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A client—I’ll call her Sarah—came to me recently feeling crushed. She had planned a lunch with her best friend, looking forward to catching up after months of busy schedules. Her friend arrived 30 minutes late, spent most of the time on her phone, and seemed distracted when Sarah tried to share something important. 

Sarah felt sick inside; her body tensed and her heart raced. She felt invisible and told me, “If she really cared about me, she would know how much I needed this. She should have made time to really listen.”

I recognized that ache. In my work as a life coach, I sit with people in these tender moments all the time. But I also know it from my own life—navigating relationships while managing chronic illness has taught me about disappointment when someone who matters doesn’t show up the way I hoped.

It’s Not Just About Romantic Love

This pain shows up everywhere. A friend who doesn’t call back. A sibling who forgets something important. A spouse who seems emotionally distant. A grown child who’s too busy to visit. These relationships matter deeply to us, especially as we move through different life stages. When they disappoint, it can feel just as painful as any other rejection—sometimes more so, because we’ve invested years into these connections.

The Expectations We Don’t Say Out Loud

Sarah believed that if her friend truly valued their friendship, she would naturally understand how important this lunch was. But I gently pointed out: people show care differently. Her friend may express friendship through practical help or occasional check-ins, while Sarah craved deep, focused conversation. Neither approach is wrong—they’re just different ways of being there.

This doesn’t mean Sarah’s needs are unreasonable. It means her unspoken expectations were creating a painful distance between two people who both valued the friendship but didn’t understand each other (or themselves) well enough.

Disappointment Touches Older Wounds

As we talked, Sarah realized this wasn’t just about one lunch. Her friend’s distraction touched an old fear that she wasn’t interesting enough, that people would always find something more important than really listening to her. A childhood experience of feeling overlooked or dismissed had left its mark. This moment reopened that wound. 

Before reacting, I encouraged her to ask herself:

What did I hope would happen?

What did their behaviour mean to me?

What feeling has this brought up?

What do I need most right now?

These questions helped Sarah understand her disappointment so she could respond from clarity rather than raw hurt.

“They Should Know” Leaves Us Alone

Sarah had been holding onto “If she really cared about me, she would know.” She wanted to feel seen by someone whose friendship mattered deeply to her. Yet even caring people cannot always read what’s in our hearts.

It was difficult for her to ask directly for what she needed. She feared appearing demanding or too needy. But I reminded her that clear communication isn’t a burden—it gives the other person a genuine opportunity to understand.

Communicating Without Blame

When we’re upset, accusations often make people defensive. I helped Sarah focus on her experience rather than attacking the person. Try this pattern: When this happened, I felt this way. What I need is this. Could we try this instead?

For example: “When you were on your phone during our lunch, I felt dismissed. I understand you have a lot going on, but I need some uninterrupted time. Could we try putting our phones away when we meet?”

This doesn’t guarantee the response we want, but it allows us to communicate with dignity and clarity.

Not Every Relationship Can Be Fixed

Sometimes, despite our best communication, the other person cannot or will not meet us where we are. A friend may not have the capacity for the closeness we want. A family member may be too entrenched in old patterns.

That doesn’t mean you failed. It means you’ve learned something important about what this relationship can offer—and what it cannot. You get to decide what you’re willing to accept and invest your energy where it’s more likely to be received.

You Deserve to Be Heard

Disappointment in relationships is inevitable. Even people who care about us deeply will misunderstand or fall short at times.

The goal isn’t to eliminate all disappointment. It’s to meet it with greater self-awareness, clearer communication, and respect for our own needs.

You deserve relationships where you don’t have to hide your feelings or continually convince someone that your needs matter. And you deserve to offer yourself the same compassion you hope to receive from others.

What’s one expectation you’ve been holding that might need a gentler approach?

Why People-Pleasing Can Lead to Resentment

Most of us want to be kind. We want to be helpful, thoughtful, and supportive of the people we love. There is nothing wrong with giving freely when it comes from the heart.

But sometimes, in trying so hard to keep others comfortable, we begin to lose touch with ourselves. We say yes when we really mean no. We stay quiet because we don’t want to disappoint anyone. We take on more than we have the energy for, and tell ourselves we‘ll be fine. 

At first, this can feel like the easier path. It may seem simpler to go along, avoid tension, and keep the peace. But over time, something in us may begin to feel tired, overlooked, or quietly hurt. Resentment often grows in those small moments when we keep putting our own needs aside. 

