Squeezing the Lemons: Finding Growth in Life’s Bitter Seasons

Posted on September 8, 2026September 7, 2026 by mrsmonarch

Have you ever looked at your life and wondered how you got here?

Maybe there was a younger version of you who imagined life would look very different by now.

She had dreams.

She had plans.

She believed there were beautiful things ahead.

She laughed more easily. She had energy. She was filled with ideas and hope and possibility.

And then… life happened.

Responsibilities piled up. Disappointments came. People changed. Plans unraveled. Things you never imagined having to carry somehow found their way into your hands.

And one day, you looked in the mirror and realized you were tired.

Not just physically tired.

Soul tired.

The kind of tired that makes you wonder where that hopeful girl went.

Friend, if you’ve ever found yourself there, pull up a chair.

I’ve got coffee.

And I think we need to talk about lemons.

You Know Which Lemons I Mean

I’m not talking about the cute little yellow things sitting in a bowl on the kitchen counter.

I’m talking about the ones life hands you without asking permission.

The promotion you didn’t get.

The relationship you thought would last forever that didn’t.

The friendship that quietly disappeared.

The child you love but cannot seem to reach.

The financial struggle you never saw coming.

The diagnosis that changed the way you look at tomorrow.

The grief that rearranged your entire world.

The betrayal that made you question things you thought were secure.

The dream you worked so hard for that simply never happened.

Yeah.

Those lemons.

Life has a way of handing them to us.

And here’s one of the hardest things I’ve learned:

We don’t get to choose how many lemons end up in our basket.

Sometimes our own choices contribute to the mess we’re carrying. There are consequences in life, and wisdom sometimes comes from recognizing our part in them.

But sometimes we do everything we know to do.

We pray.

We try to make wise choices.

We love people well.

We show up.

We do our best to walk faithfully.

And the lemons still come.

That’s not necessarily evidence that we’ve done something wrong.

It’s simply part of living in a world that is not yet what God intended it to be.

Jesus reminded us that the sun rises on the evil and the good, and rain falls on the just and the unjust.

Faith does not give us immunity from hard things.

It gives us Someone to hold onto when the hard things come.

The Temptation to Sugarcoat

Now, if you’re anything like me, your first instinct when life gets bitter may be to figure out how to make it less bitter.

We want the shortcut.

The quick fix.

The explanation.

The five-step plan.

We want to skip ahead to the part where everything makes sense again.

Sometimes we even try to sugarcoat the season.

“Maybe it isn’t really that bad.”

“Other people have it worse.”

“I should be grateful.”

“I just need to have more faith.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

And sometimes those words are offered with good intentions.

But friend…

A lemon is still sour.

Pain is still pain.

Grief is still grief.

Betrayal still breaks something.

And you don’t have to pretend that something doesn’t hurt in order to have faith.

There is room in faith for tears.

There is room for questions.

There is room for disappointment.

There is even room for saying, “God, I don’t understand this.”

You can trust God and still be hurting.

Those things are not opposites.

So What Do We Do With the Lemons?

Eventually, when we’re ready, we have a choice.

We can spend the rest of our lives wishing the lemon had never landed in our basket…

or we can begin asking a different question:

“What can I learn from this?”

Not because the painful thing was good.

Not because we needed the suffering.

Not because God delights in watching us hurt.

But because God is remarkably good at bringing redemption out of things we never would have chosen.

That’s where the squeezing begins.

We squeeze out the wisdom.

Maybe this season taught you something about boundaries.

Maybe it showed you that you were stronger than you thought.

Maybe you learned to recognize unhealthy patterns.

Maybe you discovered that your identity cannot safely rest in another person’s approval.

Maybe you learned how deeply you are capable of loving.

Maybe you discovered compassion for people whose struggles you once couldn’t understand.

Maybe you learned to slow down.

To listen.

To pray.

To wait.

To say no.

To say yes.

To ask for help.

To receive grace.

To give grace.

Some lessons are expensive.

Some are painful.

Some arrive wrapped in tears.

But that doesn’t mean they are worthless.

Don’t Waste What You’ve Walked Through!

I’ve come to believe that one of the most beautiful things God can do with our painful experiences is allow them to become useful.

No—It doesn’t usually happen immediately.

In fact, sometimes the fullness of what He does with our pain isn’t recognized for a very long time.

