Hey Dana Jane

Category: Therapy

  • Unlearning the Lie: A Journey Out of Dysfunction

    Disclaimer:
    To my family members who may be reading this—this is not a personal attack. This is a raw and honest account of my experience growing up in a dysfunctional family system. This is the result of years of therapy, painful reflection, and personal growth. If this makes you uncomfortable, I encourage you to sit with that discomfort. These things happened to me. Your discomfort is yours to manage. I won’t be gaslit, dismissed, or silenced.

    For as long as I can remember, I lived in a house where appearances mattered more than authenticity, where silence was safer than speaking up, and where love came with conditions. The air was often thick with unspoken expectations, repressed anger, and inherited trauma, disguised as tradition. There was little room for individuality—only conformity.

    The voice in my head that doubted me, shamed me, told me I was “too much” or “not enough”? It wasn’t mine. It belonged to a chorus—my parents, some aunts and uncles, a grandparent. Their values were imposed on me like scripture: obey, conform, suppress, believe. I was conditioned to accept their version of religion, success, womanhood, and morality without question. I spent decades chasing their ideals, only to end up exhausted and empty.

    It’s taken five years of therapy—deep, soul-level work—for me to realize that voice was never mine. That guilt and shame? Not mine to carry. Those expectations? Not my responsibility. My therapist once told me, “Just because they handed you the script, doesn’t mean you have to keep reading from it.” That was the moment everything began to shift.

    At 46, I’ve never been clearer. I no longer pretend. I no longer force myself to align with values that don’t fit. I don’t exist to be a mirror for someone else’s version of the “right” life. I now extend the compassion to myself that I so freely gave everyone else. That’s the most sacred, powerful gift I’ve ever given myself.

    Yes, my philosophies have shifted. Yes, my goals and beliefs look different. And no, I will no longer contort myself to please people who can’t—or won’t—see me clearly. I’m no longer afraid to stand up for what’s right for me.

    And if this disappoints my parents, siblings, or extended relatives—so be it. That disappointment is theirs to hold. I was never equipped to be the manager of everyone’s emotions, and I’m done trying to be. I have finally stepped out of the shadows of who I was told to be, and into the light of who I actually am.

    This is my truth. And I won’t apologize for it.

  • Blog Post: “Wait…Am I the Narcissist?”

    Let’s talk about a hard truth today—narcissists, and what it’s like when one calls you a narcissist.

    It’s jarring, isn’t it? You’re standing there, trying to explain your feelings or set a boundary, and suddenly—boom—you’re accused of being selfish, dramatic, attention-seeking, or even worse: a narcissist.

    And for a split second, it works. You start to spiral. Am I really like that? Do I make everything about me? Am I the problem?

    Let me stop you right there. The fact that you’re even asking yourself those questions is a huge red flag in the other direction. Real narcissists don’t wonder if they’re narcissists. They don’t question their intentions or worry about how they affect others. That kind of self-awareness? Not in their playbook.

    Narcissists are often incapable of true introspection. They don’t believe they’re flawed or that they could be the cause of hurt. If they ever say things like, “I know I have my faults” or “I guess I’m just the bad guy,” it’s almost always part of a strategy. It’s manipulation disguised as humility. It’s them fishing for reassurance, guilt-tripping you, or trying to flip the script so they can get what they want—your silence, your apology, your compliance.

    So let’s be honest: dealing with a narcissist is emotionally exhausting. They project, they gaslight, and they rewrite reality in a way that makes you look like the villain for simply having needs or drawing a line. And when you finally push back, when you say “Enough”—that’s when they panic. That’s when the accusations start.

    But here’s the truth: if you’ve spent time questioning yourself, reflecting, even reading this blog post because it struck a chord—you’re not the narcissist. You’re likely the empath, the peacekeeper, the overthinker. And narcissists love those types because they’re easy to manipulate. Easy to guilt. Easy to confuse.

    Here’s your reminder: setting boundaries is not selfish. Asking for respect is not narcissistic. Walking away from toxic behavior is not a character flaw. It’s called growth.

