You do not have to become a person who never feels jealous, resentful or rejected.

You have to become a person who can handle knowing that these feelings are all a part of being human.

This is excellent news for anyone who has ever had a deeply uncharitable thought and immediately followed it with: Wow. I thought I had worked on myself.

Psychologist and author studies self-worth and secure attachment. She is the author of the recent book Worth: The New Science of Self-esteem and Secure Attachment —essentially, how we stay connected to other people without losing our connection to ourselves. One thing she has noticed is that our growing fluency in mental health can be both helpful and, occasionally, another stick to beat ourselves with.

“There’s this newfound literacy of mental health and emotions,” Franco says. We understand more about boundaries, codependence, narcissism and attachment styles. That language can help us recognize unhealthy patterns and protect ourselves from harm.

But it has also, Franco says, “led us to shame ourselves for not being healed enough.”

We feel abandoned and decide we are failing at secure attachment. We miss an ex who was terrible for us and wonder why all those therapy appointments have not yet transformed us into a serene person who wishes them well from a tasteful distance. We feel jealous of a friend, resentful of someone we love or irrationally hurt by a perfectly reasonable cancellation—and then judge ourselves for not having a more enlightened response.

As Franco puts it, “Healing is about accepting the messiness of our emotions.”

That does not mean every feeling is a fact, a command or a reason to send a six-paragraph text. It means we can notice what is happening inside us without immediately trying to hustle it out the back door.

Franco has been practicing this in her own life.

She says she used to confront her feelings once they became obvious and overwhelming, but the smaller ones were easier to miss: “Sometimes I feel a flash of jealousy, a flash of anger, and a part of me pulls me away from that so quickly that it’s hard to know it’s even there.”

Many women are especially skilled at this disappearing act. We have been taught that being a good person means being understanding, accommodating and unbothered. Jealousy is petty. Anger is unattractive. Resentment means we are insufficiently generous.

So we say, It’s fine.

Sometimes it is fine.

Sometimes “fine” is simply where we store a feeling until it grows teeth.

Franco shares the example of a friend who had to cancel plans after getting into an accident. Franco loved her friend and felt genuine compassion. Of course she wanted her to rest and take care of herself. She also felt hurt.

There had already been an imbalance in the friendship, and the cancellation pressed on that tender spot. Franco knew the situation was not about her, but a part of her still felt rejected. Previously, she might have rushed to correct herself: You shouldn’t feel that. Your friend was in an accident. Be reasonable.

Instead, she paused long enough to admit, “I feel a bit rejected.”

Once she acknowledged the feeling, it could move through her. Then she could tell her friend to take care of herself—and mean it. Her kindness no longer felt like people-pleasing or a performance designed to prove she was a good friend. She could care for her friend without pretending her own hurt did not exist.

“Being securely attached is not about never being triggered,” Franco says. “It’s about actually being able to tolerate your triggers without acting out.”

That feels like a much more welcoming version of healing.

There is no prize for never feeling the wrong thing. There is no gold star for becoming impossible to disappoint.

Our difficult feelings may not tell the whole truth, but they usually tell us where to look. Jealousy might point toward longing. Resentment might reveal a need we have not voiced. Rejection might wake up an older fear that has little to do with the person standing in front of us.

Franco suggests imagining the wounded part of yourself as a five-year-old approaching to say, I feel abandoned. You probably would not respond, “That’s an anxious attachment response, and frankly, I expected more progress from you.”

You would make room. You might ask what hurts.

“What is vulnerable is universal,” Franco says. The feelings we fear make us uniquely selfish, needy or broken are often simply part of being a person among other people.

Healing is not becoming someone who always has the right emotional response. It is learning that even when an uncomfortable, inconvenient or embarrassingly human feeling appears, you do not have to abandon yourself for having it.

You are allowed. Consider this your permission slip.

About the Author, Hannah Howard

Hannah Howard is the author of the memoirs Feast: True Love in and out of the Kitchen and Plenty: A Memoir of Food and Family. She writes for Food & Wine, Travel + Leisure, and Bon Appetit. Hannah lives in Chicago with her family and loves stinky cheese. Subscribe to her Substack, Letters from Hannah. She is also a member of The Wise Women’s Council.

Over a full year, Hannah is writing about her experience inside of The Wise Women’s Council. She’s written about changing her relationship to rest, slowing down to be present to her own life, and the dangerous trap of comparative joy. She’s also writing about the guest teachers and speakers we have who join us in the Council. We were so grateful to have Dr. Franco join us for a deeper conversation about friendship, self-esteem, and well-being.