There are seasons when the only thing we can do is survive the day.

And that’s okay.

You don’t have to turn your pain into a lesson before you’re ready.

You don’t have to find the silver lining while you’re still bleeding.

Sometimes faithfulness looks like simply getting through today with God beside you.

But eventually, the healing process gives us enough breathing room to look back.

And that’s when we may begin to notice something.

The woman who walked through that season isn’t exactly the same woman who came out of it.

Maybe she’s softer in some places.

Stronger in others.

More discerning.

More compassionate.

Less impressed by appearances.

More willing to tell the truth.

More comfortable saying, “I don’t know.”

More willing to sit beside someone else in their pain without trying to fix it.

Maybe she understands grace differently now.

Maybe she understands God differently.

Maybe she understands herself differently.

That’s becoming.

Not becoming perfect.

Not becoming someone who never hurts.

Becoming someone who knows, more deeply than she once did, who she is and Whose she is.

The Lemon Season Doesn’t Last Forever

And here is the part I never want us to forget:

The lemon harvest doesn’t last forever.

There will be seasons when the clouds break.

There will be laughter again.

There will be unexpected blessings.

There will be friendships that feel like sunlight.

There will be mornings when you wake up and realize that something inside you has become lighter.

There will be sweet fruit again.

And when that happens, I hope you’ll remember the woman you were when you were carrying lemons.

Because someday, someone else may sit beside you with a basket full of her own.

And you may be able to look at her—not with judgment, not with easy answers, but with understanding—and say:

“I know.

I’ve carried some lemons too.

You don’t have to walk through this alone.”

Maybe that’s part of what our bitter seasons can become.

Not something we would ever choose.

But something God can redeem.

Something that deepens us.

Something that teaches us.

Something that makes us more compassionate.

Something that allows us to become a safe place for someone else.

So, friend…

If you’re carrying lemons today, you don’t have to pretend they’re sweet.

You don’t have to rush through the season.

You don’t have to understand everything.

And you certainly don’t have to be grateful for the pain itself.

But when you’re ready, perhaps you can begin to ask:

What can I squeeze from this?

What wisdom?

What strength?

What compassion?

What deeper understanding?

What new part of myself is God gently bringing to life?

Because the lemon may be bitter.

But your story isn’t over.

And God is still at work in the becoming.

Until next time,

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The Thread — Part 4: What Comes Next?

Posted on September 1, 2026September 1, 2026 by mrsmonarch

NOTE: Hi Everyone!

Just so we’re all on the same page, this article is the final piece to a 4 part series . Since each lesson builds upon what the previous article laid out, I hope you’ll go back to “Look for the Thread” (part 1), “How Hidden Beliefs Shape the Way We See the World” (part 2), and “Question Your Motivation” (part 3) before moving forward. These can be found on the right-hand column of the BTBAB homepage.

Today’s Message:

When you can’t change your circumstances, you can still begin changing what they have taught you to believe about yourself.

We’ve spent the last three weeks looking for the threads which have been woven together to create the fabric of our lives.

We started with what happened—and the meaning we gave to it.

In week two, we examined the lens those interpretations and beliefs can create.

Last week, we went underneath our patterns and asked a harder question:

What is this behavior really getting me?

And now, here at week four—and the end of this mini-series— we’ve arrived at the question I think is hardest of all:

What do I do with what I’ve discovered?

Because this is where I don’t want to give you a ten-step plan.

I don’t want to tell you to simply leave a difficult marriage.

Quit an unfulfilling job.

Set the boundary.

Start over.

Take your power back.

Become confident.

Build the new life.

Yes— Sometimes those things are exactly what needs to happen.

And sometimes they simply aren’t possible today.

Maybe you don’t have the money.

Maybe there are children involved.

Maybe you’re financially dependent.

Maybe you’re caring for someone else.

Maybe you’re afraid.

Maybe you have nowhere to go.

Maybe you’re still trying to understand what is actually happening and you’re wrestling with grief.

Maybe you have very few options that the outside world would consider reasonable.

And if that’s where you are, I don’t want to add another burden to your shoulders by suggesting that your inability to change your circumstances means you’re failing to change.

Because it doesn’t.

Maybe Transformation Isn’t Always “Changing Your Life” the way the world defines it.

Transformation does not always begin with changing your circumstances. Sometimes it begins with changing what those circumstances have taught you to believe about yourself.

