The Diagnosis Dilemma

A woman sits with a notebook and pen, listening to a man seated across from her in a bright, modern room.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the strange relationship we have with mental health diagnoses. We reach for them when we’re trying to make sense of ourselves, and often find relief from giving a name to our experience. But too easily, these labels and definitions can become identities. 

A clear diagnosis can be life-changing. An accurate diagnosis can be life-saving. But I think acceptance of these labels and their positive aspects should live alongside healthy skepticism of the diagnostic system itself. Considering diagnoses within the sociocultural context in which they’re derived can help us avoid turning these tools into weapons against ourselves.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM)—that thick clinical text that gives us our official mental health labels—is as politically influenced as it is clinical. Consider that homosexuality was listed as a mental disorder in the DSM until 1973. Responding to a strong push from LGBT+ activists, the council of psychiatrists that decide on  diagnosis voted for it to be removed.

This should remind us that what we consider disordered is always, at least in part, a reflection of who holds power and what serves the status quo. The DSM may offer us some sort of map, but we need to remember who drew it and what they were trying to preserve.

Is it psychosis, or is it a spiritual breakthrough that our culture has no container for?

Is it deep sensitivity moving through a world that demands numbness, or is it emotional instability?

Is it wide-eyed clarity seeing things as they actually are, or is it depression?

These aren’t rhetorical questions; they’re real distinctions that matter. Instead of being quick to pathologize, I wish we could instead get curious. Because the truth is, behind many DSM diagnoses, there’s a history of trauma—be it personal, historical, ancestral, or institutional. What we call illness may just be the manifestation of unintegrated pain revealing itself as “symptoms.”

Looking through a critical lens at the diagnostic system we’re meant to subscribe to really begs the question: Who is served when we pathologize our pain?

When we turn suffering into disorder—locating the problem inside the person rather than in their circumstances, their relationships, or the systems they’re trying to survive—what are we protecting? And who are we protecting it for?

The truth is, all human behavior exists on a spectrum. The difference between “normal” and “disordered” often comes down to degree, duration, and deviation from an imaginary standard of normalcy and health. A standard that’s based on a White, male, middle-class baseline of stability and privilege that many people never have access to. Anyone who doesn’t fit that standard gets diagnosed, labeled, Othered. Their reasonable responses to unreasonable circumstances get reframed as disorder.

So, what’s there to do with this awareness? My hope is that we’ll use it to start approaching diagnoses as tools for empowerment and self-advocacy, rather than self-definition.

A diagnosis can help you understand how you struggle. It can point you toward resources, connect you with others who share similar experiences, and help you communicate with care providers about the support you need. It can validate that what you’re experiencing is real. But it shouldn’t become who you are.

You are not your diagnosis. You are a whole person moving through a complex life, carrying histories both personal and collective, responding to a world that is often hostile to sensitivity, to difference, to the full spectrum of human experience. And that complex, extraordinary human experience could never be defined by a 5-digit code.

 

When Life Stops Making Sense

Elderly man in a suit and red tie wearing headphones, smiling with eyes closed, dancing with one arm raised against a plain background.

There are times in life when the ground beneath us shifts, and the things that once felt steady or certain suddenly stop making sense. When the certainties we once trusted in no longer apply, and the familiar meanings we’ve built our lives around begin to unravel, we find ourselves in a space that can feel both empty and full of possibility.

This is what I think of as a crisis of meaning—the crossroads where I so often meet the people I have the privilege to walk with in therapy.

Crises of meaning test the strength of the frameworks that help us understand who we are and why we’re here. They ask: What can you still hold onto when everything else feels uncertain? Sometimes, the answer is: nothing. Sometimes, bouncing back and rejoining life as usual is no longer an option.  

At their most useful, crises of meaning are portals. They break us open so we can grow into new, more expansive versions of ourselves. At their most damaging, they can cause us to collapse inward, disengaging from others, losing interest in what once mattered, or losing trust in life itself.

These crises don’t only emerge from catastrophe. They often arise through life’s natural turning points: aging, parenthood, loss, illness, or major decisions that alter our path. They can also appear quietly, when the life we’ve built no longer feels like our own.

I’ve lived through one myself. When I battled cancer a decade ago, while first building my practice, the meaning I’d built my life around began to crumble. I realized that I was being pressed to reexamine what I valued, how I worked, and what I gave my energy to. That experience reshaped the foundation of how I live and work today. Because of that crisis of meaning, I envisioned and then designed a more grounded, spacious, and integrated life. 

Over the years, I’ve gotten to walk with many people through their own similar transformations. There was the new mom who realized her high-paying executive job, once a marker of success, had begun to feel completely soulless. Her crisis of meaning pushed her to walk away from her career and build a life centered on what she found truly nourishing: her creative passions and her family.
There was also the middle-aged man, haunted for decades by his fear of dying, who had a near-death experience and emerged from it with a newfound peace. His crisis led him to get certified as a death doula, accompanying others at the end of life with compassion and grace.

Creating meaning is one of our most defining human capacities. We can’t help but interpret our experiences, weaving stories that help us understand who we are and what our lives are about. When the meaning that once steadied us no longer fits, we’re given a chance to look again—to revise the story with greater honesty and intention. That’s what makes these moments so profoundly transformative.

A crisis of meaning can be a rupture, yes; but it can also be a rebirth. It can serve as a reminder that meaning isn’t something we find out there; it’s something we continually create. We can learn to meet life’s unexpected turns with curiosity rather than resistance. And we can  recognize that when things stop making sense, it may be life’s way of calling us closer to what’s real.

The Real Cure for Loneliness

Two hands, one with lighter skin and one with darker skin, reach toward each other against a pastel sky background.

There are certain themes that tend to emerge, again and again, in the therapy room—universal, consistent topics that people share with me in the safe and sacred container that therapy provides. One of those themes, which I’ve noticed becoming increasingly more common, is loneliness.

Every day, I bear witness to the deep pain of feeling isolated in a highly connected world. This paradox—being surrounded by people and provided with endless opportunities to be constantly in touch, yet feeling profoundly alone—is something I encounter quite often. And, perhaps, that should come as no surprise. Loneliness, after all, is one of the quiet plagues of our culture. A riddle we must solve if we’re to progress, collectively, in a healthy and prosperous direction. But to begin solving it, we have to understand what’s at the heart of it.

Carl Jung once said that “loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.”These wise words get to the root of the issue: what we’re lacking isn’t connection—it’s honesty. It’s transparency. It’s an authentic way of relating to one another that helps us feel seen and understood. This isn’t a soft or sentimental matter; it’s a profound human need that we must learn to tend to.

Over the years, I’ve worked with countless individuals who are surrounded by people yet feel painfully isolated. Social media influencers with hundreds of thousands of followers who can’t name a single trusted friend. Social butterflies who can always be spotted surrounded by people, but who don’t feel truly seen or understood by any of them. Individuals with big families who can’t remember the last time they had a meaningful conversation. Their quiet confessions of feeling cut off from connection reveal the truth in Jung’s words. Their testimonies underscore that the cure for loneliness isn’t connecting with more people; it’s connecting more honestly and meaningfully with the right people (i.e., people who are willing to show up honestly and intentionally, too). 

Perhaps my favorite part of being a therapist is getting to keep authentic company with other human beings—to engage in the kind of real, honest connection that heals. Therapy isn’t a substitute for other relationships; it’s its own sacred relationship. A place to practice this kind of honest relating that, when carried out into the world, has transformative potential.

It isn’t easy to be ourselves in a world that’s constantly telling us who we’re supposed to be. It’s incredibly vulnerable—and, therefore, incredibly brave—to walk through the world authentically and make earnest attempts at connection. But if nearly 20 years of doing therapy have taught me anything, it’s that bringing ourselves to take these kinds of relational risks pays off tremendously. It’s a balm for loneliness, a salve for the sad and scary feeling of being unseen.

Because ultimately, we’re all just trying to be known.
To be met where we truly are, not where we pretend to be. When we dare to show ourselves honestly—to speak what matters, to listen deeply, and to stay present with one another in truth—we dissolve the illusion of separateness. We remember that we belong.

We’re All Just Walking Each Other Home

Two people sit facing each other with their hands pressed together, palms touching, in an authentic therapy session against a blurred green background with foliage patterns.

