Field Notes on Human Emotions

When Anxiety Isn’t Just Yours: Childhood, Generational Trauma, and Your Nervous System


I grew up frequently hearing Murphy’s Law – "If something can go wrong it will, and at the worst possible moment." I would always cringe every time I heard it. Even then, I knew it was super-negative and unhelpful. Now I realize how damaging that kind of thinking can be to little growing minds. Of course, when parents have that negative mindset, it usually shows up in many other less obvious and even more damaging ways.


In my house, before every decision, trip, job, or activity, we had to hear the worst-case scenarios including a long list of reasons it probably wouldn’t work. At the same time, we were expected to still do everything and do it well – talk about confusing!


If you grew up in a house where people were always braced for impact - expecting the ringing phone to be bad news, waiting for money to run out, for someone to get sick, or for the mood to turn, then anxiety didn’t show up in your life as a guest, but more like a part of the family and a part of you.


This post has two paths:

  1. The Childhood Experience Path: how your own early life taught your body to live in fear and “what if.”
  2. The Intergenerational Path: how the fear didn’t start with you or even with your parents, and how RIM can work directly with ancestral trauma when it shows up.

You don’t have to know which path is “true” for you. Your nervous system knows where to start.

 

Path 1: Childhood anxiety as a reasonable conclusion

We often talk about childhood experiences as if they were a collection of memories on a shelf. Something bad happened, we remember it, we feel in a certain way, we draw conclusions like a little scientist with our n=1. 


In reality, your body remembers being that clumsy little scientist – cute for sure and brilliant, but still a little clumsy. As a child, you constantly collected data and drew huge conclusions based on your experience - it’s not like there was a class in school about these things, so how else would you learn?!


As you learned the answer to “What keeps me safe and connected in this house, with these people, in this world?”


If you grew up with:

  • Parents who were worried all the time about money, health, or safety.
  • A home where conflict, addiction, or volatility made even the calm moments feel dangerous.
  • Messages like “Don’t get your hopes up,” “Something always goes wrong,” or “We can’t afford to relax.”

Your inner little scientist mind may have concluded that:

  • “Being relaxed is risky; that’s when the bad things happen.”
  • “If I think through every possible disaster, maybe I can prevent it.”
  • “If I don’t stay vigilant, I’ll be blindsided.”


Children are sponges and naturally sensitive. So, it makes sense that any child in an anxiety filled home would watch grown‑up bodies hold tension, feel the atmosphere, and absorb the emotional climate. Naturally, the nervous system would anchor everything from the way a parent’s face went tight when the phone rang, or the sudden silence when money came up, or a comment about  “what people will think.”


Those notes became the default setting for how your body responds to life. So now, as an adult when things are “fine” they are also suspect. Joy is accompanied by watching for the other shoe to drop. Overanalyzing is never enough to satisfy the expectation that something is still wrong.


From a childhood‑experience perspective, your anxiety is not irrational. It’s a system doing exactly what it learned to do: protect you using the rulebook it wrote when you were little.


Loving the System that’s Trying to Help You

If you’ve spent years shaming yourself for being anxious, thinking “I should be over this by now”, here’s a plot twist: Your anxiety isn’t proof you’re broken or weak. It might be proof that your system paid close attention and took its job very seriously.


I always think of fear as being like a smoke detector. We all have them in our houses – and even though it has gone off many times, so far it has not been a real fire in my house and still, I keep the smoke detectors. I always joke that it means dinner’s ready! 

So fear is like the detector that warns us to check and see if there is anything to worry about – is there something ahead that we need to prepare for or avoid or change? When I see it that way, I can usually respond by noting what I need to prepare for or change. I simply recognize it as a friend trying to be helpful – say “thank you Fear – I’ve got this”.


It is fair and reasonable to admit that in the past, you may have a history where relaxing sometimes did end badly. There is real danger out there, and we need to check and see if it is real where you are at the moment and respond accordingly. Where it gets in the way, is when the default setting is too high and we fail to check and see that we’re actually safe and can allow a little joy in.


None of that means you have to beat yourself up for what your body learned in good faith. That part of you deserves a little love and understanding too.


On this path, what often shows up in a RIM (Regenerating Images in Memory) session is specific stories from your childhood experience where the lesson was learned. We don’t need to talk about it or even know where it came from, as we allow the nervous system to reveal whatever is most useful and follow that. So, whatever shows up gets a chance for a “redo” with safety, agency and voice that wasn’t there when you were little. The nervous system recognizes and anchors the new felt sense of safety, changing the default setting.


So, it’s okay to know that your anxiety makes sense, and also your system can learn experientially that there are other ways to stay safe that don’t involve permanent bracing.