    If someone keeps calling you the problem every time you stand up for yourself, it might be time to consider who really has the problem.

    You’re not crazy. You’re not selfish. And no—you’re not the narcissist.

    Keep shining your light. The right people will never try to dim it.

  • The Only Real Control We Have (Spoiler: It’s Not Over Other People)

    Let’s be real for a minute.
    You’re not going to fix that egomaniac in your life.
    You’re not going to outmaneuver the narcissist.
    And you’re definitely not going to “change” that toxic person who’s been draining your energy like it’s their job.

    I know, I know—this isn’t what you want to hear. But it’s what you need to hear. Because here’s the deal:
    The only realistic form of control you have in this life is self-control.

    That’s it. That’s the truth, in all its uncomfortable glory.

    You can’t control how other people treat you. You can’t control how they twist your words, push your buttons, or show up with all the emotional intelligence of a brick wall. You can scream into the void, lose sleep, spiral with overthinking, and still—they’re going to do whatever the hell they want.

    But here’s your superpower: you can control how you respond.
    That’s not weakness. That’s not giving up. That’s strength. That’s freedom.

    Setting boundaries isn’t about changing someone else’s behavior. It’s about saying, “I’m not available for this kind of nonsense anymore.”
    Walking away doesn’t mean you lost. It means you’ve decided your peace matters more than trying to win a battle you never signed up for in the first place.
    Choosing silence doesn’t make you passive. Sometimes, it’s the loudest thing you can do.

    And I get it—we all want justice. We want accountability. We want people to see the light and finally say, “You were right. I was the problem.”
    But you’ll wait forever for that moment with some people. And in the meantime, you’re sacrificing your sanity.

    So here’s the challenge:
    Stop trying to control what’s outside of you, and start mastering what’s within.
    Your thoughts. Your choices. Your reactions. Your energy.

    Because when you stop trying to change toxic people and start changing how you show up around them, something wild happens:
    You get your power back.

    And trust me, that feels a hell of a lot better than banging your head against the wall trying to fix people who don’t want to be fixed.

    You want control? Take it.
    Not over them—over you.
    That’s where the real magic is.

  • Book Review: It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover

    I read It Ends With Us in less than three days. I didn’t want to like it, but I did. And that’s the conflict this book leaves you with—how can something so well-written, so compelling, also feel so deeply unsettling?

    Colleen Hoover doesn’t just tell a love story; she unravels one. At first, I wanted to love Ryle. He was charming, ambitious, and passionate. But then I hated him. I wanted to shake Lily, to hug her, to beg her to see what so many women struggle to recognize: that love doesn’t excuse abuse, and that abusers don’t often change.

    This book wrecked me. I haven’t personally experienced domestic violence, but I know women like Lily. I have watched some leave, and I have watched some stay. And that’s what I may never be able to fully understand—the staying. Hoover doesn’t romanticize Ryle’s actions, but the novel does what real life often does: it makes you question, makes you hope, makes you ache for the person who isn’t what you thought they were.

    While It Ends With Us is undeniably powerful, it also toes a line that made me uncomfortable. Is it fair to frame a story of domestic violence within a romance? Does it risk softening the reality of abuse? I don’t know. What I do know is that this book makes you feel everything—love, anger, frustration, devastation—and maybe that’s the point. Hoover gives us a protagonist who has to make an impossible choice, and through her, we are forced to confront the complexities of love, trauma, and survival.

    Would I recommend It Ends With Us? Yes, but with caution. It’s not an easy read, nor should it be. But it’s an important one.

  • Drowning in Denial: Loving Someone Who Won’t Save Themselves

    It’s a strange kind of grief—watching someone you love slowly destroy themselves, knowing that no matter how much you plead, beg, or cry, they won’t change. Not because they can’t, but because they won’t. Because the bottle is easier. Because the pain is numbed just enough to make tomorrow seem bearable, even if it means drowning today.

