Why Strong Boundaries Can Feel Like Rejection

Some people crumble when their boundaries are crossed. Yet I don’t; I sharpen.

What some people have labeled stubbornness in me is actually a survival strategy rooted in how I was raised. In this reflection, I explore why strong boundaries can feel threatening to those who’ve learned to self-abandon, how healthy childhood attachment fuels emotional resilience, and why my ability to stand firm is both a great gift and, at times, a tough social challenge.

August 13th 2025

Wednesday, 1:22pm

Realizations Journal

I’ve referred to a “certain sort of discipline” I seem to possess that other people lack. I’ve also mentioned many times that I have an “emotional resilience” – particularly with regards to kink – that other people lack. This sense of perseverance – and even selfhood, and confidence in that selfhood – seems to be almost unfathomably weak in so many people. But now I have insight into why.

It came up because Lytenian and I were discussing how we felt differently about the word “violation.” He associated it with fear, whereas I associated it more with anger – and even a sense of being insulted. We soon realized that the key difference was that feeling violated caused us to have very different internal responses: he self-abandoned, while I abandoned all else in favor of myself.

We explored the roots of these behaviors and we found the key difference resided within our relationships with our mothers. In my case, I didn’t have to worry if I didn’t agree with a teacher or other authority figure, because I could rely on my mother to back up my own good judgment about what was best for me. While there were a few exceptions to that, they were rare. In contrast, Lytenian felt unsafe any time an authority figure disagreed with him because he didn’t trust his mother to be on his side. He learned that he had to self-abandon at times of feeling violated because seeking to defend himself would only result in worse consequences.

This key difference between our upbringing was what gave rise to his co-dependent leanings and my “narcissistic” leanings. I’m using narcissism here to refer to adaptive self-prioritization – not pathological narcissism as a personality disorder.

 My mother backing me up – and rightly so, as I was a smart kid – gave me the validation and confidence needed to be comfortable standing up for myself even without backup by the time I was a teen. My father also backed me up the majority of the time. Relative to most kids, this was an exceptional experience of solidarity in my home life.

In healthy – idyllic – situations, we should be able to consider our own needs and the needs of another person simultaneously, and do our best to meet both. In unhealthy situations – particularly when being violated in any way – it is critical that we have the capacity for flipping into a “narcissistic” strategy. We must shut off the regulatory rule book that tells us what’s socially acceptable and instead now act purely in our own best interest. This is how I can clearly navigate out of situations which feel intrusive or abusive.

In other words, the more other people violate my boundaries – especially people I hardly know – the more I feel insulted, angry, and resilient. Anger is an emotion that arises when we are rising to the plate to defend ourselves. We become angry to break free of a trap we can feel closing in around us. Anger is a contrasting response to fear. When Lytenian is responding with fear, that’s putting him in a fight or flight (or freeze or fawn) response.

My anger drives me to decisive action. It could be as simple as responding to a hateful message by saying, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m done with this conversation,” and then blocking the person. It might mean cutting off a person who has not been listening every time I said I needed to leave, to tell them one final time, “I’m going now,” and hanging up the phone. These small acts are self-love – and they can absolutely be misinterpreted as the signs of having a dark-triad personality disorder.

I think many people have this weak sense of their own boundaries and sense of self; likely this is due to lacking a mother – or reliable caregiver – who would stick up for them. They couldn’t rely on someone to take their side, and thus, standing up for what they wanted or believed was unsafe. If this was the case, it didn’t leave much room for exploring one’s own truth, much less getting in the practice of honoring it. Thus, my own firmer ability to snap into my own power, my own center, can cause my personality to seem “too intense” for others. 

I’ve had to learn to soften myself and play down my convictions to make others comfortable being around me. This hasn’t been a bad thing – it’s a strategic kindness which gives others breathing room. It’s not really the same thing as a tiresome mask which is barely held in place. Instead, it’s an adaptation born from compassion for other people’s struggles with their boundaries. Yet, all the same, it would be a lot easier if everyone could have a clearer sense of self which they clearly communicated so that we could all move more rapidly toward finding genuine alignment, rather than going through a long phase where all the people involved with weak boundaries spend time negotiating their boundaries – or worse, violating themselves and then feeling resentful toward the other person for asking.