Resentment Often Builds Slowly

We may resent someone for asking too much, even though we never said we were overwhelmed. We may feel unappreciated, even though we kept saying, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” We may wish others could somehow know what it’s costing us, while never quite saying it out loud ourselves. 

That doesn’t mean we should judge ourselves. It simply means there may be something in us that needs attention and care. Sometimes resentment is a sign that we have been giving from guilt instead of true willingness. Sometimes it shows us where fear is hiding underneath — fear of rejection, fear of conflict, fear of being left out or left alone. 

Kindness Without Losing Yourself

And still, kindness doesn’t require self-abandonment. You can care deeply for someone and still need space. You can love someone and still say, “I’m not able to do that.” You can be generous without carrying responsibility for everyone else’s happiness. 

This is where authenticity begins. It’s not about perfection. It’s about honesty. It’s about letting your outer life match what is true inside. It’s about pausing long enough to ask, “What do I really feel?” “What do I need?” and “What can I genuinely give?” 

A Gentle Beginning

That honesty can feel tender at first. Some people may need time to adjust if they are used to your yes. But the relationships that are good for you will make room for your truth. 

You don’t have to change everything at once. You can begin with one honest pause. The next time resentment rises, ask what it may be trying to tell you. 

You’re allowed to care for others without leaving yourself behind. You’re allowed to say no with kindness. You’re allowed to have needs, preferences, and limits. And you are allowed to live more truthfully, with compassion for yourself. 

Resentment is often the voice of the self we have silenced. Authenticity begins when we are willing to listen. 

When your feelings, opinions, or instincts are repeatedly dismissed, minimized, or controlled, it does something quiet but powerful to your sense of self. Over time, you may find yourself second-guessing your memory, doubting your gut feelings, or apologizing for needs that are completely reasonable.

Many women I work with describe this phase as feeling “unhinged” from themselves. They know something is wrong, but they no longer trust their own judgment about what it is. 

This is not a personal failing. It is a common response to repeated invalidation and emotional control. 

Why self-trust gets damaged

Self-trust grows when your perceptions and emotions are treated as meaningful. It weakens when they are consistently questioned, re-framed, or punished by someone else. 

In a controlling or emotionally hurtful relationship, you may learn that:

Your “no” is not respected.

Your feelings are called “too much” or “dramatic.”

Your memory is challenged until you start believing you must be wrong.

Your boundaries are treated as attacks.

Over time, your nervous system learns that clarity is not safe. It becomes easier to override your own signals than to risk conflict, dismissal, or rejection. 

What rebuilding self-trust actually involves

Rebuilding self-trust is less about becoming more confident overnight and more about relearning that your inner signals are worth listening to. It is a process of creating internal safety so your perceptions can emerge without being instantly criticized or shut down. 

1. Slow down and notice before you decide

After being dismissed or controlled, many women rush to make decisions to keep the peace or avoid conflict. Slowing down helps you notice what you actually feel before you react.

Try this:

Pause before answering a request.

Notice your body: tight chest, clenched jaw, shallow breath, or a sense of relief.

Ask yourself gently: “What do I feel right now?” not “What should I do?”

You are not trying to fix anything yet. You are simply relearning that your internal signals matter.

2. Practice micro-decisions

Self-trust is rebuilt through small, repeated experiences of choosing yourself. These do not need to be big or dramatic.

Examples:

Deciding what you want for dinner without checking with anyone first.

Choosing how to spend a quiet hour based on what feels nourishing.

Saying “I’ll think about it” instead of automatically agreeing.

Each small decision is evidence for your brain that your preferences are valid and that nothing catastrophic happens when you honour them. 

3. Validate your feelings instead of questioning them

When you have been told your feelings are “too much,” it is common to turn that voice inward. Rebuilding self-trust means interrupting that pattern.

Instead of:

“I shouldn’t feel this way.”

Try:

“Of course I feel this way. This makes sense given what I’ve been through.”

Validation does not mean you must act on every feeling. It means you stop treating your feelings as enemies or proof that you are “broken”.

4. Notice the difference between old danger and present safety

Your nervous system may still respond as if you are in the same dangerous environment, even when you are no longer there. This can show up as fear of speaking up, guilt about boundaries, or an urge to explain yourself excessively.

