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Labels.
Labels. Residual beliefs?
At their simplest, labels help us identify things.
They tell us what’s inside a box.
Which folder a file belongs in.
Which shelf something should return to.
Perhaps labels make the world feel easier to understand.
Maybe that’s why we use them with people, too.
Without even realizing it, we begin sorting ourselves—and one another—into simple categories.
Responsible.
Strong.
Reliable.
Successful.
Difficult.
Too much.
Not enough.
The funny thing about labels is that I don’t think we notice when we first begin wearing them.
They arrive quietly.
A careless comment.
A role we stepped into.
A mistake we couldn’t seem to outgrow.
A season that slowly became an identity.
Over time, we stop treating the label as something we experienced…
and begin believing it’s who we are.
We stop saying,
“I made a mistake.”
And quietly begin believing,
“I’m a failure.”
We stop saying,
“I’m exhausted.”
And begin believing,
“I’m just the one who has to carry everything.”
I wonder how often we mistake a chapter for the whole story.
Because people are rarely just one thing.
We can be brave and afraid.
Confident and uncertain.
Hopeful and grieving.
Healing and still hurting.
The more I work with people, the more interested I become in the stories behind the labels we tend to wear across our chests. There are labels we’ve earned and recognize, or labels we’ve been gifted without our noticing, yet we tend to somehow believe the story they tell.
I tend to make this part of my therapy sessions.
Not quick advice.
Not easy answers.
Just enough curiosity to ask,
“How did you come to believe that?”
“What else could be true?”
What if the labels we’ve worn for years begin to loosen not because someone argued them away, but because someone gently wondered if they were the whole story?
I hope that’s true.
Not because every label disappears.
Some were earned.
Some still fit.
Some describe a season we’ll always carry with us.
But others…
Others have simply stayed longer than they were meant to.
Perhaps the invitation isn’t to peel off every label.
Perhaps it’s simply to hold them a little more loosely.
To notice which ones still tell the truth.
And which ones are telling an old story.
Because some labels belong.
Some simply leave residue.
And every once in a while…
Some require reaching for a little Goo Gone.
Showing Up.
Showing Up. Why do we feel selfish?
One of the most common things I hear from clients is some version of this:
“Am I being selfish focusing on myself in therapy?”
It usually comes up when we start to move beyond talking about problems and into actually doing the work of change. Setting boundaries. Examining patterns. Prioritizing rest. Saying no. Asking for more. Choosing differently.
For people who are used to carrying a lot for others, that shift can feel uncomfortable — even wrong.
But feeling selfish while doing the work in therapy is incredibly common. And more often than not, it’s a sign that something important is starting to shift.
When Caring for Everyone Else Became the Rule
Many people come to therapy after years of being the dependable one. The one who keeps the peace. The one who anticipates other people’s needs. The one who shows up, works hard, and keeps going even when they’re exhausted.
Maybe you were the responsible kid in your family.
Maybe you learned early that conflict was best avoided.
Maybe you simply got used to putting yourself last.
Over time, those patterns become second nature.
Your nervous system gets used to scanning for what everyone else needs before you even consider your own.
So when therapy asks you to pause and ask “What do I need?” it can feel unfamiliar — even uncomfortable.
The Discomfort of Rebalancing
Growth often looks like disruption before it looks like peace.
When you start setting boundaries, people may notice. When you stop overextending yourself, dynamics may shift. When you begin paying attention to your own needs, it can feel like you’re taking something away from others.
That’s often the moment when the thought appears:
Am I being selfish?
But there is an important difference between selfishness and self-responsibility.
Selfishness says: Only my needs matter.
Self-responsibility says: My needs matter too.
Therapy isn’t about becoming someone who only thinks about themselves. It’s about becoming someone who can stay connected to themselves while also being in relationship with others.
The Work Beneath the Surface
A lot of therapy work happens quietly.
It’s the moment you pause before automatically saying yes.
It’s the decision to speak honestly instead of smoothing things over.
It’s recognizing a pattern you’ve repeated for years and choosing to respond differently.
Think of personal growth like tending a field or garden. You don’t plant seeds and walk away, expecting an instant harvest. You water, weed, and care for it consistently — sometimes quietly, sometimes in ways that go unnoticed.
Therapy works the same way.