    You tell yourself it’s a disease. You remind yourself of that every time they make promises they won’t keep. Every time they slur their words through another excuse. Every time they look you in the eyes and swear they’ll do better, but the next weekend, they’re right back where they started. You know addiction is powerful, but what you don’t understand—what keeps you up at night—is why they don’t seem to want to fight it. Why they won’t even try.

    And maybe the worst part is that they think they’re fooling you. They act like they have it under control, like their drinking isn’t a problem as long as they still go to work, pay their bills, and function just enough to pretend everything is fine. But you see the cracks. The way their hands shake in the morning. The way their personality shifts, sharp and defensive, when you bring it up. The way they push you away, either because they don’t want to hear the truth or because deep down, they know they’re failing you, and it’s easier to resent you than to face themselves.

    You remember the person they used to be. The one who laughed with you, who had dreams and plans, who cared. And you wonder if that person is still in there somewhere, buried beneath the layers of liquor and denial. You wonder if they ever think about getting better, if they ever wake up and realize what they’re losing. What they’ve already lost.

    But the hardest part—the part that breaks you over and over—is knowing that no matter how much you love them, no matter how much you want to save them, you can’t. Because they don’t want to be saved. And until they do, you’re just standing on the shore, watching them drift farther and farther away, screaming into the wind, knowing they can hear you but choosing not to listen.

  • Confronting History: Finding Healing in Grief

    As someone who spent years tucking childhood traumas into the deepest, darkest corners of my mind, I can’t help but marvel at the truth in Alice Miller’s words: “The aim of therapy is not to correct the past, but to enable the patient to confront his own history, and to grieve over it.” It’s a simple yet profound idea—that healing isn’t about rewriting the narrative, but about finally reading it with clear eyes.

    For most of my life, I denied the dysfunction that shaped me. My upbringing revolved around my dad’s tavern, where the clinking of glasses and the hum of jukebox tunes were as constant as the sun rising. It was a place of laughter, yes, but also a crucible for my understanding of relationships, self-worth, and emotional stability. Add to that the complexities of family dynamics, and you’ve got a recipe for a psyche riddled with cracks I didn’t even know were there.

    Therapy wasn’t about patching those cracks for me; it was about examining them. Each session felt like holding a magnifying glass up to my history, unearthing the silent resentments, unspoken grief, and buried fears that had quietly dictated my behavior. But the hardest part wasn’t just facing those moments—it was grieving for the child who endured them.

    Grief in this context is a strange thing. You’re not mourning a loss in the traditional sense; you’re mourning the life you didn’t have, the safety you didn’t feel, the love you didn’t always receive. You’re allowing yourself to feel the sadness, anger, and betrayal that you suppressed for survival. And let me tell you, that process is equal parts liberating and exhausting.

    I’ll admit, I resisted this grief at first. I wanted to be “fixed,” not to cry over memories I’d spent decades avoiding. But therapy taught me that grief is not weakness—it’s acknowledgement. It’s a way of saying to your younger self, “I see you. I understand now. And I’m so sorry you went through that.”

    For me, this grief brought clarity. It helped me understand why I’d accepted dysfunctional patterns in adulthood—because they felt familiar. It allowed me to set boundaries, to recognize that loving people doesn’t mean tolerating their toxicity, and to finally let go of the guilt I carried for simply wanting peace.

    So no, therapy didn’t rewrite my past. My childhood remains what it was—messy, complicated, and full of contradictions. But therapy gave me the tools to confront it, to grieve over it, and to move forward with a little more grace and a lot more self-compassion.

    If you’re on this journey, know that it’s not about erasing pain but about transforming it. You can’t go back and give yourself a different childhood, but you can give yourself the closure you deserve. Grieve the losses. Feel the feelings. And in doing so, you’ll find a strength within yourself that’s been waiting all along.

    And if all else fails, remember this: You’re not crying because you’re broken. You’re crying because you’re finally whole enough to feel it.