I’ve been feeling a lot of gratitude lately for having cut my teeth as a therapist in the world of addiction treatment. Before starting my own practice, I spent several years as a therapist and eventually Clinical Director at a treatment facility rooted in both Eastern spiritual traditions and Western existential therapies. It was an energetically potent place, and the years I spent there were intense and impactful.

I learned quickly that there could be no pretense with the clients I worked with there. With them, there was no hiding. I had to show up as my most genuine and centered self, because if I didn’t, they’d catch on instantly, and they wouldn’t give me—or the sessions I was scheduled to have with them—the time of day. It was intimidating to encounter such raw and sometimes rejecting energy every day. But even then, in the midst of that emotional intensity, I felt profound love and gratitude for those clients. They were honest, aware, often highly sensitive and intelligent people whose deep pain provoked deep honesty—and whose courage continues to inspire me. Their call to authenticity is one I’m fortunate to have followed.

The lessons I absorbed in those years have stayed with me ever since. I draw upon them daily. They taught me that good therapy isn’t about the theories or techniques I learned in school, but about the genuine human encounter. No posing. No patronizing. No pretending to have it all figured out. Instead: settling my body, dropping my walls, showing up in my humanness. Opening my mind and heart. Emptying myself of preconceived notions.

What’s been on my mind this month is how essential genuineness, honesty, mutual respect, and kindness are to my work. Above all, my goal as a therapist, coach, and guide is to bring my whole self to every encounter. From my radically honest clients in treatment, I learned to stop caring about whether I’d be liked or accepted. I’m not everyone’s flavor—and that’s ok. What matters is showing up with a whole heart—not as an expert, but as a fellow human—remembering, always, what Ram Dass said: that “we’re all just walking each other home.”

The more I trust myself as a professional and understand myself as a human, the more essential it feels for me to show up open and unguarded in the therapeutic exchange. To do that, I have to stop taking myself so seriously and remember that my job was never to teach, change, or fix. It was always to witness. To be fully present. To help carry. To offer space and grace. To walk alongside others navigating this life for the first time—never forgetting that I’m doing the very same thing.

And this, I think, is the gift of the work: it keeps me honest. It calls me back again and again to my own humanness, reminding me that what heals isn’t expertise, but presence. The same is true outside the therapy room, too—whether we’re guiding or being guided, teaching or learning, we’re really just meeting each other in our shared humanity. And when we can do that—show up real, tender, and true—we give each other the one thing we most need: the feeling that we aren’t alone.

 

Looking Beyond Labels: Why Diagnoses Don’t Always Help

a woman sitting on a bench in front of a cloudy sky.

Looking Beyond Labels: Why Diagnoses Don’t Always Help

 

If you’ve ever gone to see a therapist or psychiatrist, especially if it’s been covered by your insurance, you’ve likely received a mental health diagnosis. This type of diagnosis is derived from The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, or DSM. The manual, currently in its 5th edition, is intended to be a means by which mental health professionals can assess an individual’s functioning based on predetermined criteria that are decided upon by a council of medical and mental health professionals. At its best, the DSM offers professionals a way to understand their patients’ needs more clearly, in order to provide targeted and effective clinical care. But the truth is, this diagnostic system often doesn’t function at its best. 

 

Realistically speaking, every diagnosis in the DSM is a snapshot of normal human behavior at a certain degree of intensity and duration. Take Major Depressive Disorder, for example. To meet criteria, a person needs to exhibit at least 5 of 7 specific symptoms over the course of at least 2 weeks. These symptoms include insomnia, depressed mood, loss of interest or pleasure in most activities, poor concentration, and changes in appetite. The truth is, most of us have, at some point or another in our lives, exhibited these “symptoms.” Sure, we may not all go through several of those things at once, or for as long a period of time; but what’s described by that diagnosis is well within the spectrum of the typical human experience. 

