For years, when someone told me to “calm down,” I’d shrink like a scolded child. Later, in my 40s, I’d go ballistic instead. Especially if the remark came from a man who’d never been called “hysterical” in his life.

Turns out both these reactions missed the mark—what I needed was to get emotionally fit. For years, I believed my sensitivity was a character flaw, something to manage or medicate away. Tears embarrassed me. Anger made me feel unlikable and “too much.” I treated my feelings like problems to fix instead of signals worth listening to.

It took me decades to realize: Emotional fitness isn’t about shoving your feelings down and pasting on a Stepford wife smile. It’s not about being endlessly agreeable for everyone else’s comfort until you can’t help but blow up. And it’s not about “good vibes only” toxic positivity.

It’s about owning every part of your emotional landscape—especially the parts you’ve been told to minimize. It’s about owning the whole, glorious mess and skillfully responding rather than reacting.

It’s about capacity. Practice. Building strength.

Emotionally Gaslit. Thoroughly Conditioned.

Women have been emotionally gaslit for centuries—at home, at work, in every damn institution. The message is clear: Our feelings and reactions are inconvenient, and we’re “high maintenance.” We’ve learned to apologize for our tears, minimize our anger, and question our emotional reality.

This programming isn’t accidental. A society that keeps women doubting their emotions keeps women doubting their power. It’s hard to fight the patriarchy when you’re busy apologizing for having feelings.

And honestly, it’s demoralizing.

By midlife, my conditioning had calcified. I could give you a thousand ways I tried to tone myself down. Smaller reactions. Softer voice. Smiling when I wanted to scream.

Here’s just one example:

In my last corporate job, I worked for a C-suite executive in a medical device company. The night before a major medical symposium I was organizing, I was frantically incorporating last-minute slide changes from international surgeons to the massive PowerPoint presentation when my boss decided I needed his “help.”

He hovered over me, micromanaging my work despite my proven track record, treating me like I was incompetent at basic tasks. WTF?!

What I wanted to scream was, “Are you f*cking kidding me right now?! Get the hell away from me and let me do my job!” Instead I endured his condescending interference, which only slowed down the process and left me feeling completely undervalued.

This was the beginning of the end of my corporate life.

Eventually, something cracked open in me. Somewhere between recognizing that I had to escape the corporate world, let my creative voice out no matter what, and watching my parents disappear into dementia, I stopped apologizing for feeling deeply. And I stopped making myself small to make others more comfortable.

Training for the Life I Want

The first time I read clinical psychologist Nick Wignall’s definition of emotional fitness—as “a set of habits and exercises that support emotional health and resilience”—I felt my shoulders drop. Oh, I thought, this isn’t about fixing myself. It’s about strengthening myself.

Emotional fitness is action-oriented—it’s about what you do to maintain and enhance your emotional well-being, not just what you think you know.

The real shift happened when I started doing the work, not just reading about it.

I started building habits that could hold me up when things got hard. Emotional fitness, I discovered, isn’t coping in the storm. It’s training in the calm, so the inevitable storm doesn’t knock you out.

A Worry Ritual That Saves Me

Of all the exercises I’ve tried, Dr. Wignall’s Scheduled Worry has changed me the most. It sounds absurd—why would I make time to worry on purpose? But setting a timer for 15 minutes and letting myself intentionally spiral is teaching my brain that anxiety isn’t dangerous. It’s uncomfortable, yes, but it won’t kill me.

I found this exercise while trying to manage the endless, slow heartbreak of my parents’ decline. Grief mixed with dread, always humming just under the surface. I can’t outthink it. Can’t outrun it.

So I give it a container. A sacred little pocket of time where I get to be a bundle of nerves. And when the timer goes off? I stop. Take a few deep breaths. Get on with my day.

It took some practice, but over time, my nervous system has stopped sounding the alarm at every little thing. This habit is helping me trust myself and experience more equanimity—a balanced mental state allowing me to remain calm and stable in any circumstance.

What Emotional Strength Actually Looks Like

As I’ve been growing my emotional muscles, I’ve recognized patterns in myself that clinical psychologist and researcher Emily Anhalt, Ph.D., calls the traits of emotional fitness. In her new book Flex Your Feelings, Anhalt has identified seven traits, but three have jumped out at me as game-changers:

Curiosity: This has become my secret weapon. Instead of getting defensive or judging myself, I’ve learned to ask, “What’s really going on here?” That tiny shift—turning toward my feelings instead of away—makes all the difference.

Resilience: Bouncing forward and adapting through setbacks and failures has been crucial as I navigate my parents’ heartbreaking journey with dementia.

Communication: This one’s been a real slog for me over the years, but I’m improving. Whenever I say what I need, I feel stronger and more peaceful, even if my voice shakes.

This Isn’t Just Self-Help. It’s Self-Sovereignty.

Let’s be honest: The world benefits when women doubt their emotional instincts. When we second-guess our rage. Apologize for our tears. Hide our power behind “I’m fine.”

But I’m done with all that. Here’s what I know for sure:

You can feel everything—and still be the woman who gets shit done. The woman who takes up space without apologizing.

Emotional fitness doesn’t make you less emotional. It makes you more influential with your emotions. More confident. More powerful.

So start your training. Build the strength to stay tender in a world that wants you to be unemotional, compliant, and quiet. Claim your sovereignty.