23/08/2025
This is so so so amazing! I have not read it. It’s just the summary of the book but trust me when I read through this, I absolutely want to read this book.
Have you ever caught yourself spiraling over the smallest thing: a text left unread, a comment that wasn’t meant to sting but somehow does, or the way someone looked at you when you walked into a room? I remember once crying the whole night because a friend hadn’t replied to my message, only to find out the next day her phone had died. It sounds silly now, but in that moment, my mind built a whole story around rejection, worthlessness, and abandonment. That’s the thing about being overly affected....... it’s not just about the trigger, it’s about the weight we let it carry in our chest. That’s why this book hit close. It’s about reclaiming the emotional energy we leak away so easily.
Here are the five lessons that stayed with me:
1. Not everything deserves your energy.
I didn’t realize how expensive my reactions were until this book forced me to look closer. Think about it, someone cuts you off in traffic, and suddenly you’ve handed them not just that moment but the next twenty minutes of your mood. That’s energy I could have spent on something that actually matters, like enjoying music in the car or rehearsing the conversation I’ve been putting off. Chidiac makes it painfully clear that every reaction is a transaction. You are trading peace for anger, joy for irritation, focus for distraction. And the truth? Most people and situations are not worth that high price.
2. Sensitivity isn’t weakness, it’s misplaced focus.
This one made me stop reading for a moment. I’ve always been the “too sensitive” one, the person who feels things too deeply, who remembers the tone of a sentence long after everyone else has forgotten the words. For years, I thought it was my flaw, my cross to carry. Chidiac flipped it on its head. He made me see that sensitivity isn’t the problem, it’s where I aim it. Like a flashlight, I’ve been shining it on things that don’t deserve my light: strangers’ opinions, fleeting criticisms, imagined slights. What if I pointed that same sensitivity toward beauty, toward gratitude, toward people who actually nourish me? Suddenly, being sensitive feels less like weakness and more like superpower, if only I choose better targets.
3. Silence is an answer too.
This lesson unsettled me. I am someone who explains. Defends. Clarifies. If there’s a misunderstanding, I want to fix it. If someone misjudges me, I feel this burning need to set the record straight. But Chidiac holds up a mirror and says: silence is sometimes stronger than your words. That stung, because it felt true. Silence doesn’t mean you’re weak or passive, it means you’ve decided your peace is worth more than someone’s approval. And that realization shook me. Because it made me wonder: how much of my life has been wasted on arguments I didn’t need to win?
4. People project their own storms.
This felt like taking off a backpack I didn’t even know I was carrying. The rude coworker, the friend who withdraws without explanation, the family member who lashes out, it’s so easy to assume it’s about me. I absorb it like a sponge, thinking if I’d just been kinder, smarter, less forgetful, maybe they wouldn’t treat me this way. But what if their storm has nothing to do with me at all? What if they’re just spilling over because they don’t know how to hold their own rain? Reading that gave me permission to stop carrying weather that isn’t mine. And it feels lighter. So much lighter.
5. Peace is a discipline, not a gift.
This one was the hardest to accept. I think I’ve secretly believed that calm will come when life finally gets easier, when people stop hurting me, when work slows down, when love feels simple. But Chidiac doesn’t let you live in that fantasy. He says peace is something you practice, not something you wait for. And suddenly it clicks. It’s in the micro-decisions: choosing not to reply to that text, choosing to breathe instead of snap, choosing to let go of the grudge even if no apology comes. Peace isn’t a reward—it’s a muscle. And if you don’t train it, you’ll never have it.
This book stung, because it exposed how much power I casually give away. But it also felt strangely relieving, like being reminded I don’t have to keep carrying everything that’s handed to me. The writing is simple but direct, clear: the kind of clarity that makes you close the book mid-page just to sit with your thoughts.
In the end, Stop Letting Everything Affect You reminded me of a truth I’d been dodging: life will always throw words, looks, and moments at me, but I get to decide which ones take root. That’s not just advice, it’s a quiet kind of freedom.