Unfortunately, as much as I would simply like to be a positive influence by being able to state my own boundaries clearly, it is often not taken that way. Someone capable of unapologetically prioritizing their own needs is often seen as too selfish. And giving a clear “no” can stir up someone’s past experiences of feeling rejected or abandoned. I’ve even suspected that my ability to be clear about myself can make others feel inadequate. At the very least, my willingness to disagree creates ruptures in the sense of connection – and that goes both ways, because their obvious sense of disconnection then creates my own sense of rupture.

All of this adds up to a paradox in my reality: I can be strong in the face of violation, yet still hesitate to be “fully myself” in many everyday contexts. Being clear about my truth creates internal safety, but expressing it can create a sense of danger for others unless I embody a heck-of-a-lot of grace in the way I express myself. I’m getting better at that, but improvement is still quite warranted.

In a way, none of this is news. Studies have verified that secure attachment figures in childhood lead to better self-advocacy and autonomy in adulthood – but that sounds so damn abstract. Whereas here I have this concrete example from my real life: I shrink into myself and withdraw from all external demands placed upon me in response to feeling violated. In contrast, Lytenian self-abandons when he feels violated. Because of our differing responses, he holds his boundaries closer and is less willing to engage in situations which might approach his boundaries. Whereas, I regularly explore situations that might push my boundaries. In fact, when it comes to safe people, I even enjoy my boundaries being pushed on. I feel that boundary-pushing can be stimulating, exciting, and downright fun in the right contexts.

This discipline – this emotional strength – is both a boon and a deep social challenge. I wouldn’t trade it, but I do wish I lived in a world where a strong personality was seen as an invitation to genuine connection, rather than a threat to it.

— Raederle Phoenix

Choosing Guideposts for Living

I have tried to capture the formula for happiness in what was previously known as my Happiness Keys Document. (Now it is encapsulated in a compendium with the working title: Raederle’s Pocketbook of Self-Directed Wisdom.) This formulaic approach has aided me many times, but it fails to capture the subjective stream-of-consciousness that makes me feel like “myself” – which is, in my own estimation, a happy (or content) version of myself.

For example, just last night I was revisited by the realization of why reading a particular type of nonfiction feels beneficial and regulating to my wellbeing. Reading the heartfelt perspectives of highly intelligent individuals – who had something they burned to share – helps ground me in a will to live through my experience of relation, inspiration, and curiosity. It lends purpose to my life – not through that which I create – but through giving life itself purpose. Works of nonfiction – or philosophy loosely draped in fiction – remind me that there is a “great truth task” (as Dr. Bronner soap bottles tell us), and I am part of that task just by sensing, dreaming, and articulating.

This insight into the value of a certain kind of nonfiction was preceded by the insight that reading itself – even of fiction – helps order my mind through the parade of syntax, narrative, and reason. The simple fact that another being possesses the ability to create a linear stream of words which will carry me through a non-linear stream of symbols is deeply heartening. Their ability to render art in the form of story and concept is so beautiful to behold that it fills my heart with its own yearning to be, whilst simultaneously filling my mind with a desire to understand. My whole being is filled up with a need to create in response to the creations of others.

Perhaps for someone like myself, who requires the dual nourishment of symbology and beauty, my interpretive creations which are made in response to the creations of others, is the true conversation which I most dearly wish to engage in. This appears, for example, in my desire to lead workshops. The workshop itself is something I devise in response to the creations of luminaries who have inspired me, and the participants in the workshop are invited to reply with their own creations. Yet these “conversations” – the game of tag we can play with our creations – have hitherto left me unsatisfied. Creation is an outpouring, and I crave an equitable replenishment from liberated beings, yet I’m surrounded by those held in the shackles of institutionalized thought. The few who have not been shackled are weighed down by the seemingly insurmountable fatigue of constantly being rebuked and condemned by tamed perceptions and judgments.

Returning to the earlier subject: the simple truth of my wishing to formulate my happiness points to a, perhaps troubling, truth about my beliefs: I feel it is superior to be happy. Furthermore, I identify with my happy (or at least content) self in a way that I do not with my unhappy self. My other subjective experiences resent this, and hate having this value (of happiness being superior) thrust at me in any way – particularly if I am unhappy at the time.

Statements which assume happiness is superior include, “When you’re feeling more like yourself,” and, “Happiness is a choice,” and, “When you come around,” and “Things will be more clear by the light of day.” Our culture assumes we will be more sober and sound when we are free from unhappy feelings. Yet I disavow myself of this assumption! The greatest thoughts are not wholly conceived from frameworks of opioid optimism, nor from pits of pessimism. Great wisdom comes from interweaving the cumulative lessons of grief, fear, joy, and satisfaction.