If you’re looking for a group coaching program for women, check out The Wise Women’s Council and apply to join us this Fall.

One of the greatest gifts of The Wise Women’s Council is the women themselves. For the past ten years, I’ve run an intimate women’s group coaching program, where I have the privilege of learning alongside founders, executives, consultants, creatives, coaches, and leaders who are navigating real questions about work, life, leadership, family, ambition, identity, and change.

The internet often rewards certainty and polished answers. But the women in this community remind me that wisdom is something different. The older I get, the less interested I am in expertise alone. I'm interested in practice. I’m interested in the messiness of everyday life, and how we show up in the moments that become our years.

I want to know how women are navigating business building alongside a culture that didn’t want women in leadership positions for the last two hundred years. I’m hungry to learn from women who let the house be messy, who shift the mental load into visible spaces; who stand up for what they believe in; who give a damn about their own rest and well-being. I want to know how women are navigating business-building alongside caregiving. How they make difficult decisions. How they rethink success. How they manage when they feel like they’re failing at everything. How they stand up for what they believe in. How they create lives that are aligned with their values—not just impressive from the outside.

The women in this community teach me every day. So I decided to start sharing some of their stories. This new series, Wisdom In Practice, is written in collaboration with , a member of Wise Women’s Council. My goal is to shine a light on the remarkable women in our community and the lessons they’re learning as they move through life and leadership. Through conversations and interviews, we’ll explore their work, the challenges they’re navigating, the lessons they’re learning, and the ideas they keep returning to again and again. Read more about the full series here.

Below is our first essay featuring decision engineer and coach Michelle Florendo. She’s been a part of The Wise Women’s Council since the very beginning, and her work has helped thousands of founders and leaders figure out how to make better decisions.

These are not stories about having it all figured out. They are stories about paying attention. These are stories about letting go of who we were, so that we can leap towards who we are becoming. These are stories about changing how we move through life.

I hope you’ll enjoy meeting the women of Wise Women’s Council as much as I’ve enjoyed learning from them.

— Sarah K Peck

Want to learn more about my group coaching program and practice? Check out The Wise Women’s Council and consider applying to join.

The Data Hidden Inside Your Feelings

What Happens When You Stop Optimizing Everything

Essay below written by

When I talked to Stanford-trained Decision Engineer Michelle Florendo, she was mid-move: boxes, logistics, the constant deciding of what stays and what goes. She mentioned it casually, like this kind of complexity was familiar terrain.

Then she said: “My brain loves optimization puzzles.”

“But the real challenge,” she added, “is communicating to all the other parties involved the things that are in my brain.”

If you’ve ever tried to explain the invisible spreadsheet in your head to a partner, a team, or a child who insists the blue cup is a catastrophe—you get it.

Michelle’s work sits at the intersection of structure and humanity. As a decision engineer and executive coach, she helps professionals and small business owners make big, complex decisions with less stress and more clarity. Her background is rigorous—engineering degree, MBA—but her core insight is surprisingly simple.

When I asked what one skill she’d teach everyone, she didn’t say productivity or confidence or morning routines.

She said: the ability to understand what your emotions are telling you—the data inside your feelings.

We’re taught to treat emotions as distractions from “real” decision-making. Michelle argues the opposite. Especially in complex situations, not all useful information is measurable. Emotions are signals—pointing to needs, values, and constraints we haven’t fully named.

Here’s the framework she uses again and again:

1. Notice and name the emotion.

Not just “I’m fine” or “I’m just stressed.”

Actually name it: frustrated, anxious, resentful, disappointed.

2. Ask what’s underneath.

Is it a real need—rest, clarity, support, recognition?

An outdated one—approval, perfection, control?

Or something you haven’t given yourself permission to want?

This is where decision-making opens up.

As Michelle put it, “If you don’t like the options in front of you, your job is to creatively generate more.” Emotions help you see where the existing options are failing—and where new ones might exist.

She sees this everywhere: in four-year-olds learning to manage big feelings, and in executives navigating burnout, recognition, and power. Naming what’s happening turns fog into information.

Michelle didn’t set out to be an entrepreneur. She’s risk-averse by nature. But motherhood made it clear the more traditional paths didn’t work—and instead of forcing herself into a bad choice, she built a better one.

She’s also clear about what’s missing from professional conversations: honest talk about constraints. Time. Energy. Caregiving. The reality that you can’t optimize everything at once.

Decision-making isn’t a game of being perfect. Perfectionism is a trap.

