In 2013, I interviewed the relationship coach Matthew Hussey. We talked for three hours and genuinely liked each other. So much so, we're still in touch today.

He invited me to his 5-day retreat in St. Petersburg, Florida, focused less on relationships and more on upending our bad habits, challenging our false beliefs, and removing the obstacles blocking us from living the life we want. He offered me a huge discount. I can't remember how much it cost, but I think it was $2,000. I hemmed and hawed. I read the literature. From all the testimonials to the schedule, it did, indeed look rather life changing.

But. But. But. Five days just to focus on myself? ALL DAY LONG?

If I had the opportunity to study abnormal psychology, advanced editing techniques, or even how run a small business, I don't think I would have waffled as much. It would have felt more necessary. I need to understand advanced editing techniques—I'm a writer! Abnormal Psychology is part of what I write about. Being self-employed means running a small business.

But this wasn't about external world-building, it was about internal excavation and rebuilding and that felt less important.

Besides, I didn't have the money.

No problem, he said, I could pay in installments.

I didn't have anyone to watch Busy!

No worries, my friend said, she'd watch Busy.

I didn't have kids, I didn't have a traditional day job, I didn't have any responsibilities tying me to Brooklyn for those five days, so why was I still hemming and hawing?

Here I was, being offered five days in Florida to learn about who I was, what I wanted, and how to get it; I could pay in installments; a friend was happily watching my dog, so what was my problem? Why was I so resistant to invest in myself?

And then I realized why.

It felt selfish to spend five days just focused on myself. Who did I think I was that I deserved 5 undisturbed days to navel gaze?

I knew I wouldn't be offered this huge discount again, and from all the research I'd done on Matthew, leading up to our interview, I found much of what he said profound. What if I went and I did actually become a more confident person? What if I went and my behavior changed and I got out of my own way?

And that's when I understood my resistance wasn't about selfishness.

It was a fear that I might be compelled to let go of the only identity I'd ever known. If I went, I'd have to be uncomfortable. I might be moved toward a healthier way to be, and who and how that would feel was unknown.

And that's what I was afraid of.

Learning how to live the life I wanted, to let go of bad habits, and loosen my grip on the most consistent identification I'd had my entire life, that I was somehow "defective", felt oddly annihilating.

Getting healthier meant moving into uncertainty, into the unknown, and that is uncomfortable.

Yet, I knew I should go.

So, I went, clinging tight to my identity lest I get too close to discomfort.

I kept thinking, this better be worth it.

There were about thirty other women there, and I felt embarrassed. Like a friend caught me reading a self-help book in public.

Matthew welcomed me, and I went to the first workshop, and I never stopped taking notes. Over the course of 5 days, I filled two entire notebooks, with one gem after another. He led us through meaningful exercises, offered tools and skills for getting unstuck and moving forward. (I'll share some of my notes from the retreat in a future newsletter.)

The first time Matthew spoke to us, he addressed how hard it is to choose ourselves. That these 5 days will likely change us in some way forever, offer us tools for how to remove obstacles, hand us frameworks that will never expire or grow old, and yet, we're worried that the choice to focus on ourselves is selfish.

He addressed every fear I had and then spent five days teaching us how choosing ourselves was the least selfish thing we could do.

This was nearly 13 years ago. I still think about that retreat. I still look at those notebooks.

At the end of those 5 days, I understood that part of my waffling about the trip was an inability to shift focus off the cost and onto the value I'd be receiving. I was so hooked on what I was spending that I didn't take into consideration what exactly I was getting in return.

It's often easier to spend money for quick fixes that promise external rewards because we believe in the fantasy, and harder to spend money when the investment is internal. It's harder to quantify.

Yet the value of being emotionally healthy is always worth the cost.

When I interviewed Matthew, one of the questions I prepared but decided against was, "Why is it so hard to get healthy?"

After the interview, I showed it to him, and he laughed.

"It's more comfortable to remain where you are," he said.

I agreed.

Staying in place also has a cost, it's just steeper, and lacks value.

Let me know your thoughts on this. Is it relatable?

Until next week, I will remain,

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