 

Path 2: Intergenerational: It didn’t start with you (or your parents)

Now let’s wander down the second path, because many people feel something deeper, like “This tension in my body feels older than me.” Or You feel like you grew up without any real trauma and yet – what’s with this anxiety?


Sometimes anxiety, fear, and hypervigilance are so baked into the family system that it’s hard to find a starting point. Your parents might say, “That’s just how we are.” Your grandparents might have been described as “worriers,” “stoic survivors,” or people who “went through a lot and didn’t talk about it.”


Generational trauma isn’t an abstract idea here. It’s what happens when:

  • A war, displacement, famine, epidemic, or big historical event changes the nervous systems of a generation.
  • Oppression, racism, poverty, or chronic danger become normal for a community.
  • Abuse, secrecy, and emotional absence get passed down as the “standard” way to cope.

There’s a growing body of research about inherited trauma and epigenetics. You don’t need the technical jargon to recognize the lived reality. Maybe you feel scared in situations where nothing in your history explains why. Maybe you overreact to certain events, foods, smells, or moods that seem oddly specific. Or anxiety shows up even when your own life looks relatively stable.


On this path, just like your hair color or height, you didn’t get to opt in or out. First, you inherited the emotional and physiological echo of things that happened long before you were born. Beyond the biological inheritance, there is the “behavior inheritance” where our parents behavior reinforces the generations of being and behaving a certain way – so this complicates things as it overlaps with path 1 above. The good news is that we don’t have to figure it out.


How RIM meets generational trauma differently

Most methods talk about inherited trauma conceptually, but don’t offer much in what to do to change things in real life. RIM can meet it directly when it arises naturally in your inner imagery. This means we don’t have to know the family history – that would be impossible. Yes, you may know your four grandparents, and maybe a little family history (of what parents wanted to talk about) for your eight great grandparents. I’ve never met anyone who knew all 8 great grandparents, let alone the next generation of another sixteen parents. The point is, it took a lot of people to make you and your parents, and the experiences that made them all who they were and who you are. So, as always, we can access the non-verbal part of the brain where emotional memories are stored and simply follow whatever shows up.


In a RIM session, we never force generational themes. We don’t start by saying, “Let’s go heal your great‑grandparents.” Instead, we follow your inner experience.


A client begins with their current intention and as we follow the body and imagery, they might spontaneously find themselves in a scene that the facilitator helps them follow. Frequently, it’s like the parent getting a virtual RIM session, then something similar for an unknown ancestor in a historical context, setting or experience they’ve never consciously thought about or even new about.


The emotional charge is recognizably real, even if we don’t know whether the details are real or symbolic. The “healing” change/shift happens in what I call the “way-back” and is brought forward to current life. Your nervous system is showing us what matters, creating the needed shift, and bringing it forward to today – and remember, the nervous system treats a well-imagined events like a real event – so finding a body-memory of safety, agency and voice is a pretty big deal.


So, imagine if we could go to the ancestor or earlier generation, witness their fear, grief, or survival strategy and facilitate a “do‑over” where they have safety, voice, choice, or whatever was missing. You’re not literally traveling back in time and changing historical facts, but emotionally, your nervous system can now stop reliving inherited panic and let go of generational fear.


This is exactly where RIM shines: it works in that imaginal inner reality where both your story and your ancestors’ stories can show up and shift. It also lets your deeper mind choose what to reveal – not your facilitator imposing a storyline. Finally, it allows symbolic, spiritual, and emotional repair that your thinking mind can’t orchestrate on its own.


How the two paths support each other

You don’t have to decide whether your anxiety is “childhood” or “generational.” Most people are a mix. Some of your fear comes from specific experiences you remember: the arguments, hospital visits, late‑night fear, or sudden losses. Some of it rides in on the body language, silence, and inherited rules you never saw or heard.


Both paths honor one simple truth that your anxiety is not a moral failing. It’s a story your nervous system learned from somewhere. And both paths move toward the same goals:

  • You can stay connected to your family, ancestors, and communities without being loyal to their anxiety as the only way to belong.
  • You can let your body learn that “I am safe, I am loved, and I am enough.


A simple practice, now informed by both paths

Given how big this topic is, let’s keep your in‑the‑moment practice small and doable.

Next time inherited anxiety spikes—whether it feels like your own history or something older—try:


Step 1: Name what’s happening, including both possibilities

  • “Something in me is scanning for danger.”
  • “This might be my own history. It might also be something older than me. Either way, it’s here.”

You’re not deciding which path is “correct.” You’re simply acknowledging complexity.


Step 2: Find a sensation in your body

Ask: “Where does this anxiety live right now?”