I’m not leading myself down the rabbit-hole which my Dzogchen-minded friend took me on some months ago: that technically, there is nothing objectively superior about health, and that I’ve simply chosen to enshrine it. After having rejected the path his insight led me down, I said to him, “I need a guiding star.” His insight had served as an intellectual distraction, yet what I had truly wanted was helpful guidance.

Even though it is not my aim to wander back down the path of questioning “rightness” along lines of total objectivity, it is useful to note that I’ve enshrined happiness in the same way that I’ve enshrined health – to the point of conflating them with one another. Just because they share a pedestal doesn’t mean they are necessarily related, yet, I believe them to be. And as my journaling revealed to me yesterday, I must second-guess myself far less often. I wish to be as decisive as I was at twenty-nine, if not as I was at nineteen, and that requires a great-deal of self-trust.

Self-trust may be one of the more ephemeral core elements of my formula for happiness. While reading aids me in creating the subjective internal experience I crave, it isn’t the reading in and of itself which I need. It is the camaraderie with another creative, inquisitive being that gives me a greater sense of confidence and self-trust. Those are some of the actual experiences which I need. 

Yet when I’m not experiencing confidence and self-trust, it is too easy to fall into a paradox: how can I trust my own notions of these abstract concepts when I’m experiencing a lack of trust in my own perceptions? This is why one’s ego fights so desperately to defend its own perspective: self doubt can lead to a literal sort of insanity, where no thought or feeling can be trusted. And perhaps this is why genius intellect is rare: only the individuals who can somehow question everything and doubt all conclusions – without doubting their own core perceiving self – can actually achieve nuanced understandings. And of those who can achieve the understandings themselves, only those who can question and doubt endlessly without doubting their ability to communicate can actually go forward and teach the subtle differentiations.

Once again returning to the initial topic: I’m unsure how to capture a subjective state of being in a formula. I could, perhaps, write a hypnotic script for entering a certain state of consciousness, but that prickles my conscience. Forcing myself out of one state into another reeks of heavy-handed control and force. Is it not violent to unilaterally decide that some particular state I’m in is inferior, and thus I should immediately and utterly convert myself to some superior state? Isn’t that the reason why we now possess the coined phrase “toxic positivity?”

It seems wrong to force the change upon myself, like an overbearing parent blathering about “knowing what’s best,” yet it also is the case that I often want out of whatever mental labyrinth in which I feel trapped. Whenever I feel the need to be “rescued” or “helped” is exactly when my “happiness formula” becomes relevant. Thus, there does seem to be a consensus of my inner counsel in the value of possessing an effective mood-shifting formula.

In fact, this goes back to the two penultimate goals which I’ve enshrined: health and happiness. These are logical things to revere above all else because all else which I value emerges from them. 

For example, I value honesty and transparency. If I am not a healthy, happy person, I may not be able to “afford” the rigors of being transparent. It requires a great deal more energy to be authentic without being an ass than it does to simply obscure the truth with polite “white lies.” 

To say that I am “allergic” to something simplifies a conversation, but it also eliminates the beautiful potentials created by true transparency: an enlightening conversation. The “innocent” lie of convenience becomes a wall between me and the other person, preventing true connection or mutual edification. Perhaps this person I’ve announced an “allergy” to has a complex relationship with their health too – or at least has a close friend who does – and has something useful to tell me; I would never discover what they know because I have planted myself in a field of convenience where little enlightenment ever blossoms.

My conclusion is that I’ve enshrined health and happiness rightfully. So it follows that every tool which substantially aids me in the endless process of pursuing H and H is worth possessing. So now I may also conclude that a formula for happiness – and for health – is a worthy goal of paramount importance.

Having established the “goodness” or “right-headedness” of working on perfecting a happiness formula, I can continue to contemplate how to create pathways to happiness which are  more effective than the formula I have assembled over the years.

It seems safe to say that a concrete bulleted list denoting the keys to my happiness is rather limited in its effectiveness. It can point to literal gaps in my most effective self-regulation strategies (such as failure to read engaging books), but it doesn’t serve as a hypnotic induction for changing my state of consciousness. Yet, ironically, the reading of said engaging books actually does serve as said hypnotic induction. 

