Are You a Professional Doormat?
Do people walk all over you?
Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,
Do you keep finding yourself in one-sided relationships?
Where you do all the emotional heavy lifting… and still get blamed when things go wrong?
Are you the kind of person people take advantage of?
Not because you’re naive—but because you’re kind. Thoughtful. Empathetic. The kind of person who means well.
And that’s exactly what they prey on.
Are you the one everyone dumps all their problems on?
You’re the “safe one.” The one who’ll sit and listen to their pain at 2 AM while no one checks in on you.
You’ve become the emotional landfill for other people’s unresolved drama.
Were you the black sheep of the family?
Not because you failed—but because you refused to pretend.
You didn’t keep secrets. You didn’t lie to protect the dysfunction.
You made them uncomfortable by being honest.
Do relationships leave you feeling exhausted?
Not just tired—but soul-dead. You give them everything… your presence, your energy, your peace…
And they give you just enough to keep you hanging on.
Do you keep falling in love with people who are domineering, controlling, and manipulative?
They don’t show their fangs at first. They smile. They charm. They mirror you.
But once you’re hooked, they twist the knife slowly.
And you tell yourself, Maybe I’m just being sensitive.
Do you feel deeply frustrated with your relationship—or lack of one?
You crave connection. But not like this. Not the kind that makes you small.
You want intimacy, not intensity. Real closeness, not control masked as concern.
Do you have a low opinion of yourself?
You might be successful. Intelligent. Talented. But inside… you don’t feel like enough.
Like there’s something fundamentally wrong with you. Something that makes you unworthy of love unless you earn it.
Are you a people pleaser?
Do you feel like you’re only allowed to exist when you're being useful?
You become what others want—at the cost of forgetting who you are.
Do you feel invisible?
Like you’re the background character in your own story.
Like your presence is tolerated, not celebrated.
Like you could vanish, and no one would notice the silence.
Do you carry trauma you haven’t fully dealt with?
And maybe you’ve tried. Therapy. Journaling. Reading all the self-help books.
But some of those wounds feel ancient.
Like they’re lodged in your bones. Passed down like family heirlooms.
Do you struggle with boundaries?
You know you should speak up. You even rehearse what to say.
But in the moment, your throat closes.
And once again, you make yourself smaller so they can stay comfortable.
Does your partner—or someone in your life—gaslight you?
Do they twist your words? Make you doubt your memory?
Do they flip the script until you’re the one apologizing for being hurt?
Are you afraid to say “No”?
As if that one syllable might cost you love.
As if your worth is measured in how accommodating you are.
Do you feel guilty when you say “No”?
Do you wrestle with a knot in your stomach after protecting your time, your peace, your limits?
Are you secretly terrified of what people think of you?
Do you replay conversations on loop, wondering if you said the wrong thing?
Do you hold back your truth just to avoid rejection?
Are you highly sensitive?
Do you feel things most people miss?
Pick up on micro-expressions, shifts in tone, energy in the room?
Do you feel deeply—and then beat yourself up for not “toughening up”?
Do you sometimes feel responsible for everyone else’s emotions?
If someone’s upset, it must be your fault.
If they’re distant, it must be something you did.
You’re carrying everyone’s emotional luggage while your own bags remain unpacked.
Do you long for a healthy relationship?
One where you’re not bracing for impact.
One where you don’t have to over-explain, over-function, overcompensate.
One where love feels safe.
Do you wonder what it’s like to actually have self-esteem?
To speak and not second-guess yourself.
To show up without shrinking.
To take up space and feel right doing it?
If you answered yes to any of these questions, welcome.
You're not broken.
You're waking up.
This space—Permission to Be Powerful—was created for you.
Because I was all of those things.
And I nearly disappeared because of it.
I used to be what I now call a professional doormat.
I even gave that version of me a name: The Chauffeur.
Because that’s what I was.
Driving everyone else where they needed to go.
Making sure they were safe, comfortable, and satisfied.
Meanwhile, I was stuck circling the block.
Unseen.
Unheard.
And so, so angry at myself.
But I didn’t look angry on the outside.
I smiled. I nodded. I “understood.”
I performed empathy like a trained actor.
Not because I was fake—but because I had no idea how to express my own needs.
And every relationship I entered followed the same cursed script.
They’d start with sparks, then slowly turn into control.
The mask would slip. The demands would grow.
And I’d blame myself for “ruining another good thing.”
Until I met someone who helped me rewrite the script.
His name is Zalman.
He’s a therapist. A mirror. A mystic. A master at helping people see their own blindspots.
Without him, I wouldn’t be here writing this.
I’d still be The Chauffeur.
Still living in fear of rocking the boat.
Still trying to be liked instead of loved.
Zalman helped me see how deeply my trauma shaped my identity.
How my guilt wasn’t real guilt—it was conditioned compliance.
How my “niceness” wasn’t kindness—it was self-abandonment in a pretty outfit.
And once I saw that truth, I couldn’t unsee it.
Everything began to change.
I started saying no.
I started setting boundaries—not as punishment, but as protection.
I started feeling emotions I had numbed for years: rage, grief, relief.
I became honest. Raw. Awake.
I stopped chasing people who didn’t care if I disappeared.
And slowly… I became powerful.
Not in a showy, ego-driven way.
But powerful in the deepest way a human can be:
I began honoring my truth.
I stopped managing other people’s feelings.
I realized my worth doesn’t come from being needed—it comes from being me.
And now I want to show you what that path looks like.
Because this isn't just a newsletter.
This is a reckoning.
An invitation.
A map back to yourself.
If you feel like a stranger to your own life…
If you’re tired of surviving and ready to rise…
If something inside you whispers, “There’s more”…
Then stick around.