Each pause, each boundary, each honest conversation is like a drop of water or a small turn of soil. Over time, those small acts of care allow something strong and resilient to grow — something that can weather storms and bear fruit.
From the outside, these shifts may look small. But internally, they often take an enormous amount of courage.
And sometimes they still feel selfish. Not because they are — but because you’re practicing a new way of showing up.
A Personal Note
I’ll add something personal here, because this is something I’ve experienced in my own life too.
The relationships in my life have changed as I’ve learned to show up for myself more honestly. Not in dramatic ways, but in quieter ones — speaking up when something matters to me, allowing space for my own needs, and not automatically smoothing everything over.
Some dynamics adjusted. Some conversations became more honest. But what I’ve found is that the relationships that matter most tend to grow stronger when you stop disappearing inside of them.
Showing up for yourself doesn’t take away from connection.
It actually makes real connection possible.
Where Real Strength Is Found
There’s a quiet kind of strength that grows when you start showing up for your own life. Not loud or dramatic — just steady.
The kind that comes from knowing who you are, what matters to you, and trusting that your needs are worthy of space too.
And often, the strength people are searching for in their relationships isn’t something they need to find in others at all.
It’s something they begin to discover in themselves.
Keep living with intention & anticipating all the joy,
Jillian 🤍
Maintenance.
You Keep the Equipment Running — What About You?
We check the oil. (Ahem, I use the term ‘we’ here liberally…)
We grease the fittings.
We listen for strange sounds and tighten what’s come loose.
Because we know: if you don’t take care of your equipment, it won’t take care of you.
That’s maintenance. It’s common sense.
And yet… most of us don’t apply the same logic to ourselves.
We push through the stress.
We ignore the warning lights.
We run on fumes and tell ourselves we’ll “deal with it after the season slows down.”
But the truth is — you need maintenance too.
If It Matters, You Take Care of It
You wouldn’t let a tractor go 1,000 hours without checking the fluids.
You don’t drive on bald tires or ignore a fuel leak.
So why is it any different when your chest feels tight every morning, or you haven’t felt like yourself in weeks?
Your mental health, your stress levels, your sleep, your patience, your ability to cope — they’re just as real as any part or piece of equipment on the place.
And when one of those systems fails?
It affects the whole operation.
Small Fixes Prevent Bigger Breakdowns
In therapy, we call this preventive care.
It’s not just about fixing a crisis.
it’s about noticing when things are off and taking action before everything locks up or burns out.
That might look like:
- Talking to someone instead of bottling it all in
- Creating space for rest and recharging, even in the busy season
- Learning how to manage stress before it turns to anger or withdrawal
- Giving yourself permission to not be okay all the time
Just like machines, you weren’t built to run wide open forever.
It Doesn’t Make You Weak — It Makes You Wise
Somewhere along the line, a lot us — I see this especially in farm life — were taught that showing emotion or asking for help made you soft.
But let’s be honest:
- It takes strength to keep a farm going
- It takes grit to support a family through hard times
- And it takes real courage to stop, admit you’re not feeling great, and do something about it
There’s nothing weak about tuning up your own heart and head.
That’s how you stay in it for the long haul.
How I Can Help
I work as a therapist, yes, but I’m also a farm wife.
I know what it means to be pulled in a dozen directions, to feel responsible for everything, and to keep going even when you’re running on empty.
You don’t have to trudge through it alone.
And you don’t have to drive two hours or step into a clinic that makes you feel like a number.
I offer telehealth therapy — real support from wherever you are.
That means:
- You can talk from your truck, your barn office, or your kitchen table
- No waiting rooms, no need to leave the farm or take a day off
- Flexible scheduling that works around chore times, planting, or harvest
- Just a quiet, confidential space to say what you need to say and start feeling more like yourself again
Whether you’re facing stress, burnout, relationship strain, anger, grief, or just the weight of doing it all — we can work through it, together.
It starts simply as a conversation. Not an interrogation or judgment.
Support on your terms, in your world — with someone who understands rural life.
You don’t need to know the right words.
You just need to show up.
I’ll meet you there.
Final Thought: You Deserve the Same Care You Give Everything Else
You wouldn’t run your favorite piece of equipment into the ground.
So why do it to yourself?
Your worth isn’t in how much you produce, fix, or carry.
Your worth is in who you are — and that person deserves maintenance, too.
It’s okay to make space for yourself.
It’s okay to ask for support.
