Eastwind Psychotherapy

A theme that came up again and again in sessions this week was esteem.

Not confidence. Not self-improvement. Esteem.

Many of us don’t actually have a clear picture of what healthy esteem looks like because we grew up believing our worth depended on performance, achievement, approval, or getting things “right.”

Relational Life Therapy founder Terry Real describes healthy esteem as seeing yourself as a perfectly flawed human being, no better and no worse than anyone else.

I love that definition.

It means you can forget something important, lose your temper, make a mistake, disappoint someone, or handle a situation poorly and still remain fundamentally okay.

You don’t have to tumble into shame.

You don’t have to tell yourself you’re broken, stupid, selfish, lazy, failing, or not enough.

And you don’t have to jump up into grandiosity either, where you defend against those painful feelings by convincing yourself you’re right, superior, or beyond reproach.

I’ve noticed that many people can identify exactly where they fall short, but struggle to identify what they do well. It’s almost as though the inner critic has a microphone while the rest of the self is speaking from the back row.

Healthy esteem lives somewhere in the middle.

It’s the ability to look honestly at yourself and say, “Yep, I could have handled that better,” while still keeping yourself in warm regard.

Maybe sometimes self-care is refusing to become your own worst enemy when you’ve had a hard day. Maybe it’s speaking to yourself with the same humanity you would offer someone you love.

As you move through the rest of your weekend, I’m curious:

When you make a mistake, where do you tend to go first: shame, grandiosity, or something closer to self-compassion?

Sometimes the ache comes because things are going well.

This week, my children left for opposite coasts of the country, each heading toward their own lives, people, experiences, and adventures. And while there is so much pride in that, there has also been sadness quietly moving alongside it.

I think some of the hardest transitions to tend to are the “good” ones.

The ones we’re grateful for.

The ones we wanted for them.

The ones that mean growth, independence, and becoming.

Because if we do our jobs well as parents, our children slowly build lives that need us differently.

And that can ache.

Not because something is wrong.

Not because we regret loving them so deeply.

But because love and letting go have always lived close together.

Self-care this week has looked less like productivity and more like gentleness. Quiet moments. Long walks. Letting myself feel the grief that can exist alongside gratitude without trying to talk myself out of it.

Sometimes we need care not only during crises, but during beautiful transitions too.

Especially then.

I think a lot of people have quietly learned to tie their worth to their usefulness.

To productivity.

To caregiving.

To being dependable.

To being the one who keeps everything moving, no matter how tired they are.

And because those qualities are often praised and rewarded, it can be hard to recognize when self-esteem has slowly become performance-based.

I see this often in therapy. People who are incredibly capable and high functioning on the outside, but who feel guilty when they rest. Anxious when they slow down. Unsure of who they are when they are not actively achieving, helping, fixing, or managing something.

Over time, exhaustion can start to feel normal. Even meaningful.

But healthy self-esteem is different.

It doesn’t disappear when your productivity changes.

It isn’t dependent on how useful you are to other people.

And it remains intact even in seasons where you have less capacity, less energy, or less to give.

Maybe self-care this Sunday is not about doing more.

Maybe it’s about noticing how often you’ve felt the need to earn your worth.

Ten years ago this week, the father of my children moved out of our home.

Ten years.

Ten years of being the one who stayed up when a teen still wasn’t home.

The one figuring out how to pay for the school trip and a failed hot water tank in the same month.

The one making the decisions, carrying the fear, signing the forms, shovelling the driveway, managing the holidays, sitting alone after everyone went to bed, wondering if I was doing any of it right.

Some years nearly broke me.

There were stretches where I was so deep in grief and exhaustion that I barely recognized myself. I lost people I thought would stay. I made decisions I regret. I questioned myself constantly.

That’s the thing people don’t always say about divorce or separation:

The grief doesn’t end when the relationship does.

You grieve the life you thought you were building.

You grieve having someone beside you.

You grieve family traditions that never happen.

You grieve the version of yourself who thought things would turn out differently.

And the hard part is that life keeps moving while you’re grieving it.

Kids still need lunches packed.

Bills still show up.

The dog still needs out.

People still expect you to function.