On Permission to Be Powerful, I’ll share everything I’ve learned.
The scripts I had to burn.
The boundaries I had to build.
The myths I had to unlearn.
I’ll show you how to reclaim your time, energy, voice, and dignity.
Not from a pedestal.
From the trenches.
Because I lived it.
And I know the way out.
I didn’t just wake up one day and feel powerful.
No. It was messy. Ugly. Lonely.
It was months—years—of falling down and crawling back up.
There were nights I cried on the bathroom floor because I didn’t know who I was without someone else needing me.
There were days I stared at my phone, terrified to speak my truth because I knew it would cost me the relationship.
There were moments I felt insane—gaslit by people I loved, convinced I was too sensitive, too much, too broken.
But the truth was…
I wasn’t broken.
I was wounded.
And there’s a big difference.
Brokenness implies something is ruined, beyond repair.
Woundedness just means something happened to you that was never healed.
Maybe it happened in childhood.
Maybe it happened last year.
Maybe it’s been happening slowly your whole life—one small betrayal at a time.
And if you’re like I was…
You learned to survive by abandoning yourself.
You became nice instead of honest.
Accommodating instead of authentic.
Soft instead of sovereign.
You learned that keeping the peace was safer than telling the truth.
You learned that love had to be earned.
You learned to apologize for existing.
And the wild thing is… the world rewards you for that.
They call you “selfless.” “Kind.” “Empathic.”
You get labeled “the strong one.” “The rock.” “The good listener.”
But beneath the praise… is pain.
Because when you’re everyone’s rock, no one checks to see if you’re okay.
When I was The Chauffeur, people loved having me around.
But they didn’t love me—they loved what I could do for them.
And the scariest part?
I enabled it.
I trained people to treat me like I didn’t matter.
Every time I said yes when I meant no.
Every time I downplayed my needs.
Every time I laughed off disrespect because I didn’t want to “make it a thing.”
But trauma doesn’t disappear just because you minimize it.
It festers.
It leaks into your relationships.
It colors your worldview.
It makes healthy love feel boring and manipulative love feel exciting.
It tricks you into thinking you have to fix people to be worthy of staying.
And here’s the sickest part:
You can read all the books.
Watch all the YouTube videos.
Post all the inspirational quotes.
But until you do the real work—the kind that burns—you will stay in the cycle.
I’m not saying that to discourage you.
I’m saying that to free you.
Because once you realize this isn’t about being a bad person or making bad choices—once you realize your nervous system is wired for dysfunction—you can finally stop hating yourself and start healing yourself.
This is why I’m so passionate about this space.
Because I don’t want you to go another year pretending you’re okay.
I don’t want you waking up in five years in another one-sided relationship wondering how you got here again.
I want you to break the pattern.
And not just break it—but shatter it into a thousand pieces and build something real from the rubble.
Because yes—it is possible.
I used to roll my eyes when people said that.
I thought healing was for people who grew up with fewer scars.
But now? I’m living proof.
You can become someone who no longer gets hooked by emotional chaos.
Someone who doesn’t chase after crumbs.
Someone who can say, “That’s not okay,” without shaking.
You can build relationships that feel like sanctuaries—not war zones.
But it takes practice.
It takes honesty.
It takes unlearning.
It takes having the courage to look in the mirror and say:
“I’ve been complicit in my own pain, but I refuse to continue the cycle.”
That moment is when everything changes.
It’s not about blame. It’s about ownership.
That’s when you go from being a victim of your past…
To being the author of your future.
So if you’re here, reading this, and something in you feels both terrified and relieved?
Good.
That means the real you—the powerful you—is waking up.
And here’s what I want to tell that part of you:
There’s nothing wrong with you.
You were trained to believe love was conditional.
You were raised to prioritize peace over truth.
You were rewarded for sacrificing yourself.
But those aren’t personality traits.
They’re survival strategies.
And you don’t need them anymore.
You’re allowed to stop being the emotional dumping ground.
You’re allowed to stop over-explaining yourself.
You’re allowed to stop managing other people’s reactions.
You’re allowed to take up space.
To want more.
To need more.
That doesn’t make you selfish.
That makes you human.
And on Permission to Be Powerful, we talk about exactly how to do that.
Not in vague, feel-good platitudes.
But in real, practical, messy steps.
How to set a boundary without shaking.
How to say “No” without guilt.
How to spot red flags before you fall for the story.
How to build self-esteem from the inside out.
This space is for empaths, people-pleasers, black sheep, and gentle rebels who are tired of hiding.
It’s for the ones who’ve been told “You’re too sensitive,” “You’re too emotional,” or “You’re too intense.”
It’s for the ones who secretly wonder:
“What if I’m not meant to live small?”
You’re not.
And I’m here to remind you—daily—that your softness isn’t a flaw.
It’s a superpower.
But only when it’s protected.
We’re not here to make you harder.
We’re here to make you stronger.
And those two things are not the same.
Hardness is armor.
Strength is trust.
Hardness shuts down.
Strength speaks up.
Hardness hides.
Strength reveals.
If you’re ready to stop hiding and start healing—this is your invitation.
Come be part of a community that gets it.
Where we talk about the real stuff.
Where we normalize having emotions, needs, and standards.
Where we learn how to take our power back without becoming the people who hurt us.
Because that’s the trap, right?
You don’t want to become cold.
You just want to stop burning.
And you can.
You don’t have to keep proving your worth through suffering.
You don’t have to “earn” rest, respect, or love.
You just have to remember who you were before the world convinced you to disappear.
And I’ll be right here, reminding you—every step of the way.
Your comeback story is already in motion.
And you don’t have to do it alone.
Until next time,
Dancer, Writer, Buddhist