The hypnotic induction is important, but it is the new state of being which is the goal. As my own formula states, one of the keys to my happiness is “having fulfilling time spent in a wide variety of my fragments” including “vulnerable, creative, guru, student, sexual, driven, spiritual, and playful.” In other words, part of what makes me happy is the visitation to many different subjective states. Each subjective state can feel like becoming a different persona possessing different values and goals, but as different as each state may feel, they are all parts of myself, and to “feel whole” requires visiting each state. Hence why my accumulated wisdom on my own personal happiness states I should have fulfilling time in a wide variety of my subjective states over the course of any given week. 

Merely existing in one or two states over the course of five to seven days makes me quite miserable – which is why I find it anathema to commit to the intense specialization required to make a profitable career in modern times. Being a whole, happy, healthy person is directly at odds with this degree of specialization – for me, at least. Thus, I can toss the idea that I should ever attempt to contort myself into the sort of reliability which most entrepreneurs expect of themselves; an agent or marketer could do that with my work, but I can not. In order to maintain my own healthy engagement in life – a will to participate in the “great truth task” – I must allow, and strongly encourage, a cascading plethora of internal states.

Instead of berating myself for the transition from being an energetic extroverted socialite last week, to being a subdued introspecting writer this week, I can applaud myself for courageously accepting the ever-shifting landscape of what it means to support my health and happiness. And in this self-applause I continue to rebuild the self-trust I misplaced last year.

Further Reflections

What I wrote earlier points directly to why I value inspiration so highly. Inspiration is when we are on the path of “the great truth task.” One could say it is the penultimate indication of health because it is when we are doing what we are meant to be doing. Inspiration points the way, creating a hierarchy of priorities in any given moment with deep accuracy. This is why I feel very directed and purposeful when I am inspired – and conversely quite lost and directionless when inspiration is blocked.

Inspiration becomes blocked when one feels disempowered. One has to believe one is capable of achieving one’s desires. Furthermore, one must have a desire. This is why I reject the idea that we should ever pursue the elimination of desires. To yearn for something seems to be the pinnacle of aliveness. Since I am using health and happiness as my guiding stars – and the will to live that these entail – desire is another lauded experience. This returns me to self-trust, because we must trust that our own desire is actually valid and useful, and that our attempts to bring about what we desire will be fruitful – which is another way of saying that we must experience a degree of empowerment in order to trust ourselves.

Power Outage

Within seconds of waking, I noticed the silence. No air filters, vents, or anything else whirring.

The power outage this morning was only an hour long, but there was no way to be sure how long it would last. Within minutes I noticed the trade off between heat conservation and daylight. 

If I open the shades, I get enough light to see things, but now I’m letting the warmth out. If we didn’t have a wood stove for heat, this would be a serious concern. 

What if the power didn’t come back for days? How would keep our food cold? Would we put everything outside in the snow?

We decided to fill up a container with snow and put it into the fridge when we some morning selections. If we did this every time we needed something from the fridge, we could probably keep it cold all day. 

There was water in the sink soaking some dirty dishes. We carefully transferred this into a bucket to bring up to the bathroom. That way, when someone took it dump, we could still flush.

Despite being highly aware of the power outage, and trying to conserve things like cold in the refrigerator, warmth in the bedrooms, and water – reflexes would still attempt to turn on a light. We also didn’t anticipate how dark the fridge would be when we opened it: we needed a flashlight for the process of exchanging snow for beverages.

Amongst these concerns and precautions, I noticed a relief. Barred from using my computer, pressured to conserve power on my phone, now there wasn’t much to do with myself. I could relax, crochet, play board game, read a book. Cut off from the rest of the world, watching the snow outside the windows, it felt like Christmas: a winter time to focus on family, crafts, gathering, laughter.

And then the power was back. All of the sudden it seemed silly to be boiling water on the stove. Now there was this bucket of water in the bathroom that we didn’t need to be there. More containers of snow on the front porch. But as I write this, the power just flickered again. So we won’t put away our preparations just yet.

And perhaps I won’t sit at my desk all day. A taste of winter spirit is good medicine. 