If you’re in the middle of it right now, stop trying to be “good” at it.

You’re not supposed to glide through this gracefully.

Find a couple safe people.

Drink some water.

Eat something.

Go outside for ten minutes.

Get off the internet when the noise gets too loud.

Protect your peace where you can.

You do not need to turn your suffering into a lesson or a transformation story while you’re still in it.

But I will say this:

Somewhere in these last ten years, underneath all the grief and survival and rebuilding, I found parts of myself I had lost trying to keep everything together.

And that has mattered too.

This might be uncomfortable to hear, but I don’t believe motherhood should require a woman to disappear.

And yet, that’s often the expectation.

We’ve created a culture where being a “good mom” is tied to selflessness; where her needs come last, her identity narrows, and her worth becomes measured by how much she gives.

I sit with mothers who feel guilty for looking forward to going back to work.
Who hide the fact that they rested or read a book during the day.
Who question whether wanting time alone means they’re doing something wrong.

That guilt is not accidental. It’s learned.

And it’s everywhere.

But here’s what I see in the work:
Children don’t benefit from mothers who lose themselves.
Relationships don’t thrive when one person carries it all.
And women are not meant to exist solely in service of others.

You are allowed to have needs.
You are allowed to take up space.
You are allowed to be a whole person and a mother.

This isn’t about doing less for your children.
It’s about not abandoning yourself in the process of loving them.

So today, maybe the question is:
Where have you learned that your needs matter less, and is that something you still want to carry?

It’s easy to see what someone else is doing wrong in a relationship…
and much harder to notice our own part.

Not because we’re avoiding it, but because when something hurts, our attention naturally turns outward.

If they could just…
listen differently, respond differently, be different…

But relationships don’t shift from the outside in.
They shift from the inside out.

When we move into reactivity, defensiveness, or shutdown, even with good intentions, we often end up pushing the other person further away.

The shift begins with awareness.
Not blame.
Not over-responsibility.

Just noticing:
How am I showing up right now?
What energy am I bringing into this moment?
Because while we can’t control the other person, we can influence the dynamic by how we show up.

So this week, what are you bringing into your relationships?

April 24th is a date that holds a lot for me.

Five years ago, my daughter survived a su***de attempt.

Today, she is here. She is growing, thriving, becoming more of herself every day. And still, this anniversary carries a mix of emotions that don’t neatly resolve: grief, gratitude, regret, relief. They coexist.

If you’ve ever had more than one feeling at the same time, you may recognize this. Two (or more) truths can live side by side:
Something painful happened.
Something meaningful continued.
Something was lost.
Something was saved.

Through my own healing, and in my work as a therapist, I’ve come to understand that different parts of us can feel very different things at once. There isn’t one “right” way to feel on days like this.

So this Self-Care Sunday is a gentle invitation:

To notice what’s coming up, without needing to change it.
To pay attention to the parts of you that feel heavy, and the parts that feel grateful or relieved.
To ease off the pressure to make your experience neat or easy to explain.

You don’t have to choose just one feeling.

If today (or any day) feels layered or tender, see if you can meet yourself with a bit more curiosity than judgment.

There is room for all of it.

“Should” is a funny little word.

And if I’m honest, it’s one I’ve grown a bit allergic to over time.

“I should do this.”

“I shouldn’t feel that.”

“I should be better at this by now.”

It sounds small … but it carries a lot.

When we “should” on ourselves, it often brings pressure, judgment, and a quiet sense that we’re somehow getting it wrong. It pulls us out of curiosity and into criticism.

And when others “should” on us, it can carry the message, subtle or not, that they know what’s best for us, sometimes without really knowing us at all.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about “shoulds” a little differently.

What if a “should” is actually a decision point?

Instead of:

“I should do this…”

What if we asked:

Do I want to do this?

Does this align with who I am or what I need right now?

And sometimes:

Is this even my “should”… or does it belong to someone else?

Not every “should” is wrong. Some reflect values we care about.

But when they go unquestioned, they can quietly shape a life that feels more obligated than chosen.

This week, maybe just notice your “shoulds.”

Not to fix them. Not to fight them.

Just to get curious.

There might be more choice there than it first appears.