Tonight on Mondays beyond the Mic… Emotional Baggage…

Tonight on Mondays beyond the Mic with Dr Elaine and Lady Dawn B we talked about Emotional Baggage…

so let’s get to unpacking…

We all have baggage. Some of us are pulling sleek little carry-ons, color-coordinated, emotionally labeled, maybe even monogrammed. Others? Wheeling around rusted, busted, emotionally duct-taped trunks full of rejection, childhood neglect, three failed situationships, a couple of trust issues in Ziplocs, and the voice of someone who told you at age twelve that you were “a little too sensitive.” And that’s just your weekend bag.

But let’s get something straight. Baggage isn’t the enemy. It means you’ve lived. It means you’ve loved, lost, stayed too long, left too soon, cried on the bathroom floor, fell for a red flag in a trench coat, and still showed up the next day with hope in your chest and mascara under your eyes.

The problem isn’t having baggage. The problem is when you bring all of it into every new connection, set it down in the middle of the room, and then act confused when no one wants to sit next to it. Worse—when someone starts unpacking their stuff, and suddenly you’re side-eyeing their suitcase like you didn’t bring a haunted steamer trunk of unprocessed trauma.

Let’s be honest. Sometimes you’re not reacting to your partner. You’re reacting to your ex. Your father. Your fifth-grade gym teacher. Your own worst fear about being unlovable. Sometimes the person in front of you says something normal, like “I need a minute,” and you hear it as “I’m about to abandon you like everyone else ever has.”

You’re not dramatic. You’re just carrying too much.

And the worst part? You think it’s making you smart. Like being suspicious, defensive, and emotionally unavailable is wisdom. It’s not. That’s just fear wearing a fake mustache and calling itself “intuition.”

You think expecting betrayal is keeping you safe, but all it’s really doing is keeping you lonely.

And what’s wild is that most of us don’t even know we’re doing it. We think we’re just being “realistic” or “cautious” or “boundaried,” when really we’re just exhausted from trying to love with one foot out the door and a hand still on the emergency eject button. You’re not loving—you’re managing. And connection isn’t something you manage. It’s something you risk.

It’s time to unpack. And I don’t mean in a cute, Pinterest-y kind of way where you journal one time about your attachment style and call it healing. I mean unzip that emotional Samsonite, dump it on the floor, and let’s go through this together like two wine-drunk besties on moving day.

What’s this? Oh—some vintage trust issues. Stained with every “I’ll call you later” that never happened. Toss.

Ah yes, this one’s your fear of abandonment. Still wrapped in the original packaging from your first relationship. You keep this one “just in case”? Sweetheart. It’s expired. Trash.

Oh wow. A laminated list of every time someone disappointed you. It’s been alphabetized, cross-referenced, and highlighted. Girl. Why? You’re not building a case against them. You’re building a wall around you.

Let’s burn that one. Roast marshmallows over it. Watch it curl and turn to ash and say a little goodbye. You don’t need that now.

We keep saying we want love, but we don’t want to make room for it. Love shows up with an overnight bag and you’re like, “Oh, sorry, all the drawers are full of trauma.” No room at the inn.

Let. It. Go.

Keep the lessons. Keep the softness. Keep the parts of you that learned how to get back up. But don’t keep the armor that makes everyone around you feel like they’re auditioning for a role in your life they’ll never get, no matter how hard they try.

You’re not too much. You’re too defended. You’re not unlovable. You’re just unavailable while pretending you’re open. You don’t want a relationship—you want a guarantee. But love doesn’t do refunds or insurance plans. It’s messy. It’s naked. It’s terrifying. And it’s worth it.

So do the work. Unpack the bag. Leave what doesn’t serve you. Throw out the heartbreak that no longer fits. Let go of the emotional hoarding you’ve been calling preparation. You don’t need a file folder of every wrong thing that’s ever been said to you in order to protect yourself from love. You just need discernment, honesty, and a little courage.

You want to be seen? Stop hiding behind your history. You want to be chosen? Show up like you’ve already chosen yourself. You want love to stay? Make it feel welcome—not like it’s crashing in your guest room with a post-it note on the door that says “Do Not Get Too Close.”

You are not just healing.

You are traveling lighter.

And that? That is sexy. That is freedom. That is the whole damn point.

Now pass the Oreos.

We’ve got a life to live.

https://www.youtube.com/live/vg7tgTzRCkM?si=0csx4-WH1sOBFaqX let’s get to unpacking…

We all have baggage. Some of us are pulling sleek little carry-ons, color-coordinated, emotionally labeled, maybe even monogrammed. Others? Wheeling around rusted, busted, emotionally duct-taped trunks full of rejection, childhood neglect, three failed situationships, a couple of trust issues in Ziplocs, and the voice of someone who told you at age twelve that you were “a little too sensitive.” And that’s just your weekend bag.

But let’s get something straight. Baggage isn’t the enemy. It means you’ve lived. It means you’ve loved, lost, stayed too long, left too soon, cried on the bathroom floor, fell for a red flag in a trench coat, and still showed up the next day with hope in your chest and mascara under your eyes.

The problem isn’t having baggage. The problem is when you bring all of it into every new connection, set it down in the middle of the room, and then act confused when no one wants to sit next to it. Worse—when someone starts unpacking their stuff, and suddenly you’re side-eyeing their suitcase like you didn’t bring a haunted steamer trunk of unprocessed trauma.

Let’s be honest. Sometimes you’re not reacting to your partner. You’re reacting to your ex. Your father. Your fifth-grade gym teacher. Your own worst fear about being unlovable. Sometimes the person in front of you says something normal, like “I need a minute,” and you hear it as “I’m about to abandon you like everyone else ever has.”

You’re not dramatic. You’re just carrying too much.

And the worst part? You think it’s making you smart. Like being suspicious, defensive, and emotionally unavailable is wisdom. It’s not. That’s just fear wearing a fake mustache and calling itself “intuition.”

You think expecting betrayal is keeping you safe, but all it’s really doing is keeping you lonely.

And what’s wild is that most of us don’t even know we’re doing it. We think we’re just being “realistic” or “cautious” or “boundaried,” when really we’re just exhausted from trying to love with one foot out the door and a hand still on the emergency eject button. You’re not loving—you’re managing. And connection isn’t something you manage. It’s something you risk.

It’s time to unpack. And I don’t mean in a cute, Pinterest-y kind of way where you journal one time about your attachment style and call it healing. I mean unzip that emotional Samsonite, dump it on the floor, and let’s go through this together like two wine-drunk besties on moving day.

What’s this? Oh—some vintage trust issues. Stained with every “I’ll call you later” that never happened. Toss.

Ah yes, this one’s your fear of abandonment. Still wrapped in the original packaging from your first relationship. You keep this one “just in case”? Sweetheart. It’s expired. Trash.

Oh wow. A laminated list of every time someone disappointed you. It’s been alphabetized, cross-referenced, and highlighted. Girl. Why? You’re not building a case against them. You’re building a wall around you.

Let’s burn that one. Roast marshmallows over it. Watch it curl and turn to ash and say a little goodbye. You don’t need that now.

We keep saying we want love, but we don’t want to make room for it. Love shows up with an overnight bag and you’re like, “Oh, sorry, all the drawers are full of trauma.” No room at the inn.

Let. It. Go.

Keep the lessons. Keep the softness. Keep the parts of you that learned how to get back up. But don’t keep the armor that makes everyone around you feel like they’re auditioning for a role in your life they’ll never get, no matter how hard they try.

You’re not too much. You’re too defended. You’re not unlovable. You’re just unavailable while pretending you’re open. You don’t want a relationship—you want a guarantee. But love doesn’t do refunds or insurance plans. It’s messy. It’s naked. It’s terrifying. And it’s worth it.

So do the work. Unpack the bag. Leave what doesn’t serve you. Throw out the heartbreak that no longer fits. Let go of the emotional hoarding you’ve been calling preparation. You don’t need a file folder of every wrong thing that’s ever been said to you in order to protect yourself from love. You just need discernment, honesty, and a little courage.

You want to be seen? Stop hiding behind your history. You want to be chosen? Show up like you’ve already chosen yourself. You want love to stay? Make it feel welcome—not like it’s crashing in your guest room with a post-it note on the door that says “Do Not Get Too Close.”

You are not just healing.

You are traveling lighter.

And that? That is sexy. That is freedom. That is the whole damn point.

Now pass the Oreos.

We’ve got a life to live.

https://www.youtube.com/live/vg7tgTzRCkM?si=0csx4-WH1sOBFaqX