It’s okay to say, “I need a tune-up.”
We can’t always control the weather, the markets, or the cattle.
But we can take care of what keeps the whole thing going: you.
Here’s to living with intention & anticipating all the joy,
Jillian 🤍
Resistance.
The Resistance Is Part of the Work
You finally decide to start therapy.
Or set a boundary.
Or show up for yourself in a new way.
And instead of feeling lighter…
You feel tension.
Frustration.
Discomfort.
That’s not failure.
That’s resistance.
And it shows up right when you’re about to do something that matters.
What Resistance Can Sound Like:
- “This is too hard.”
- “Maybe I don’t really need this.”
- “It worked for other people, but not me.”
- “I don’t want to talk about that.”
- “I’ll start fresh next week.”
Resistance isn’t a red flag.
It’s a signal.
It often shows up right before something shifts.
In Therapy, Resistance Is Common—and Normal
Sometimes we come in ready to heal, but part of us is terrified of what healing might change.
We want to feel better, but we also want to stay safe, familiar, in control.
So we resist:
- We cancel sessions.
- We downplay our pain.
- We crack a joke instead of going deep.
- We intellectualize instead of feeling.
It’s human.
And it’s part of the process—not a detour from it.
The Farm Knows This Too
Try moving stubborn livestock, or digging out deep roots.
Push too fast, and nothing budges.
Force it, and you break something.
You learn to work with the resistance—
to listen, slow down, and shift your approach.
The same is true with our inner work.
Resistance isn’t weakness. It’s information.
What If You Met Resistance With Curiosity?
Instead of pushing past it or judging it—
What if you asked, “What’s this trying to protect?”
“What am I afraid will happen if I keep going?”
Sometimes the resistance is the part of you that’s still scared.
Still grieving.
Still learning to trust this new version of you.
So if you’re stuck, stalled, or second-guessing everything—
Don’t quit.
Don’t shame yourself.
You’re not broken.
You’re just in the thick of the work.
Breathe.
Rest.
And take the next brave step—even if it’s small.
Lean In. Then Surrender.
Not “give up” surrender.
But open-handed surrender.
The kind where you say:
- “I don’t have to fix this all at once.”
- “I’m allowed to be scared and keep going.”
- “I can take a breath and trust what’s rising.”
When you surrender, you stop fighting your own process.
You stop gripping so tightly to certainty, control, perfection.
And in that loosening…
You create space for something new.
Here’s to living with intention & anticipating all the joy,
Jillian 🤍
Full Contact Sport.
No one makes it through this life without taking a few hits.
And honestly? If you’re doing it right—you’re going to feel it.
Life isn’t a spectator event.
It’s a full contact sport.
You will get knocked around.
You’ll be misunderstood.
You’ll make mistakes you wish you could take back.
You’ll love people who leave, and lose things you worked hard to build.
You’ll show up raw and real—and not everyone will meet you there.
But the goal isn’t to stay untouched. It’s to keep showing up anyway.
You can’t live on a working farm and avoid the hard stuff.
You’ll get kicked, cut, burnt, sore, and soaked.
You’ll get dirt under your nails and blisters on your hands.
And just when you think the day is over, something breaks or wanders off.
Your stamina and endurance are tested to breaking.
There’s no hiding. No pausing the clock.
You learn to move with the mess.
To roll with the punches.
To laugh a little, even when everything hurts.
Same goes for our mental and emotional lives.
Healing isn’t tidy.
Boundaries don’t always hold.
Triggers flare.
Old wounds reopen.
Growth feels awkward, uncomfortable—sometimes brutal.
But if you wait for life to stop being messy before you step into it, you’ll miss the whole thing.
Real life happens in the grit.
In the mud.
In the bruises and breakthroughs.
Keep stepping in.
If today you feel beat up—mentally, physically, emotionally—
Maybe that’s not a sign you’re failing.
Maybe it’s a sign you’re in the arena.
Maybe it means you’re doing the real work.
Living with your whole heart, not just half of it.
Facing what’s hard instead of checking out.
There is nothing passive about living intentionally.
It’s brave. It’s exhausting. It’s worth it.
Life will hit hard sometimes.
But you were built to hold more than you think.
To get back up.
To adjust your grip.
To grow deeper in the doing.
And when you’ve had enough—
Rest.
Catch your breath.
Then step back in.