There may be things about your circumstances you cannot change today.

That does not mean there is nothing you can begin changing today.

If you can’t leave today, that doesn’t mean you have no agency.

You may be able to begin questioning the lie that you’re crazy.

You may be able to stop interpreting someone else’s betrayal as evidence that you’re unlovable.

You may be able to recognize:

“This is happening to me, but this is not who I am.”

You may be able to stop apologizing for having feelings.

You may be able to begin trusting your own perception again.

You may be able to whisper:

“Something about this isn’t right.”

even if you aren’t yet able to do anything about it.

Those are movements.

Tiny movements.

But movements nonetheless.

Sometimes the First Step Is Simply Listening to Yourself Again

I think this may be one of the most important places we can begin.

Because chronic invalidation can do something devastating to a person.

If someone repeatedly tells you:

You’re imagining things.

You’re too sensitive.

You’re crazy.

That didn’t happen.

You’re remembering it wrong.

You’re the problem.

Eventually, you can stop trusting your own internal compass.

You can become so accustomed to questioning yourself that you begin arguing with your own experience before anyone else even has the opportunity.

So perhaps the first question isn’t:

“What action should I take?”

Perhaps it’s:

“What am I actually experiencing?”

And then:

“Can I tell myself the truth about it without immediately arguing with myself?”

That is huge.

Not diagnosing the other person.

Not making a grand declaration.

Not pretending we know every fact of someone else’s situation.

Just reclaiming the right to say:

“This hurts.”

“This isn’t okay with me.”

“I feel afraid.”

“I feel betrayed.”

“I don’t understand why this keeps happening.”

“Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

That’s not weakness.

That’s awareness.

And sometimes awareness is the beginning of transformation.

Seeing Yourself Is Not the Same as Fixing Yourself

Notice what we’re not saying.

We’re not saying:

Fix yourself.

We’re saying:

See yourself.

Know yourself.

Tell yourself the truth.

Separate your worth from what is happening around you.

Take the next honest step.

Because sometimes the circumstances around you are genuinely painful.

Sometimes someone else’s choices are genuinely wrong.

Sometimes someone is lying.

Sometimes someone is betraying you.

Sometimes someone is disregarding your boundaries.

Sometimes someone is treating you in a way you never deserved.

And your first job isn’t to figure out how to make that person behave differently.

You may not be able to.

Your first job may simply be to stop allowing their behavior to become the voice that tells you who you are.

And What About God?

This is where I want to say something very clearly, especially to the woman who has been praying and praying and still doesn’t see the circumstances changing.

You may be asking:

“What am I doing wrong?”

“Why hasn’t God changed this?”

“Am I not praying hard enough?”

“Don’t I trust Him enough?”

No.

Your suffering is not proof that you have failed God.

Your unanswered prayer is not evidence that you don’t have enough faith.

Your difficult circumstances are not necessarily a spiritual report card.

And Scripture itself gives us permission to say:

“God, this hurts.”

That’s lament.

The Bible doesn’t sanitize suffering.

David asks, “How long?”

Job speaks honestly from his pain.

Habakkuk looks at injustice and asks how long it will continue.

And Jesus Himself weeps.

Lament is not unbelief.

Lament is what faith sounds like when faith is hurting.

There is room in faith for:

“God, I know You are there, and I don’t understand this.”

“I love You, and I’m angry.”

“I believe, and I’m exhausted.”

“I’m praying, and I’m still hurting.”

There is room for all of that.

You do not have to add spiritual shame to the pain you’re already carrying.

You don’t have to pretend:

“I’m fine. God is good. Everything happens for a reason. I’m just going to trust harder.”

You can tell God the truth.

Perhaps that is itself a tiny step toward transformation:

telling the truth in God’s presence instead of performing okay-ness for Him.

Agency Is Not the Same as Control

There is another distinction I think we desperately need to make.

Agency is not control.

You may not control:

whether someone tells the truth
whether someone respects your boundary
whether someone apologizes
whether someone changes
whether someone chooses faithfulness
whether someone treats you fairly
whether your circumstances resolve quickly

But you may slowly begin recognizing:

What is mine to carry?

What is not mine?

What have I begun believing about myself because of what someone else has done?

What tiny choice is actually available to me today?

That last question may be more powerful than it sounds.

