You know that moment—the one where your stomach drops because you know you’re about to “rock the boat”?

Maybe it’s telling your extended family you need different food options because you’ve learned you’re allergic to gluten…
Or telling your husband you’re skipping the hike because you’re PMSing and all you want is to stay home, putter, and breathe in peace…
Or making the painfully practical call between a job you don’t love, the bills that need to be paid, and the unmistakable signal from your body that it’s burning out.

That familiar pit in your stomach… the tightness in your chest… the whisper that says, They’re going to be upset. You should be able to just figure it out. Keep everyone comfortable. Don’t need anything special.

I’ve been thinking a lot about where that voice comes from.

Here’s what I know:
We learn to stand up for ourselves by watching others do it.
And maybe even more importantly—we learn we are worthy of being stood up for when someone else does it for us.

When I was a senior in high school, I played volleyball with a girl who was a fierce hitter—new to the game, but athletic, scrappy, and committed. She jumped like a rabbit and had a killer right arm.

She also smelled. Badly. And the other girls talked about her behind her back.

She was the only African American girl on the team. The oldest daughter of a single mom. Living in subsidized housing. I knew this because I drove her home after practice. And while I never knew exactly why she smelled—nutrition, stress, water conservation, taking care of younger siblings, or maybe protecting herself from a boyfriend in the house—what I did know was that she was a good teammate and a powerful player.

And yet… the talking continued.

I wasn’t team captain, but I did tell the girls to knock it off.
To this day, I don’t know why our actual captains never stepped in. Why they didn’t pull us aside and say, “Absolutely not. We don’t treat our own like that.”

Because that is the job.

Most of us never saw those small acts of leadership. We didn’t see people interrupt cruelty. We didn’t see people model what it means to stand with someone who’s vulnerable. We didn’t see people choose integrity over popularity.

But our psyches remember.

We remember the icky shame of staying silent.
We remember the sting of being the one talked about.
We remember looking around for help… and realizing no one was coming.

I meet so many adults—strong, brilliant, deeply capable folks—who still have a child inside waiting for someone to finally stand up for them.

I feel that part inside myself, too.

Now, as an acupuncturist and coach, I get to do what those captains never did.
I get to kneel beside you, brush the dirt off your knees, and say, “I’m right here. You’re not alone.”
I get to take your hand—your adult hand and your inner child’s hand—and show you that you deserve to be stood up for. That your body deserves protection. That your needs matter. That you are not powerless.

So if you’ve been noticing the burnout creeping in…
If life feels heavy or oppressive…
If your body is whispering (or screaming) for relief…
If you struggle to say the hard thing, make the boundary, or choose yourself—

You are not broken.

You’re carrying a pattern that was never yours to hold alone.

And you don’t have to keep navigating it alone.

If you’re ready to reclaim your body, your voice, and your peace of mind, I’d be honored to walk with you.
You can book an acupuncture session with me here if your body needs support, nourishment, and regulation.
Or you can book a coaching consultation if you’re ready to unravel the deeper patterns that make standing up for yourself so hard—and build the confidence and clarity you’ve been craving.

You deserve to feel safe in your needs.
You deserve to take up space.
You deserve to be stood up for—especially by you.