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One of the hardest conversations I've ever had was trying to explain to someone why their apology didn't change how I felt. Not because I didn't believe they meant it, not because I wanted to stay angry, not because I was enjoying watching them suffer, but because something inside of me had already changed. Long before they realized there was a problem, long before the apology came, long before any of the conversations that needed to be different. I had already started grieving. And I think that's one of the hardest realities for people to grasp. Just because someone finally understands your pain, finally sees it, finally names it, finally says all the words that you spent waiting for, doesn't mean that pain disappears. It doesn't mean that the walls come down. It doesn't mean that your nervous system simply resets. If you've never been the one carrying a relationship, that probably doesn't make a lot of sense to you. But if you have, if you've spent years explaining yourself, years for asking for the same things, years hoping and adjusting and shrinking and waiting, you don't need me to explain it. You lived it. Maybe you're listening today as the woman who's finally watching her partner make an effort, and you're wondering why you don't feel the relief you thought you'd feel. Maybe he's trying, genuinely trying, and something in you is still guarded, and you feel guilty about that. Like you should be happier, like you're somehow punishing him by not being over it already. Or maybe you're the person who's finally waking up to the pain that you've caused and you're confused. You're doing everything she asked. You're showing up differently, and you're looking at the person that you love and wondering why it doesn't seem to be working. Today's episode is for both of you. Because what we're gonna talk about today is something that a lot of people don't want to talk about. Not how relationships break, but what healing actually looks like after someone has become emotionally exhausted. Because here's what I know: you cannot repair something by pretending the injury never happened. First, you have to let it heal. Welcome back to Pattern Breakers Collective. I'm Lisa. Before we get into it, the usual disclaimer I always give because I genuinely mean it every time, throughout this conversation, I will mostly use he when talking about the partner who caused harm. That reflects my own experience and the majority of my audience. But abuse, emotional neglect, course of control, and unhealthy relationship patterns are not limited to one gender. Women can cause harm, men can be survivors. These dynamics happen in same-sex relationships and families and friendships and workplaces. If your story looks different from what I described, the principles still apply to you. I hope you'll stay with me. And also, forgive me, my voice is a little scratchy today. Today's episode is a little different, and I want to tell you why. I could spend 30 minutes talking about whether people can change, but I don't want to do that. I think it's actually the wrong question, and I think it sends us in the wrong direction. Because the better question, the more interesting and more useful question is this What does healing actually look like after someone has spent years carrying the emotional weight of a relationship? Because those are two completely separate journeys. One belongs to the person who finally starts doing the work. The other belongs to the person who has been doing the work all along and is running out of reserves. And those journeys don't move at the same speed. That's where so many couples get genuinely stuck. One person is finally feeling hopeful. For the first time in years, they can see a path forward, and the other person is still trying to remember what safety feels like, still trying to find their way back to themselves. And those two experiences can be happening simultaneously inside of the same relationship, in the same bed at the same kitchen table. So today, I want to help both people understand why that is. And I want to say something clearly to the women listening. Your healing does not have to wait while you figure out whether or not he's changing. Those are two separate things. And understanding that distinction might change everything about how you move through this season. Burnout isn't the same thing as conflict. And I want to start here because I think one of the biggest misunderstandings about long-term relationships is what people think emotional exhaustion actually is. Most people assume it came from one really bad fight, one catastrophic event, one moment that broke everything. And sometimes that's true, sometimes there is a single defining rupture. But most of the time, emotional burnout doesn't work like that. It's not created in one moment. It's created in thousands of moments, thousands of small disappointments, thousands of conversations that went nowhere, thousands of times you convinced yourself to be patient for just a little longer, that surely next time would be different, that maybe you were asking for too much. And if you could just find the right way to say it, something would finally shift. It is death by a thousand paper cuts. The individual ones don't look like much. You can point to any single moment and say, well, that's not really a big deal, and you would be technically right. But the accumulation becomes something enormous, like the difference between a small scratch and a broken leg. A scratch heals quickly, but nobody expects someone with a broken leg to go for a run the next morning. The injury determines the recovery. Relationships work exactly the same way. If two people who fundamentally feel safe with each other have a disagreement about finances or parenting or household responsibility, repair usually comes fairly quickly. You talk, you apologize, you reconnect, you move forward. That