Notice: Buzzing or tightness, stomach knots, aches, pressure, restlessness, calmness, pulsing, nothingness, etc.

Just name it:

  • “There’s a swarm in my chest.”
  • “My stomach feels like a clenched fist.”


Step 3: Offer one line of compassion that includes both you and those who came before

  • “Of course you’re on high alert; you learned that was the safest option - for you and maybe for your ancestors.”
  • “No wonder you’re bracing; fear has been a family language for a long time.”

You’re just honoring the effort.


Step 4: Invite one small physical shift

  • “Would it feel okay to soften by 5%?”
  • “Would it feel okay if my shoulders dropped just a little?”

No forcing. Just an invitation.


Step 5: Close with a present‑tense truth

  • “Right now, in this moment, we are safe enough to take one easier breath.”
  • “We can honor the past and still let this body rest for a minute.”

You haven’t solved generational trauma in five steps. But you have practiced meeting anxiety with honesty and compassion and reminded your body that it is allowed to experience even tiny moments of “safe enough” now.

 

A gentle next step

If your anxiety feels older than your life, you’re not imagining it. You may be carrying your own childhood experiences, your parents’ unspoken fear, and your ancestors’ survival strategies.


You don’t have to untangle all of that alone, and you certainly don’t have to convince yourself it’s “all in your head.” Work like RIM exists precisely for this kind of complexity:

  • It lets your deeper mind show us the scenes – both personal and intergenerational, trusting your psyche knows what it’s doing.
  • It gives you a way to emotionally update the default settings for what your nervous system has been carrying, without blaming yourself or erasing anyone’s history.
  • It offers a path where loyalty to your people and freedom in your own body can finally coexist.

You’re allowed to say, “This didn’t start with me, and it doesn’t have to end with me living in fear.”


When you feel curious enough, you can:

Either way, you’re welcome to bring all of you, and feel free to invite your ancestors to come along if they need the session more than you do.

 

When Criticism Becomes Your Inner Voice

Growing up, it was clear to me that no one in my house wanted my opinion – on anything! I did, however get lots of opinions about everything I did. Somehow, everyone always knew what they did wrong.

If you grew up with a lot of criticism, whether it was spoken or not, it taught you something. You might think that your parents were trying to teach you, and for sure they did. They may have taught you how to behave (either in agreement with them or in opposition), and you also learned how to see yourself.


This post is for you if:

  • You hear an inner voice that is faster to point out flaws than anything good.
  • Compliments feel suspicious while criticism feels “true.”
  • You often think “I should be doing better,” even when you already are doing a lot.

Underneath all that? A story that says, “Who I am is never quite enough.”

 

What’s really going on underneath the “never enough” story

The “never enough” story didn’t start yesterday. Revealing how long I’ve been working on this, my first self-improvement dive was buying a Brian Tracy self-esteem course on twelve cassette tapes.


So long before we started working on ourselves, something began – likely in the places where criticism, comparison, or silence taught that your worth was conditional.

Maybe you heard things like:

  • “You could’ve tried harder.”
  • “Why can’t you be more like your sister/brother/classmate?”
  • “Don’t get a big head.”
  • My personal favorite "don't get too big for your britches".


Or maybe nobody said anything overtly harsh at all. You just absorbed:

  • Parents who were very hard on themselves and accidentally modeled that as normal.
  • Teachers who focused more on what you missed than what you did well.
  • Caregivers who withdrew, went quiet, or seemed disappointed when you weren’t at the level where they wanted you to be.


When you’re little, you don’t think, “Ah yes, I appear to be internalizing a generational shame pattern.”


You just feel what you feel and notice what seems to keep you out of trouble or embarrassment. And, your body was quietly taking notes:

  • “If I notice my flaws first, maybe no one can surprise me with them.”
  • “If I keep improving, maybe they’ll finally be proud of me.”
  • “If I look perfect, maybe no one will see what’s wrong underneath.”

T

hose notes don’t stay in a childhood journal. They become the tone of your inner world. So now, as an adult:

  • You automatically scan for what you did wrong in a conversation, project, or relationship.
  • You downplay your successes because you’re busy noticing what “could’ve been better.”
  • You feel a subtle dread around feedback, even when people are generally kind.


From the outside, it can look like high standards or self‑awareness. Meanwhile, your nervous system is still trying to prevent the sting of criticism or disappointment it remembers so well.


This doesn’t mean your childhood was all terrible or that someone was always bad to you, so let’s not feel bad about blaming someone. It simply means your emotional world was shaped in an environment where anticipating criticism felt safer than trusting your enough‑ness and your system hasn’t updated that setting yet.