  • Understanding Triangulation: What It Is, How It Impacts Us, and How to Cope

    We’ve all been there—caught up in a situation where we’re feeling stuck between two people who aren’t getting along. Maybe it’s a family member, a colleague, or a friend. Someone might be telling you one side of a story, and then you hear the other person’s side, leaving you in the middle, uncertain of where you stand or what’s really going on. That feeling of being pulled in different directions is what’s called triangulation, and let me tell you, it can cause a lot of harm to relationships and your mental wellbeing.

    So, What Is Triangulation?

    Triangulation happens when one person drags a third person (you, in this case) into a conflict or issue that doesn’t necessarily concern you. This tactic typically happens when someone wants to avoid dealing directly with the person they have a problem with, so they go to someone else for validation, support, or to try to get them to take sides. Instead of directly communicating, the issue is distorted and passed around, like a game of telephone.

    It’s not just a family issue. Triangulation can happen in any setting—whether at work, with friends, or at home. It’s basically an unhealthy communication strategy used to manipulate, control, or get a particular outcome.

    Examples of Triangulation

    Family Perspective: Let’s say you’ve got a family member, we’ll call them Person A, who has an ongoing issue with another family member, Person B. Instead of talking things through directly with Person B, Person A decides to approach you, trying to get you to side with them. They might say things like, “I just don’t get why Person B does this to me. What do you think?”

    Now, you’re stuck in the middle, unsure of what to say. If you agree with Person A, you’re reinforcing their perspective without fully understanding the other side. If you try to take the neutral route, it might come across as picking sides anyway. Either way, the situation becomes more complicated and creates tension between you, Person A, and Person B.

    Workplace Perspective: Triangulation can be a nightmare in the workplace. Maybe you’ve seen it: A colleague complains about a manager or another team member to you, pulling you into their grievances. Instead of directly addressing the issue with the person they’re upset with, they try to get your sympathy, possibly in an attempt to win you over or get you to agree with their side. Now, you’re not only feeling uncomfortable but possibly in the middle of a situation that could affect your work dynamics, too. It creates division, mistrust, and undermines teamwork.

    The Harm It Causes

    Triangulation doesn’t just make you feel awkward—it can really harm relationships, both personal and professional. Here are some of the issues that arise when triangulation is at play:

    1. Miscommunication: Because you’re only hearing one side of the story, there’s a lot of room for misunderstanding. You don’t get the full picture, and things can get distorted, making it harder to figure out what’s really going on.
    2. Toxic Relationships: Triangulation creates an unhealthy dynamic where people don’t communicate directly. Instead, there’s secrecy, manipulation, and a breakdown of trust. Over time, it can chip away at the foundation of the relationship.
    3. Stress and Anxiety: When you’re caught in the middle, it can feel like you’re walking on eggshells. You worry about saying the wrong thing or making people upset. The constant stress of being a go-between can take a toll on your mental health.
    4. Disempowerment: If you’re always being dragged into conflicts, you may start to feel like your own voice and opinion don’t matter. Your role is reduced to being a pawn in someone else’s drama, and that can be incredibly disempowering.
    5. Division: In families and workplaces, triangulation creates sides, which causes division. People become more focused on taking sides or seeking validation than working together to resolve the issue at hand.

    How to Cope With Triangulation

    1. Set Boundaries: This is key. Whether at work or in your personal life, make it clear that you’re not comfortable being pulled into someone else’s conflict. Politely but firmly tell the person that you’re not the right person to talk to about the situation and encourage them to speak directly to the person involved.
    2. Be Neutral: If you find yourself in the middle of triangulation, try to remain neutral. Don’t take sides, and avoid making judgments based on incomplete information. If necessary, redirect the conversation back to the person they have the issue with.
    3. Encourage Direct Communication: One of the best ways to stop triangulation is by promoting direct communication between the parties involved. Gently suggest that the person who is upset speak directly to the person they’re having an issue with, rather than involving you.
    4. Don’t Get Emotional: Triangulation can be emotionally manipulative, but it’s important not to get caught up in the emotions of the situation. Keep your feelings in check and don’t let anyone use you to get a reaction out of others.
    5. Seek Support: If you’re dealing with triangulation, it’s helpful to talk to someone you trust. It could be a therapist, a friend, or a colleague who isn’t involved in the situation. Talking it out helps you process your feelings and avoid internalizing the stress of being in the middle.