is healthy conflict. It happens, and healthy relationships can hold it without either person being permanently damaged by it. But emotional exhaustion is something entirely different. It's what happens when your nervous system has spent months or years learning that your needs are not safe to bring forward. When you've explained the same hurt so many times that your body eventually stops believing that anything will change, you stop anticipating repair, you start anticipating disappointment, and eventually, almost without deciding to, your nervous system adapts. Not because it's trying to punish anyone, but because it's trying to protect you. Now I want to make something clear here because I think it matters. Not every exhausted relationship is an abusive one. Sometimes two genuinely good people drift into unhealthy patterns. One person becomes overwhelmed while the other becomes complacent. They stop noticing each other. That can absolutely happen and it can cause real damage without any of the elements we typically associate with abuse. But in emotionally abusive or coercively controlling relationships, the exhaustion often has another layer entirely. It's not simply that your needs weren't heard, it was that expressing those needs came with consequences. Maybe you were criticized for bringing something up, dismissed, made to feel irrational, called too sensitive, stonewalled until the discomfort of the silence became more unbearable than simply dropping the issue. Or maybe every time you tried to have a real conversation, it somehow became about managing his feelings instead. And you left the conversation having comforted him about the impact of the thing that he did to you. Those experiences don't just create sadness, they condition the nervous system. Your body begins learning at a very deep level that speaking up is not safe. Getting my hopes up is not safe. Trusting that change is coming is not safe. And once the body has learned something at that level, it doesn't simply unlearn it because someone finally says the right words. Healing doesn't begin the moment someone apologizes. Healing begins when your nervous system slowly, over time, through accumulated evidence, learns that it is finally safe to stop bracing. I want to talk now to the partner who's finally trying. Because if that's you, there's a good chance that you're really confused right now, and I understand that confusion. Maybe you've started therapy, maybe you've stopped yelling, maybe you're finally listening in arguments instead of defending yourself. Maybe you read the book that she left on the counter months ago and you finally actually read it. Maybe you're paying attention in ways that you never were before, showing up, being present, doing things that she's been asking for. And you're looking at the person you love and thinking, why isn't she happy? Why is she still so distant? Why does it feel like nothing I do is working? I am doing everything differently, and I don't understand why it doesn't matter. If that's where you are, I want to offer you a different way of looking at it. She's not angry at your effort. She's grieving what it took to get here. Think about what that means. She's not just responding to who you are today. She's carrying every version of you that came before today. The version that dismissed her, the version that promised things would change and then they didn't, the version that forgot, the version that became defensive every time she tried to bring something up, the version that said you're overreacting when she was not overreacting at all. The version that was there in the room but completely absent in every way that counted. All of those versions don't simply disappear because a new version shows up. Healing is not an erase button. I think people sometimes imagine healing like flipping a light switch. I understand now. Click, I'm sorry, click, I'm changing, click, everything should be better. Click. But that's not how our nervous systems work. Our nervous systems learn through repetition and they heal through repetition too. Not one apology, not one really good therapy session, not three inspired weeks, consistency over time. That's what actually teaches the body that something is genuinely different this time. Not different like it was in every other promising window, but different in a way that holds. Let me put it like this. Imagine that you've been touching a hot stove for years. Every time you reach toward it, you got burned. Then one day someone tells you, oh don't worry, it's not hot anymore. Would you immediately place your hand on it? Of course not. You would reach toward it slowly, test it, pull back, not because you're stubborn, but because your brain remembers getting burned. Relationships are no different. The hesitation that you're seeing isn't necessarily bitterness, it's biology. Now I want to speak directly to the women listening because I know some of you are in the complicated position of watching him try. Really try, maybe for the first time, and instead of feeling grateful or relieved, you feel nothing, or you feel irritated, and then you feel guilty about feeling irritated, and then you start wondering, what is wrong with me? Why can't I just appreciate this? Am I being unfair? Is this my fault now? I want you to hear this very clearly. Nothing is wrong with you. Your nervous system is doing exactly what it was designed to do. It is protecting you until it has enough evidence to believe that you're actually safe. That is not a character flaw. That is not bitterness, that's not you choosing to hold on to the past, that is biology operating in your defense. And I want to make one more important distinction here because I think it matters enormously. In a relationship that has become emotionally disconnected, where both people are fundamentally safe, but one person has become complacent and the other has become depleted. Time and consistency