A compassionate reframe/today’s plot twist: your inner critic as a defender

Maybe you remember the self-help book about turning your inner critic into your inner coach – great idea!  And I think it’s useful to appreciate your inner critic for all their effort to help you.


The plot twist is that like most of the little parts of ourselves that we think make us broken or wrong, are really just more evidence that part of you has been trying very hard to keep you safe.


Your inner critic might show up as:

  • Immediately seeing your flaws in photos, conversations, or work.
  • Interrupting compliments with “If they really knew me…” thoughts.
  • Reviewing your day by mentally highlighting everything you didn’t do.


Are those patterns painful? Yes. Are they understandable, given how your system lived and learned? Also yes. So then, with the new perspective:

  • Your inner critic might be a helpful protector that got confused about their job.
  • Your “never enough” loop might be an alarm system built to avoid shame, rejection, or being seen as “less than.”
  • Your self‑comparison is a survival strategy for belonging, not a moral flaw.


So you don’t have to keep listening to that voice as if it’s the final word and you don’t have to shame yourself for having it.

Instead of thinking, “Ugh, why am I so hard on myself?” you can begin to ask “Does it make sense that this voice would show up?”

That question is gentler and you have a options, right? What is you then said “Thank you for trying to protect me from criticism. Let’s see what it feels like to talk to myself differently.”


A simple 5 minute practice when the inner critic gets loud

This isn’t about silencing your inner critic with positive thinking. It’s a small, doable way to relate to it differently when it spikes.

Next time you catch yourself replaying what you did “wrong” or telling yourself you’re not enough, try this:


Step 1: Name what’s happening (with curiosity, not contempt)

  • “Something in me is reviewing everything I did today.”
  • “My inner critic really has the microphone right now.”

Even that shift from “I’m a terrible person” to “something in me is active” creates a bit of space.


Step 2: Find one sensation in your body

Ask:

  • “If this critical voice lived somewhere in my body, where would it be?”

You might notice:

  • Tightness across your chest.
  • A sinking feeling in your stomach.
  • Pressure on your shoulders.
  • A bunch of tiny cartoon creatures running in circles in your head.

You don’t have to decode it. Just notice.

 

Step 3: Give it one line of compassion

Speak to that sensation as if it were a younger part or a loyal watchdog:

  • “Of course you’re tense; you’re used to catching mistakes before anyone else does.”
  • “No wonder you’re bracing; criticism used to feel really big.”

You’re acknowledging that it has a history.


Step 4: Offer one tiny adjustment

Gently ask:

  • “Would it feel okay to soften by just 5%?”
  • “Would it feel okay if I let my shoulders drop a little?”

You’re not demanding silence. You’re inviting a small physical shift.

 

Step 5: Close with a more honest reassurance

Not fake sunshine, just a more balanced truth:

  • “You don’t have to catch everything that’s wrong with me; I’m allowed to be human.”
  • “Even if today wasn’t perfect, I’m still worthy of rest and kindness.”

That’s it – a few minutes, tops.


You haven’t erased decades of criticism, but you have related to that voice differently. Over time, these small moments of compassion teach your nervous system: “We can be safe without attacking ourselves first.”

 

How deeper work (like RIM) can help shift the “never enough” voice

Everyday practices like this are powerful, and sometimes your system is asking for deeper help. That’s where RIM (Regenerating Images in Memory) can be especially helpful for “never enough” stories.


Instead of only talking about your inner critic, RIM helps you step into an inner imaginal space and work directly with the emotional experiences that taught you:

  • “I’m only lovable when I’m impressive.”
  • “If I relax, I’ll be judged or rejected.”
  • “If I don’t criticize myself first, someone else will.”


You’re not re‑hashing painful moments just to suffer through them. You’re entering those scenes long enough to experience something new:

  • Being seen with warmth instead of criticism.
  • Having a voice and choice where you didn’t before.
  • Feeling accepted as “enough” even when imperfect.


Because your deeper emotional mind leads the way, you’re not forced to intellectually guess which moment “did it.”  Your body and inner imagery show us what needs attention, and we work together to let those younger parts of you finally receive the safety, validation, and worth they’ve been guarding so fiercely. Over time, that can soften the inner critic from a harsh judge into that inner coach and helpful advisor or retire it from the job entirely.

 

A gentle next step

If “never enough” has become the soundtrack of your life, you don’t have to argue with it alone or pretend you don’t hear it.


You can start with tiny check‑ins like the practice above. Notice how often your inner voice talks to you like old critics used to.

And, when you’re ready, explore deeper work that helps your system update the story it’s been living from.


When your emotions feel like too much and you’re tired of trying to “think your way out of it,” you don’t have to do this alone.

You can:


Either way, you’re welcome to bring all of you, big feelings included. 