Because the answer doesn’t have to be dramatic.

Maybe today the choice is simply:

“I will not call myself worthless because someone treated me as though I were.”

Maybe tomorrow:

“I’m going to write down what happened so I stop second-guessing myself.”

Another day:

“I’m going to tell one safe person the truth.”

Another:

“I’m going to spend ten minutes thinking about what I actually want instead of what everyone else wants from me.”

Another:

“I’m going to pray honestly instead of pretending I’m okay.”

Those things don’t necessarily change the marriage.

They don’t immediately change the bank account.

They don’t make the betrayal disappear.

But they can begin changing something deeply important:

the woman’s relationship with herself.

And that matters.

What Someone Does to You Is Not Who You Are

This brings us back to the thread we’ve been following all along.

Maybe the thread says:

I’m not enough.

Maybe it says:

I’m too much.

Maybe it says:

I’m unlovable.

Maybe it says:

I must have done something to deserve this.

Maybe it says:

If I were prettier, kinder, thinner, smarter, more submissive, more successful, more patient, more spiritual… maybe this wouldn’t be happening.

But what if we began pulling that thread apart?

What if we began separating what someone did from who we are?

Someone else’s betrayal does not make you unworthy.

Someone else’s dishonesty does not make you stupid.

Someone else’s rejection does not make you unlovable.

Someone else’s cruelty does not prove you deserved it.

Someone else’s inability to love you well does not mean you were impossible to love.

And your current circumstances do not get to become the final narrator of your identity.

Even when you cannot yet change your circumstances, you are not powerless to begin changing the story those circumstances are telling you about who you are.

That may be where transformation begins.

Not with a dramatic exit.

Not with a perfect plan.

Not with everything suddenly making sense.

Sometimes it begins with one sentence.

One truth.

One tiny refusal to believe the lie anymore.

You Don’t Have to Know What Comes Next

I think sometimes we believe we can’t move forward until we know where we’re going.

But what if you don’t?

What if you genuinely don’t know what comes next?

What if you’re still in the middle of the story?

What if all you can see is the next few feet?

Then perhaps you don’t need a ten-year plan.

You need the next honest step.

And sometimes that step is very, very small.

That’s okay.

You don’t have to untangle your whole life today.

You don’t have to become someone new overnight.

You don’t have to prove that you’re strong.

You don’t have to make a decision simply because someone else thinks you should.

You don’t have to know how your story ends before you can begin changing how you live inside the part you’re in.

And this is where I think we can finally return to the question we’ve been carrying through this entire series:

Does this thread still belong in the life I’m weaving?

Maybe the answer is yes.

Maybe something about that thread still serves you.

Maybe it needs to be strengthened.

Maybe it needs to be loosened.

Maybe it needs to be redirected.

Maybe it needs to be cut.

Maybe it needs to be replaced.

And sometimes, perhaps, it needs to be redeemed rather than discarded.

But you don’t have to answer all of those questions today.

Maybe This Is Where We Begin

Not with a happy ending.

Not with a solution.

Not with a bow.

A beginning.

Because now you can see.

You can see the thread.

You can recognize the lens.

You can question the pattern.

You can begin separating your worth from someone else’s behavior.

You can acknowledge what hurts without blaming yourself for hurting.

You can begin noticing where you have agency—even when your circumstances are limited.

You can tell the truth.

You can grieve.

You can lament.

You can take tiny steps.

And maybe the woman reading this cannot change her life this week.

Maybe she can’t leave.

Maybe she can’t fix the marriage.

Maybe she can’t make someone tell the truth.

Maybe she can’t make the circumstances change.

But maybe…

she can change one sentence she says to herself.

Maybe she can stop believing one lie.

Maybe she can name one truth.

Maybe she can recognize one thing that isn’t hers to carry.

Maybe she can give herself permission to lament.

Maybe she can take one honest step.

And maybe, for today…

that’s enough.

Because sometimes transformation isn’t about becoming strong enough to leave the hard place.

Sometimes it’s about becoming grounded enough to remember who you are while you’re still in it.

That doesn’t mean you have to stay there forever.

It doesn’t mean your circumstances don’t matter.

It doesn’t mean you should accept what is hurting you.

It means that you can begin becoming whole before your circumstances become whole.

And perhaps the woman who feels completely stuck needs to hear this most of all:

You are not powerless simply because you cannot change everything today.

