written and filmed by Linda Lin, RCC RCAT

For those who enjoy longer-form content to pair with my newsletters and blog posts, I launched a YouTube channel where I'll be talking through topics I'm exploring and sharing in a different format.

Since when did the word "consistency" start to feel like a threat? Somewhere between entering school age and trying to be a responsible adult, consistency started feeling like an obligation I'd already fallen behind on. It turned into a chore that feels meaningless, too difficult to even attempt. Like our dreams just stopped getting along with our capacity. There's this lingering disappointment of not living up to the version of ourselves we thought we were rooting for.

When we let ourselves down.

I am noticing a lot of us are struggling with consistency and the energetic toll it takes to adapt to life. Building a pace that fits you, specifically is getting harder and more ambiguous to find in a world with rapid changes, artificial intelligence, and end-of-stage capitalism. 

This topic is feeling tender and I often find myself and people I come across committing to too many things, and not able to commit to the course of action we need to actually do to take care of us.

In this newsletter we get into:

.✦ ݁˖ the relationship between consistency and cultivating trust within ourselves
.✦ ݁˖ unpacking / pacing consistency
.✦ ݁˖ “taking the path least taken” as a way to challenge and build consistency
.✦ ݁˖ art as therapy prompts to help build trust and confidence for consistency

Consistency is how we gradually create the conditions where trust becomes possible.

On another note, self-trust can be built from consistency. Trust in ourselves, like listening and understanding our capacity what we actually have time for, what will actually move the needle and support us.

There's something in psychotherapy I have been working with my clients on. I always remind folks that we learn from each other, that our brain has an innate feature of neuroplasticity: where we can update our beliefs, expand our worldviews, adapt and navigate the world more freely when we feel safe enough to do so, throughout our lifetime. 

When the conditions are trustworthy, new habits and ways of being actually stick and make sense in the body, not just the mind. Leading us to embodiment. Consistency is how we slowly create the conditions where trust becomes possible.

adrienne maree brown writes about something that rhymes with this in Emergent Strategy: "small is good, small is all". What we practice at a small scale sets the pattern for the whole. Every tiny, mundane showing-up counts and accumulates into something important. Safety and repetition build trust and consistency, together, they are building blocks of forming neural pathways that heal and support us.

Additionally, how we treat our own consistency (self-perception) is how movements treat their members. How we let ourselves rest is how communities learn that rest is allowed. The personal and the political are running on the same pattern!

Practicing an honest relationship with our own capacity isn't a detour from the work. It might actually be where the work begins…

Consistency, when paced well, builds trust.

To be transparent with you, trust tends to build brutally and slowly. The way we hyper-monitor inconsistencies like our job depends on it, distrust in incongruence doesn't back down easily, and anxiety shows up because it feels threatened. It's hard to know when to forgive our own inconsistency, like when the goals we set the night before didn't pan out the day after. :(

To start building a less familiar neural pathway, we could begin by allowing ourselves to dream about what we actually want to experience.

ideal land 🏰 

High energy plans could look closer to what we desire in ideal land. If I were to wave a magic wand, what would your most desirable, idealized outcome actually look like? Ideal land lets us imagine: if anything were possible, what would that be like for you?

Daydreaming, or intentionally practicing imagination to sort out what we want, is not supposed to hurt us. I say that because I'm aware of how many of us are afraid to even imagine what we want. It comes up a lot in the therapy room.

nice to have 🫧 

When we have a bit more in the tank, we can start to think about what would feel supportive as we move through something hard. Not what we should do, but what would actually be nice to have there. If we could name even one small comfort to bring into a difficult task, what would it be? How do we want to feel in the process?

necessities 🪞 

Permission to be consistent is where self-trust begins. Giving ourselves that permission means letting go of the need to do it perfectly.

When we're low on energy, in survival mode, just coping, sometimes the most grounding thing we can do is show up in small, consistent ways.

Part of that is learning to ask: what is actually necessary right now? What is the bare minimum that helps us move through this state rather than fight it? (Some things clients have found helpful are below.) We're not asking for much here!

There is no permanence in these states, like we don’t always find ourselves in ideal land. 

What this practice is for: 

If your usual neural pathway is to doubt in your ability to be consistent with anxiety hijacking your perspective, this practice is literally the opposite of that. We are noticing what your actual energy is capable of, and tapping into what it would be like if you could attempt at a difficult task to support you. 

“The best plan is one you will actually do”

As someone who wears a lot of hats day-to-day: therapist, group practice founder, clinical supervisor (training to be approved), participant of peer groups sharing ideas, hiring and outreach, eldest daughter, long-term partner, parent to my twin dogs... somewhere in there is also a person who needs to lots of rest.

When I'm burning out, I find myself revenge bedtime procrastinating, in attempt to reclaim back the time I didn't get to support myself during the day. Then waking up the next morning realizing I won't be able to complete the goals I thought I could the night before.

What I am learning (slowly, imperfectly) is that consistency has to be embodied before it can be planned.

We have to start with honesty about our actual energy capacity, not our aspirational capacity.

This is something I wish all of us can start to believe: the best plan is one we'll actually do.

Tips from YOU!