Decision making involves backing up from binary thinking and asking yourself to think more broadly about possibilities. Before jumping into a “pro-con” list, Michelle says it’s best to first figure out what your objectives are from the gate. She reminds people not to get too narrowed into a flipping back and forth over one single option.

Instead, ask yourself to consider a broader range of ideas. What are ALL the possibilities or courses of action that you could choose from? Are there more ways of going about this? What else could be possible?

Your emotions are essential data, because they’re telling you to look more deeply at what’s in front of you. Chances are, if you’re feeling resistance, if you’re feeling irritation or overwhelm, you could be stuck in a pro-con trap.

Maybe, maybe there’s another option that you haven’t thought of yet.

BONUS TIP: Invite a friend who is really good at divergent thinking to help you out with this part. Ask them what you haven’t yet considered.

Part of the work of decision making is the ability to think creatively and explore options beyond what you first see.

Michelle’s work is a relief, not because it makes decisions easy, but because it makes them honest. It makes them fuller. She helps people slow down long enough to hear what actually matters, instead of defaulting to what’s expected, efficient, or externally approved. The result isn’t a perfect choice–it’s something better. It’s a choice that feels true to you, grounded in your values, your dreams, your constraints, and your real life.

In a culture that rewards powering through and second-guessing yourself, that kind of clarity isn’t just useful. It changes how you move through your life.

MEET MICHELLE FLORENDO

Michelle Florendo is a Stanford-trained Decision Engineer, executive coach, speaker, and founder of Powered by Decisions. She helps leaders, founders, and high-achieving professionals make decisions with less stress and more clarity by combining decision science, coaching, and practical frameworks for navigating uncertainty. Over the past decade, she has coached hundreds of leaders, taught decision-making at Stanford, and helped redesign the decision-making curriculum for Stanford’s renowned Designing Your Life program.

Learn more about Michelle:

• Website: Powered by Decisions
• About Michelle: Michelle Florendo Bio
• LinkedIn: Michelle Florendo on LinkedIn
• Podcast: Ask a Decision Engineer

In December, she wrote about renegotiating her understanding of rest in a culture that says rest should always come last, after the work. “No one taught me that proactive rest could prevent that collapse. That choosing to repair myself before I was depleted wasn’t lazy or indulgent, it was strategic, sustaining, even brave,” she wrote. Women leaders are often some of the most hard-working (and exhausted) people I know.

One of the deeper truths we touch on in the Wise Women’s Council is the idea that we don’t win if we compare joys or sufferings. We are each individuals having very unique experiences; the pain and joy we feel in each of our bodies is relevant, even with everything else going on. Diminishing our own suffering because someone else has it “worse” can accidentally lead to smashing your own feelings away, which doesn’t always work in the long-term. Now, it’s not always appropriate to spill your guts and pour your feelings over everyone, but moderating how we display our emotions is part of EQ and maturity. But denying ourselves our real stories and bodily wisdom is unwise. That’s why we talk about this idea of comparative joy and comparative suffering. Hannah writes about it below for her January reflection. This is Hannah’s second year in The Wise Women’s Council, and the essay that follows is by her.

— Sarah K Peck

No One Wins the Pain (or Joy) Olympics

by

I’ve noticed something lately on work calls.

Someone will say, almost apologetically, “I know the world is so intense right now…” and the rest of us will nod, as if we’re all collectively agreeing not to take up too much emotional space. As if there’s a moral economy of suffering and we’re afraid of overdrawing our account.

calls this the “Pain Olympics” — the belief that suffering and joy must be ranked, that only the biggest tragedies deserve attention, that anything else is somehow embarrassing or indulgent.

But here’s the thing I know now, not just in my head but in my body: that belief almost killed me.

For years, I didn’t think my eating disorder was “real enough” to deserve care. I wasn’t starving in a dramatic way. I wasn’t visibly sick. I was functioning. I was working. I was productive. I was praised. In a culture that equates discipline with virtue and thinness with success, my suffering was rewarded—which made it even harder to name.

Diet culture gave me a perfect hiding place.

It told me my hunger was a moral failure.

It told me my body was a problem to solve.

It told me that wanting less space in the world was noble.

And because I was, by any objective measure, deeply lucky — educated, housed, loved, successful — I internalized the idea that I had no right to be struggling. I had read the books. I believed the politics. I knew all bodies were supposed to be beautiful. I just didn’t believe mine was allowed to be one of them.

So I did what so many smart, thoughtful women do: I turned my pain into self-improvement.

I told myself I wasn’t sick — I was disciplined.

I wasn’t anxious — I was “health-conscious.”

I wasn’t disappearing — I was becoming better.