absolutely can rebuild trust. I have seen it happen. I've seen couples create genuinely healthier relationships than they ever had before. But in relationships where coercive control or emotional abuse has been present, her hesitation isn't only about disappointment. It is also about survival because her body has learned something much bigger than, well, he disappoints me sometimes. It is learned that moments of kindness often have been followed by harm. That the apology came right before everything went back to the way it was, that the flowers came after the explosion, that the tears came when she threatened to leave, that the promises happened during the crisis and quietly evaporated once the crisis passed. Can you see where her nervous system would be cautious? It isn't rejecting hope, it's trying to protect her from another cycle. And that's why, whether her partner is genuinely changing or repeating an old pattern, her body cannot afford to decide based on emotion alone. It needs evidence, not promises, not intentions, not good weeks, evidence, behavioral, consistent, overtime evidence that something is actually truly different now. Maya Angelo said that when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time. I think about that a lot, but I also think sometimes we misunderstand it, as if it means no one can ever change. I don't think that's what she meant. I think she was saying believe patterns, not potential, believe consistency, not chemistry, believe behavior, not hope. Hope is a beautiful thing, but hope without evidence can become one of the most dangerous things in an unhealthy relationship. We spend a lot of time talking about what's happening, the patterns, the dynamics, the nervous system responses, the question of whether or not things are changing. But I want to talk about what it actually feels like to have been the one carrying the relationship for a long time, what the inside of that experience is. Because I think if more people understood it from the inside, they would have so much more compassion for why getting over it isn't a simple act of will. When you've been carrying a relationship, really carrying it the way that I mean, there's a version of hope that keeps you going in the early years. You tell yourself things will get better, you try different approaches, you give him grace after a hard week at work, you lower your expectations in some areas because you've decided to focus on the more important things. You adjust, you adapt. You are in so many ways remarkably patient, and you keep going because you love him and because you believe in the potential of what this could become. But there is a specific moment that I think a lot of women will recognize. It's not dramatic, it doesn't come with a speech or an announcement, it's more like the hope runs out, like a tank hitting empty quietly on an ordinary afternoon, and you realize that something has shifted inside of you, not because you decided to give up, but because you don't have anything left to give to the hoping anymore. I remember feeling like that in my own life, not as a choice, as something that just happened, like a light going out, not because someone turned it off, but because the electricity was just gone. And what comes after that can be really confusing. Because from the outside, sometimes you look better. You stop arguing as much, the house is calmer, you seem more subtled, less intense about everything. And the person across from you might actually think that things are finally improving, that you've let things go, that you've come around. But what's actually happening is that you've stopped believing the conversation is worth having. You haven't let go of the hurt, you've let go of the hope that the hurt matters to anyone else. And those are very different things. This is the stage, the quiet, flat, unreachable stage that a lot of partners finally notice, not during the years of fighting, not during the tearful conversations or the pleading or the thousands of attempts to explain yourself, but in the silence that follows when all of that stops and suddenly they're alarmed, suddenly they want to talk, suddenly they're asking what's wrong. And she's thinking, I have been telling you what is wrong for years. I'm not saying this to create despair. I'm saying it because I think the partners who are finally showing up need to understand the specific thing that they're asking her to do. They're asking her to unpack hope that has already been grieved, to reach back into a well that she's already standing at the bottom of, to start believing again in something that she stopped believing in, not out of stubbornness, but out of self-protection. That is an enormous thing to ask of someone. And the answer to it is not urgency, it's not grand gestures, it's not, I need you to trust me again because I'm really trying. The answer to it is exactly what I said before: consistency, patience, earned quietly one ordinary day at a time. She's not withholding herself to punish you. She's been spending so many years reaching toward you that she finally had to put her arms down. And before she can reach you again, she has to rest. That's not rejection, that is survival. And your job right now, if you want a future with her, is to make the reaching feel worth it again, slowly without asking her to move faster than her body is ready to. I know, that's not what you were expecting. We love the dramatic version of things. We love the airport chase and the love letter and the tearful breakthrough where everything finally clicks in the place and the music swells, and both people are transformed. That is a beautiful ending for a movie, and it is a genuinely harmful expectation for real healing. Because real healing doesn't happen during the emotional speech. It happens six months later on a random Tuesday when nobody is keeping score anymore. When the crisis has passed and the acute fear has