Centered Philosophy

You Don't Have to Lose Yourself to Love the People You Love

There is something I have been thinking about lately.

Sometimes the people we love come home, and even when we are happy to have them there, our entire rhythm changes.

I am experiencing that right now.

My son is home, and I love him. I have missed him. I am grateful to have him back.

And yet, if I am being completely honest, the transition has been harder than I expected.

Because while he was away, I had a rhythm.

I was working full time. I was writing. I was building my business. I was developing The Contact Continuum™. I was creating workshops, writing blogs, thinking about my next book, and figuring out what it means to become an author and an entrepreneur.

And somewhere along the way, something unexpected happened.

I started to feel like myself again.

Not just a mother.

Not just a therapist.

Not just an employee.

Not just the person who takes care of things and makes sure everyone else is okay.

Me.

I discovered that I love creating.

I love writing.

I love taking an idea that has been sitting inside my head and turning it into something that might help someone else.

I love building something that is mine.

And perhaps most importantly, I love the way I feel when I am doing it.

This business has given me access to a part of myself that I didn't realize I had been missing.

And that realization has brought up something I think many of us struggle with:

What happens when the life we are building for ourselves begins to compete with the roles we have spent years fulfilling for other people?

I Love My Son. And I Love This Part of Me, Too.

I want to be clear about something because I think women are often expected to explain themselves when they say things like this.

I love my son.

There is no contradiction in that.

But loving someone does not mean that their needs should erase yours.

It does not mean that you should stop having dreams.

It does not mean that your creativity should disappear.

It does not mean that every available minute belongs to someone else.

And it certainly does not mean that feeling overwhelmed makes you an ungrateful mother.

Sometimes we confuse love with unlimited availability.

We assume that if we really love someone, we should always be willing to give more.

More time.

More energy.

More attention.

More emotional capacity.

More of ourselves.

But there is a difference between loving someone and losing yourself inside the role of loving them.

I am learning that difference.

The Parts of Us That Come Alive

There are parts of ourselves that can become quiet when life becomes about responsibility.

We become very good at functioning.

We go to work.

We take care of our families.

We answer the phone.

We make appointments.

We cook dinner.

We solve problems.

We keep going.

And sometimes we become so accustomed to being needed that we forget what it feels like to simply be ourselves.

Then something happens.

Maybe we start writing.

Maybe we start painting.

Maybe we go back to school.

Maybe we start a business.

Maybe we rediscover music.

Maybe we begin exercising.

Maybe we finally give ourselves permission to pursue something we have wanted for years.

And suddenly, something inside us wakes up.

We remember:

Oh. There I am.

That is what this business has done for me.

It has reminded me that I am more than the roles I carry.

It has given me a place to think.

A place to create.

A place to speak.

A place to dream.

A place to become.

And I don't want to apologize for that.

Maybe We Need to Rethink Self-Care.

We often talk about self-care as though it is something we squeeze into the leftover spaces of our lives.

Take a bath.

Read a book.

Go for a walk.

Get a massage.

Those things can be wonderful.

But sometimes self-care is much bigger than that.

Sometimes self-care is building a life that allows you to recognize yourself again.

Sometimes it is writing the book.

Starting the business.

Taking the class.

Creating the thing.

Going back to school.

Saying yes to the opportunity that scares you.

Giving yourself permission to have an identity that exists outside of the people who need you.

Because there is a difference between doing something that temporarily makes you feel better and doing something that helps you feel more like yourself.

I think we need both.

You Are Allowed to Have a Life That Belongs to You

This is something I am having to remind myself of right now.

My son is home.

My responsibilities did not disappear.

My full-time job is still there.

People still need me.

Life still requires things from me.

But I am still here, too.

And I don't want to lose the woman I have been discovering simply because life has shifted again.

Maybe the answer isn't choosing between being there for the people we love and being there for ourselves.

Maybe the answer is learning how to make room for both.

That may mean creating boundaries around our time.

It may mean protecting an hour to write.

It may mean telling someone, "I can't do that right now."

It may mean allowing ourselves to be unavailable sometimes.

It may mean letting someone else be disappointed.

