I put my foot in my mouth. I say things that, afterward, when I’m alone with my thoughts, I go, “Jaclynn, c’mon. Did you really have to say that?”
The two most recent instances come from therapy sessions. After a client mentioned their partner was cynical, I called them out, saying, “So are you,” before I could even think, like a quick jab in a sparring match.
Thankfully, it’s rare, and I feel a tremendous amount of security in the relationship. When I revisited this brazen moment with the client, asking for their perspective, the feedback was positive, as if it were an observation of themselves that they appreciated.
Still, the worry remains. Did I hurt them or our relationship? The thought creeps in that everything is swirling down the toilet, emptied out, and I can’t get it back. I wonder about that sometimes.
My mom dying when I was 16 is a big deal. It’s hugely significant, especially in the area of anger and frustrations that could never be resolved. I was at the peak of individuation—the developmental period where I’m becoming me and don’t need my mom—and those growing pains can place a tremendous amount of stress on relationships. I rebelled, I acted out, and I didn’t feel understood. I said things I didn’t mean, or said things short-sightedly, and her forever exit shut out any chance for reconciliation, reconnecting, or bonding as adult women.
The consequence for me is that moments, small moments to you and my client, are big to me. If it could be the last time, I have to leave it on the most perfect ending. And sometimes I do, but 95% of the time, I don’t.
How do I lower the stakes? For one, I need to understand where this feeling of threat comes from—the one that says I’ve massively screwed up. But also, I’d like to take a moment for myself when this happens: a drink of water, a short break, to shift out of that stressed state. Too often, I ramble anxiously onto the next idea without taking a moment. A moment is everything. And then, I might say, “I’d like to know if my observation has hurt our relationship.” And then, from that calm state, I can listen, hear the effect I’ve had, and trust that what they’re saying is true.
That’s hard. Trusting that people are not just saying it to move on, to brush it under the rug. But if I don’t, maybe that will invite the same behavior in them.
I’ve come to realize that the key to navigating these moments—whether it’s with clients, loved ones, or even with myself—is to embrace both vulnerability and authenticity. We all make mistakes, say things we wish we could take back, but it’s how we handle those moments that really matter. Instead of letting the fear of “screwing up” paralyze me, I’m learning to take a step back, breathe, and trust the relationships I’m in. Trust that a real connection can withstand a misstep, and trust that by acknowledging my imperfections, I’m fostering true growth—both for myself and for those I work with.
It’s a constant balance, but it’s worth it. The goal isn’t perfection; it’s progress, and I’m here for it.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 