When “Not Enough” Turns Into Perfectionism

(and why your standards keep moving the goalposts)

Perfectionism looks so respectable from the outside. And I’m all about looking respectable!


You’re conscientious, detail‑oriented, reliable. People say things like “You do that so well” and “I don’t know how you do it all.”

But from the inside, perfectionism doesn’t feel like a badge of honor. It’s more like a full‑time nagging critic in your head that just won’t stop.


In case you don’t see it already, this post is for you if:

  • You can’t hit “send” on an email without editing it five times.
  • You hesitate to start anything unless you’re sure you can do it “right.”
  • You finally finish something and immediately see everything you should’ve done better.
  • You worry about how others are going to judge your work.

And underneath all that? A familiar story: “If I don’t get it perfect, I’m not (good/smart/detailed/attentive/interested/committed/talented/educated/experienced/other) enough.” Feel free to read that sentence again and select all the options that apply.

 

What’s really going on underneath perfectionism

Perfectionism doesn’t show up out of nowhere one Tuesday because you love spreadsheets and tidy edges. It usually starts in rooms where “getting it right” wasn’t just appreciated, but was how you stayed safe, loved, and out of trouble.


Maybe you grew up with messages like:

  • “If you’re going to do it, do it right.”
  • “Why didn’t you get an A?”
  • “You know better than that.”
  • Or my favorite – someone took over the project and said “if I want something done right, I have to do it myself”.


Or maybe nobody said much at all. You just watched the adults around you:

  • Overwork themselves to prove their worth.
  • Hold impossible standards and then fall apart under them.
  • Withhold love or approval when things weren’t “good enough.”


When you’re little, you don’t think “Ah yes, my parents have unresolved perfectionism and shame. Let me now develop a trauma‑informed response.” You just feel what you feel and notice what seems to keep you safe.


Your body quietly takes notes:

  • “If I make mistakes, things go south fast.”
  • “If I get everything right, they’re nicer to me.”
  • “My value is in what I produce, not in who I am.”
  • “All the attention goes to those who do something better.”


Those notes don’t stay in a childhood diary. They become settings in your nervous system like a perfectionism filter you forgot you installed.

So now, as an adult:

  • You triple‑check everything because your system is convinced that mistakes equal danger.
  • You hesitate to try new things because the risk of “doing it wrong” feels bigger than the possibility of joy.
  • You struggle to rest, because some part of you believes that worth must be constantly earned.


From the outside, it looks great and earns praise, but on the inside, your nervous system is working overtime trying to avoid the shame, criticism, or withdrawal it remembers.


This doesn’t mean your childhood was all terrible or that someone has to be “the villain” because of your current situation. It simply means your emotional world developed in an environment where earning safety and love through performance made sense and your system hasn’t gotten the memo yet that you’re allowed to live differently now.

 

A compassionate reframe: perfectionism as a loyal protector

Plot twist – Contrary to what you might have believed for decades, perfectionism is not just “who you are”. What if it’s evidence that your system has been working overtime to keep you safe?


Perfectionism might show up as:

  • Over‑preparing for conversations, emails, or projects.
  • Avoiding decisions because you want the “perfect” one.
  • Feeling nauseous at the idea of disappointing someone.
  • Replaying mistakes on loop and deciding they say something terrible about you.


Are those patterns exhausting? Yes. Are they understandable, given what your system lived through and learned? Also yes.


Here are some possible alt perspective:

  • Your perfectionism is a survival strategy.
  • Your high standards are an alarm system built to keep you out of shame or rejection.
  • Your “never enough” loop is just an echo of times when love or safety felt conditional.


The good news is you can change all this more easily that you think, and you don’t have to fight or hate yourself while you’re changing.


Instead of thinking, “Why am I like this?” you can begin to ask “does it make sense that I’d do this, given what I’ve lived through?”


That question is kinder, more accurate, and far more useful. From there, you can start gently teaching your system new options:


“Thank you for trying to protect me. Let’s see what it feels like to try something different now.”

 

A simple 5–10 minute practice when perfectionism spikes

This isn’t a magic fix. It’s a small, doable way to relate differently to perfectionism in the moment, instead of letting it run the show.


Try this next time you are rewriting an email for the seventh time or avoiding starting something because it has to be “perfect”:


Step 1: Name what’s happening (without judging it)

  • “Something in me is really worried about getting this right.”
  • “My perfectionism is loud right now.”

That shift from “I’m ridiculous” to “something in me is worried” can create some much needed space.


Step 2: Find one sensation in your body

Ask yourself:

  • “If this perfectionism lived somewhere in my body, where would it be?”

You might notice:

  • Tightness in your chest.
  • Pressure in your throat.
  • Fluttering in your stomach.
  • Tension in your jaw or shoulders.

You don’t have to analyze it. Just notice:

  • “Okay, there’s a knot in my stomach.”
  • “My shoulders are up by my ears.”

Step 3: Give it one line of compassion

Talk to that sensation as if it were a younger, little you:

  • “No wonder you’re so tight right now; mistakes used to feel dangerous.”
  • “Of course you’re bracing—this reminds you of times you felt judged.”

You’re not trying to make it disappear. You’re offering acknowledgment.


Step 4: Offer one tiny choice

Gently ask:

  • “Would it feel okay to soften 5%?”
  • “Would it feel okay if I let my jaw drop just a little?”

You’re not forcing anything. You’re inviting a tiny experiment.


Step 5: Close with a simple reassurance

Something like:

  • “You don’t have to earn your value with this email.”
  • “If this isn’t perfect, we’re still okay. I’m here with you.”

That’s it. A few minutes. You haven’t perfected non-perfectionism yet, and yet you have related to it differently and that counts.


Over time, these small, compassionate check‑ins begin to add up. Your nervous system slowly learns: “Maybe we don’t have to treat every decision like a pass/fail exam.”

 

How deeper work (like RIM) can help transform perfectionism

Everyday practices like this are powerful, and sometimes your system is asking for deeper help.


That’s where RIM (Regenerating Images in Memory) can make a difference.

Instead of just talking about perfectionism, RIM helps you step into an inner “virtual reality” and work directly with the emotional memories that taught you:

  • “I must earn love.”
  • “I can’t make mistakes.”
  • “Who I am is less important than what I produce.”


You’re not re‑living painful moments for the sake of it. You’re entering those scenes long enough to experience something new: safety, voice, and unconditional worth in places where that wasn’t available before.


Because your deeper emotional mind leads the way, you’re not guessing what the “root cause” is. Your body and inner imagery show us where to go, and together we let those younger parts of you finally get what they needed.


If perfectionism has become the way you survive, RIM can help your system learn a different way to feel safe - one where enoughness isn’t something you constantly have to earn.

 

A gentle next step

If perfectionism has been running your schedule, your decisions, or your self‑worth, you don’t have to wrestle it alone or “fix” it overnight.


You can:

  • Start with the tiny body check‑ins above.
  • Notice when “not enough” hides inside your standards.
  • And, when you’re ready, explore deeper work to update the part of you that still believes perfection is the only path to safety.


And if you’re tired of trying to “think your way out of it,” you don’t have to do this alone. You can:


Either way, you’re welcome to bring all of you, big feelings included.

Transforming from “Not Enough”

The best education for me has always been experience. And with over fifty years of experience feeling “not enough,” I think I’ve had enough of not‑enough‑ness.


What astonishes me now is the quiet, humble relief of being the amazing, powerful, beautiful, magnificent, and perfectly human man that I am. Yes, I said that with great humility.


“Not enough” as an ego position

Contrary to what I used to believe, I’ve come to see that living in “not enoughness” is actually a very egoic position.

To be less‑than, or not enough, is to create separation from the magnificence we were born to be. I know we were each created perfectly. At some point, we separated from that sense of perfection.


If we look through a spiritual or even quantum lens, we’re reminded that in the deeper field, we’re all connected. It’s not just a nice idea that we are all one. So to experience ourselves as “not enough” is to experience ourselves as separate from all that is, from our own inherent worth, and from whatever word you use for the Sacred/Source/God/Intelligence of Life/Universe.


The thing is we’re not actually separate. That is impossible. No wonder I suffered so much!


For me, growing up Catholic in Ohio, I thought God was a jealous, demanding, needy old guy judging me from his magical place above the clouds, somewhere over Cleveland. I was taught to kneel before that power. To be less than. To accept my low place as a sinner at birth.


My default destiny was eternity in hell unless I somehow earned my way to heaven - which, by the way, was impossible for a gay boy, according to what I learned. I was taught that humiliation was the same thing as humility. I was taught to think of myself as separate.


I don’t blame my parents, preachers and teachers, I’m just saying that’s what my nervous system and belief system absorbed. It’s been over forty years since I left the church. I’ve come to love and appreciate many things about it, and I also continue to grow and learn differently.


A new understanding of humility

What I know now—as best as I can know anything, is that humility is not about shrinking or shaming yourself. Humility is giving up the concept of being separate. It’s trusting Spirit enough to know that I can safely surrender my compulsive need to prove that I am enough.


When we look at basic models of human needs, like Maslow’s hierarchy and later the Barrett Values Model, we see that our foundational level of needs is about having enough safety, money, health, etc. Next, we need to feel loved enough. Only then do we start paying attention to being “enough” in our third level of needs.