When you feel that surge of fear or guilt, you can gently remind yourself:

“This feeling makes sense. I learned to be careful.”

“I am not in that same situation anymore.”

“I am allowed to choose what feels right for me now.”

This is not about forcing yourself to “just get over it.” It is about creating space between past conditioning and present choice. 

5. Let support be part of your healing

Self-trust does not mean doing everything alone. In fact, supportive relationships are often where self-trust begins to return.

This can look like:

Talking with a trusted friend who listens without fixing.

Working with a coach or therapist who respects your pace and boundaries.

Joining a group where your experiences are believed and normalized.

Being seen and believed by others helps you start to believe yourself.

A gentle reminder

If you have been dismissed, controlled, or deeply hurt, it is normal to struggle with self-trust. Your doubt is not weakness; it is an adaptation to an environment where your inner signals were not safe to follow.

Healing is not about becoming a different person. It is about helping the woman you already are feel safe enough to come back forward—one small choice, one validated feeling, one honoured boundary at a time.

Do you ever feel anxious when you have guests over? Even when you’re happy to see people, hosting can be a lot. It can be hard to relax and be present when your mind is busy watching everyone else’s needs, and family visits can be especially complicated because they often bring their own mix of history, expectations, and emotions. 

I’m so happy some of my children and grandchildren are coming to visit. I have not seen them in person for a long time, and because they live far away, this visit feels especially precious to me. The children are still very young, and I’ve been looking forward to having real time with them at last.

But I also know this is going to be hard for me in some ways. I won’t be able to do all the things I wish I could do. I won’t be cooking big meals, picking up after everyone, or going out with them much. Most of my time with them will be at home. And if I’m honest, that brings up a lot for me.

I want everything to feel easy and comfortable for them. And when I know I can’t do all that, guilt can creep in. I think so many of us know that feeling. We want to give more than our body or our circumstances allow, and then we end up feeling like we are somehow falling short.

But I’m trying to remind myself that love is not measured by how much I can do. Sometimes love is just about being there, paying attention, listening, laughing, and making the most of the time we do have.

That is what I am trying to hold onto right now.

I may not be able to host the way I would like. I may need to rest more and do less. I may need to let things be a little messy or unfinished. But that does not mean this visit will not matter. In some ways, it may matter even more because I am learning to let go of the idea that everything has to be perfect.

There is something freeing about that. And something tender too.

Maybe this is what presence really means. Not doing everything. Not performing. Not pushing past our limits. Just showing up as we are, with love, and letting that be enough.

If you are facing a family visit this summer, or any time when your heart wants more than your body can give, I hope you will be gentle with yourself. You do not have to do everything for the moment to be meaningful. You do not have to be perfect to be present.

Sometimes presence is the gift.

Over the last 34 years, I’ve had my share of bizarre symptoms—some intrusive but manageable, some temporary, and some terrifying.

But these last few months have taken me somewhere I never expected. And that’s saying a lot when you live with MS.

They say the gut is the second brain. There’s growing evidence connecting digestion to multiple sclerosis—an interruption of signalling between the brain and body. But knowing that intellectually is very different from living it.

I developed SIBO—small intestine bacterial overgrowth—which is not uncommon in MS. Left untreated, it can seriously disrupt the gut. In my case, it was mistreated, and the inflammation became overwhelming. I reached a point where I couldn’t digest anything. It was terrifying. I had to stop eating and lost twenty pounds.

With the help of a wonderful healthcare practitioner, my gut has finally stabilized, and I’ve begun reintroducing foods. It’s a slow process—possibly six months or more. Right now, I still can’t tolerate fats, starches, or sugars. No garlic, no onion—none of the foods I’ve enjoyed my whole life.

Twelve years ago, Stephen and I made major changes to our diet. We eliminated gluten, sugar, dairy, and most grains, and focused on vegetables, greens, and organic proteins. It was labor-intensive, but it gave me more energy and reduced inflammation. It felt like we were doing everything right.

But when the communication between the brain and the gut breaks down, everything can unravel.

This journey has taught me so much about my body. I chose not to take pharmaceutical drugs, and for the most part, I’ve maintained a good quality of life, even with reduced mobility. But MS has a way of reminding you that you’re not fully in control.

And this time, it shook me.

I think what I’m really talking about is uncertainty—and how to live with it.

I’m used to being the support person. This time, I needed more support than I ever have. The experience felt traumatic. I’ve had to slow down, breathe more, meditate more, and actively seek reassurance just to get through the daily discomfort, the fear, and the setbacks.

I just want my life back.

And yet, I know I wouldn’t have made it through this without the support of my husband and my healthcare practitioner.

Sometimes, being strong means letting yourself be held.

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Have you ever felt like this? Feel free to share.

I’m angry, and I don’t like it. In fact, just writing these words stirs the anger up again. Anger has always been my default emotion when things go off course. The good news is that I can recognize it, name it, and acknowledge it. The harder part—these days at least—is learning to let it go.

And no, being a life coach doesn’t make me immune to it. I’m not a superhero. I’m also a citizen, a mother, a friend, a human being. Lately, I find myself shaken by politics, by climate change, and most of all by the sheer disrespect, lack of integrity, and outright dangerous behavior displayed so openly in the world. Watching democratic institutions break down, seeing good people erased or ignored—anger doesn’t even feel like a strong enough word.

The Connection Between Anger and Fear

Where there is anger, there is also fear. Fear that life won’t return to balance. Fear that ignorance, denial, and conspiracy will continue to replace fact and science. Fear that dangerous leaders will keep holding power—unchecked, unchallenged, even supported by the very systems meant to guard against abuse.

Some people tell me, “You’re in Canada, don’t worry about it.” But politics doesn’t stop at borders. When values of truth, fairness, and respect are eroded anywhere, those ripples cross oceans.

The Weight of Knowing

It often feels like too much information, too much heartbreak—scandals, cover-ups, evidence of injustice ignored for decades. And yet, turning away doesn’t seem like an option. When people tell me they don’t know what’s happening, I feel even more unsettled. Pretending everything is fine while the world falls apart is no solution.

If we love our children and grandchildren—present or future—how can we ignore what kind of world they will inherit? They deserve clean air. They deserve freedoms that cannot be stripped away. They deserve a world where they feel safe and valued.

Finding Hope in Action

So yes, this may sound heavy, but realism is necessary. That doesn’t mean we stay stuck in despair. It means we channel it toward action. When I think about the next generation, I don’t just think about fear—I think about love. Love for the children and for their children, even those not yet born. That love can motivate us to act:

• To speak up in our communities
• To support leaders who stand for fairness and integrity
• To live our values in our homes and neighborhoods
• To show courage, compassion, and resilience in the smallest daily choices

Becoming active in some way—whether by volunteering, voting, mentoring, donating, or even simply having honest conversations—will not only make a difference in the world but will also shift how we feel inside. Action creates hope.

Leading With Love

Maybe anger will always come first for me, but that doesn’t mean it has to be the last word. I choose to believe that underneath the rage, grief, and fear, there is still love, and that love can guide us. If we let it fuel our energy for the greater good, then perhaps the heavy weight of anger can transform into something lighter, more sustainable, and more powerful.

Because our children—and their children—are worth it.

Have you ever felt like you need to distance yourself from a friend or relative because of political or ideological differences? How are you handling it?

Over the last four years a few family members revealed that they no longer shared our moderate worldview. They now embrace conspiracy theories and a groupthink of moral outrage while putting their faith in a convicted gas lighter— former president DT, and they’re Canadian! My heart sank. What caused this dramatic shift from openly caring for others to being so closed and angry?

Narrow-minded thinking is not new to my family. Growing up I saw how uncomfortable, even callous some older relatives behaved around gay family members. But this I can understand. As the children of middle eastern immigrants, male and female roles were clearly defined, there was no place for ‘outsiders’ that might threaten the balance of the community to which they belonged.

Reflecting on these experiences including heated conversations with my father who preached the values of integrity and respect ad nauseum, I realize that their intolerance was FEAR. He was brought up to fear God, fear oppressors and invaders, fear others who didn’t belong to the tribe. Fear was a powerful motivator to protect cohesion of family and community.

So is fear of not-belonging the catalyst that incited their core beliefs?

Maybe. It happens all the time. Fear of isolation often drives people to seek belonging even if it means aligning with ideologies they once rejected. They may change religions or political affiliations to satisfy a basic need we all have for companionship, acceptance, love and belonging.

