Why does heartbreak still feel so intense, even months after the relationship is over? Why does it leave you feeling like the ground has shifted beneath you?

A lot of people find themselves wondering, “It’s not like someone died, so why does it hurt this much?”

Trigger warnings are everywhere. University lectures, Netflix dramas, social media captions: “The following content may trigger emotional distress.”

And research reflects this growing presence. A study with German university students found 40% had seen peers demand trigger warnings, and 58% had encountered them in lectures.

In 2015, author and educator Parker Palmer delivered a powerful commencement address at Naropa University—a speech I highly recommend watching if you haven’t already. 

Among his six pieces of advice to the graduates, his final point stood out for me: 

We’ve all heard it: “Just accept them as they are!” It’s as if love demands we either embrace every quirk or secretly wish they'd change their more... frustrating traits. But real love doesn’t live at either extreme. Acceptance and expectations for change can co-exist.

Comparison is present in pretty much everyone’s life. If you’ve ever watched someone crush a work presentation and wondered why you don’t have it all together, scrolled through social media and felt some inadequacy, overheard someone mention their salary at a family gathering and felt a bit of envy, or been inspired by a friend’s effortless workout routine, welcome to being human.

When I was a grad student, I was terrified to start my first therapy sessions under supervision. The idea of sitting across from someone in pain and trying to help—effectively and ethically—felt like being thrown into deep water without a life vest.

After one particularly disheartening session, I was convinced I wasn’t cut out for this profession.

I’ve had so many conversations about giving up with friends, family, and students. Years ago, even mentioning it carried a stigma. It wasn’t something you admitted you wanted out loud let alone doing it. But lately, people are speaking more openly about their urge to give up. Sometimes it’s a job, a relationship, a habit, or the clutter piling up in the house. And sometimes, it’s life itself.

People change but that change can come with fear. People begin to unlearn old habits and experiment with new ways of being. They start responding to problems differently, forming deeper connections, and making decisions with greater intention. But as they step into this new version of themselves, they also find it unsettling, even terrifying.

Nobody wants to suffer, yet somehow, we find ourselves in the same painful situations over and over again. We repeatedly fall into relationships that mirror old wounds, sabotage our own progress, invite unnecessary hardship, replay past traumatic experiences, or instinctively shy away from happiness.

In The Dyer’s Hand and Other Essays, poet Wystan Hugh Auden offers an interesting perspective on self-criticism:

To keep his errors down to a minimum, the internal Censor to whom a poet submits his work in progress should be a Censorate.

Growth isn’t a new idea. For the ancient Greeks, especially Aristotle, it was the foundation of living a good life. Aristotle’s concept of eudaimonia—often translated as flourishing—was about living in harmony with your highest virtues. Similarly, Confucius' theory of self-cultivation emphasises that individual…

We’ve created a world where we push away what makes us most human. Emotions are dismissed as inconvenient. Vulnerability is twisted into weakness. Detachment from others is glorified. Independence has become a badge of honour, as if needing no one is the ultimate measure of success.

Anger is a tricky emotion. It can fire us up to stand our ground, right a wrong, or push for change. But it can also take over, leaving us drained, regretful, or stuck in a cycle of resentment.

In one entry from her Journal of a Solitude, published in 1973, poet and writer May Sarton wrote:

Resentment doesn’t announce itself loudly. It lingers beneath the surface, showing up indirectly: in a passive-aggressive text, an awkward silence after a sharp joke, a harsh remark disguised as feedback, or the quiet frustration of watching someone do what you never allow yourself to.

Growth and healing get all the spotlight—empowering, life-changing, thrilling. But here’s the part no one puts on an inspirational poster: it’s lonely too.

It’s the kind of loneliness where you feel alienated because the people around you resist, reject, or even criticise your changes.

What wouldn’t we do out of boredom? In 2019, a story went viral about a security guard in Wisconsin working the night shift at a Bath & Body Works. Out of sheer boredom, he decided to handcuff himself, just for the thrill of it.
The problem? He had left the key at home. The night ended with an embarrassed call to the police.

Sometimes, we act in ways that others quickly label as “illogical” or an “overreaction,” but not all seemingly irrational behaviour is as senseless as it appears.

Think about how often we interpret others' negative actions as being directed at us, even when they aren't.

After a recent parent-teacher meeting, a friend of mine called me, clearly anxious. Her son’s teacher described him as relaxed, sociable, and well-mannered, but at home, she often saw him withdrawn and irritable. She worried she might be dealing with a mini Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—like her son was leading a double life. “Should I be concerned?” she asked.

One of the bittersweet realities of growing up was coming to terms with the fact that my parents didn’t give me everything I needed as a kid, and that they probably never would.

It’s bittersweet because while seeing the gaps left by unmet needs hurts, there’s also a sense of relief in letting go of impossible expectations.

Imagine you have a magic wand, and with it, two choices: you can either use it to fight against the bad—things like violence and crime—or to nurture the good, like harmony and peace. Which would you choose?