The Pain of Exclusion and the Power of Listening
Have you ever been to a middle school dance, a high school party, or been at a club in your twenties when… someone turns their back to you?
That subtle shift — the intentional or unintentional exclusion — has the power to completely derail your night. What is it about this small action that can make it feel like the “worst night” of your life?
Rejection and exclusion hurt. Period. And they hurt even more deeply when they come from people you consider friends, not just strangers or new acquaintances. It’s one thing to feel out of place in a new group (it still hurts) and it’s another entirely when the people you know make you feel so alone.
In moments like these, as you replay the events of the night in your mind —whether immediately or days later — you might find yourself asking: Why would people I care about make me feel this way? How did I end up in a space that feels so unkind?
Personally, I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they didn’t realize their actions were hurtful. Maybe they weren’t being intentional. And yet, the sting of exclusion remains.
Unfortunately, this behavior doesn’t stop at middle school dances or high school parties. From what I’ve heard (and experienced), the dynamics of rejection and exclusion can persist well into adulthood. Even now, I imagine you could recall a recent experience where you felt left out — whether it was at work, in a social group, or within your family.
This past week, as emotions have swirled across our country — I’ve been reflecting on how much space we leave for each other’s humanity. It’s easy to turn away, to build walls, to exclude.
On Wednesday last week, I watched strangers cry in a coffee shop, trying to find some comfort on a day that felt out of alignment for so many.
So when I say, “All parts of you are welcome here” on my therapy website, I mean it. It’s not a fluffy sentiment — it’s an invitation. No matter what your beliefs are, no matter how big or overwhelming your emotions feel, you are welcome in my space (whether IRL or online).
Week after week, I hold space for humans who might think, look, identify, vote or pray differently than I do. In a world that accepts turning shoulders well into adulthood, I want to invite curiosity, dialogue, and connection.
This doesn’t mean I’ll believe what you believe or see the world the same way you do. It doesn’t mean I won’t feel confused, hurt, or heartbroken. And it doesn’t mean I won’t occasionally say the wrong things to the people I love. “All parts of you are welcome here” extends beyond my work — it’s a value I carry into my life. I’ll listen. I’ll hold space. I’ll try to understand.
So, whether you’ve recently felt the sting of exclusion or are grappling with feelings that feel too big to contain, know this: there is room for you here. All of you.
Let’s lean into the discomfort, the questioning, and the connection — with kindness as our guide. We can start to unlearn the reflex to turn our backs and instead turn toward one another.
xoxo,
Amanda
PS In case no one told you today, I love you.
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