settled, and nobody is threatening anything, and life is just life again. What does the effort look like then? That's when you have information. That's when patterns reveal themselves. Trust is not built through intensity, it is built through predictability, through reliability, through the experience of reaching out in the dark and consistently finding the same person there. One of the things that I hear women say all the time is, well, he's been doing so well for three weeks, or things have been amazing for the past month. And I am genuinely glad to hear that. Also, three weeks is not your data. One month is not your data. Let's see what happens in six months. Not because I'm cynical or because I don't believe change is possible, because anyone can be motivated by fear. Anyone can show up with intensity when they feel they're about to lose something. Fear is a powerful motivator. What it doesn't tell you is who someone is when the fear fades. Here's the question that I think separates crisis management from genuine transformation. Is he asking, what do I have to do so she doesn't leave? Or is he asking, who do I want to become regardless of what she decides? One of those is trying to manage an outcome. The other is doing actual character work. And women can feel the difference often before they can ever explain it. Think about what it sounds like from the outside. A partner who is going through the motion says, Tell me what you need me to do. And that sounds attentive. It sounds right, but sometimes what she hears when she hears that is, I have been telling you that for 10 years. Now, compare that to a partner who says, I realize that I've been checking my phone every evening while we talk, I'm leaving it in the other room. Or who says, I noticed that you've been managing all of the kids' appointments by yourself. I'm putting them in my calendar. The difference isn't what they said, it's that they noticed. Without being prompted, without being reminded, without needing her to make it a conversation. That single word, noticed, is one of the most powerful things in a relationship because underneath every request that she's ever made, every argument she's started, every tearful conversation she's had, there has been one question. Do you see me? Do I matter enough for you to pay attention without being told? Real change starts learning to answer that question before it's asked. Now I want to say something directly to the partners who might be wondering why their efforts aren't landing the way they hoped. If she's not applauding every change that you're making right now, please don't interpret that as proof that nothing is working. You might be measuring the wrong thing. You're measuring effort. She's measuring consistency. You're thinking, well, I did the dishes today. She's wondering whether you'll still be doing them six months from now without being asked. You're thinking, well, I finally listened. She's wondering whether she'll still feel heard a year from now when the two of you genuinely disagree about something important. You're thinking, well, I've changed. She's quietly asking whether the pattern has changed. One of those is evaluating a moment. The other is evaluating history. And you are both right about what you're measuring. You're just standing in different places on the same timeline. The partner who's changing often feels unseen. Why can't you appreciate how hard I'm trying? The partner who's recovering feels misunderstood. Why can't you understand how long I carried this alone? Neither person is wrong. They are simply standing at different points in the same story. One person's healing journey began years ago when she started quietly grieving the relationship that she wasn't getting. The other person's journey may have only just started. That gap is real and it doesn't close because one person finally wakes up. Now I want to spend a few minutes specifically with the women who've experienced emotional abuse or coercive control. Because everything that we've talked about so far assumes something important. That your partner is genuinely becoming a safer person. And if you've lived through abuse, that's probably the very thing that you're most uncertain about. How do I know if this is real? What if I let my guard down and I end up right back where I started? What if this is just another version of the cycle that I've been in before? Those questions are completely valid. And I don't think the answer is to become suspicious of everything forever or refuse to hope or spend your days trying to catch him being something that he's not. That is exhausting. And it's also not your job. The answer is learning to observe, not from fear, from clarity, from your own center rather than from his. One of the things emotional abuse teaches us is to pay very close attention to words, the apologies, the explanations, the declarations, the promises that this time is different. And words create hope. That's not nothing. But one of the most important shifts I've watched women make is when they stop asking, what is he saying, and start asking, what am I consistently experiencing? Those are genuinely different questions. When someone tells you they've changed, instead of trying to decide whether you believe them, ask yourself something different. Do I feel increasingly free to be myself around this person? Can I disagree without bracing for the aftermath? Can I have needs without feeling like I'm asking for too much? Do I feel respected when the answer is no? Am I allowed to have limits without retaliation? Because healthy change doesn't just change the person, it changes the relationship. It changes what it actually feels like to exist inside of it day to day. Real change has a quality that I find really helpful to pay attention to. It's not usually trying to convince you. It just keeps being real. It doesn't demand your trust. It understands why trust is going to take