Change is one of those things I often avoid thinking about too deeply. I don’t usually take the time to process how it makes me feel until I’m already on the other side. But lately, I’ve been reflecting on my relationship with change—how I navigate it, how it challenges me, and how I often struggle to accept it. And through all that reflection, one thing my therapist told me keeps echoing in my mind: “Be nicer to yourself.”
It sounds simple. But it lands hard.
It’s not just about being gentle with myself when I mess up—it’s about how I talk to myself in moments of transition, fear, or uncertainty. It’s about releasing the need to be perfect at everything, all the time. And more than anything, it’s about learning to offer myself the same compassion I’d instinctively give a friend.
And I’ve realized: I’m much better at showing up for others than I am at showing up for myself.
When Change Feels Lonely
Change isn’t inherently scary. What makes it scary is feeling like I’m going through it alone.
If we’re all navigating something new together—like the first day of college or the beginning of a group trip—it feels safer. The uncertainty is shared. The vulnerability is communal. But when I’m the only new person in a space, like on the first day of a new job or moving into a new city alone, I feel exposed. Anxious. Like everyone else got the memo, and I didn’t.
And that loneliness fuels a deeper fear: What if I don’t measure up?
In those moments, I retreat inward. I overthink everything. I rehearse my words, hold my breath, and try not to take up too much space. But the more I try to minimize myself, the further I drift from the version of me I want to be—someone open, curious, confident enough to grow through discomfort.
Control and Leadership in the Midst of Chaos
Interestingly, when change happens in a group setting, I often step into leadership. Not because I have all the answers, but because guiding others through uncertainty gives me a sense of control. It’s easier to focus on supporting someone else than to sit with my own discomfort.
And in those settings, I feel like I’m contributing something—structure, clarity, direction. That makes me feel useful. Capable. Grounded.
But when it’s just me—when I don’t have a group to help or a role to fill—I’m forced to sit with the messiness of change. And that’s when the self-doubt creeps in.
Traveling Solo: Grace in Motion
Ironically, one of the places where I’ve felt the most permission to be imperfect is during solo travel.
There’s something about being alone in a new place that lowers the stakes. No one expects you to get it right the first time. You can mess up directions, fumble through a language barrier, or take an extra-long pause at a cafe just to breathe—and nobody thinks less of you. People are more forgiving. You’re more forgiving.
Traveling alone gives me space to learn without judgment, space to be curious without needing to perform. It’s where I’ve started to offer myself grace.
At home, in my everyday life, that grace is harder to access. The standards feel higher. The pressure to "figure it out quickly" is louder. But the truth is—mistakes happen in both settings. The only difference is how much compassion I allow myself.
Perfectionism and Pressure
I’ve been unlearning perfectionism slowly. Sometimes painfully. It’s not easy to shift when you’ve grown up being the eldest daughter of immigrants—when you’ve been told, both directly and indirectly, that your achievements are a reflection of sacrifices made generations before you.
Me, long before I knew what pressure even was—but already feeling it.
Eldest daughter energy, before I had the words for it.
There’s pride in that, yes. But also pressure. The idea that I have to make everything count. That I can’t afford to mess up. That being “the first” or “the one who made it” comes with an invisible checklist of how to move through life—and change—with no room for error.
And when I do mess up, that voice in my head can be brutal. It’s not just disappointment—it’s shame. A feeling that I’ve let someone down. That I’ve failed to live up to a story bigger than myself.
But I’m learning: perfection is not the same as worthiness. I can be enough even when I’m in transition. Even when I’m lost. Even when I’m figuring it out in real time.
Learning to Stand Up for Myself
In therapy recently, my therapist said something that felt like a gut check: “You need to stand up for Leslie.”
It hit me that being nicer to myself doesn’t just mean speaking gently in my head—it also means advocating for myself out loud. Saying no. Setting boundaries. Asserting my needs even when it’s uncomfortable. Correcting someone when they cross a line. Choosing not to shrink.
I realized I’ve spent a lot of time being flexible for everyone else, giving people grace and understanding—often at the expense of my own peace. But real self-compassion? It includes protection. It includes boundaries. It includes saying, “Actually, this doesn’t work for me,” without guilt.
Self-advocacy is one of the most courageous ways I can be kind to myself. It’s a practice. A muscle I’m still building. But each time I speak up, I reinforce the belief that I am worth protecting. That I deserve the same care I extend so freely to others.
Finding Balance
In a recent Busy Gallivanting episode, we explore the tension between structure and flow—between doing and being. And that’s the space I find myself in now.
Navigating change requires both: the structure to stay grounded and the flow to allow myself room to grow. I can lead, I can be soft. I can be scared and still move forward. I can be in process and still be enough.
And I can mess up—because that’s human.
I don’t have to navigate change perfectly. I just have to keep choosing to be kind to myself through it. Because growth doesn’t demand perfection—it asks for grace.
If you’ve ever found yourself wrestling with change, perfectionism, or the pressure to get it “right,” we dive deeper into those themes in these podcast episodes:
