“I’ve been good,” you say, as you reach for the chocolate donut.

It’s something we say when we make the choice to eat off protocol.

This thinking won’t serve you, because it suggests eating off protocol is “bad.”

When we think we’re doing something “bad” we feel shame.

When we feel shame, we want to cover up the discomfort of shame with false pleasure.

And false pleasure comes from food that isn’t on protocol.

Then we reach for another chocolate donut.

Do you reward yourself with food that doesn’t serve your body? If so, schedule a mini-session with me and let’s talk about options. See you there.

I have a relationship with Maya Angelou. I’ve never met her, but I love her deeply. I think about her often – with appreciation and gratitude for sharing her beautiful mind with me when I need inspiration and strength.

I have a close friend who means the world to me. I haven’t seen him for four years, and we connect briefly over text 1-2 times a year, even though we only live a 30 minute drive apart. He’s one of the best friends I’ve ever known. I have a meaningful relationship with him.

I have a family member who hasn’t spoken to me in two years for reasons I don’t understand. I love him for all he is – as a father and brother and husband. I have nothing but loving and compassionate thoughts for him. I choose to have an amazing relationship with him.

It is entirely possible to have any kind of relationship you want. With anyone you want. It doesn’t take their participation.

It only takes you. And your thoughts. And your feelings.

And that is such good news.

I was looking at my grass this morning. It’s half brown, but there’s a little green left.

My thoughts immediately went to: Maybe I should buy sod and hire a landscaper. Put a new lawn over the half dead lawn.

It’s better to cover my dead grass, than work on figuring out what was going on that caused the demise of the lawn.

Or is it?

I could put more sod over it, and I’d be right back where I am next year – with dead grass.

Or I could do the work to identify what was keeping my lawn from being green.

The truth is, when I filled in the dead spots last spring, I didn’t put down new soil so the seeds could root. And I didn’t water the lawn regularly over the summer (and we had a hot one here in California).

It takes more effort to address the cause of the dead grass – there’s both the financial investment of buying quality soil, and the time investment of putting the soil down, then planting the seeds in a way that they will produce a thick, rich, green lawn.

Do I skip over the root of the problem and cover it with more of the same – only to have to face the problem again next year? Or do I dig in and do the work it will take to prep the foundation and put in strong roots?

This is the choice we have.

Do we just keep piling more crap onto the lawn to cover up the dead grass, or do we nurture the soil, water it regularly, and allow it to thrive?

I’ve had the same couch for 15 years. It’s old and weathered from years being lived on. It’s missing the fluff from one of the arms where the dog joyfully ripped it up. It’s got tears and scratches.

It’s the couch’s fault I stopped inviting people over.

It wasn’t that it wasn’t comfy. It was.

I thought it said something about me. It said: I can’t afford nice things. I’m ‘less-than’ the other families who have couches that are in good shape. And even more painful: I’m not enough.

But those thoughts weren’t the couch’s fault. They were my brain’s fault.

The couch is just a couch.

My thoughts were making the couch mean something.

I had the money to buy a new couch, but I chose not to do it – not just yet. Because I realized I needed to work through those sneaky thoughts in my mind – about what people might think of me if they saw my couch.

I started to invite people over. I didn’t even call attention to the couch. Just smiled and enjoyed their company. Sometimes someone would ask about the couch (like I mentioned, it’s in pretty bad shape). And I’d just smile and say, “Yep. That’s my couch.”

Eventually, the couch no longer bothered me. I would even take moments to think about all the things that couch has seen. It started at my former in-law’s beach house – and it saw countless Weir family gatherings. Then it came to our family as a hand-me-down, and it was such a blessing because we weren’t in a financial position to buy a new couch. It gave me a comfortable place to sit while my sons nursed. It absorbed my tears when my stepdad died. It withstood countless nerf gun attacks. It was the critical foundation of pillow forts. It’s held me through countless heartbreaks.

I could have replaced it years ago. But I waited until I stopped making it mean something about me.

This week, I bought a new couch. The old one is leaving my house today. It’s served me well. And gave me one final gift: It taught me to never leave something until you love it.

Goodbye, old friend, and thank you.

We all care, on some level, about what other people think about us.

And that’s normal. Dating back to our cavewoman days, when alienation from our tribe meant death by saber tooth tiger or starvation, we humans have always craved acceptance as a core need.

Here’s the truth.

It’s none of our business what other people think about us.

It isn’t.

Other people get to think whatever they want. About anything. Maybe they’re wrong about us. It’s ok for them to be wrong about us. 100%.

Here’s the good news about this.

We get to think whatever we want about ourselves.

And that, friends, is true power and mental freedom from judgement.