time. It doesn't become offended by your caution or impatient with your boundaries or irritated by the fact that you're not responding on the timeline it hoped for. It recognizes that your caution was earned every bit of it. And it shows up anyway. In abusive dynamics, the opposite often happens. Change becomes another way to regain access. The flowers, the promises, the tears, the desperate phone calls, the declarations of finally understanding. And those moments can feel intensely convincing, not because you're naive, but because they're emotionally powerful. The thing that I've noticed in those dynamics, the focus tends to be on getting the relationship back, not on becoming a different person. The urgency is I need this discomfort to stop more than I want to become someone who deserves you. There is a real difference there. One question I encourage women to sit with, not as an ultimatum, just as a quiet piece of observational data, is this. If reconciliation were completely off the table, would he still be doing this work? Would he still be in therapy? Would he still be learning? Would he still be taking responsibility, not because it's earning him anything, but because he's genuinely confronted with who he's been and doesn't want to be that person anymore. Real growth has a way of continuing even when there's no audience, even when nobody is watching, even when it doesn't guarantee the outcome someone hoped for. And here's something else I've noticed about genuine accountability over time. It becomes less self-focused. In the beginning, of course, someone who's trying to repair a relationship is going to be thinking about the relationship. They're scared too. They're grieving too. That's understandable. But gradually, genuinely, the focus starts to shift. Instead of asking, are you ready to forgive me? They start asking, How are you doing? Instead of, I hope you can see how much I've changed, it becomes, I understand why this is still hard for you. One of those is still centered on relieving their own discomfort. The other is centered on understanding yours. That is a very different posture and it's worth paying attention to. And one more thing here. After emotional abuse, it's common to feel like you've become a detective, analyzing every interaction, watching for red flags, trying to decode every kind gesture. That is exhausting and it is not your job. Your job is to reconnect with your own instincts and your own inner voice. When you stop overriding your own discomfort and start trusting what your body already knows, you become much better at recognizing what's healthy. Not because you become suspicious, but because you've come home to yourself. If you've been listening to this episode, there's a good chance that you're thinking, okay, but what am I actually supposed to do now? Maybe he's genuinely trying, maybe he isn't. Maybe you honestly don't know yet and you're not sure you have the emotional bandwidth to figure it out right now. I want to say something that I hope genuinely shifts something for you. Your healing doesn't have to wait until you have the answer. I know that might sound small, but I think it's actually enormous because so many women operate under the belief that their next chapter is conditional. Once I know whether he's really changing, once I decide whether to stay or leave, once I figure out what the right thing to do is, and then and only then they can start rebuilding, start reclaiming, start becoming themselves again. That's still organizing your whole life around him, just in a different direction. One of the biggest shifts I see women make is when they stop asking, what should I do about him, and start asking, what do I need? And I want to acknowledge that that sounds like a simple question, but for a lot of women, especially women who have spent years becoming experts on someone else, it is really difficult to answer because you know his moods, you know his triggers, you know when he's about to shut down and when he's in a place where hard conversation might actually go somewhere. You know what topics are safe and which ones have consequences. You've become remarkably good at reading another person's inner weather. But somewhere along the way, you stopped asking those same questions of yourself. How am I doing? What am I feeling underneath all the managing and the adjusting? What do I need today? Not for the household, not for the kids, not for the relationship, but for me. What makes me feel safe? What makes me feel like myself? Those questions went quiet, not because you stopped mattering, but because you stopped having the space to hear the answers. That's one of the things that I find most heartbreaking about long-term unhealthy relationships. It isn't just that you lost trust in another person, it's that you slowly lose the relationship with yourself. You become so consumed with managing someone else's experience that your own experience starts to feel almost irrelevant. And by the time you finally have the space to look inward, sometimes what you find is a woman who doesn't know who she is anymore, what she likes, what she wants, what would make her actually happy, not just relieved, not just calmer, but genuinely, warmly, deeply happy. I have been that woman. I know what it's like to look for yourself and find mostly absence. And I want to tell you what I've also seen. She's still in there. She's been waiting quietly in all the moments that you didn't have time to look. So, what does coming back to yourself actually look like? It's smaller than you might think. Going to lunch with a friend and saying what you actually think, making one decision for no reason other than what you wanted. Signing up for the class that you've been talking about for three years, taking a walk without explaining what you're doing, spending one hour doing something that has nothing to do with fixing anything. Those may sound like little things, but they are not little things because every time you choose yourself, even in a small, quiet, unwitnessed way, you are teaching your nervous system something really important. You are saying, I exist outside of this relationship. I am a full person with needs and preferences and a life worth attending to. And over time, those small choices accumulate into something, into a woman who knows who she is, a woman who trusts what she knows, a woman who is no longer willing to postpone herself indefinitely while she waits for someone else's decisions to determine her future. And I want to say something to the women whose partners are really changing, because I know some of you feel guilty about continuing to have boundaries. You think, well, if he's genuinely trying this hard, shouldn't I be meeting him halfway? Maybe, eventually, but halfway does not mean abandoning yourself again. Healthy reconciliation isn't built on one person rushing through their healing so that the other person feels better. It's built on two people who are both doing their work at their own pace and respecting each other's process. If he's genuinely changing, he won't just tolerate your boundaries. He'll understand why you need them. He might even encourage them because someone who is becoming emotionally healthy doesn't want access to you through guilt or obligation or you moving faster than you're actually ready to. They want connection that comes from real trust. And real trust cannot be rushed. It can only be earned one ordinary day at a time. Not can people change? I believe they can. And not, can marriages recover? I've seen them recover in ways that surprised everyone involved. Not even should you stay or leave. Because I don't know your story. I don't know what you've lived through. I don't know what has happened behind closed doors and what it's cost you. But I do know this. Sometimes we become so consumed with watching someone else's growth that we stop noticing our own. We spend months, sometimes years, trying to answer the question: is he changing? Watching, analyzing, looking for evidence, trying to predict the future, trying to know what's real. And before we realize it, our entire emotional world is still orbiting around someone else. Even if they're genuinely changing, even if they're doing everything right, our focus is still on them. What if, just for a moment, you shifted the spotlight? Instead of asking, is he becoming the partner I deserve? What if you asked, Am I becoming the woman that I want to be? That's a question that no one else can answer for you. And it's a question that doesn't require anything from him at all. It belongs entirely to you. Maybe becoming that woman means learning to trust yourself again, not just in relationships, but in the daily small decisions that you've been second-guessing for years. Maybe it means allowing yourself to want things without justifying them. Maybe it means discovering that you actually enjoy things that you forgot you enjoyed. Maybe it means laughing, really laughing, the unguarded kind and being surprised by the sound of it. Maybe it means rebuilding friendships that you slowly let fade, going back to school, starting something that you've been putting off, joining the paddle club or taking the painting class, or picking up the book that has nothing to do with healing and everything to do with joy. Maybe it simply means living a life that becomes, in the most beautiful and gradual way, bigger than your relationship. A life that doesn't depend on his decisions to be worth living. I think about the version of myself, the belief that if I could just explain myself one more time, find the right words, the right moment, eventually something would shift. I spent so much of my life trying to become the right person for someone else that I forgot to become myself. Which is why this work matters so much to me. Because I've learned something that I wish someone had told me years earlier. Healing isn't about becoming someone new. It's about coming home to the person that you were before you learn to survive by abandoning yourself. A person who no longer betrays herself in order to keep someone else comfortable. A person who knows finally that her needs are not a burden. Whether this relationship heals or not, whether he becomes who he says he's becoming or returns to the pattern that he came from, there is something that does not depend on his choices. The relationship that you build with yourself, the version of you who stops waiting to be chosen and starts choosing herself. That woman is available to you right now, today, wherever you are in this story. Your life does not wait for his decisions. Either way, your healing belongs to you now. For so long, your attention has been on whether someone else would finally choose the relationship, finally show up, finally understand, finally change. Maybe it's time to ask whether you're choosing yourself. Because that's where pattern breaking actually begins. Not when someone else finally wakes up, but when you stop reading to become the center of your own life. If this episode resonated with you, would you please share it with someone who needs to hear it? You never know who's weak or whose life might change because you press send. And if you haven't already, I would be so grateful if you'd leave a review wherever you listen to podcasts. It helps more women find these conversations when they're searching for something that they can't quite name yet. And if you're realizing that you're ready for more than awareness, that you want to actually break these patterns, not just understand them, I would love to support you inside of the 12-week break in the cycle program. All of the details are in my socials or at patternbreakerscollective.com. Please reach out anytime. Until next time, take care of yourself, trust yourself, and remember, healthy love doesn't ask you to lose yourself in order to keep it.