Does Your A + B Equal D?

Have you ever taken a feeling and a circumstance and arrived at a conclusion that hurt?

I’m alone tonight + no one has called = I don’t matter.

Or perhaps:

Someone I love is struggling + I’ve always helped = they can’t make it without me.

The feeling is real. The circumstance may be real, too. But the story we build around them deserves a closer look.

Sometimes our A + B leads us to D—a conclusion shaped by fear, grief, or years of feeling responsible for someone else.

We all do this. We’re trying to make sense of our experiences and protect ourselves from more pain.

But when those stories begin guiding our choices, they can make our lives smaller. We stop reaching out because we assume no one cares. We set aside our plans because we believe someone else needs us more. We keep carrying responsibilities that leave little room for our own lives.

Our emotions deserve attention. They don’t have to make every decision for us.

Rather than pushing a feeling away—or accepting its accompanying story as fact—we can pause and ask:

What am I feeling?

What do I know to be true?

What am I assuming?

What response would honor what matters to me?

I’ve needed these questions myself.

After losing my entire family of origin and later going through a divorce, I felt alone. And lonely. There was more empty space in my life than I wanted.

Some of that space remains. A different perspective doesn’t erase grief or replace the people we’ve lost.

But I’m learning that two truths can exist together:

I miss the family I’ve lost, and I still have people who love me.

I feel lonely today, and I can take one small step toward connection.

My life has changed, and there is still room for joy and purpose.

For me, some of that empty space has become room for creativity and helping others. I’m also learning to make room for companionship, faith, and experiences that nourish me.

That’s my mathematical solution. It’s still a work in progress.

On a lonely evening, that might sound like:

I’m alone right now. That doesn’t mean I’m unloved. Tonight, I can call a friend, read something comforting, or spend time with God. This week, I can invite someone to dinner or try a group that shares my interests.

One small choice can open a little more space for connection.

When you love someone struggling with addiction or emotional chaos, loneliness can have another layer. You may keep painful details to yourself to protect their privacy or because you’re unsure who would understand.

Holding all of that inside can feel heavy.

And when so much of your attention goes toward managing someone else’s needs or reactions, you may begin to miss yourself—your interests, your voice, your sense of possibility.

You deserve a place where you can be honest and supported, too.

You don’t have to talk yourself out of your feelings or rush toward gratitude. You can acknowledge what hurts, bring it to God, and gently consider whether the story you’re telling yourself holds the whole truth.

Perhaps this week, begin here:

What conclusion have I been treating as a fact—and what else might be true?

If you’d like support exploring that question, reply to this email to arrange a complimentary 30-minute conversation. We’ll talk about what you’re carrying, what you’d like more room for, and whether coaching could help you take your next step.

There is room for your life in this equation, too.

— Liz

The Overgiver's Coach