We Can Do Hard Things: Answers to Life's 20 Questions

The authors emphasize that anxiety, resentment, anger, and restlessness often signal necessary life changes in relationships, career, or personal boundaries. They advocate for transforming one’s relationship with difficult emotions by recognizing them as valuable information rather than problems to solve. Instead of numbing these feelings through substances, distractions, or overwork, readers can practice investigating what those emotions are trying to tell them. For instance, someone who feels consistently drained after certain social interactions might find that their resentment is highlighting a boundary that needs establishment, while someone who experiences Sunday anxiety about returning to work could explore whether their career aligns with their values. The book recommends developing a practice of pausing when strong emotions arise and asking what this feeling is trying to protect or communicate. This includes noticing physical sensations; chest tightness might signal self-betrayal, while warmth and expansion often indicate alignment. Individuals can start small by honoring minor discomforts. For instance, someone who finds a friend’s constant complaints draining can practice redirecting conversations rather than silently enduring them. This emotional intelligence becomes a compass for authentic living.

The authors argue for viewing conflict as a way to invest in a relationship rather than damage it, advocating for addressing problems both directly and compassionately. They distinguish between “flaccid safety” (avoiding difficult conversations to maintain false harmony) and “dynamic safety” (building trust through honest communication about issues). Individuals can start by practicing “carefrontations”—conversations that care enough about the relationship to address problems. For example, instead of silently resenting a friend who consistently cancels plans, someone might say, “I value our friendship and want to understand what’s happening when plans change. Can we talk about how to make commitments that work for both of us?” In romantic relationships in particular, it’s important to address “understories”—the unspoken narratives beneath surface arguments. For instance, when partners argue about dishes, the real issue might be feeling unappreciated or overwhelmed. The authors recommend opening these conversations with curiosity rather than accusation: “I notice I get upset about household tasks, and I think there’s something deeper here. Can we explore this together?” Ultimately, the book argues that avoiding conflict to preserve peace actually prevents intimacy. Healthy relationships require both people to show up authentically, which sometimes means disagreeing or expressing disappointment.

The authors argue that replacing self-criticism with self-compassion accelerates healing and positive change, citing research that shows treating oneself with kindness during difficulties leads to greater resilience and motivation than harsh internal criticism. The authors distinguish between tender self-compassion (accepting one’s flaws with gentleness) and fierce self-compassion (protecting oneself with boundaries). In the face of mistakes, they advise responding as one would to a beloved friend: Acknowledge the pain without minimizing it, recognize that struggle is part of the human experience, and offer oneself comfort. For instance, someone who snaps at their children during a stressful moment might reframe the thought that they’re a terrible parent and instead understand that they acted from stress rather than their values and ask themselves what they need to reset. Individuals might even create a self-compassion toolkit: specific phrases that comfort them, physical gestures like placing their hand on their heart, and activities that restore their emotional equilibrium. This approach leads to higher standards and better choices by making love rather than shame the source of motivation.

The authors emphasize developing embodied decision-making by paying attention to physical sensations rather than seeking consensus from others. They argue that the body provides reliable guidance through feelings of expansion, warmth, and peace (when one is aligned) versus constriction, tension, and depletion (when one isn’t). Low-stakes decisions are a good way to begin building this trust: Readers might begin by noticing how their body responds to different lunch options, social invitations, or potential purchases. A genuine “yes” often feels spacious and energizing, while a people-pleasing “yes” might create stomach tension or exhaustion. When facing larger decisions (career changes, relationship choices, living situations, etc.), individuals can spend quiet time visualizing each option and noticing their body’s response—for example, whether the possibility of moving across the country for a job feels exciting and expansive or anxious and contracted. In doing this, it’s important to practice distinguishing between fear of difficulty (which might be worth overcoming) and genuine aversion (which signals misalignment). For women especially, this requires unlearning cultural conditioning to look outward for permission rather than inward for guidance. Beginning each morning by checking in with one’s body—asking what it needs today, how much energy it has, and what feels nourishing versus depleting—is a concrete first step.