 

What tends to happen far too often is that diagnoses become labels that serve as markers of identity. Professionals, if they aren’t mindful, think of their patients as disorders rather than people. They focus so much on symptoms and criteria that they fail to see the unique, dynamic, multidimensional human being in front of them. They fail to consider important and highly relevant factors such as context, culture, and environment; and, most unfortunately, they assume their patients’ experience and needs, rather than being curious about them. For people on the receiving end of these diagnoses, getting labeled as “depressed,” “anxious,” “bipolar,” “ADHD” or “borderline” can feel stigmatizing and damning. It’s not to say that people aren’t helped by getting a clear diagnosis; it can certainly be relieving to put a label on what you’ve been experiencing. But when that label starts to dictate how you see yourself and what you believe to be possible for your life, it’s a problem. 

 

At Evergreen, we take a non-pathologizing approach to therapy. This means that, though we’re knowledgeable about the DSM and have a firm understanding of diagnostic criteria, this isn’t what we lead with in our work with clients. We believe that each person who comes to therapy is a unique individual having a distinctive experience in a specific context. We don’t listen to find out what’s wrong with our clients; we join with them in a state of sincere curiosity about what’s been happening in their lives and what they desire for the future. We listen to identify their strengths and resources, and we collaborate to discover solutions. The way we see it, every diagnosis—just like every part of the human experience—can be broken down into separate pieces. So, instead of working on your depression, we’ll focus on your guilt and explore it in ways that offer clarity and relief. Instead of working on your anxiety disorder, we’ll look at the mental, emotional, and physical dimensions of the anxiety you’ve been experiencing. With that understanding, we’ll collaborate with you to design solutions that will help you feel more grounded and less overwhelmed. Our aim, with each client we meet, is to honor their unique experience and look beyond labels to create new possibilities.

Superego, Take a Seat

The field of psychology has come quite a long way since the time of Sigmund Freud. And though a great deal has changed over time, some of his ideas about human psychology have proved timeless. Take, for example, his model of the human psyche, which consists of three components. First there’s the id, the most primal aspect of ourselves, which contains our most basic instincts. Then there’s the superego, which serves as a moral conscience and operates from a rigid set of constructs about how we should conduct ourselves. Finally, there’s the ego, the reality-based part of ourselves that mediates between the id and superego’s extremes.

While the id is all about fulfilling pleasures and satisfying impulses, the superego drives us toward becoming the most idealized version of ourselves. Our superego is like a strict and rigid parental figure living inside our consciousness; its job is to use morality, pressure, and guilt to get us as close to perfect as possible. And all the while, the ego toggles between the two, trying to create harmony and guide us through life.

I’ve always appreciated the framework Freud laid out; it gives us a way to understand the seemingly disparate parts of ourselves. I, for one, find it incredibly useful to remember that my occasional impulse to dive headfirst into a chocolate cake is not a reflection of who I am, but rather a function of the id that constitutes just one part of me. Similarly, I take great comfort in reminding myself that I don’t need to follow all the demands of my relentless superego. Just as it wouldn’t be socially acceptable (or even safe) to follow the id’s every whim, it also wouldn’t be prudent to put the superego squarely in charge.

See, the superego operates according to a strict set of rules and expectations—a binary set of rights and wrongs, if you will. It deals in extremes and sees things in black and white terms, as either completely good or completely bad. Some of its most commonly used words include should, shouldn’t, must, and can’t. It’s nearly impossible to please. And though it serves a worthy purpose—to maintain our moral nature and keep us working toward a perfected version of ourselves—it can keep us rigid, restricted, and mired in guilt if we aren’t careful.

If you’ve ever worked with me in therapy, you know I’m always on the lookout for the superego’s traps. I commonly catch my clients in superego-driven rigidity and invite them to be more reasonable with themselves. This is not only vital to the therapeutic process, creating valuable space for us to be more flexible and forgiving, it’s also essential to our general wellbeing. It’s unreasonable—and often downright harmful—for us to hold ourselves to an inflexible metric of right and wrong. For starters, there’s ultimately no such thing as right or wrong. Reality is a wholly subjective experience, and each of us defines it differently. We all judge reality, including the rightness and wrongness of things, according to our own personal standards. What for some is acceptable, others find reprehensible.

The superego’s idea that there’s a perfect way to do things is simply unrealistic. More than that, it’s damaging. It sets us up to judge ourselves according to impossible standards and always feel like we’re falling short.

