Your Circle Shapes Your Health

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to understand why people behave the way they do. And for a long time, I think I confused understanding someone with having to tolerate the way their behavior affected me. I’m realizing those are two very different things.

You can have enormous compassion for someone who lives in a constant state of fear. You can understand that their behavior probably comes from something much deeper than whatever is happening in front of you. You can recognize that they may have lived that way for so long they don’t even realize they’re afraid anymore. It’s just who they are. How they operate. How they see the world.

But understanding where someone’s behavior comes from doesn’t mean you have to keep living with the effects of it. You can have compassion for someone and still decide you don’t want to live there with them.

That realization has been a big one for me.

For a long time, I think I believed that understanding someone meant I needed to keep making room for them. If I could see why someone behaved the way they did, then somehow I should be more tolerant of the behavior itself. I don’t believe that anymore. Compassion doesn’t require unlimited access to me.

I can understand you and I can wish you well. I can genuinely hope you find your way out of whatever keeps you afraid, angry, reactive, or perpetually waiting for the next disaster, and I can also choose not to sit next to you while you do it. That’s not a lack of compassion. That’s self-preservation.

Your environment gets a vote.

We talk a lot about health in terms of what we eat, how much we exercise, whether we’re sleeping enough, what supplements we take, how much alcohol we consume and whether we’re drinking enough water. All of which are, of course, important. But I’m becoming increasingly convinced that we underestimate another part of the equation:

Who do you spend your life around?

Not the person who cuts you off in traffic, or the woman having a complete meltdown in the grocery store checkout line, and definitely not the guy at the post office who apparently woke up and chose rage. Those people enter our nervous system for five minutes and then, ideally, leave.

I’m talking about the people who are part of your environment every single day. The people you live with. The people you work with. The people whose moods you monitor before you say something. The people who make you brace yourself before walking into a room. The people around whom you are constantly explaining, fixing, anticipating, smoothing things over or trying to prevent the next explosion.

That takes energy. A lot of it. And sometimes you don’t realize how much until you stop doing it. I didn't even realize how tired I was until I stopped.

I recently made one of the biggest changes of my adult life. I decided to leave a job and a world that had consumed an enormous amount of me for years. There were plenty of practical reasons for that decision. But there was also this:

I didn't want to feel that way anymore.

And what has surprised me is how quickly other things have started changing. I feel happier and stronger, and I sleep better. I make different decisions about food. I show up at the gym even when I don’t particularly feel like going. I drink less tequila, which considering my husband sells really good tequila, feels statistically significant. I walk after big meals. I’m getting better at putting down my phone and computer and picking up a book. I’m reading Heal Your Cells right now.

And I’m becoming much more intentional about where I put my energy.

I’m investing in the relationships that matter most to me. My amazing husband. My beautiful mom. My dear, close friends. The people who support me and lift me up, but who will also call me on my bullshit when necessary. Those relationships don't drain me. They make me feel more like myself. And the more I notice that difference, the harder it becomes to ignore.

Maybe health isn't only about what we add.

For years, I’ve worked in a world where we are constantly looking for things to add. Another supplement. Another test. A different diet. A new treatment. A better sleep routine. More exercise. More meditation. Getting sunlight on your face first thing in the morning. It’s always about adding something. And while all those things matter and can make a difference, it’s a fucking lot.

But lately I’ve been wondering whether healing occasionally starts with subtraction.

What happens when we remove something that keeps our nervous system on high alert? When we stop volunteering for relationships that leave us depleted? What happens when we quit believing that because we understand someone’s behavior, we are obligated to keep experiencing it? What happens when we decide that peace deserves a place on the health plan too? I am finally starting to find out.

And no, I'm not telling everyone to quit their job

I realize how privileged and completely unrealistic that advice would be. We have mortgages, rent, kids, bills, and responsibilities. People depending on us. Sometimes you work with an asshole because the asshole happens to be standing between you and your paycheck. That's just life.

But I also don't think we should dismiss the effect our environment has on us as just the way it is. Especially when our health is suffering, when we’re exhausted, when our bodies seem to be constantly bracing for whatever comes next.

Maybe you can't quit your job, but perhaps you can stop eating lunch with the person who spends 45 minutes telling you everything that's wrong with everyone else. Maybe you can close your office door, or stop answering the phone every single time it freaking rings. Maybe you can spend less time explaining yourself or stop trying to help regulate someone else's emotions for them.

Maybe you can invest more heavily in the people who leave you feeling better after you've been with them instead of worse. You may not be able to change the whole situation, but there’s usually something you can stop participating in.

Because I've learned something recently that I wish I had understood much earlier:

You can love people and create distance. You can understand people and disagree with how they live, and you can have compassion for someone's pain without making it your environment. And most importantly, you can decide that the energy you allow into your home, your work, and your closest relationships has a very real impact on your health.

It isn't selfish to protect that.

It might actually be one of the healthiest decisions you make.

I didn’t realize how much of a difference it could make until I finally gave myself the chance to find out.