    Final Thoughts

    Triangulation may seem like a small issue, but it can spiral into something bigger, affecting not only the relationships of the people directly involved but also your own emotional health. Whether at home or at work, it’s important to recognize triangulation when it happens and take steps to protect yourself. Open, honest, and direct communication is the key to avoiding it—and if you find yourself in the middle, it’s okay to step back, set boundaries, and prioritize your own peace of mind.

    If you’ve ever experienced triangulation, I’d love to hear how you’ve handled it or any tips you might have for coping with it. Let’s talk about it!

  • The Draw of Psychology

    I recently came across a quote from The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides that stopped me in my tracks:

    “I believe the same is true for most people who go into mental health. We are drawn to this profession because we are damaged—we study psychology to heal ourselves.”

    It struck a chord with me because it encapsulates the deeply personal reason I’ve always been fascinated by psychology. My interest began with my very first college psychology class. I was hooked, not just by the science of it, but by the way it seemed to illuminate the human condition—my condition.

    Years later, when childhood traumas I had long buried began to surface, psychology became a lifeline. Therapy and psychology books were the first places I turned, hoping to understand myself, heal, and learn how to set boundaries. I wanted to know why I had spent decades in denial about the dysfunction in my family. I had questions, and psychology held the answers I desperately needed.

    What I’ve learned is that denial is a survival mechanism. It shields us from pain until we’re ready to confront it. For years, I clung to a narrative that felt safe. But when the cracks appeared, I couldn’t unsee them. Psychology helped me name the chaos I grew up in, recognize unhealthy patterns, and, most importantly, begin the work of healing.

    And here’s the thing—I’ve come to believe we’re all healing from something. Life leaves its marks on all of us, whether it’s childhood wounds, broken relationships, or the weight of unmet expectations. Healing isn’t linear, and it isn’t quick. It’s messy, frustrating, and often painful. But it’s also worth it.

    Psychology taught me that understanding is the foundation of healing. By exploring the “why” behind our emotions and behaviors, we can begin to untangle the threads of our past and create a healthier future. It’s a process of unlearning harmful patterns, rewriting our inner narratives, and building something stronger in their place.

    For me, psychology has been more than an academic interest; it has been a mirror, a roadmap, and a guide. It’s shown me that while we may be “damaged,” we are not broken beyond repair. We are capable of growth, resilience, and transformation.

    If you’ve ever been curious about what makes us who we are, I encourage you to dive into this field—even if you’re just exploring for yourself. It’s not just about healing the world; sometimes, it’s about healing ourselves first. And as we heal, we create space for others to do the same.

  • Protecting Your Family From Manipulative People

    Let’s talk about something we all hope never to deal with: people who try to worm their way into your family and use manipulation to get what they want. You know the type—they seem charming at first, maybe even helpful, but over time, their true colors start to show. Before you know it, they’re stirring up drama, playing the victim, or turning people against each other. It’s exhausting, right?

    Here’s the thing: protecting your family from these kinds of people isn’t just important—it’s absolutely necessary. Let’s break it down.

    How Manipulators Operate

    These people don’t show up with a flashing sign that says, “I’m here to mess things up!” They’re sneaky. They might:

    • Act helpless: They love to make you feel sorry for them. Suddenly, you’re bending over backward to help someone who never seems to help themselves.
    • Twist the truth: They’ll make you question your own memory or feelings. You’ll catch yourself thinking, Am I the problem here? Spoiler alert: you’re not.
    • Exploit weaknesses: Maybe they latch onto the soft-hearted member of your family, or they guilt-trip someone who’s too nice to say no.
    • Create drama: They thrive on chaos. They’ll pit people against each other or stir up conflict to keep the focus off their own behavior.

    Sound familiar?

