When Cringe Is a Call to Wake Up: Unlearning the Urge to Fix, Perform, or Take the Mic

A personal story about the discomfort of witnessing ourselves in others, and how we can turn that into real growth.

You know that moment when someone says something that makes your whole body go ugh?

You freeze.

Your gut clenches.

You wish you could reach through time and gently, lovingly… press pause.

This is what happened to me last weekend.
My partner, whom I love deeply, offered unsolicited advice during a group conversation.
It was well-intended, but out of place. He began sharing a story that rerouted the focus back to himself.
And suddenly I wasn’t in the room anymore.

I was in my body, trying to disappear.

Embarrassed.

Tense.

Spinning a whole inner monologue about how uncomfortable I felt.

Cringe.

At first, I wanted to blame.
I mentally drafted a lecture: “Why do you do this? Why can’t you read the room?”

But beneath that reactive layer, something else surfaced:
I do this too.

Not in the same way.
Not as often.
But I’ve given advice no one asked for.
I’ve hijacked a tender moment with a story that I thought was relevant.
I’ve shifted the energy in a room when my discomfort got the better of me.

And here’s the real medicine:

When we notice something that triggers us deeply in someone else, it’s almost always an invitation to look within.

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What I realized, through the tightening of my gut, through the heaviness of the cringe, is this:

✨ I caught it. That’s awareness.
✨ I paused to reflect. That’s emotional maturity.
✨ I didn’t just lash out—I got curious.

That’s the beginning of growth.

So now, instead of shaming him (or myself), I’m preparing for a deeper conversation.

I want to speak from the heart, not just about what happened, but about how we show up in social spaces.

Not just about advice-giving, but about the deeper pattern of interrupting intimacy with performance.
Of mistaking connection for correction.
Of assuming our stories always need to be shared.

And I want to say:

“Let’s practice listening longer.”
”Let’s be more aware of when we’re inserting ourselves.”
”Let’s use our awareness not to shut down, but to slow down.”

We may even create a playful signal between us…

a “Pause the TED Talk” eye-roll, a hand squeeze under the table, a breath.
Something that brings us back to presence.

Because this is the work.
Not the big dramatic transformations, but these small, sacred pivots.
These moments where our self-awareness outpaces our need to defend or perform.
These cringes point us toward more conscious love.

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If you’ve ever had a moment like this…

Where someone’s words made your shoulders tense and your soul shrink, only to realize it hit so hard because some version of that behavior lives in you—I hope you’ll take a breath and know:

You’re not alone.
You’re not broken.
You’re not the only one learning how to be with people in real time.

This is tender territory.
And it’s also holy ground.

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I write here to remind us of that.

That our bodies are messengers.
That discomfort isn’t a problem—it’s a doorway.
That relational growth starts with the courage to stay with what’s uncomfortable long enough to hear what it’s saying.

If you’d like more practices like this, more reflections like this, or more gut-honest conversations

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

about what it means to live well, love well, and see ourselves clearly, you’re invited.

This space is a place to do just that.