We spend our lives letting our superegos tell us what we should and shouldn’t do; we constantly make ourselves (and others, no doubt) right or wrong about everything. This takes a heavy toll on us. It keeps us from having a clear sense of what we want, since it’s hard to hear the voice of our true selves over the din of the superego’s demands. It prevents us from recognizing how free we are. With the guidance of the thoughtful, integrating ego, we can determine new standards for our behavior. We can think openly and flexibly about how we want to show up in the world, and give ourselves permission to be imperfect.

You can create a lot of powerful change in your life by developing a new relationship with your superego. Whenever you notice it dictating what you should think, say, or do, pause and take a moment to consider other possibilities. For example, if you’re facing a choice between two things, don’t let your superego decide which is right and which is wrong. Instead, explore other standards, and ask yourself different questions. Will what you choose be helpful or unhelpful? Will it have you in or out of alignment with your highest self? Will it be productive or unproductive? Will it promote freedom or constraint for you and the people around you?  Instead of letting your superego dictate what you should or shouldn’t do, ask yourself other, more useful questions. How will doing it make you feel?  How will it affect the people around you? Will it move you closer or further away from the life you most desire?

The more mindful and intentional we are, the more harmony we can create among the various parts of ourselves. We can learn from our instincts and be informed by our internalized rules, without being enslaved by either. We can flow more easily through our lives, trusting ourselves to make decisions that move us toward our highest potential. And, in maintaining this sense of internal harmony and self-awareness, we can let ourselves live both responsibly and freely, with a clear mind and an open heart.

I Don’t Know Any Crazy People

Since becoming a therapist, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been asked, “What’s it like to spend your day listening to crazy people?” Over time, I’ve learned to be grateful for this question, in spite of the initial reaction it always invites in me. I now see it as a valuable opportunity to share my perspective about my work and what it means to me. The response I give—which never lacks in sincerity, no matter how often I repeat it—is always the same: “Actually, I don’t know any crazy people.”

I mean it.

When I first got on the path toward becoming a therapist, I’ll admit that I believed I was signing on to spend my working hours keeping company with sick and crazy people in need of my help. I believed that with the knowledge I was gaining in school, I was going to have all the answers to teach, guide, and treat the people I encountered in my clinical practice. But as soon as I started working with actual clients, all the thinking that was guiding me got turned on its head. I realized very quickly that the people I was working with had much more to teach me than they could ever learn from me. Above all, the great lesson I learned in that early part of my career was that there’s really no such thing as a crazy person.

For all our many differences, we, humans, are having a shared existential experience; we’re all in this weird and wondrous adventure called life together. Sometimes that adventure gets terrifying; sometimes it’s more painful than we can handle; sometimes we get confused and can’t find our way; sometimes we struggle to connect; sometimes we get tired and need support to keep us going. What I’m getting at is that the stuff we tend to call “sick” and “crazy” is merely a reflection of the struggles inherent in our human existence.

Now, when I sit across from a client, I know that I’m sitting across from an equal. A companion. A teacher. A friend. I know that what they’re sharing—no matter how extreme it might appear from the limited perspective of others—is an expression of something that also lives in me. I acknowledge their pain, see their confusion, make contact with their fear; and as I do, I know that I’m witnessing the realities of life—no more, no less. No matter what my clients share with me, even when it’s radically atypical or marginal by our society’s standards, I hold the space and keep my mind and heart open. Because they aren’t sharing their crazy with me, they’re sharing their world with me. And their world matters. Their perspective matters. Their truth matters. Their lives matter.

My clients are my greatest teachers, and I’m more grateful for them than I can ever express. They show me how to stay curious, stay open, and keeping challenging my certainties. They inspire me to keep leaning in, no matter how scary or painful it can be to witness someone else’s story unfolding. They remind me that truth is always relative, and just because we believe something doesn’t make it true. If these people are crazy, I don’t want to be sane.

What I sometimes add to the response I offer when asked about what it’s like to spend my days with crazy people is that “I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.” And this is really, wholeheartedly my truth. I’ve learned more, expanded more, and challenged myself more through my encounters with clients than through any other experience I’ve had in my life. I’m regularly humbled and consistently awestruck by the work I get to do, and to call it work seems ridiculous, because it’s more of a gift than anything else. I feel fortunate to be in the presence of such giants on a regular basis. Through their vulnerability, their courage, their wisdom, and their grace, my clients teach me how to live. I only wish that everyone could see them, and each other, this way.

If what I’m saying resonates with you in any way, know that don’t have to be a therapist to access the spirit of what I’m sharing. All you have to do is hold space for the people around you, and regard them with curiosity rather than certainty. Challenge your perspectives, and question everything you feel right about. Ask questions, and be present to the answers. Know that everyone on the planet knows at least one thing you don’t. Don’t settle for surface understandings. And never, ever let your heart close.

Meditation and Mental Health—Part 4

It’s time for part four of the five-part series I’ve been exploring on meditation and mental health. So far, I’ve made the case for how meditation can support us by influencing how we relate to our thoughts, our emotions, and the people in our lives. This time, I want to examine the role that meditation plays in supporting our physical health. You see, a healthy body is associated with a healthy mind. That’s because our minds and our bodies are connected; the health of one influences and is influenced by the health of the other. Through our meditation practice, we come to understand and access the mind-body connection in ways that foster and expand our mental health.

One way to define meditation is as a committed practice of transforming the mind and connecting with the body. Through the practice, we learn to consciously follow the bridge of our breath, guiding our attention into the body and connecting with ourselves. Every time we find ourselves getting distracted or lost in our thoughts, we come back into our bodies and anchor our attention in the present moment. This not only serves us during our formal practice, it also aids us in every other area of our lives. Because the more practiced we are at bridging the connection between mind and body, the more aware of our physical selves we become.

With the awareness of meditation practice comes the capacity to mindfully choose how we treat our physical bodies. We start to think more carefully and be more intentional about the foods we eat, the beverages we drink, and the products we put into or onto our bodies. When our bodies are fueled and fortified in ways that support our physical health, we think more clearly, engage in higher levels of productivity, attend to our needs more efficiently, sustain higher levels of energy, and feel more alive. Improved mental health, in this way, becomes a natural byproduct of physical health—and meditation is one way to get us there.

The mindfulness we cultivate through a regular meditation practice gives us the ability to keep an ongoing awareness of our physical bodies. It enables us to be in contact with our hunger cues, so we know when it’s time to eat. It encourages us to eat and drink slowly, so we enjoy the process and realize when we’ve had enough. It let us tune into our intrinsic wisdom, choosing to eat what our bodies need instead of what our minds crave. All of this serves to reinforce the mind-body connection, thereby increasing our self-awareness, self-care, physical wellness, and mental health.

When we learn to connect with the breath and the body, we start to expand what’s physically possible for us. This is something yogis have known for centuries, which is no surprise, considering yoga is ultimately a moving form of meditation. Not only can we reach new levels of physical fitness through the foundations of meditation, we can also become highly intuitive about how we move our bodies. We can listen to the messages our bodies are sending, so we know when it’s time to be active and when it’s time to rest. We know when it’s a good idea to roll on some lavender oil and take an Epsom salt bath, or when a good old doctor’s visit is in order. To be this aware, this connected, requires ongoing attention. It’s a skill that we develop through practice, over time.

One of the coolest things about meditation is that there are endless ways we can use it to support our bodies and sharpen our minds. For example, many swimmers, basketball players, gymnasts, and runners regularly engage in visualization meditation to improve their performance. That’s because studies have shown that athletes who use visualization meditation to imagine themselves performing a certain physical activity improve as much as—or, in some cases, more than—athletes who practice actually performing the activity. How’s that for a testament to the mind-body connection?

Whether your physical health goals include losing weight, overcoming panic attacks, expanding your yoga practice, changing your physique, adopting a cleaner diet, cutting back your alcohol consumption, improving your athletic performance, reducing the intensity of chronic aches and pains, or just generally feeling more connected to your body, meditation practice can support you—and you get to enjoy the fun bonus prize of enhanced mental health!

As long as we’re enjoying this human experience, we’ll do so within the vessels of our beautiful, remarkable, wise, and resilient bodies. It’s a worthy activity, then, to connect with those bodies and treat them with love and respect. Meditation, which gives us entry to the present moment and guides our awareness within, is a gift we give ourselves in the service of our health. I invite you to begin exploring your mind-body connection through meditation, yoga, and any other practices that call to you. And I look forward to coming back to you soon with the final installment of this series!