Vibe Logging: The Value in Tracking Emotions Through Time

 For many years I tracked how I spent every minute of my time – and I learned fun facts about myself – over the course of three years of data my average time spent reading fictional novels per day was forty-four minutes. But eventually I stopped logging my time; I’d learned it added roughly twenty minutes to my shower to wash my hair, and that I didn’t feel happy with my relationship when we spent under two hours of quality time together per day. The experiment was a success, but the returns were diminishing.

Then, seven years after the original time-logging project began, I had a new inspiration: vibe logging. The premise was that each day had a “vibe” to it – wistful, industrious, melancholy, frustrated, introspective – and that by keeping track of these vibes I’d learn something about how my mood shifted over the course of days, weeks, months, and – maybe, if I was ambitious enough – years.

I’ve been “vibe logging” for four years now, and I can say this project has been an astonishing success. It began as more of a whimsy, but it soon became one of my most powerful tools for battling chronic depression. Depression lies to us and tells us “it’s really always been this way.” But looking at my vibe log, that’s obviously untrue. In fact, as often as I cry, feel depressed, or have “a bad day,” my vibe log shows me the truth: that with great regularity I have good days, and even entire good weeks. Occasionally I have an entire month where there is hardly a spec of the “negative” vibes.

Equipped with the “proof” that my vibe log provides, depression can’t lie to me about my life. Nobody – including myself – can tell me any lies about my subjective experience of life, because I have a literal log of how I felt.

But let’s back up: how does a vibe log even work?

The important features of my vibe log for me are:

1. Easy to “see at glance.” This means I need to be able to look at a period of time and “drink it in” like artwork. I’ve already been journaling since I was nine years old – but there is no way to glance at these journal entries and get a sense of how I felt over the years. The vibe log needs to visually represent feelings through colors and/or symbols in addition to words so that the flow of subjective feelings through time becomes readily apparent.

2. Easy to use. I need to be able to update my vibe log daily even when I’m extremely busy, traveling, or unwell.

3. Easy to associate with memory. I need to be able to see the date of the vibes, but I also need to be able to anchor how I was feeling to data points that allow me to remember what period of my life I’m looking at. So in addition to the vibes and dates, I need things like the day of the week, friends I saw, phone calls I made, and other key events.

My vibe log achieves all of the above and more. I created it as an online spreadsheet that synchronizes with the cloud so that I can modify it on any device, including my phone. This way I can update my vibe log anytime I have access to a device with an internet connection. 

To be able to “see my vibes at a glance” I created each vibe with its own background and text color combination, putting some vibes in bold or italics, and including symbols with a few of them as well. I used my favorite colors for my favorite emotions (intuitive, introspective, inspired, happy, and insightful use blues and purples), I used stark contrast and dark themes for my worst feelings (afraid, isolated, grief, desolate, and dread all use a black background with white text), and I used loud colors for some of my loudest feelings (jealous, pained, manic, lustful, and angry all use variants of bright red in their theme). The important part was choosing colors that matched my experience – subjectively, of course.

By using a unique formatting for each vibe and an overall color-theme for my vibe log, I can glance at a month and see if there are a lot of my favorite colors – meaning it was an inspired, creative month – or if there were a lot of loud or dark colors, or even a mixture of these. I used more pastel colors for more mellow feelings, so that more peaceful months showed up in pastel greens, blues, and purples, whereas months riddled with upheaval would be black and gray peppered with bright reds and oranges.

To make the spreadsheet more meaningful, I not only included the “vibes of the day” but also columns for location, day of the week, and highlight events. This allowed me to easily associate how I was feeling with what was happening in my life. Of course, I was excited leading up to a big trip, and I began to see that I often felt fragile when hosting visitors for the holidays. I learned that feeling “resolute” one day almost invariably led to feeling “pained” the next day, and within a year of beginning my vibe log, I simply stopped letting myself get into a resigned, resolute mode of being.

I made a video just under a year into the process – which you can watch here – where I mentioned that no two months – no two weeks – looked the same, and four years into the process, I can say that is still true. Keeping a vibe log has taught me many things, and one of them is how uniquely precious every month is. Each cycle has its own original quality – some filled with peace, others with turmoil, but no two are alike.

There are, of course, many trends. Being industrious and creative often leads to feeling proud. A sense of yearning often goes along with feeling lustful, disappointed, sad, or lonely. In a given cluster of days, intuitive almost never shows up without also feeling introspective or insightful, and inspired is another common companion. Insecurity, predictably, often shows up with anxiety, but surprisingly, it also shows up with pride in the same few days – perhaps affirming how often pride is a coping strategy for an underlying sense of shame.