Meanwhile, my nervous system was living in a state of constant emergency. Food was never just food. It was math, control, fear, worthiness, and relief all tangled together. My head could recite feminist theory, but my body was trapped in a loop of deprivation and panic.

And here’s the part no one tells you:

You cannot recover from something you don’t believe you’re allowed to have.

Healing didn’t begin when I found the perfect framework. It began when I said, quietly and without justification, This hurts. When I stopped asking whether my pain was impressive enough, dramatic enough, tragic enough to qualify.

It turns out the body doesn’t care about your résumé.

Trauma doesn’t ask if you’re privileged.

Hunger doesn’t care if you “should know better.”

What changed everything was kindness. Not the Instagram kind — the actual, daily, uncomfortable practice of treating myself like someone whose life mattered. Letting myself eat without earning it. Letting myself rest without apologizing. Letting myself feel grief, fear, and longing without ranking them against anyone else’s.

Sarah K. Peck is right: comparative suffering is a lie. But so is comparative healing. There isn’t a more respectable kind of brokenness. There isn’t a purer kind of recovery. There’s just this person, in this body, trying to live.

I think that’s why this resonates so deeply now. So many of us are navigating a world that feels genuinely overwhelming, politically, economically, emotionally. And we’re trying to be “good” about it. We’re trying not to complain. Not to take up too much space. Not to be selfish.

But silencing ourselves isn’t strength. And minimizing our pain doesn’t make us more compassionate.

What actually makes us capable of showing up—for our kids, our work, each other—is letting what’s true be true. Letting joy exist even when the world is burning. Letting grief be named even when others have it worse.

Recovery taught me this:

You don’t heal by disappearing.

You heal by staying.

By being here.

By eating.

By feeling.

By refusing to make your own life smaller in order to seem more acceptable.

There is no prize for suffering quietly.

There is no virtue in not needing.

There is only this moment, this breath, this body—asking, again and again, to be treated with care.

Hannah Howard is the author of the memoirs Feast: True Love in and out of the Kitchen and Plenty: A Memoir of Food and Family. She writes for Food & Wine, Travel + Leisure, and Bon Appetit. Hannah lives in Chicago with her family and loves stinky cheese. Subscribe to her Substack, Letters from Hannah. She is also a member of The Wise Women’s Council.

Related & Recommended Reads:

The other day, my kid was having an epic meltdown. Wouldn't leave the house. Started hitting. I pulled him aside, "Buddy, if we can't do this without screaming and hitting, that means we're not ready to do this yet." He looked at me with huge eyes.

"Mama, can I have paper so I can draw you my feelings?"

He sat down with a pen and paper. Out came the sadne…

Read more

So often the whispers of inner wisdom come in the subtle layers.

It's not necessarily loud, it's doesn't have to be about declaring broad-sweeping statements, nor does it have to be more than what you already know.

And this is where visibility ties to expanding your leadership capacity.

Leadership is not an outside game. It’s not about finding the guru or the sage. It’s not getting something from outside.

Yes, we need teachers and leaders and healers and knowledge.

But we also need you.

It’s about sourcing from what’s within. It’s finding the space where your soul talks to the world and you create something anew together.

That’s what we need from you.

What we are really starting digging into is: What do you already know?

What are we sitting on top of?
What are we sensing?
What are we seeing?
What are we feeling?

Trust your inner knowing

Trust yourself. Listen to the tiny whispers that come up.

Trust that there are more languages than words alone—that sensing, feeling, intuition, dancing, singing, and moving are all vital languages of understanding.

So get quiet in the forest and bathe in the sound of water.

Ask for guidance from the callings of your heart.

Talk to the trees and the plants and the insects.

And then trust yourself when the ideas come forth from within.

Perhaps you already know more than you give yourself enough credit for.

xo

— SKP

Notebook sketch from a few weeks ago, when I waded into a river with dear ones and we sang and laughed and listened and breathed. The water reminds me to trust my inner knowing more. The river knows.

The very first time I tried to sell something on the internet, it felt horrifying. Would anyone buy? What did I know? Would it work? I posted on my Facebook page and mentioned it to a few friends. 

Crickets.

The mental duress of sharing something you're working on and wondering if people will buy—ugh, it's not easy. Somehow, over the past fifteen years, I…

Read more

One time, when my baby was just a tiny thing, I forgot to change the diaper for hours. Blurry with sleep deprivation, I could not figure out why he was crying. Hours later, when I realized the tiny poop smear had given him a massive diaper rash, I smacked my forehead.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” I whispered to him. I felt so bad.

We’ve all made mistakes as …

Read more