Once upon a time, in a suburb not so far away, lived a woman named Brooke. Brooke used to think being chill was her superpower. She was laid-back. Easygoing and cool under pressure. She wore “go with the flow” like armor—low maintenance, high maturity.

Brooke genuinely believed that not needing much made her helpful. Thoughtful. Evolved, even. She took pride in how self-aware she was, how good she'd become at anticipating what people needed before they asked. She didn’t recognize it as self-abandonment, because it didn’t feel like suppression—it felt like a skill.

It starts small. You say what’s true. Or at least, you try - but it doesn’t land right.

The pause afterward feels too long. They squint. Tilt their head. They respond to the tone instead of the content. And suddenly you’re on your back foot, scrambling to clarify a feeling that was clear before you spoke it out loud.

You tell yourself you’re confused. That if you could just figure it out—run the numbers, weigh the options, script the perfect conversation where no one gets hurt—you’d finally land on clarity. And once you had that? The decision would make itself.

But if we’re being honest? You already have clarity. You’re just scared shitless of what it means.

Not because you’re lazy. Not because you’re indecisive. And definitely not because you’re broken. You’re avoiding the truth you already know—because once you say it out loud, something has to change. And that’s the part that terrifies you.

You knew marriage would be work. You expected hard conversations. “Compromise”. The constant recalibration that happens when two adults are learning how to stay connected while managing groceries, gut health, and generational trauma - never mind dodging Legos. You even braced for seasons of disconnection—because you’re realistic like that.

But what you’re feeling now? The second-guessing, over-analyzing, and soul-numbing depletion? You didn’t see that coming - and you shouldn’t have.

Some women leave their marriage and exhale for the first time in years. The weight lifts. They feel lighter, freer—like they finally have their life back. But others leave and still feel stuck. Just as exhausted. Just as resentful. Just as unsure of themselves as they were before they walked away.

And you?

You know you should set boundaries. The internet won’t shut up about it.

But every time you try, some part of you shrinks, like you just committed a felony.

Anger looks the antagonist in your story - but that's just because you haven't had your Chapter 54 moment.

As an IFS Therapist, I watched Inside Out 2 like a documentary. Pixar captured what IFS therapy reveals: every emotion, even the messy ones, has a role. Here’s why true harmony means giving all your parts a voice—and what Riley’s story teaches us about integration.

Ever find yourself thinking, “What the hell is wrong with me?” Of course you do. And don’t get me wrong - you’re quick to get off that thought train because who knows where it might lead. But damn if it doesn’t crop up every time you promise yourself you won’t open that bottle of wine tonight. You had a glass last night, after all, and you’re trying to cut back. But it’s been a day, and before you know it, you’re two and a half glasses deep into that bottle of Meiomi Pinot Noir, folding laundry when the guilt and doubt starts to creep in. “Why can’t I just keep this one promise to myself? Maybe I don’t have as much control as I thought.”