What if the strongest thing a woman could do wasn’t to keep pushing through, but to give herself permission to feel, rest, reconnect, and dream again?

I have had some extraordinary conversations on Don’t F*kn Shrink. Conversations that make me laugh, cry, rethink everything I thought I knew, and sometimes sit quietly afterward because I need a minute to absorb what just happened.

My conversation with Jennifer El Hage was one of those.

Jen is someone I have had the privilege of knowing beyond a screen or a microphone. She is one of those rare humans who makes you feel welcome before you’ve even finished saying hello. She carries warmth in her eyes, curiosity in her heart, and a magnetic energy that makes strangers feel like friends.

But Jen was joining me from Beirut, Lebanon.

And while we were talking about women’s empowerment, purpose, connection, and the courage to live fully, there was a very different reality unfolding outside her door.

War. Fear. Uncertainty. Grief.

And somehow, in the middle of all of that, Jen was bringing women together to dream.

I need you to understand how powerful that is.

Because this conversation wasn’t simply about surviving hard things.

It was about refusing to let those hard things become the only story we tell about ourselves.

I’m Tired of Being Told Women Are Resilient

There was a moment early in our conversation when Jen said something that stopped me.

She was tired of the word resilience.

Not because she wasn’t strong. Not because the women around her weren’t extraordinary.

But because constantly being called resilient can start to feel like being told that enduring hardship is simply your job.

And I felt that.

Deeply.

How many times have we celebrated a woman for how much she can carry?

She’s so strong.

She’s been through so much.

She always finds a way.

She can handle anything.

But have we ever stopped to ask whether she should have to?

When did being a strong woman become synonymous with being a woman who never gets to put anything down?

Jen described how growing up in Lebanon shaped her understanding of joy, peace, and strength. She also spoke openly about the exhaustion that comes from having to adapt over and over again.

That distinction matters.

Because strength is beautiful, but exhaustion deserves to be acknowledged too.

You can be capable and tired.

You can be courageous and afraid.

You can love your life and grieve what has happened to it.

You can be the person everyone turns to and still need someone to hold space for you.

And none of those things makes you less powerful.

Maybe it’s time we stop asking women to prove how much they can endure and start asking what they need in order to truly live.

What Happens When Women Gather Instead of Shrink?

Jen told me about a Reboot Camp she had organized for women in Lebanon.

Up until the night before, they weren’t even sure it would happen. Safety was uncertain. Fear was real. One of the women had experienced the devastation of her village in southern Lebanon.

And yet, they came.

They showed up carrying sadness, anger, uncertainty, and stories that deserved to be heard.

While warplanes were overhead, Jen turned up the music, created a comforting environment, and gave these women space to simply be human together.

They cried.

They shared.

They felt.

And they began imagining a future.

Jen described their gathering as a pocket of possibility in the middle of war.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that.

Because what those women created wasn’t denial. They weren’t pretending the world outside was fine.

They were acknowledging what was happening while refusing to surrender every part of themselves to it.

Sometimes resistance looks like women sitting together, telling the truth, and giving one another permission to hope.

Think about the women in your own life.

The friend who knows you’re not okay even when you say you are.

The sister who reminds you who you were before life got complicated.

The woman who listens without comparing her pain to yours.

The person who says, “You don’t have to figure it all out today.”

We need more of that.

We need spaces where women aren’t competing to be the strongest, the busiest, the most successful, or the one who has suffered the most.

We need spaces where we can take off the armor.

Because when women stop shrinking around one another, something extraordinary happens.

We begin to remember our own power.

Your Home Is Not Just a Place. It Is Something You Carry Within You.

One of the most emotional parts of our conversation was hearing Jen describe having to leave her home during an earlier period of war.

She had spent ten years making that apartment her safe space.

And then, under the pressure of danger and limited time, she watched people hurriedly pack up the belongings and memories that represented a decade of her life.

Imagine standing in the middle of your home, watching everything familiar disappear into boxes, knowing that safety is no longer something you can take for granted.

Jen described the fear and panic she felt.

And in that moment, she began repeating something to herself:

“Home is within.”

I haven’t stopped thinking about those three words.

Because although I would never compare my own experiences to what Jen and the women of Lebanon are living through, I believe there is something in that idea that every woman can explore.

How often do we build our sense of safety entirely around things outside ourselves?

A relationship.

A job title.

A home.

A family role.

Someone else’s approval.

And what happens when life changes?

What happens when the relationship ends, the kids grow up, the career shifts, or the version of ourselves we worked so hard to become no longer fits?

Who are we then?

I believe part of not shrinking is learning to build a relationship with ourselves that we can return to.

A place inside us where our values still exist.

Where our voice still matters.

Where we can breathe, even when we don’t have every answer.

That doesn’t mean we can manufacture safety in an unsafe situation. Jen’s story makes the need for real physical safety painfully clear.

But it does remind me that our relationship with ourselves matters, especially when so much feels uncertain.

We deserve to feel at home in our own bodies and our own lives.

You Cannot Heal What You Never Give Yourself Space to Feel

Jen talked about something that I think deserves so much more attention in conversations about women’s health.

The need to integrate our experiences.

To process what has happened.

To grieve.

To breathe.

She explained that when one crisis follows another, there may be no real opportunity to process the previous one. You are too busy finding solutions, responding to danger, and figuring out what comes next.

And isn’t there a version of that pattern in so many women’s lives?

Something painful happens, and we keep going.

A loss. A disappointment. A major transition. A relationship that changes. A dream that falls apart.

But dinner still needs to be made.

Work still needs to get done.

Someone still needs us.

So we push the feelings aside and promise ourselves we’ll deal with them later.

Except later doesn’t always come.

I think we sometimes confuse functioning with healing.

Just because we are getting through our days doesn’t mean we’ve had the space to understand what those days have cost us.

Jen spoke about using travel as an opportunity to step away, breathe, and process her experiences. Her Reboot Camps are an attempt to create some of that space for other women, even amid extraordinary circumstances.

What I love about this is that she’s not asking women to skip over their anger or sadness and jump straight into positivity.

She’s making room for the truth.

And I want that for all of us.

You are allowed to be angry.

You are allowed to grieve.

You are allowed to say, “I don’t know what I need yet.”

You are allowed to rest without turning your rest into another productivity goal.

You do not owe the world a polished version of your pain.

Sometimes the most meaningful thing you can do is acknowledge what you’re carrying.

And sometimes you need another person beside you while you do it.

The Power of Dreaming Before You Know How Everything Will Work Out

One of my favorite ideas from this episode was Jen’s description of rebuilding the picture on a puzzle box.

Think about trying to put together a thousand-piece puzzle without knowing what the finished picture looks like.

Every piece feels random.

Every decision feels harder.

You don’t know what belongs where because you can’t see what you’re creating.

Jen described how the women in her Reboot Camp came together to imagine that picture again.

Not to pretend the uncertainty had disappeared.

But to reconnect with the possibility of a future.

She called their dreams proactive dreams.

I love that phrase.

Because dreaming isn’t always sitting around wishing things would change.

Sometimes dreaming means asking yourself what kind of life you want and then identifying one small thing you can do to move toward it.

And here’s what I want every woman reading this to hear:

You are still allowed to want something for yourself.

Even if your life has been hard.

Even if you’ve spent years taking care of everyone else.

Even if your plans have fallen apart.

Even if you don’t know exactly who you’re becoming.

Your dreams are not selfish.

Your desire to grow is not a betrayal of everything you’ve been through.

And you don’t have to wait for the perfect moment to begin imagining what comes next.

Maybe your first puzzle piece is signing up for a class.

Maybe it’s reconnecting with a friend.

Maybe it’s asking for help.

Maybe it’s finally admitting that the life you’ve built no longer reflects the woman you are.

Maybe it’s simply allowing yourself to ask:

What would I want if I believed I was allowed to want it?

That question alone can open a door.

Curiosity Is Courage, Too

Toward the end of our conversation, I asked Jen what she wanted people watching from afar to understand.

Her answer was a reminder to be curious.

To go beyond the information that arrives on our screens.

To talk to people.

To ask questions.

To read.

To seek understanding rather than assuming we already know someone else’s reality.

That landed with me because curiosity is at the heart of why I love having these conversations.

It’s easy to see a headline and believe we understand a person, a country, or an experience.

It’s much harder, and much more meaningful, to sit with someone and listen.

Jen wants people to see Lebanon through more than the images of destruction. She wants them to see the beauty, the people, the everyday life, and the things that continue to grow.

And I think curiosity also matters in the way we see ourselves.

What if we stopped defining ourselves by the worst thing we’ve experienced?

What if we became curious about who we are now?

What if we asked different questions?

Not, “Why can’t I get over this?”

But, “What am I still carrying?”

Not, “Why am I not stronger?”

But, “What support do I need?”

Not, “What if I fail?”

But, “What might happen if I try?”

Curiosity gives us permission to discover something new without needing to have everything figured out.

And sometimes that’s where change begins.

The Lesson I Will Never Forget: You Are Still Allowed to Bloom

Near the end of our conversation, Jen told me about her plants.

She has a balcony garden filled with flowers and greenery.

Those plants have been with her through years of upheaval. Some had endured so much that she thought they might be dead.

But she kept them.

She moved them with her.

She watered them.

She cared for them, even when they weren’t blooming.

And one morning, she noticed that they were flowering again.

I don’t know that I could have asked for a more beautiful ending to our conversation.

Because Jen realized something as she looked at those plants.

They hadn’t failed because they weren’t blooming.

They weren’t broken because they were tired.

They simply needed time.

And care.

And the right conditions.

Oh, women. Please hear this.

You are not failing because this isn’t your season to bloom.

You are not behind because someone else seems to be growing faster.

You are not less worthy because you need rest.

You are not finished because something in your life has changed.

And you do not have to turn every difficult experience into a triumphant comeback story.

Sometimes you’re simply living through a difficult season.

Sometimes you’re rebuilding your roots.

Sometimes you’re conserving your energy.

Sometimes the most important growth is happening where nobody else can see it.

We have become so accustomed to celebrating the bloom that we forget to honor everything it takes to get there.

The roots.

The soil.

The water.

The waiting.

The care.

I want women to stop measuring their worth by how visibly they are flourishing.

I want us to care for ourselves in the quiet seasons, too.

Five Ways to Stop Shrinking and Start Reconnecting With Yourself

After my conversation with Jen, I kept thinking about how we could bring these lessons into our own lives.

Not because our circumstances are the same, but because we all deserve opportunities to reconnect with ourselves and one another.

Here are five places to begin:

1. Retire the idea that you have to be strong all the time.
Ask yourself what you’re tired of carrying. You don’t have to solve it immediately. Start by acknowledging it.

2. Find your people.
Reach out to women who make you feel safe enough to tell the truth. Create space for conversations that go beyond the usual “I’m fine.”

3. Give yourself permission to feel.
Anger, sadness, grief, and fear don’t make you weak. If your feelings feel overwhelming, seek support from someone you trust or a qualified professional.

4. Rebuild the picture of your future.
Write down one thing you still want to experience, create, learn, or change. Then identify one realistic step toward it.

5. Water yourself even when you’re not blooming.
Nourish your body. Rest when you can. Spend time with people who care about you. Make room for something that brings you joy. You deserve care in every season, not just when you’re thriving.

None of this is about pretending that hardship is easy or that individual mindset can fix circumstances beyond our control.

It’s about remembering that your needs, your voice, your relationships, and your hopes still matter.

Don’t F*kn Shrink. Not Even in the Seasons When You’re Growing Quietly.

I started Don’t F*kn Shrink because I believe women deserve to take up space.

Not just when we’re confident.

Not just when we’re successful.

Not just when we’re the strongest person in the room.

All the time.

And Jen reminded me that taking up space doesn’t always look loud.

Sometimes it looks like gathering women in a room and letting them cry.

Sometimes it looks like telling the truth about being exhausted.

Sometimes it looks like protecting a small corner of joy in a frightening world.

Sometimes it looks like carrying your plants to a new home because you refuse to give up on the possibility that they’ll flower again.

Jen, if you’re reading this, thank you.

Thank you for showing me a deeper meaning of courage.

Thank you for helping women reconnect with their dreams while carrying so much yourself.

Thank you for reminding me that community is not a luxury. It can be a lifeline.

And thank you for sharing the Lebanon you love with such tenderness and honesty.

To every woman reading this, wherever you are in the world:

You don’t have to prove your strength today.

You don’t have to have the whole puzzle figured out.

You don’t have to bloom on someone else’s schedule.

But please don’t abandon yourself just because this season is difficult.

Keep tending to the woman you’re becoming.

Keep finding your people.

Keep making room for your dreams.

And when you’re ready, let yourself bloom.

Don’t F*kn Shrink.