, you have a real chance at change.
And even if nothing changes, you’ll walk away knowing that you showed up in a way you respect.
That, in itself, is worth something.
I’m a Mental Health Therapist, and I Believe the Way We Talk About Diagnosis Is Making Us Sick
Let me be clear: Mental health struggles are real.
When you’re buried under depression, it’s not just sadness—it’s a complete loss of color in life, a weight that makes every action feel pointless.
When you’re battling anxiety, it’s not just overthinking—it’s an endless loop of tension and fear, convincing you that something bad is always about to happen.
When your brain feels scattered, unfocused, and restless, it’s not just distraction—it’s feeling like you’re constantly falling behind, no matter how hard you try.
If you’ve ever felt like life is harder for you than it seems to be for everyone else, you’re not imagining it.
And when you finally sit down in a therapist’s office, desperate for answers, you’re given a diagnosis.
It can be hugely cathartic and relieving because now, it makes sense. You’re not imagining things. There’s a name for what you’ve been feeling. There’s a reason life has been so hard.
And having that understanding? That alone can be powerful.
It removes shame. It helps you realize you’re not just “failing at life.” It gives you a framework for why things feel so difficult.
But it also has another side effect—one that most people don’t see coming:
When you believe something is a fixed part of you—when you believe your brain chemicals are the problem—you lose the ability to have influence over it.
Because if it’s just a malfunction of your brain, then what’s left to do besides manage it?
This is why people have been told for decades that depression is caused by a “chemical imbalance,” a serotonin deficiency in the brain, a bad roll of the genetic lottery. It’s why so many people, myself included, were left coping with a handful of diagnoses.
But here’s the problem: That theory has never been proven.
In fact, recent research shows that there is no evidence to support the serotonin theory of depression at all.
The Serotonin Theory of Depression Was Never True
In 2022, a comprehensive review of decades of research was published in Nature Molecular Psychiatry, concluding that there is no scientific evidence that low serotonin causes depression.
For years, people have been told that their depression is the result of a serotonin imbalance, a defect in their brain chemistry—something they were born with or destined to have.
And it turns out, that story was just that—a story. A belief. We don’t know if there is a biological cause
That’s not to say medication can’t be helpful. About half of people find great relief from medications, and that’s wonderful. It is important to mention although that this paper suggests that the real relief people feel may not be caused by fixing serotonin deficiency, but instead may actually be a placebo effect (more on that in a moment).
And yet, we’ve built an entire mental health system around this idea.
A system that convinces people that their suffering is hardwired. A system that encourages people to identify as a diagnosis. A system that tells people that their best hope is symptom management—not recovery.
And when you believe that your suffering is permanent, it becomes permanent.
This is The Belief Effect—your mind actively shapes your reality based on what you expect to be true. Back to that placebo. If you believe that you have a chemical balance and you take a pill to fix it, you gain hope and the belief that you can actually be well. Unfortunately, this also comes with a few side-effects (literally and figuratively, the side effects can be brutal): it reinforces that your brain is defective, and for many, that leads to a constant cycle of medication management focused on illness instead of medication being a tool for recovery.
If you believe you’ll never recover, you don’t have a reason to look for ways to. If you believe you’re broken, you find endless proof that you are. If you believe your brain is the problem, you may not delve into the other factors that may be at the root of your challenges.
Even worse, we’re reinforcing it. At the core of depression, you’ll almost always find two beliefs:
Hopelessness—the belief that things will never change.
Defectiveness—the belief that something is inherently wrong with you.
Now think about how we talk about depression in the mental health world.
“You’ll always have this condition.”
“Your brain is chemically broken.”
Our attempts to treat people, while well intentioned, have stopped people from recovering at best, and have made them more ill at worst.
Therapists Are Required to Diagnose
Here’s something most people don’t realize:
If you’re using insurance for therapy, your therapist has to give you a diagnosis—immediately.
No diagnosis? No billing code. No insurance reimbursement.
But it’s bigger than that.
Not only are therapists not taught that people can fully recover, we’re explicitly and implicitly taught that they can’t.
In graduate school, we’re trained to help people cope with their symptoms, not to guide them toward a full recovery.
The messaging is clear: Mental illness is chronic. Symptoms can be managed, not eliminated. Coping is the best we can do.
And if you’ve never personally recovered from mental health struggles yourself, what frame of reference would you have to question that?
How would you know any different?
This isn’t about blaming therapists, life coaches, or psychiatrists. Most enter the field because they deeply want to help people.
But the system they’re trained in is flawed.
And that realization? It was painful for me. Deeply painful.
Because as I worked with more clients, I started seeing something I couldn’t ignore:
The way I had been diagnosing people wasn’t just giving them answers—it was keeping them stuck.
I wasn’t helping them recover. I was reinforcing the belief that they never could.
That’s a hard thing to admit.
And for any provider to move forward from this, they would have to admit the same, a truth that will likely make this cycle hard to break.
Therapy Is an Institution. The DSM Is a Bible.
The field of mental health was built on a foundation of treating illness instead of promoting wellness.
Instead of focusing on the wisdom of the person in front of us, it’s been aimed at pathologizing people and positioning therapists as the experts.
We, as therapists, have been trained to believe that we hold the knowledge, that we have the answers, that our job is to diagnose, label, and treat.
And without realizing it, that framework—one built on good intentions to help—has also served as a way to reinforce our own egos around being a helper.
Because when you believe you are the expert, you also believe your clients need you. For many of us who are motivated by helping, that can be intoxicating. It can also leave you in an ever lasting loop of wondering whether or not you’re truly helping, and doing everything that you can to prove that you are (even if that means calling the client resistant and blaming them for their lack of progress).
You become the person who “understands.” The one who “sees what they can’t.” The one who knows what’s best for them.
But the truth is, our clients are the ones who hold the answers.
And the moment we stop positioning ourselves as the authority over their experience, the moment we stop believing that the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical manual, the tool that we use to diagnose) has the final say in who they are, is the moment we actually start helping them recover.
How I Recovered
At my lowest point, I had been kicked out of school. I had cycled through therapist after therapist, medication after medication, and nothing seemed to work.
But then, something happened.
I started reading Feeling Good by David Burns.
One day, while going for a walk, I had a realization that changed everything:
"My belief that I’m a failure is just that—a belief."
I used to fear that I would end up on the streets, because that’s what failures do.
But then I stopped myself.
I don’t see people without homes as failures. I don’t see my friends who have struggled as failures. In fact, I don’t think anyone is a failure.
So why did I believe that about myself?
And if that belief wasn’t true, what else wasn’t?
That I would always be depressed? That I would always be anxious? That I would always be stuck?
At that moment, my certainty crumbled.
And uncertainty? That was the most powerful thing I’d ever felt. I became certain in my ability to live differently.
After a lifetime of struggling with school, I returned and graduated with a 4.0. I knew I would spend the rest of my life guiding others to find this relief as well, and went on to practice therapy.
Final Thoughts: We Don’t Treat Diagnoses—We Treat People
The more I worked with people—people with PTSD, OCD, panic attacks, anxiety, depression—the more I saw something I couldn’t ignore.
They were recovering.
Not just managing symptoms. Recovering.
Because when people stop seeing themselves as permanently broken, they start responding to life differently.
And when they start responding to life differently, they start healing.
The mental health world needs a shift—not one of blame, but of understanding.
Therapists, life coaches, and psychiatrists: We have to move beyond pathologizing people and toward actually helping them navigate their experiences in a way that leads to lasting change.
Instead of reinforcing the idea that suffering is permanent, we can help people understand what their symptoms are actually telling them.
Instead of focusing solely on diagnosis, we can guide people toward responding to their experiences in a way that leads to growth.
Instead of acting as the authority on people’s lives, we can trust that they already hold the answers—we just need to help them uncover them.
The best way we can do this? By doing our own work.
If we’ve recovered from our own suffering, we can guide others from a place of truth, not just theory.
If we’ve done the deep, uncomfortable work of questioning our own beliefs, we can help others do the same.
If we’ve moved beyond identifying with our struggles, we can help our clients move beyond theirs.
That’s how we change lives—not just theirs, but ours too.
Because at the end of the day, we don’t treat disorders.
We work with people.
How to Succeed in Life when Success Is a Rigged Game—Redefine It
Most people spend their whole lives chasing success without ever stopping to ask: Who decided what success even means?
And more importantly—why are we all playing by the same rules?
If success means hitting the goal, getting the outcome, and achieving the result… what happens when you don’t? I spent the first 25-years of my life feeling like a failure. I literally failed my first three years of university straight, dropping out with a 1.6 GPA. I returned in 5-months and received a 4.0 GPA for the first time in my life, all because I realized something simple:
If success is entirely based on what happens after you act, then you are never truly in control.
You can work harder than anyone and still not land the job.
You can create something incredible and still not have it take off.
You can love someone fully and still lose them.
If your sense of success depends on factors outside of you, you will always be chasing something that isn’t fully yours to hold.
Proud Action: The New Success
Instead of measuring success by what happens, measure it by whether you took action in a way that you feel proud for.
Not proud of what you accomplished—proud for the way you showed up, regardless of the outcome.
If you apply for the job, whether or not you get it is out of your control.
But showing up fully, writing the best application you can, and submitting it anyway? That’s yours.
If you have a tough conversation, how the other person reacts is out of your control.
But being honest, speaking clearly, and holding your ground? That’s yours.
You can’t control whether your work is well-received.
You can control whether you did work that felt meaningful.
And here’s the paradox: when you stop chasing external success and start showing up for the process, you often get better results anyway.
Not because you’re forcing them.
But because you’re actually engaging with life instead of anxiously managing outcomes.
Your Definition of Success Determines Your Life
Most people live in a loop of waiting to feel successful.
They tell themselves, “Once I achieve X, I’ll finally feel accomplished.”
Then they get it, and the bar moves.
Instead of being relieved, they just find another metric to chase.
The cycle repeats. The goalpost never stops shifting.
But when success is measured by whether you showed up in a way that aligns with you, you are never waiting.
You don’t have to reach some far-off milestone to feel like you’re enough.
Your metric is entirely within your control, right now.
Your success is the way you respond to this moment—not what happens after.
The One Question That Changes Everything
After any situation, instead of asking:
"Am I successful? Did I succeed?"
Try asking:
"Did I take action in a way that I feel proud for?"
Proud for choosing growth over comfort.
Proud for responding instead of reacting.
Proud for moving forward when you could have stayed stuck.
The rest?
That’s just life unfolding.