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.
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:
“What would I have to believe about myself for this reaction to make sense?”
If I’m devastated because someone didn’t choose me…
What would I have to believe about myself?
If criticism feels like rejection…
What would I have to believe about myself?
If someone’s disappointment feels unbearable…
What would I have to believe about myself?
If I cannot rest without feeling guilty…
What would I have to believe about myself?
If I constantly need to be useful…
What would I have to believe about myself?
Maybe the answer is:
I’m not enough.
I’m replaceable.
I have to earn my place.
My needs don’t matter.
If I disappoint people, they’ll leave.
If I’m not useful, I’m not valuable.
Maybe.
Or maybe it’s something completely different.
We’re investigating, not diagnosing.
We’re trying to understand our emotional bandwidth.
Because sometimes we spend an enormous amount of emotional energy responding to something we don’t fully understand.
And what is not investigated is not fully understood.
Sometimes a Strength and a Survival Strategy Look Remarkably Similar
I’m not suggesting that every personality trait is secretly a wound.
Some of us really are independent.
Some of us genuinely love achievement.
Some of us are natural caregivers.
Those can be beautiful parts of who we are.
But when strong emotions arise from seemingly small events, we need to be open to the possibility that there may be old programming working quietly in the background—patterns our minds and nervous systems learned through repeated experiences.
Sometimes a strength and a survival strategy look remarkably similar from the outside.
A woman who is incredibly helpful might be generous.
Or she may have learned that being needed is how she earns her place.
A woman who is fiercely independent might be confident.
Or she may have learned that needing people isn’t safe.
A woman who works incredibly hard might be purposeful.
Or she may be trying to outrun the belief that she isn’t enough.
The outward behavior doesn’t tell us everything.
So what is driving me?
Am I moving toward something?
Or am I running away from something?
We’re not trying to answer every question today.
We’re learning to ask better ones.
Where Did I Learn This?
Once you’ve noticed a recurring reaction or belief, ask:
Where did I learn this?
Not:
Who is to blame?
Not:
Whose fault is this?
Simply:
Where did I learn this?
Maybe there is a memory.
Maybe there isn’t.
Maybe it was one experience.
Maybe it was a pattern.
Maybe it came from something someone repeatedly said.
Maybe it came from what nobody said.
Maybe you honestly don’t know.
That’s okay.
We’re not digging backward to build a case against anyone.
We’re trying to understand the map we’ve been using.
Because if I don’t know what shaped my map, I may never think to question whether that map is still accurate.
Is This Belief Still Serving Me?
And eventually, we can ask:
Is this belief still serving me?
Because a belief can begin as protection.
Maybe it helped you navigate a difficult season.
Maybe it helped you earn approval.
Maybe it helped you avoid rejection.
Maybe it helped you stay safe.
There is no shame in that.
But what protected us then doesn’t necessarily belong in the driver’s seat now.
We don’t have to condemn the younger version of ourselves for learning what she needed to learn.
We simply need to become curious about whether that lesson still belongs in our future.
Your Personal Inventory
So this week, I’m not giving you homework.
I’m giving you a map.
Think about one recent reaction that seemed unusually strong.
Not necessarily your biggest pain.
Just something that made you wonder:
“Why is this bothering me so much?”
Write it down.
Then ask:
What happened?
What did I feel?
Have I felt this particular feeling before?
What did I interpret this situation to mean about me?
And then sit with the uncomfortable one:
What would I have to believe about myself for this reaction to make sense?
If you’re willing, take it one step further:
Where might I have learned that?
And finally:
Is this belief still serving me?
Don’t force an answer.
Don’t manufacture a memory.
Don’t criticize yourself for what you discover.
Just become willing to see.
Because we’re not pulling the blanket apart.
We’re learning to recognize the threads.
And once we can see a thread…
We can begin asking what it has been weaving into our lives.
And that’s where we’re going next.
It was the summer of 2019. 
I separated & transplanted this Oregano plant just before our first frost. She was given a front row seat at my coffee station, close to the window, where she could soak up the morning sun. With the night time temperatures plummeting quickly, I just knew she’d be grateful.