You can still begin.

One truth.

One breath.

One boundary.

One honest prayer.

One moment of trusting your own perception.

One refusal to let someone else’s behavior tell you what you’re worth.

One tiny thing.

That’s enough soil for a seed.

And maybe that seed is where the next part of your story begins.

You are still becoming.

Not because you aren’t enough.

But because there is still life to be woven.

And perhaps now…

you get to choose the threads.

Until Next Time,

What Is This Behavior Really Getting Me? Question Your Motivation Before You Question Yourself

Posted on August 25, 2026August 20, 2026 by mrsmonarch

NOTE: Hi Everyone!

Just so we’re all on the same page, this article is part 3 of a 4-part series. Since each lesson builds upon what the previous article laid out, I hope you’ll go back to “Look for the Thread” (part 1), and “How Hidden Beliefs Shape the Way We See the World” (part 2) before moving forward. These can be found in the right-hand column of the BTBAB home page.

We’ve spent some time looking for the threads.

We’ve considered how an experience can become an interpretation, how that interpretation can become a belief, and how that belief can quietly influence the lens through which we experience the world.

But there’s another layer we need to explore.

Because beliefs don’t simply sit quietly inside us.

They influence what we do.

They influence what we pursue, what we avoid, what we tolerate, what we fear—and sometimes, even the ways we try to change ourselves.

And this is where I want to ask you to become especially curious.

Not critical.

Curious.

Because the behavior itself doesn’t always tell us what’s happening underneath it.

Sometimes We Aren’t Even Consciously Aware of the Transaction

Human beings are remarkably good at learning what works.

When a particular behavior gets us something we want—or something we think we need—we’re more likely to repeat it.

Sometimes we aren’t even consciously aware of the transaction.

When I do this… I get that.

Maybe doing something perfectly gets you approval.

Maybe saying yes keeps the peace.

Maybe being needed makes you feel valuable.

Maybe staying busy keeps uncomfortable feelings at a distance.

Maybe looking a certain way gets you attention.

Maybe being independent protects you from having to need someone else.

Maybe accomplishing things helps you feel like you’re enough.

And eventually, the behavior can become automatic.

We stop asking why we’re doing it.

We simply think:

“That’s just who I am.”

But what if there’s more to the story?

What Does This Behavior GET Me?

This may be one of the most valuable questions we can ask ourselves.

Not:

“Why can’t I just stop doing this?”

But:

“What does this behavior GET me?”

Because if a behavior is repeatedly getting us something we need—or think we need—it’s going to be difficult to change simply by telling ourselves we should stop.

We have to understand the need underneath the behavior.

What does it provide?

Approval?

Attention?

Security?

Control?

Belonging?

Relief?

A sense of worth?

Protection from rejection?

Protection from disappointment?

Sometimes the answer may be uncomfortable.

That’s okay.

We’re not doing this inventory to prove that we’re secretly terrible people.

We’re trying to understand the map.

Because once we understand what a behavior has been accomplishing for us, we can begin asking whether we still need it to do that job.

Question Your Motivation

This is where things can get interesting.

We’re often far too quick to label behaviors as simply good or bad.

Exercise is good.

Eating well is good.

Working hard is good.

Setting boundaries is good.

Taking care of your appearance is good.

Pursuing a career is good.

Helping people is good.

Growing is good.

But the behavior itself doesn’t tell us everything.

Two people can do exactly the same thing for completely different reasons.

And that’s why we have to learn to look underneath the behavior.

Imagine Two Women Joining a Gym

One woman decides she’s going to get healthier.

She wants to exercise, take better care of her body, and become stronger.

That’s a good thing.

But another woman can walk into that exact same gym carrying a very different belief:

If I can just change my body enough, maybe I’ll finally be attractive enough.

Maybe then I’ll be chosen.

Maybe then someone will treat me the way I want to be treated.

From the outside?

They look exactly the same.

They’re both working out.

But underneath the behavior are two very different stories.

One is saying:

“I am already worthy, and I want to become healthier.”

The other is saying:

“Maybe if I become healthier, I will finally be worthy.”

And that distinction matters.

One is striving for worth.

The other is stewarding what she already believes has worth.

That’s why we’re not going to make a list of behaviors that are automatically healthy or unhealthy.

We’re going to learn to question our motivation.