When my dad died mom was only 56. Without him by her side she became an outsider in the community. Gradually her ‘close’ friends stopped calling. Her greatest fear was to grow old alone and so a few years later she met and settled for a controlling bully for a partner. Nobody liked him which isolated her even more. She may not have been alone physically but I know she was very lonely, often saying that he was ‘better than nothing’ or ‘ find me someone else’. After he passed, I never saw her mourn.

I feel guilt because I’m staying away right now. After too many stressful conversations, I want to figure out how to socialize while ignoring the massive elephant in the room.

People tell me to just not talk about politics but it’s more than politics, it’s about fundamental core values vs unscientific conspiracy theories, hate speech vs respectful debate. Hard to ignore.

This is a difficult subject even for a life coach. It’s hard to acknowledge that sometimes communication is not always possible.

Have you faced similar challenges with family or friends? How do you balance maintaining relationships with staying true to your values?

While these challenges are complex, perhaps by sharing our experiences and strategies, we can find ways to bridge these divides without compromising our core values.

Living with a disability can be a challenging and life-altering experience. For almost three decades, I’ve navigated the world of mobility aids, a journey that began when I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS) at the age of 32. Did you know that in 2017, 2.7 million Canadians, or 1 in 10 individuals aged 15 and over, had a mobility disability? I was taken aback by this statistic. This is the story of how I faced the fear of stigma and the prospect of losing my identity and independence, only to eventually embrace the devices that now enable me to lead a fulfilling life.

The Early Struggles

My journey began during a period of personal transition. As a divorced mother of three, I returned to university. It was then that I first noticed my legs feeling heavy and tingling, causing me to fall unexpectedly. The unpredictability of these falls haunted me. One day Stephen and I were crossing the street when I fell down right in the middle of the road. It was the first time I noticed that turning my head quickly (in this case to check for traffic) caused me to lose balance. I was shocked and humiliated. Every day, I grappled with the fear of losing my ability to raise my children, maintain independence and a secure happy future. My quality of life was rapidly declining.

Discovering Mobility Aids:

My path to regaining independence began with the simple use of a cane. At first, I was self-conscious, but with time, I not only made peace with it but also had fun with it, thanks to the various styles and colors available. As my condition progressed and driving became challenging, I learned to use hand controls—an initially daunting prospect that I eventually mastered.

As I needed more stability, I adopted a wheelie walker. Though I was hesitant at first, it soon became clear that these aids were far more valuable than the negative perceptions I had initially held. They enabled me to continue doing things on my own terms. Today I drive myself wherever I want, take the walker from the car and off I go.

Empowering Through Knowledge

I came to understand the power of knowledge. Through exploring various options such as trekking poles for better posture and energy conservation, I greatly improved my quality of life. Diet and exercise also played a significant role in slowing the progression of my condition. I learned that it is essential to listen to your body and conduct thorough research, not relying on a single source, not even your doctor.

Breaking the Stigma and taking control

Early on, I felt shame and helplessness when using mobility devices, often subjected to unfair judgment from others. However, by openly discussing my experiences, I contributed to breaking the stigma around disability. One memorable day at Costco turned into a learning experience for both me and those around me. I even shared this experience in a blog post linked here

Today, I’m grateful for the mobility aids that empower me to do many things, from traveling to spending time with my grandkids. I take pride in setting an example for others facing similar challenges.

If you find yourself struggling with mobility issues, I encourage you to pay attention to your body and consult various medical professionals. Knowledge is indeed power, and by becoming well-informed about all your options, you can determine the best course of action for yourself.

Accepting the Wheelchair

My greatest fear has become a reality, as I now need a wheelchair on many occasions. However, research led me to an affordable, lightweight power chair that I can pick up, giving me the independence to go wherever I please.

Surprisingly, I’m looking forward to having this option.

Embracing change and processing emotions is how we grow in confidence and build resilience. It’s an essential part of the life coaching process as well. While we can’t always control what happens to us, we can choose our response. I choose to embrace my life despite the challenges, as there’s still so much more in store.

Join the Conversation:

I’d love to hear about your experiences and tips in the comments section. If you’d like to chat, feel free to email me to book a complimentary discovery call.

My journey with mobility aids has been transformative. I’ve transitioned from avoiding them out of fear and shame to embracing them because they’ve empowered me to lead a fulfilling life. Through the knowledge I gained from others and the process of overcoming self-doubt and fear, I’ve found the strength to live life on my terms. My wish is for you to do the same.

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