I get mad at my husband sometimes—over little things and slightly bigger ones. I used to pout and stonewall for days when this happened, while he seemed to move through it so quickly. Underneath the irritation, what I really wanted was to be seen, to be heard, to feel valued. My shutting down was, in many ways, a silent invitation to be chased—pushing away in the hopes of being pursued.

(And don’t even get me started on my teenage and early adult escapades—a story for another day, but rooted in that same longing to be valued.)

Over time, I’ve learned to notice the moment that feeling of not being valued starts to rise inside me. I’ve started to understand why I pursue that feeling so fiercely. And perhaps the most transformative part of this healing journey has been stepping over to “the other side of the battlefield,” where I used to throw daggers of blame at my mother.

With her, I often felt invisible—as if I wasn’t even in the room. But I’ve come to see that she, too, was chasing the same sense of value. Though she didn’t give birth to me, she passed along her own history of not being seen or heard—not through intention, but through her triggered reactions and inherited pain.

Her story is heavy. Her parents died when she was young; most of her relationship with her mother was spent during years of illness and eventual loss to cancer. Her father, a physician, traveled to distant places to practice medicine (and find other women). She became the parent figure to her younger sister and, at age 13, was sent to foster care and then an orphanage. Through it all, she stood no taller than 4’11″—a small frame that carried an enormous weight.

There’s more to my story that explains why certain moments set me off. But one of the hardest parts of personal growth—and of practicing what I teach as a therapist and parent coach—has been accepting that the work is always mine.

If I don’t want to live in a state of upset, anger, or devaluation, I have to go inward and gently untangle those feelings. This doesn’t mean I don’t express my hurt. I absolutely give myself permission to tell my husband, “Hey, that sucked. Try not to do that again.” (Though, admittedly, it’s usually a much longer conversation.) But then, I have a choice: to let my body stay wrapped in that visceral hurt… or to unwind it.

My Gnome Visualization

Here’s where it gets a little whimsical—but deeply effective. I have a visualization I use (and yes, this is true) that involves tiny gnomes, elves, or menehune who run around my body finding the “arrows” that have been shot into me during moments of hurt.

As I breathe, I picture them pulling each one out and naming it:

  • “Here’s the ‘Why can’t I ever finish my own sentence? Please listen to me’ arrow.”
  • “Here’s the ‘Your story is more important than mine’ arrow.”
  • “Here’s the ‘I’m not good enough’ arrow.”

One by one, they dismantle the hurt. Sometimes I add a Qigong “shaking the tree” bounce to move the energy through.

I’ve realized that irritation is easier for me to notice than contentment, joy, or delight. So I bounce, I breathe, and I send the gnomes to work—because it feels pretty badass to actively shift my emotional state and have it actually work.

Now, I can experience moments where my husband, kids, or mother do something that used to really set me off—and I can feel that irritation soften or pass more quickly. I have the power to enjoy so many more moments of my day without being hijacked by a single emotional sting.

Rewriting the Meaning I Place on Things

At the end of each day (on the days I remember to), I consciously create a more complete story. Instead of letting one “ick” moment define the whole day, I might say:

“I had some really good moments, some solidly neutral ones, and a couple of tough ones. All in all, pretty good.”

Our brains need this fuller picture. They need us to notice the beauty around us even on days when something hard happened. We have the power to change how our memories are stored—and in doing so, we shape how we perceive our lives.

With this in mind, I’ve given the internal gnomes one more job: to swap a negative tag for a truer, more grounded one—not rooted in the stories passed down through intergenerational trauma. Over time, your brain starts to internalize these new meanings faster.

  • “Why can’t I ever finish my own sentence? Please listen to me” → “They may be distracted or excited—not dismissing me. I can express that I’d like to be heard fully.”
  • “Your story is more important than mine” → “I can assert my place in the conversation without competing for it; both stories matter.”
  • “I’m not good enough” → “This moment doesn’t define my worth; it’s just a feeling passing through.”

I can’t control everything that happens around me. But I can change the meaning I place on things. And that changes everything.

Hilary Moses, MSW, LCSW, is a respected therapist and parent coach with a strong background as a wilderness clinician and clinical director. A national speaker and educator, she has developed parenting and transition curricula, led hundreds of workshops and family seminars, and served as an adjunct professor at Arizona State University. She is also the co-author of H.O.M.E: Strategies for Making Home a SUCCESS During and After Treatment (2023).