    Why It’s Such a Big Deal

    If you let this kind of behavior slide, it doesn’t just go away. It grows. Here’s what happens when you don’t set boundaries:

    1. Trust gets shaky: Suddenly, you’re questioning each other instead of the person causing the problems.
    2. Everyone’s drained: Dealing with manipulation is emotionally exhausting. You end up feeling tense, frustrated, and maybe even guilty for wanting peace.
    3. The family dynamic shifts: Instead of feeling like a team, your family starts to feel fractured, which is exactly what the manipulator wants.

    So, What Can You Do?

    Protecting your family doesn’t mean you have to be rude or aggressive, but it does mean you have to take a stand. Here’s how:

    • Set boundaries: Be clear about what’s okay and what’s not. And don’t just set the boundary—enforce it.
    • Trust your gut: If someone’s actions consistently make you uncomfortable, pay attention to that feeling.
    • Stick together: Talk openly as a family about what’s going on. The manipulator’s power comes from dividing you—don’t give them that chance.
    • Know when to walk away: If someone keeps crossing the line despite your best efforts, it might be time to cut ties. It’s tough, but sometimes it’s the only way to protect your peace.

    It’s Okay to Protect Your Space

    At the end of the day, you don’t owe anyone an open door to your family. If someone’s behavior is causing harm, you’re allowed to step in and say, “Enough.” That doesn’t make you mean or heartless—it makes you protective of the people you care about.

    Family should be a place of love and support, not manipulation and drama. If someone can’t respect that, it’s not your job to make excuses for them. Trust yourself, stand firm, and protect what matters most. You’ve got this.

  • Naming the Darkness: How Neon Angel Resonates with My Experience

    Reading Cherie Currie’s memoir, Neon Angel, was a deeply moving experience. Cherie’s story of rising to fame with The Runaways and the darker struggles that came with it is raw, unfiltered, and deeply human. One quote in particular struck a chord with me: “Because there is a certain type of person in this world, a type that has something black inside of their soul.”

    Growing up in my dad’s bar, those words resonated on a level that’s hard to describe. As a teenager working behind the bar, the threat of sexual assault wasn’t some distant fear—it was an ever-present shadow. I was only 14 when I started bartending, and by the time I was 16, I’d seen the worst parts of human nature far too often.

    There were always those regulars who had my dad fooled. They’d come in, shake his hand, and laugh like they were the picture of respectability. To him, they were “upstanding citizens,” good for business and trustworthy. But once a few drinks loosened their tongues, their true nature came out. They’d flirt, they’d grope, and some even tried to manipulate me into being affectionate with them.

    It’s difficult to explain what it’s like to be in that position, teetering between fear and self-preservation. I never felt safe around those men, yet I also understood the stakes. My dad’s business depended on these customers, and I didn’t know how far I could push before accusations would turn into drama—or worse. At 14, 15, 16 years old, I had no idea how to navigate that fine line.

    How much do you tell your dad when you’re that young? What if he doesn’t believe you, or what if he does and things escalate? These questions swirled in my mind constantly, leaving me feeling isolated and unsure of how to protect myself. I learned to smile politely, sidestep advances, and deflect with jokes, all while keeping my guard up. Looking back, it was a survival strategy—but it shouldn’t have had to be.

    Reading Cherie’s words about the darkness inside some people’s souls brought back those memories in a wave of understanding and validation. She’d seen that darkness too, felt it closing in, and fought against it. There’s a strange kind of comfort in knowing you’re not alone, that someone else has faced the same shadows and named them for what they are.

    Her memoir reminded me of the strength it takes to confront those moments and the importance of shedding light on these experiences. When I think back to that time in my life, I feel a mix of emotions: anger, sadness, and pride. Anger at the men who thought their behavior was acceptable. Sadness for the girl I was, navigating a world where she didn’t feel protected. And pride for the woman I’ve become, who’s not afraid to speak the truth.

    Neon Angel isn’t just a story about music and fame; it’s a story about resilience. It’s about naming the darkness and refusing to let it define you. For anyone who’s ever felt that shadow looming, Cherie’s words are a reminder that you’re not alone, and that your voice has power. I wish I’d known that back then, but I’m grateful to know it now.