Learning to Filter Without Losing Myself
This morning I asked a question in my Level 4 counselling WhatsApp group.
It was a very practical question about placements and whether we’re allowed to spread our 100 client hours across more than one organisation. Within minutes, four people replied with thoughtful, helpful answers.
I just sat there looking at my screen thinking, I’ve never felt this supported in a group before.
And if I’m really honest, that was the main reason I asked.
Yes, I genuinely needed the information. But underneath that, a quieter truth: I wanted to feel held by a group of people on the same path. I wanted to reach out and see if anyone was there.
Turns out, they were.
Sweetness, food and evenings alone
The last few weeks I’ve noticed that when I spend a whole day alone, I tend to overeat in the evening. I find myself pulled toward sweetness: chocolate, biscuits, that comforting “just a bit more” that doesn’t really fill me, but softens the edges for a while.
It hit me that I’m not just hungry for food. I’m hungry for sweetness in the day.
A kind word.
A small chat.
A sense of being part of something.
When those things are missing, food becomes the stand-in. It’s like my body is saying, “If we can’t have emotional nectar, we’ll take the sugary version instead.”
Dog walkers and little moments of contact
On my morning walks I’ve started noticing the dog walkers who orbit the same field as me. They feel like bees, quietly pollinating the world with their brief hellos and smiles.
Some of them keep their distance. One woman actually took the time to explain why: her dog doesn’t like men or bouncy dogs, so she stays back. She didn’t have to say that, but she did, and it mattered. It turned what could have felt like rejection into something understandable and mutual.
There’s another woman whose energy I really like. She doesn’t seem bothered by my dog’s bounciness. She just walks through it. I enjoy talking to her, and I think she knows that. Today she was chatting to someone else, and that was okay. I felt a little tug of disappointment, noticed it, and kept walking.
These tiny interactions are actually quite big for me. They’re the daily drops of contact that make the evenings feel less empty.
Speaking from my inner child (and why it sometimes feels “too much”)
When I’m moved by something, my instinct is to speak straight from my inner child. That part of me is honest and tender and a bit intense:
“I’ve never felt this supported before.”
“It means so much that you replied.”
“I just really want to feel part of this group.”
If I write like that in a group chat, it can land as a lot for people who don’t know me well yet. I can feel their “whoa” even if they don’t say it. And then my shame kicks in:
- I’ve overshared.
- I’m too much.
- I shouldn’t do that again.
So I’ve learned to filter. Not in a fake way, but in a “let’s make this digestible for other humans” way.
Today, instead of pouring my whole heart into the chat, I said:
“Ahh thank you everyone — didn’t expect so many quick replies! Really appreciate it.
I’ll drop Danny an email just to double-check, but it’s just been nice to feel part of a group of people on the same path.
Thanks again, see you all next week.”
That was the adult version of what my inner child wanted to say.
The feeling underneath was the same.
The exposure was less.
The three layers of how I speak
I’ve started to notice there are three layers to how I communicate:
-
Inner child (raw truth)
This is the part that feels deeply and speaks in images, longing and honesty.
“I want to belong.”
“Please don’t leave me out.”
“It feels so good when you see me.” - Wise adult (translator)
This part listens to the inner child and then asks:- What’s the real need here?
- How safe is this relationship?
- How much of this can I share without overwhelming myself or the other person?
- Social self (delivery)
This is the version that actually types the message or speaks out loud. It takes the truth and puts it into a shape that fits the context:
“Thanks for the quick replies, it’s nice to feel part of a group on the same path.”
I used to think filtering meant I was being inauthentic. Now I’m starting to see it as translation.
I’m not shutting my inner child down. I’m parenting him. I’m helping his feelings make it into the world in a way the world can actually receive.
Who gets which layer?
Part of growing up, for me, is learning that not everyone gets the same level of access.
- Most people will meet my social self.
- Some people will get my wise adult and the thoughts behind what I do.
- A small handful, over time, will get to meet my inner child directly.
Those people are rare:
the ones who don’t flinch at tenderness, who don’t shame intensity, who warm to emotional depth instead of pulling away.
I haven’t fully found those people yet, but moments like today in the group chat give me hope. They’re small, but they point in a direction: you’re allowed to reach out, and sometimes people will reach back.
Letting this be enough (for now)
Tonight I might still feel the pull towards sweetness. I might still wander toward the snacks when the house is quiet and my son is away and the day feels too long.
But now I can hold that behaviour a bit differently:
- Maybe I didn’t get enough emotional nectar today.
- Maybe my system is just asking for contact.
- Maybe sending one message to a group, or sharing a smile with a dog walker, is a small way of feeding that need earlier in the day.
I’m learning to offer myself tiny glimmers of connection, instead of waiting until the evening and trying to eat my way out of loneliness.
And I’m learning that I’m not “too much” for wanting that.
I’m just someone with a deep inner world, slowly discovering how to let it be seen — gently, safely, and in doses that both I and the people around me can hold. ```0