It may mean accepting that not everything will get done.

And sometimes it may simply mean sitting with the uncomfortable feeling that comes when we choose ourselves without having done anything wrong.

Because choosing yourself can feel selfish when you have spent your life believing that your worth comes from what you do for everyone else.

But choosing yourself isn't abandonment.

It is relationship.

It is the relationship you have with yourself.

Maybe Being Centered Means Knowing Who Is Sitting at the Table

This is where I have started thinking about what it actually means to be Centered.

For me, being centered isn't about having every part of my life perfectly balanced.

Because life isn't balanced all the time.

Some days motherhood needs more from me.

Some days my work needs more from me.

Some days my business needs more from me.

Some days I need more from myself.

So maybe being centered isn't about making sure every part of my life gets the exact same amount of time.

Maybe it is about knowing who is sitting at my table.

I picture a table.

And around that table are all the different parts of me.

There is Mother.

She loves, protects, nurtures, worries, advocates, and shows up.

There is Therapist.

She listens, serves, understands, and holds space for other people.

There is Employee.

She has responsibilities, commitments, financial realities, and work that matters.

There is Author.

She has something to say.

There is Entrepreneur.

She creates, builds, takes risks, and imagines something that doesn't exist yet.

And then there is Woman.

The part of me that exists underneath all of those roles.

The part that has dreams and needs and desires and a life of her own.

And maybe there is one more chair.

Christen.

Not a role.

The person who gets to sit at the table.

Because the goal isn't for every part of me to get equal time.

The goal is for every important part of me to be seen, heard, and considered.

And this is where I think we often get confused.

Being centered does not mean giving every role in our life equal access to our time.

It means deciding what deserves access in this season.

The roles have seats.

But I am the one who decides the seating arrangement.

But Having a Seat Doesn't Mean Having the Microphone

I think this is where I have sometimes confused myself.

If I want all of these parts of myself at the table, does that mean they all get equal time?

Do they all get equal attention?

Do they all get to make the decisions?

No.

Having a seat doesn't mean having the microphone all the time.

Mother may need the microphone today.

Tomorrow, Employee may need it.

During a writing season, Author may need more space.

When I am building something new, Entrepreneur may need to speak up.

Sometimes Therapist needs to step back because she has spent all day holding space for other people.

And sometimes, perhaps more often than I have allowed myself in the past, Woman needs the microphone.

The goal isn't for every part of me to speak at once.

The goal is to make sure no essential part of me is permanently silenced.

Because I don't want to amputate parts of myself in order to be good at another part.

I don't want Mother to disappear for Author to exist.

I don't want Therapist to disappear for Entrepreneur to exist.

I don't want Employee to disappear for Woman to exist.

And I don't want Christen to disappear inside all of those roles.

I want them all at the table.

And I am beginning to understand that this doesn't mean I have to do everything.

It means I have to make room for all of me.

That's different.

Maybe that's what integration looks like.

Not doing everything.

Not giving everyone equal time.

Not trying to make every part of life perfectly balanced.

But learning to listen.

Learning to negotiate.

Learning to decide who needs the microphone in this season.

And remembering that I am the one who gets to decide.

So Where Are the Place Cards?

This is the question I am asking myself now:

Who gets a seat at my table?

And just as importantly:

Where are they sitting?

Because sometimes one part of us has been sitting in every chair.

Maybe Mother has been doing that.

Maybe Employee has.

Maybe Caregiver.

Maybe Partner.

Maybe Therapist.

Maybe the person who constantly makes sure everyone else is okay.

And sometimes the part of us that has been missing from the table is ourselves.

We may have never intentionally asked her to leave.

We simply stopped giving her a place.

So perhaps the first step is putting out the place cards.

Who am I?

What roles do I carry?

What matters to me?

What am I responsible for?

What do I love?

What do I need?

What am I becoming?

And then we have to ask:

Who has been taking up too much space?

Who hasn't been heard?

Who hasn't been invited?

What does each part of me need in this season?

Not forever.

Right now.

Because our needs change.

My son coming home has reminded me of that.

The people at my table haven't necessarily changed.

The seating arrangement has.