Meditation and Mental Health – Part 2

a person sitting in a pile of hay.

Hi, everyone. I’m back for the second installment of this five-article series I’ve developed to uncover some of the most valuable ways that meditation can support our mental health. In the last installment, I described how meditation supports the way we relate to our thoughts. (If you missed that article, you can check it out here.) Next, I’ll explore the unique relationship between meditation and emotional health.

As it turns out, meditation and mindfulness can valuably aid us in developing an enhanced relationship with our emotions. They do this in two particular ways. First, they help us learn how to identify rather than identify with our emotions. Second, they help us more effectively regulate our emotions and self-soothe. These are critical skills that, when practiced regularly, can have a meaningful—even life-changing—impact on our emotional health. And it all starts with the fine-tuned awareness that mindfulness and meditation help us cultivate.

As I’ve already mentioned, meditation and mindfulness help us learn how to identify our emotions, rather than identifying with them. This happens as a function of our ability to notice what we’re experiencing in the moment. When we practice meditation and mindfulness, we connect to our experience in the here-and-now, noticing what’s bubbling up within us. We experience our emotions in real time, witnessing their arrival and watching them move through us. This turns out to be a really useful skill—one that can change the way we relate to emotionally charged experiences. You see, research shows that people who can identify their emotions are more capable of coping with them than people who aren’t aware of what they’re feeling. The more understanding we have of our emotional experience, the more effectively we can manage it. When we know what we’re feeling, we’re more capable of being with that feeling and responding to it in ways that support our mental health.

This experience of identifying our emotions is quite different from the experience of identifying with our emotions—something that’s painfully familiar to most of us. Let me use an example to clarify the distinction. Imagine that you’re driving along the highway on your way to work, and another vehicle cuts in front of you unexpectedly. You have to slam on your brakes to avoid a collision, and your treasured morning coffee takes a spill as a result. Instinctively and immediately, anger arises within you. It courses through your body and stirs up a stream of anger-inspired thoughts. You become angry. You are angry. There’s no distinction between the anger and you; you’re identified with the emotion, and it’s taken over your experience. In that moment, your identification with anger might have you react in particular ways. You might curse loudly, scream obscenities, decide that your day is now ruined, or even attempt to seek revenge against the offending driver. With anger in the driver’s seat of your experience, you might say or do a number of things that you might later regret.

When we’re identified with and consumed by an emotion, our thinking is clouded and our actions are limited. We’re in full-on reaction mode, without much consideration for consequences. This is where identifying with our emotions can get dicey—dangerous, even. Where meditation and mindfulness step in and support us is by allowing us to experience our emotions without becoming consumed by them. When we’re present to our in-the-moment experience (a skill we develop through committed and consistent practice), we can lengthen the space between action and reaction. We can deliberately respond to our experiences with a sense of clarity, instead of emotionally reacting based on impulse. When we learn to identify our emotions through meditation and mindfulness, we can notice what we’re feeling, let ourselves experience it, and then intentionally settle ourselves before responding. This challenging practice is remarkably empowering; it can allow us to more masterfully navigate through our lives and manage everything that comes at us.

Meditation and mindfulness have another significant impact on our emotional health: they improve our capacity to manage and regulate what we’re feeling. There’s a common phrase among therapists that you’ve got to feel it to heal it, and there’s a lot of wisdom in that. Denying, resisting, and suppressing emotions is a recipe for disaster. When we refuse to face our emotions, we wreak havoc on our mental, emotional, and physical health. But as I stated earlier, allowing our emotions to consume us is equally unproductive and unhealthy. So how do develop a relationship with our emotions that allows us to feel them without becoming attached to them? Well, that’s where mindfulness and meditation come in. You see, these practices expand our ability to manage our emotions, regulate their expression, and soothe ourselves when we become distressed. But how do they do it?

When we practice meditation and mindfulness, we get present to our experience in the moment. We notice our emotions as they’re coming up, and we allow ourselves to feel them without impulsively reacting to them. We get familiar with the sensations in our bodies associated with certain emotions, and we learn to sit with the discomfort of feeling what we’d rather not feel. This is a remarkably useful practice—one that allows us to more capably manage our emotions. The capacity to self-soothe—in other words, to work through our own difficult emotions and calm ourselves down instead of relying on outside sources (other people, food, substances, etc.) to do it for us—is an important marker of mental health. The more we practice it, the better we become at it; and the better we are at self-soothing, the more capable we are of managing ourselves under even the most difficult of circumstances.

