I originally planned to share this message back on 12/21/24—the night I wrote it, preceding a beautiful solstice ceremony held by my long-time yoga teacher and mentor. Something strong stirred in me that evening, and I felt a gentle nudge to share it. Why? I’m still not quite sure. But, that’s where I’m at. Finding a dose of trust in not-needing-to-know, or understand, every little thing—Realizing that sometimes, life’s soothing balm may just be to simply show up, and see where the river might lead.
This newsletter is meant to be a wild, free-flowing space—an unfiltered sanctuary for reflections, inquiries, curiosities, and fascinations with life and the human experience. I don’t know exactly where it will lead us, but I do know we’ll deep dive into personal and collective thoughts, psychologies, emotions, dreams, and fears. Into growth and seasons of change. Into the beauties, revelations, and discomforts that come with all of it.
For now, here we are, sitting with an archived stream of thought from 12/21. For some reason, it feels aligned to share it now. Spring is soon to arrive, and I find myself observing this quiet emergence of seeds that were planted months ago…
And so, here it is:
12/21/24 the winter solstice
I’m not sure if it’s my empathic Pisces sun and moon, my upbringing, or a bit of both, but it seriously feels like I was born a people-pleaser. I can’t pinpoint an exact moment when I learned the ways of the people-pleaser, but I do know three things:
I was raised to believe that family is everything—and I mean everything.
I was taught to always do the right thing.
(Inadvertently) It was always best not to rock the boat—to be a good girl, whatever that means.
Over time, my sense of internal peace (or at least where my nervous system got used to hanging out) became tied to making sure everyone else was happy—happy with themselves, their lives, and most importantly, happy with me.
I was reminded of this recently when my boyfriend brought up something from early in our relationship. I had been trying to communicate a feeling that was unfamiliar to me, and it came out as: "I feel bad for having a boyfriend." What I really meant was that I felt bad for doing something purely for myself—for my own happiness. It meant less time with my family, and I carried guilt for it. I felt guilty for spending nights on end in Brooklyn, so I’d rush home to see them. Then, I’d feel bad for leaving my boyfriend, so I’d rush back to him. See the loop? Trying to be everything for everyone, all the time.
One of the hardest truths I’ve had to face this year is that I will never fully, truly make someone else happy—not even the people I love most. No matter how much I do, or how much I try, people will still experience their own emotions, their own stories. And most of the time, it has nothing to do with me.
For years, I knew intellectually that I wasn’t responsible for anyone else’s pain or suffering. But emotionally? No way!! To experience this truth in real life hurt. It took me taking action—doing something I knew would disappoint someone—to fully learn this lesson in my body. Moving out of my childhood home—my biggest fear—brought up unconscious thoughts, patterns, and feelings, leading to some of the deepest grief and fear I had ever experienced.
But beneath it all, there was a small flame of individual liberation flickering inside me. And that warmth carried me forward.
I’m still in the process of disentangling myself from things that were never mine to carry. I’ve begun to see, with greater clarity, how deep relational enmeshments shaped a life that didn’t feel entirely true to me—or at the very least, didn’t feel expansive, full of life, or open to limitless possibility. My choices were often made from a limited frame of mind, driven by a need to ensure that everyone else was happy with me and supportive of my decisions.
A question from my therapist comes to mind: “If you don’t feel 100% supported by someone else, how can YOU fully support yourself?”
Looking back over the past year, I see a slow, strange, messy awakening—an unraveling and a rebirth. A shedding of an old, dead skin, its last remnants still falling away. At the core, I realize that this “people-pleaser” was never ME. I am an individual. I have sovereignty, power, authority—over my own thoughts, values, and decisions. Over my joy, my peace, and how I support myself. And I now understand deeper than ever why I must live in alignment with my heart: because the longer I didn’t, the more disconnected I felt—from myself, and from everyone around me. Because how can you feel deeply connected to others if you don’t feel deeply connected to yourself? How can you expect others to truly know, respect, and support you if you don’t first know and support yourself? Every relationship begins with the one you have with yourself.
On this winter solstice, I sit surrounded by candlelight, the warm glow of my Christmas tree filling my very first apartment. I sit on the floor in front of my fireplace, listening to music enter through my east village window. I feel as though I’ve crossed a very important bridge.
I surely don’t have it all figured out—but like my best friend once told me, every time you choose yourself, it gets easier.
And for the first time, it feels like I am really living my life, for me.
X,
Julia