Our continuing evolution—through transformation into alignment, collaboration, and contribution, requires us to have enough of the basics to trust that we’re okay. When we don’t have enough to survive, it’s hard to believe we are enough in any way, shape, or form. So only when we know we are enough do we feel safe enough to surrender into not having to constantly chase being enough.


We are, in a deeper sense, already everything. (Don’t say that out loud in front of Sister Veronica of my childhood it won’t end well for you).

It takes humility to let go of being a separate special entity who is capable of not being enough. Only with the strength of this humility can we be one with everything, incapable of being anything less. The ultimate ego trip is to think you are so special that you alone are “not enough.”


You are.


What would it be like to accept that? You are enough whether you like it or not. Whether it feels comfortable, scary, exhilarating, freeing, or something else doesn’t change the truth. We are all enough.

And yes, I understand we have life experiences that convince us otherwise. Maybe it’s time to update those experiences - emotionally, in the way your body holds them - and adapt new thoughts that match your true enough‑ness. That is humility, not ego.


Ocean, fire, and the truth of what you are

Imagine taking a drop of water from the ocean and holding it in the palm of your hand. It would be correct to say this is ocean, right?

If the drop could speak, it could accurately say, “I am ocean.” It is not the entire ocean. It is no less than any other drop of ocean. It does not report to more powerful drops deep in the sea. It does not compare itself to prettier, smarter, or stronger drops. It just is.


My preferred metaphor, the one that showed up for me consistently for about six years before I finally set aside my fear and embraced it, is Fire. I am Fire.

I am not all Fire, and yet I am one with the essence of Fire. I need tending to and fuel, and I will eventually die. I can be extinguished.


I am powerful. I can be destructive. I can provide safety, protection, and warmth.

I can be the neutral witness to what wants to be shared, without judgment or reaction. I can receive and transform/transmute whatever wants to be given to me in the spirit of surrendering to the energy of the Fire.


I am all of that. I do not need to compare myself to the smoldering cigarette butt on the side of the road or to the sun.


I just am, and I am all I need to be.


Your metaphor, your enough‑ness

If you were to choose a metaphor, what beautiful, powerful, glorious (and maybe even a little scary) metaphor would you choose to represent you, or who you are becoming?


You are not your “not enough” story. That story was something you learned. It can also be something you unlearn, gently and with support.


If you’d like to explore how to change the emotional impact of the past and begin living from your true enough‑ness, I’d be honored to have that conversation with you.

You can book a free phone date or consultation, and together we can begin to discover who you are way beyond “not enough.” If you'd like to learn more about RIM (Regenerating Images in Memory), which is the primary modality I use to help client's transform their enoughness, click here.

 

Your emotions don’t just “show up.” They kick the door in.

One text, one tone of voice, and suddenly you’re flooded, shut down, or replaying the moment on loop.


You’ve probably tried to “just get over it.” But here’s the truth: your nervous system isn’t being dramatic—it’s trying to protect you, based on what it learned a long time ago.


This post is for you if your feelings feel bigger than everyone else’s and you’re tired of thinking that means something is wrong with you.

 

What’s really going on underneath (it’s not that you’re “too much”)

When your emotions feel like they kick the door in, it’s easy to assume the problem is you. You might think, “Other people don’t react like this. I must be too sensitive, too dramatic, too something.”


But your emotional intensity didn’t appear out of nowhere, one random Tuesday.

Your nervous system learned how to respond a long time ago—often in a house, a classroom, or a family where big feelings weren’t exactly welcomed with warm cookies and a hug.


Maybe you grew up hearing things like:

  • “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
  • “You’re overreacting/you’re too sensitive.”
  • “We don’t talk about that.”

Or maybe nobody said anything at all. You just watched the people around you explode, shut down, pretend everything was fine, or disappear emotionally when things got hard.


When you’re little, you don’t have a manual that says,

“Ah yes, my caregiver is emotionally unavailable, I shall now develop a complex coping strategy.” You just feel what you feel and notice what seems to get you connection—or what gets you in trouble.


Your body quietly takes notes: “Big feelings = danger.”

  • “If I show what I feel, I get punished, ignored, or laughed at.”
  • “If I swallow my feelings, people stick around.”


Those notes don’t stay in a childhood diary. They become automatic settings in your nervous system—like the default mode on a phone you forgot you set up.


So now, as an adult:

  • Your emotions surge quickly because your body is scanning for any hint of “this will hurt like it did back then.”
  • You might shut down because that used to be safer than being visible with your feelings.
  • You replay conversations because your younger self learned that “figuring out what you did wrong” might keep you from being hurt again.