We humans are extraordinarily complex emotional creatures, and our ability to understand what we’re feeling is one of our most adaptive and advantageous features. As you journey through your own meditation and mindfulness practice, consider how you can increase your emotional attunement, thus improving your ability to identify your emotions and self-soothe. Though practice may never make perfect, in this case, it will most certainly boost your mental health and allow you to move through life with more mastery and grace.

I’ll be back soon with the next installment of this five-part series. Be well until then!

Ask a Therapist: How Can I Build My Self-Confidence?

a person's hand holding a green leaf in the woods.

Self-confidence, a cornerstone of personal and professional success, is a theme that comes up often in therapy. Undeniably, the way we feel about ourselves significantly influences how we navigate through our lives. When we lack self-confidence, we have a hard time developing solid, mutually supportive relationships with others and doing what it takes to achieve our goals. It stands to reason, then, that building more self-confidence is a worthwhile pursuit that can support a more fulfilling life. While there are many ways to go about doing this, here are a few that I’ve found to be particularly effective. 

Challenge your self-defeating beliefs. Perhaps unsurprisingly, limiting beliefs are at the core of most self-confidence struggles. From an early age, we all adopt certain beliefs about ourselves that significantly influence how capable and worthy we feel.  Many of us have formed certain self-defeating beliefs that keep us feeling small and limit our capacity to reach our potential. The best way to identify these beliefs is by noticing the thoughts that stem from them. For example, thoughts like, “I never get anything right” or “I’m just not meant to have a healthy, loving relationship” reflect core beliefs about being unworthy or unlovable. Catching belief-derived thoughts and challenging them on the spot is a crucial step in breaking down self-imposed barriers and building more self-confidence.

Pay attention to your surroundings. For a variety of reasons, humans are highly influenced by their environment and the relationships they participate in; and when it comes to self-confidence, this is especially true. If you’re surrounded by people who don’t see or bring out the best in you, you’re not likely to feel good about yourself. On the contrary, it can be incredibly affirming to have relationships with people who hold you to your highest and encourage you to be the best version of yourself. If you think you could stand to feel more confident, look around and make sure your surroundings are supportive.

Prioritize self-care. It’s no secret: When we’re well taken care of, we tend to feel good. And who better to take care of you than you yourself? One of the best ways to boost your self-confidence is to make self-care a priority. Eat foods that nourish your body and give you energy; engage in regular physical exercise to boost your mood; carve out time every week (or every day, if you’re able) to do things you love; pamper yourself in ways that make you feel good about yourself; be intentional about how you spend your time. However you go about it, make sure self-care is an integral part of your routine; because the more cared for you are, the more confident you’ll feel.

Stop comparing. Theodore Roosevelt once famously said that “comparison is the thief of joy.” Well, as it turns out, it’s the thief of self-confidence, too. In our increasingly interconnected world, we get plenty of opportunities to compare ourselves with others and feel like we’re falling short. When we measure what we know about our lives against what we assume about others’, we set ourselves up to feel deflated and defeated. We rob ourselves of the confidence that comes from knowing that we are enough. If you want to build yourself up, spend less time looking around and more time looking within. Base your sense of self-worth on internally designed standards so that nobody else’s appearances or accomplishments can rob you of it.

 Be purpose-driven. Setting and achieving goals is one of the most fulfilling and self-affirming things we can do. There’s something about deciding upon something and seeing it through that builds a sense of self-confidence and self-esteem. Even seemingly small goals, like preparing a meal or making a request at work, can make a big impact. If you’re ready to start feeling better about yourself, start getting intentional about the way you live. Get committed to designing a life that reveals a sense of purpose, and watch your self-confidence soar.

Life can be pretty challenging, but living without self-confidence can make it downright unbearable. If you struggle to feel a sense of self-worth that goes beyond what simple strategies like these can address, reach out to the support that’s available to you. You are worth it.