I recently watched a webinar by Terry Real on building healthy relationships, and it left me reflecting on how I show up with myself, my family, my community, and even the ʻāina around me. One of the most powerful takeaways was his reframing of self-esteem. He contrasted the version that became popular in the 1980s work culture—confidence rooted in performance—with a deeper truth: our worth is inherent and unconditional. We don’t earn dignity through achievement, and we don’t lose it through failure. We carry it simply by being alive.
This struck me because I know how easily I can measure myself against accomplishments, productivity, or the opinions of others. When I live from that place, my relationships feel brittle. If I see myself as “less than,” I withdraw or overcompensate; if I feel “greater than,” I lose humility. Either way, real connection slips out of reach. Contempt—whether toward others or toward myself—is a form of emotional violence, and healthy connection cannot take root in its presence.
When I remember that my worth is steady and equal to everyone else’s, I feel a shift. I can meet my family not from a need to prove myself, but simply as a son, a husband, a father, a relative—“same as.” That stance opens space for honesty and repair when things get difficult. In my marriage and parenting, I’ve noticed that separating behavior (“I did something hurtful”) from identity (“I am bad”) keeps me from spiraling into shame. Instead of retreating, I can turn toward the person I’ve hurt and seek repair. That distinction makes healing possible.
What also stood out to me is that this practice doesn’t end with people. In my work and daily life, I think about relationships with the ʻāina as well. If I approach the land as “less than” or something to be dominated, the result is exploitation and disconnection. But when I see myself as “same as”—a member of a larger living community—humility and care arise naturally. The same principles of respect, repair, and reciprocity apply.
In the end, healthy relationships rest on respect across all spheres: with myself, with my family, with my community, and with the land. It means holding myself and others in warm regard, acknowledging harm without collapsing into shame. It means practicing humility, making repair, and tending to connection. I see this not as something to perfect, but as a daily discipline—a way of returning, again and again, to dignity, care, and relationship.