From the outside, it can look like you’re “overreacting.” From the inside, your system is doing what it was wired to do: protect you from pain, rejection, or danger based on what it survived.


This doesn’t mean your childhood was all terrible or that someone has to be “the villain” for you to be struggling now. It simply means your emotional world was shaped in an environment where your nervous system had to work extra hard to feel safe and it hasn’t gotten the memo yet that you’re allowed to feel differently now.

In other words: your emotions aren’t trying to ruin your life. They’re trying (a bit clumsily) to keep you safe, using an old rulebook that no longer fits who you are or what you want.

 

A compassionate reframe: Your feelings as loyal protectors

Let’s pause and zoom out for a second. If you’ve spent your whole life feeling like your emotions are the problem, this may feel like a plot twist.

What if your big feelings aren’t proof that you’re broken? What is it’s evidence that your system has been working overtime to keep you safe?

The crying, the shutdown, the replaying conversations on loop - none of that is your failure.


It’s your nervous system saying, “I remember what happened last time. I refuse to let you go through that alone again.”

It might look like:

  • Flooding with emotion when someone raises their voice
  • Feeling panicky or ashamed after setting a tiny boundary
  • Having a “too big” reaction to cancellations, criticism, or silence

Are those reactions always convenient? No.

Are they understandable, given what your system lived through and learned? Absolutely.


Here’s the reframe:

  • Your intensity = a survival strategy.
  • Your sensitivity = an early warning system that was built to notice danger.
  • Your emotional “too much” = an echo of moments when you had to carry more than a child should have to carry.


That doesn’t mean you’re stuck with them exactly as they are forever.

It means you don’t have to fight yourself or shame yourself while you’re healing.

Instead of thinking, “What’s wrong with me?” you can begin to ask,

“Why does this reaction make sense in light of?”


That question is kinder, more accurate—and a lot more helpful.

And from there, you can start gently teaching your system new options:

“Thank you for protecting me.” “Let’s see what it feels like to do this a little differently now.”


5 Simple Steps in a few minutes when everything feels like too much

This isn’t a magic fix, but it is a small, doable way to start relating differently to your emotions when they’re loud.


Try this the next time your feelings kick the door in:

Step 1: Name what’s happening (without judging it)

  • “Something in me is really activated right now.”
  • “My emotions are having a lot to say.”

Even that small shift—from “I’m a mess” to “something in me is activated”—creates a bit of space.


Step 2: Find one sensation in your body

Ask yourself:

  • “If this feeling lived somewhere in my body, where would it be?”
  • You might notice tightness in your chest, heaviness in your stomach, pressure in your throat, buzzing in your hands.


You don’t have to analyze it. Just notice:

  • “Okay, there’s a knot in my chest.”
  • “My stomach feels heavy.”


Step 3: Give it one line of compassion

Talk to that sensation as if it were a younger part of you:

  • “No wonder you’re so tight right now.”
  • “Of course, you feel heavy—this reminds you of something old.”

You’re not trying to make it disappear. You’re offering acknowledgment.


Step 4: Offer one tiny choice

Gently ask:

  • “Would it feel okay to soften 5%?”
  • “Would it feel okay if I let my shoulders drop just a little?”

You’re not forcing anything. You’re inviting a small experiment.


Step 5: Close with a simple reassurance

Something like:

  • “I’m here with you. We’re not alone this time.”
  • “We can come back to this later if it’s too much right now.”


That’s it. 5–10 minutes, tops.


You haven’t “fixed” your whole life, and yet you have related to your emotions differently, and that matters. Over time, these tiny moments of presence and compassion begin to add up. Your nervous system slowly learns: “Maybe we don’t have to hit the emergency alarm every single time.”

 

How RIM can help when emotions feel like too much

Everyday practices like the one above are powerful - and sometimes your system is asking for deeper help. That’s where RIM (Regenerating Images in Memory) comes in.


Instead of just talking about your reactions, RIM helps you step into an inner “virtual reality” and work directly with the emotional memory that’s driving your overwhelm.


You’re not replaying old pain for the sake of it; you’re entering the scene long enough to experience a do‑over—where you have safety, voice, and agency in ways you never did at the time.


Because your deeper emotional mind leads the way, you’re not guessing what the “root cause” is. Your body and inner imagery show us where to go, and together we let that younger part of you finally get what it needed.


If you’d like to know more about how RIM works and how it’s different from other approaches, you can read the full explanation on RIM Sessions.

 

A gentle next step

If your emotions feel like too much and you’re tired of trying to “think your way out of it,” you don’t have to do this alone.

You can:

Either way, you’re welcome to bring all of you, big feelings included.