And that means I may need to rearrange the chairs.

How Do the Conversations Begin?

Once everyone has a seat, the next question is:

What do you need?

Not:

What do you need to do?

What do you need?

Mother might say:

"I need to know my son is okay."

Employee might say:

"I need to meet my responsibilities."

Therapist might say:

"I need to protect my emotional capacity so I can continue showing up well for my clients."

Author might say:

"I need uninterrupted time to write."

Entrepreneur might say:

"I need space to build this business."

And Woman might quietly say:

"I need to feel like I exist outside of what everyone else needs from me."

That conversation matters.

But then comes another question:

What do you need from each other?

Because these parts of us aren't supposed to compete.

Mother doesn't have to destroy Entrepreneur.

Employee doesn't have to silence Author.

Therapist doesn't have to consume Woman.

They have to negotiate.

They have to listen to each other.

They have to make decisions together.

Maybe Mother needs flexibility.

Maybe Entrepreneur needs protected creative time.

Maybe Employee needs structure.

Maybe Therapist needs rest.

Maybe Woman needs permission to do something simply because she enjoys it.

The goal isn't to make one part of ourselves win.

The goal is to create a life where the different parts of us can work together.

That is what makes the meeting at the table productive.

The Table Is Not About Balance

This is another thing I am learning.

I don't think being centered means every part of my life receives an equal amount of attention.

That would be impossible.

Some seasons require more motherhood.

Some require more work.

Some require more rest.

Some require more creativity.

Some require us to build.

Some require us to heal.

The table doesn't stay the same.

The place cards may stay, but the seating arrangement can change.

And that is okay.

Centered isn't balance.

Centered is intentionality.

It is knowing what matters, noticing what is taking up space, listening to what is asking for attention, and making decisions that allow the different parts of our lives to coexist.

I Don't Want to Lose Myself in Love

One of the things I have learned through my work—and am continuing to learn in my own life—is that healthy relationships require access.

Not unlimited access.

Intentional access.

The same is true of our relationship with ourselves.

We need access to our own thoughts.

Our creativity.

Our dreams.

Our rest.

Our voice.

Our identity.

Our joy.

Our future.

We can love our children deeply and still need space.

We can love our families and still have boundaries.

We can care about our jobs and still have something that belongs to us.

We can show up for the people we love without disappearing from our own lives.

And perhaps that is the lesson I am carrying with me into this next season:

I don't have to lose myself to love the people I love.

I can be a mother.

I can be a therapist.

I can work full time.

I can build a business.

I can write books.

I can create.

I can dream.

I can become.

And somewhere in the middle of all of those roles is a woman who deserves to know herself, love herself, and make room for herself, too.

That woman is me.

And I'm not letting her disappear.

Maybe This Is What Being Centered Means

Maybe being centered doesn't mean having every part of our lives perfectly balanced.

Maybe it means knowing who is sitting at our table.

Making sure everyone has a voice.

Knowing when someone needs more attention.

Knowing when someone needs to step back.

Knowing that some parts of us may need to lead in one season and support in another.

It means being willing to rearrange the chairs when life changes.

It means changing the place cards when our priorities change.

It means allowing the conversations to evolve.

And most importantly, it means remaining at the table ourselves.

Because I don't want to choose between being a mother and being an author.

Between being a therapist and being an entrepreneur.

Between caring for others and caring for myself.

I want them all at the table.

And I want to be there, too.

Maybe loving ourselves isn't about finding more time for ourselves.

Maybe it is about finally believing that we deserve a place in our own lives.

And maybe that's what being Centered means.

It's having it all—but putting it all in place.

It's knowing who gets a seat at the table.

It's knowing where they sit.

It's listening to what each part of us needs.

It's creating a space where the conversations can happen.

And it's learning that we don't have to choose one part of ourselves at the expense of another.

We can make room.

We can rearrange the chairs.

We can change the place cards.

We can have the conversation.

And if you're looking at my table thinking, “Girl, that's a lot of people,” I know. 😂

But I'm not interested in asking half of them to leave.

I'm interested in learning how to let them coexist.

Because I don't want a smaller life. I want a more intentional one.