Have I Made This Responsible for Telling Me Who I Am?

Here’s another question I want you to sit with:

Have I made this responsible for telling me who I am?

Have I made my appearance responsible for telling me whether I’m desirable?

Have I made my accomplishments responsible for telling me whether I’m successful?

Have I made someone else’s affection responsible for telling me whether I’m lovable?

Have I made being needed responsible for telling me whether I’m valuable?

Have I made my productivity responsible for telling me whether I’m worthy?

Because there’s a difference between stewarding something valuable and building your identity around it.

And that difference can be difficult to see when we’re standing inside the pattern.

Now, Take Inventory

Choose something you’re currently pursuing, changing, avoiding, or working hard to accomplish.

It doesn’t have to be something dramatic.

Choose something that makes you curious.

Then ask yourself:

What am I hoping this will give me?

Who am I hoping will notice?

What do I believe will change if I accomplish it?

What am I afraid will happen if I don’t?

And here’s one I really want you to consider:

If nobody ever knew I accomplished this, would I still want it?

The answer doesn’t have to be yes.

Wanting recognition doesn’t make you bad.

Wanting attention doesn’t make you shallow.

Wanting to be admired is human.

But your answer may tell you something about what role this goal is playing in your life.

And once again, we’re looking for the thread.

Go One Layer Deeper

Ask yourself:

Am I trying to change my circumstances—or prove something about myself?

Am I caring for myself—or trying to finally become worthy of care?

Am I moving toward health—or running away from shame?

Am I stewarding something valuable—or using it to build my identity?

And perhaps the simplest question of all:

Is this making me freer—or more dependent on the outcome?

Because healthy growth should ultimately create greater freedom.

Not necessarily an easier life.

Not necessarily fewer problems.

Not necessarily the outcome we hoped for.

But greater freedom in how we respond.

Your Transformation Cannot Control Someone Else

This may be one of the hardest truths in this entire conversation.

Healthy growth doesn’t give us control over other people’s choices.

You can become healthier and someone can still behave badly.

You can become more beautiful and someone can still reject you.

You can become more successful and someone can still envy you.

You can become more loving and someone can still be unkind.

You can communicate perfectly and someone can still misunderstand you.

Your transformation cannot be a bargain with someone else’s behavior.

Because otherwise, self-improvement can quietly become another form of magical thinking:

If I can just become enough, perhaps nobody will hurt me anymore.

But that’s not freedom.

That’s a cage with prettier wallpaper.

So What Are You Really Changing?

This is where I want us to pause.

Sometimes we’re changing because we’re genuinely growing.

And sometimes we’re changing because we’re desperately trying to escape the person we believe we are.

From the outside?

They can look identical.

But underneath them is a completely different message.

One says:

“I am already worthy, and I want to become healthier.”

The other says:

“Maybe if I become healthier, I will finally be worthy.”

So don’t just examine what you’re doing.

Examine what you’re hoping the doing will accomplish.

That’s where the deeper work begins.

Because transformation is beautiful.

Growth is beautiful.

Change is beautiful.

But transformation is healthiest when it flows from knowing your worth—not when it becomes an attempt to earn it.

Where This Leaves Us

We’re not finished unraveling the threads.

Not even close.

But perhaps you’re beginning to see why this investigation matters.

We started with an experience.

Then we looked at the interpretation.

Then the belief.

Then the lens through which we experience the world.

Now we’re beginning to see the patterns those beliefs can produce.

And once we can see the pattern…

we can begin asking an even harder question:

Does this thread still belong in the life I’m weaving?

That’s where we’re headed next.

Because sometimes a thread needs to be challenged.

Sometimes it needs to be pruned.

Sometimes it needs to be redirected.

And sometimes, perhaps, it needs to be redeemed.

But before we can decide what comes next, we have to be willing to see what we’ve been weaving.

And that’s the work we’re doing here.

Not becoming someone worthy.

Learning to live from the truth that we already are!

Until Next Time!

What Did I Learn About Myself? How Hidden Beliefs Shape the Way We See the World

Posted on August 18, 2026August 20, 2026 by mrsmonarch

NOTE: Hi Everyone!

Just so we’re all on the same page, this article is part 2 of a 4-part series. Since each lesson builds upon what the previous article laid out, I hope you’ll go back to “Look for the Thread” (part 1) before moving forward. It can be found in the right-hand column of the BTBAB home page.