It says a lot about my life just noticing which vibes I decided to create in the first place. Somewhere along the way I decided that feeling “loved” was an importantly, distinctly different vibe from feeling “connected.” Someone else might have lumped these together. Whereas, I decided not to bother making a separate vibe for “restless” – even though I considered it a few times – and instead simply use “anxious” to cover restless, listless, worried, and of course, anxious. 

It also says a lot about my subjective experience to notice which vibes show up a lot and which I hardly ever use. Over 1,543 days of vibe logging, the most dominant vibe – by a landslide – is feeling “industrious.” I’ve marked this down as my dominant vibe for the day on three hundred and sixty seven days! That’s more than a full year’s worth of days! Put another way, on average, I feel at least a little industrious one out of three days. This is remarkable, as overall, I don’t think of myself as a “busy bee” sort of person – but I do love to “get things out of the way.” I hate procrastinating, unfinished projects, and abandoned inspirations. I love the sense of progress, cleansing, finishing, sorting, and beautifying. These desires, values, and drives of mine really show up in how I feel and, as a result, in how I behave.

Despite having many, many months during these four years where I’ve cried every single night, overall, I’ve actually been pretty happy. Feeling industrious has been about 16% of my time, and “pleased” is the distant second at 7.5% and “inspired” at 6.7%. This kind of data is something tangible that I can hold onto and review when I’m feeling like things “have always been bad.” That’s just not what the evidence shows. 

When I first got started with the project I had the idea that each day had a singular vibe, but as soon as I began I realized that each day, at the least, had a secondary vibe as well. Nearly a year into the project I was tired of trying to limit myself to the two most dominant vibes of the day. I ran into this problem too often: “I felt intensely cynical for an hour or two, but should I include that when most of the day I actually felt pretty relaxed, playful, and peaceful, and it was only after I got that news after dinner that I felt upset for a while?” I expanded my vibe log to capture five vibes, and named them primary, secondary, and so on. Then I applied a weighting factor so that the more dominant vibes would count for more, and the the most minor vibe (the fifth one) would count for the least when totaling up my vibes overall percentages.

When I first began vibe logging four years ago I created twenty-four vibes. Over the years I’ve added a vibe here or there when I felt frustrated that I couldn’t capture a recurring feeling very well with the vibes I’d already added. Now my log has a whopping forty-nine – but the least common nineteen of them only account for 6% of my subjective experience. Some vibes – like cynical – have never shown up as a “primary vibe” of the day – not even once. This is thankfully also the case for feeling “dread” and “isolation.”

Of the forty-nine vibes, my favorites are feeling inspired, introspective, insightful, connected, peaceful, playful, adventurous, lustful, happy, excited, loved, intuitive, grateful, and flirtatious. Over the past four years these make up 35% of my experience. 

The vibes that feel bad to me are: anxious, fragile, pained, sad, yearning, detached, lethargic, labyrinth, insecure, disappointed, fractious, exhausted, lonely, desolate, nonparallel, resentful, afraid, conflicted, grief, resolute, angry, regretful, isolated, and dread. These, together, also make up 35% of my experience.

That’s really not so bad – that all the bad feelings together are only taking up about as much of my life as my favorite experiences. And another 30% contains the more neutral feelings – like the often mentioned experience of being “industrious.”

My vibe log experiment underscores for me the truth in the mantra, “This, too, shall pass.” Whether it’s good or bad, it’s impermanent. We hate impermanence when it comes to things we cherish and love – that’s only natural. But it’s still reality, and remembering that impermanence can help us make the most of the good times while we’re here. By knowing that days where we feel great and energetic are limited, we can leverage that sense of energy and expansiveness to invest in the people, experiences, and things that matter most to us. And by remembering that the painful things in life are also temporary, we can resist the pain a little less, grieve our losses a little more fully, and relax into the reality that while the suffering of the moment is bad – potentially horrifying – it will eventually dissolve or transmute into something else.

Are you ready to try vibe logging for yourself? If so, I’ve made a simple template here which you can use to begin.

If you’re curious to learn more about my journey with my vibe log and see some of the cool charts I’ve made along the way, click here to check out my vibe log posts which include exploring my “hermit mode,” the inverse relationship between inspiration and anxiety, and the surprising correlation between sadness and inspiration.