This past month I asked people what they do to rebuild consistency after something unexpected: a mental health episode, illness, a life transition, grief. Some common threads came up: when things get hard and the unknowns pile up, people return to spaces that feel like a routine anchor, somewhere familiar to land. They go back to debriefing with someone safe. And name what is energetically taxing, which is its own form of honesty. People return to the fundamentals: being gentle with themselves, easing up on the pace, going slower than they'd like to go.

Here's your Art As Therapy Prompt:

I think art as therapy can help us find our way back to what we truly want, and what kind of consistency we can actually sustain. Below is an art as therapy prompt from your friendly neighbour art therapist.

Feel free to draw, journal or meditate on this directive.
 

Ideal / Nice / Necessary (pairs with the three states of energy capacity)

Create three distinct spaces on a single page. Label them however feels true to you: ideal, nice, necessary; or high, medium, low; or dream, okay, enough. Then fill each space with imagery, colour, words, texture, or feeling. 

What does each state look like in your body?

What are you asking of yourself in each one? If it starts to feel overwhelming, try to make a frame or border to contain the expressions.

We aren’t here to resolve them but to allow them exist.

Thanks for creating with me .✦ ݁˖

Linda

written and filmed by Linda Lin, RCC RCAT

For those who enjoy longer-form content to pair with my newsletters and blog posts, I've just launched a YouTube channel where I'll be talking through topics I'm exploring and sharing in a different format.

Since 2019, something feels like it has shifted societally and relationally. Not to dampen the mood, but it feels important to name. In the therapy room, we’ve been witnessing deep feelings of nihilism, resentment, and disconnection. There’s been so much ghosting instead of closure or generative feedback, and more counter-relational ways of coping that seem rooted in fear.

We seem to be moving toward a culture where loneliness is managed through posting rather than personally reaching out. There’s such a fear of being alone, or of worst-case-scenario loneliness, yet many people still feel profoundly lonely within their relationships and communities.

Relationships, limerence, and the search for belonging and community already feel difficult to navigate. And now there are new Instagram features (like previewing stories without ‘seeing it'; create multiple story audiences, story rewatch insights…) rolling out that honestly scare the shit out of us. What do you mean there’s a paid version of IG where you can make a story appear like it’s for all your followers, while actually singling it out for the one person you’ve lost sleep over?

With so much of our lives happening digitally, passively, there’s a growing disorientation, grief, and a kind of anguish around how we relate to each other, and whether the versions of ourselves that knew how to belong still exist.

In this post and video, we're sitting with a question: how do we return to being genuinely relational? Things like tolerating feedback, knowing when to set boundaries, and being willing to move through the messiness and discomfort that real relationships ask of us.

This past month, I held many conversations with peers, friends, colleagues exploring relational patterns we're seeing in the therapy room and beyond, bringing in discourse on artificial intelligence and relationships. These talks sparked both grief and a sense of relief in me. Grief and relief in finally having a container to hold and express these reactions, a similar feeling to a canvas sturdy enough to carry all the layers we want to express.

“Avoidance is a way to stay close to the fantasy while staying far from the truth. You want a peak, the how-to, but you don’t want to be the one who does it (first).” – Care from Erotics of Liberation

What is the thing that never gets said?

Something interesting about this era we're in, whether we like it or not, is how both artificial intelligence and digital proximity can offer a kind of artificial sense of security. Artificial intelligence is a prediction model, generating responses based on patterns of what is likely. With AI, there's comfort in the idea that there is always an answer. But when we use it as a mediator in relational conflict, or as a response to feel like we are desired and right about something… the response it generates is shaped by the context we give it, drawn from patterns in its training and what's publicly available, rather than from immediacy. 

Immediacy is when we practice naming what the air feels like between us, right now. When we speak to the pattern of how we're relating: what's alive in the room, what's being carried but not said. It's making space to address the space between: the tension, the coldness, the defensiveness, the avoidance.

What opens from immediacy is a spectrum of feelings, warmth, closeness, connection, care. The willingness to name what's hard is what makes room for what's tender.

That awareness, reciprocity and attunement, and courage to take something so subtle seriously, is what builds trust between people.

In the relational realm, when things feel uncertain and we don't have the spoons to meet that uncertainty, a deep fear can surface. A fear of rejection, of not being wanted, of being truly seen in a vulnerable way. We start to experience emotional mind games, where it becomes unclear who holds the ball and whose court we're in.

This spills into how we sense belonging too, and how we numb out or sidestep responsibility when relationships get strained. In an era of artificial proximity, how do we resist that pull toward desensitization? How do we stay genuinely open to each other when so much of our connection is simulated? Can we choose to stay more intentionally, more carefully, and keep building something real even when it gets hard?

As our team member Natasha puts it, it takes less than two minutes to reply to a friend, and we can do it from anywhere: in bed, on a walk, or on the toilet. It just takes some getting used to.

The challenge is how we stay in the here-and-now and trust our own knowing. I want to offer a gentle nudge: we carry so much more context than we give ourselves credit for, and the brain builds neuroplasticity when we challenge it to hold nuance, as we do when we navigate relational concerns.

Thanks for tuning in, friend ✮⋆˙