Last week, I asked you to look for the threads.

Not to pull your whole life’s blanket apart.

Not to go digging through your childhood looking for something “terrible” that happened.

I simply asked you to notice the way your body responds to outside stimuli.

A phrase you say when you’re overwhelmed.

A reaction that seems bigger than the moment.

A feeling that seems strangely familiar.

A little voice inside you that says:

“See? There it is again.”

Because once we begin noticing the threads, we can ask a deeper question:

What am I learning about myself?

And perhaps even more importantly:

Is how I interpreted my life experiences eons ago still influencing the way I experience the world now?

Think about my third-grade kickball story from last week.

I wasn’t delusional. Even as a young kid, I knew I wasn’t great at kickball. But I still wanted to play— to be included. To be chosen.

So, when player after player was chosen, while I still stood there, waiting—hoping— it hurt. I was acutely aware that my peers didn’t think I brought much value to the table.

I was embarrassed. And… I remember feeling very… small.

The moment itself lasted only a few minutes. Recess ended. I went home. Life moved on. At first glance, it didn’t seem like a big deal.

But a while back, I felt prodded to ask myself the question: what might a little girl carry forward from something like that?

Maybe nothing.

Or maybe she interpreted the experience as:

I’m not the one people want.

Other people are better than me.

I have to prove myself.

I have to work harder to be chosen.

I’m going to be overlooked.

Maybe even, “Stepping out to try new things will lead to disappointment and maybe even humiliation. It’s safer to not try!”

Notice that I didn’t say, “She learned she wasn’t wanted.”

Now let me be perfectly clear. The experience was real. The hurt was real.

But the conclusion she drew from it was an interpretation.

And interpretations aren’t necessarily absolute truth.

Especially when we’re young, we can come up with answers that make perfect sense to a child—but don’t necessarily tell the whole truth.

A child doesn’t have the perspective or life experience of an adult. She simply knows:

Something happened.

It hurt.

I need to understand why.

And sometimes the explanation she creates becomes a “thread”. A small piece of a growing manifesto that slowly becomes her operation manual.

When a Thread Becomes a Lens

Here’s where things get really interesting.

The thread doesn’t just affect how I see myself.

It affects what I expect to find in the world.

Imagine a woman who interpreted an experience as:

I’m not the one people choose.

Years later, a friend forgets to invite her on an outing.

It hurts.

But something deeper may whisper:

“See? There it is again.”

Someone else gets the promotion.

“See? There it is again.”

A group makes plans without her.

“See? There it is again.”

Someone chooses somebody else.

“See? There it is again.”

Now, this does not mean she imagined those things.

It doesn’t mean other people’s choices don’t matter or impact us.

And it certainly doesn’t mean every painful experience is somehow her fault because she’s “too emotional”.

We’re exploring something more subtle:

The belief may influence what she notices, what she expects, and how she interprets what happens next.

If I’ve interpreted my experiences as evidence that I’m unwanted, rejection may become especially loud to me.

If I’ve interpreted my experiences as evidence that my needs are inconvenient, I may notice every sigh when I ask for something.

If I’ve interpreted my experiences as evidence that love must be earned, I may instinctively begin performing when I feel insecure.

The world hasn’t necessarily changed.

But the lens through which I experience the world has.

And that distinction is enormous.

Because we don’t want to tell women they’re overreacting.

We want to give them a reason their reaction might make sense.

Not to excuse every reaction.

Not to blame everything on the past.

But to become curious about what’s happening underneath the reaction.

“Why Is This Bugging Me So Much?”

You’ve probably said it.

Something happens.

Maybe it really is a little thing.

Someone doesn’t text back.

A friend seems distracted.

Someone criticizes your work.

You’re left out of something.

Someone chooses somebody else.

And suddenly you’re much more hurt, angry, anxious, embarrassed, or rejected than you expected to be.

“Why am I this upset?!”

Sometimes the answer is simply:

Because it hurt.

But sometimes there’s another question worth asking:

Is my reaction entirely about what is happening right now?

That isn’t an accusation.

It’s an invitation.

Because maybe today’s experience has touched an older thread.

Maybe you’ve felt this before.

And before.

See? There it is again.

What Would I Have to Believe About Myself?

Instead of immediately asking:

“What’s wrong with me?”

try asking: