You Don’t Have to Sit at Every Table

Curiosity, capacity, and choosing where you actually belong.

There are tables you’re expected to sit at.

Family tables.
Holiday tables.
Group chats.
Workrooms.

Sometimes you show up because you’re told it’s the right thing to do. It’s tradition. It’s what “good” people, good daughters, good partners, good professionals do.

And yet—your body knows.

You feel it when a particular event, person, or conversation thread comes up. Your chest tightens. Your stomach drops. Your jaw clenches. A quiet ugh runs through your system.

You might dismiss it:

I’m being dramatic.
I should be over this by now.
Everyone else seems fine.

But what if that “ugh” isn’t a character flaw?

What if it’s information?

Proximity isn’t neutral

We like to pretend that being in a room is neutral—as if our bodies don’t register who’s there, what’s at stake, and what’s happened before.

But proximity is never just physical. It’s emotional, historical, relational.

Your nervous system keeps a record of:

• Who has dismissed or mocked your identity, values, or pain
• Which topics tend to explode into conflict
• How much masking you’ve had to do to stay “acceptable”
• The subtle (or not-so-subtle) ways you’ve been made small at that table

So when the invite hits your inbox or the group text lights up, your body runs a quick scan and says, “We remember this.”

That doesn’t automatically mean you can never be in that space again. But it does mean your reaction deserves curiosity—not shame.

Curiosity instead of self-condemnation

When you notice yourself bracing, shutting down, or spinning, it’s easy to jump straight to:

What’s wrong with me?

Curiosity sounds more like:

• Where in my body am I feeling this right now?
• What specific memory or pattern is this reminding me of?
• What do I usually do to survive this space?

Your “survival strategies” (over-functioning, staying quiet, caretaking everyone’s feelings, overexplaining, arguing, numbing out) once made sense. They were attempts to find safety and belonging.

Curiosity lets you notice them without judgment—and then ask:

Is this still the only way?

Holidays, politics, and charged rooms

In fall 2025, many of us are walking into a holiday season layered with political tension, social media noise, and ongoing grief and fatigue. It’s a lot.

When you’re already at capacity, even the idea of being in certain rooms can feel like too much.

Before you say yes on autopilot, try pausing to ask:

• Do I have the emotional and nervous system capacity for this space right now?
• What will it cost me to go—and what will it cost me not to go?
• Is there any version of this that would feel more workable? (Shorter visit, different seating, a buddy, an earlier exit?)

Sometimes the answer is, I can do this with support.

Sometimes the answer is, Not this year.

Both are valid.

Preparing, buffering, and recovering

If you choose (or are required) to be in a space that’s complicated, it can help to think in three phases:

1. Before: preparation

• Name what you’re walking into and how you feel about it
• Identify one person you can text or lean on if things get hard
• Decide ahead of time what topics you’re not willing to debate this year

2. During: support and boundaries

• Have a code word or signal with a trusted person if you need a break
• Give yourself permission to step outside, go to the bathroom, or take a walk
• Remember that you don’t have to respond to every comment

3. After: recovery

• Plan a decompression ritual: hot shower, journaling, quiet drive, a low-stimulation activity
• Let yourself feel how it actually was—not how you “should” feel about it
• Notice what you might want to do differently next time

This isn’t about becoming unbothered or perfectly regulated. It’s about honoring that these spaces land in a real nervous system—and tending to that system with honesty and care.

You’re allowed to make different choices

Many of us were raised on some version of:

Family is family.
You just show up.
Don’t make a fuss.

But being a loving person does not require you to abandon yourself.

You are allowed to:

• Recognize that some tables aren’t safe for you right now
• Limit your time and exposure
• Ask for support
• Tell the truth about how something feels
• Choose not to sit at certain tables this year

That doesn’t make you petty, unforgiving, or disloyal. It makes you a human being who is paying attention to reality—inside and out.

You are still worthy of love, belonging, and connection, even if you make choices other people don’t understand.

You don’t have to sit at every table to be a good person.

You just have to keep walking in the direction of what’s true, kind, and sustainable—for you.

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