This story might be all too familiar…
A parable by Tiffani Cappello
Steve and Susan lived in a quiet little neighborhood, in a modest house with a pretty garden and a swing in the backyard where their children liked to play. On the surface, everything looked peaceful. But inside their home, things were slowly unraveling.
Every evening, without fail, Bill from next door would pop in—uninvited, but always with the same opening line: “Did you hear what happened today?”
He’d rattle off news of burglaries, wildfires, financial collapses, rising crime rates, and political scandals. He talked fast and loud, like someone warning of a storm that was already upon them. Steve and Susan never knew how to ask him to leave. Part of them didn’t want to be rude… and another part feared they might miss something “important.” So Bill kept coming. Night after night. Until the children started having nightmares. Until Steve started getting headaches. Until the house no longer felt like a home.
Then there was Candace, head of the neighborhood committee. Always with a clipboard, always with a mission. “We need more volunteers for the park cleanup,” she’d say. “We need someone to collect for the fundraiser.” If they hesitated, even for a moment, she’d tilt her head and sigh, as if to say, “What kind of people are you?”
Even when they helped, it was never enough. More. More. More. It was exhausting. They began to feel like disappointments, not neighbors.
Chuck and Leasa were next. The health crusaders. One week it was, “You need to juice celery every morning.” The next, “No, you need to cut out all oxalates or your organs will fail.” They had Steve and Susan throwing out their pantry, stocking up on expensive supplements, panicking about EMFs, avoiding non-organic food like it was poison. Just when Susan thought they had finally figured out what was best for their family, Chuck and Leasa would arrive with grim faces and new warnings. It was like being caught in a tornado of wellness fear.
And then there was Jamey. Sweet Jamey, the neighborhood spiritual advisor. But Jamey’s version of spirituality came with a heavy dose of judgment. “You’re not meditating enough,” she’d tell them. “You’re still doing things that displease God.”
Jamey always seemed heavy with sorrow about the state of the world, certain that most people were spiritually lost—and you were probably one of them if you didn’t follow her advice exactly. Susan started to feel anxious whenever Jamey came around. She’d question herself. Was she doing enough? Was she failing God too?
Craig was the last straw. Loud, angry, convinced that the country was going to hell because of “those idiots” who didn’t vote the way he did. “They’re destroying everything!” he’d shout. And if you disagreed with him, or even hesitated? Craig would shame you, mock you, cut you down.
Steve stopped talking in his presence. He just nodded and hoped the storm would pass.
All these neighbors. All this noise. All this stress. Steve and Susan found themselves exhausted, emotionally flooded, and unable to rest. Their kids were anxious. Their peace was gone. Until one evening, as they sat quietly on their back porch, Susan turned to Steve and said, “We don’t have to answer the door anymore.”
Steve looked at her. She was right.
They didn’t have to let Bill in. They didn’t have to nod and say yes to Candace.
They didn’t have to panic every time Chuck and Leasa rang the bell.
They didn’t have to take in Jamey’s guilt or Craig’s rage.
They realized something powerful: they could choose who entered their home.
They could choose who entered their minds.
And they started doing just that.
They began inviting in new voices—the quiet but wise ones. The ones who talked about beauty, kindness, creativity, and balance. They let in voices that helped them grow without scaring them. Voices that reminded them they were enough. Voices that brought peace to their children and laughter to their evenings.
And something magical happened. The air got lighter. Steve’s headaches stopped. The kids started sleeping through the night. Susan smiled more. Their home felt like a sanctuary again.
And now, maybe you’re beginning to see what this story is really about.
You don’t live in Steve and Susan’s neighborhood.
But you do live in a neighborhood.
It’s made up of the podcasts you listen to… the news you watch… the posts you scroll past.
It’s in the texts from that one friend who always sends you fear-based warnings.
It’s in the social media accounts that preach doom under the guise of “raising awareness.”
It’s the diet advice, the guilt trips, the spiritual superiority, the political rants.
Your nervous system is your home. Your mind is your living room. And you get to choose who comes in.
You can stop answering the door.
You can start inviting in messages of peace, inspiration, creativity, and hope.
You don’t owe fear a seat at your table just because it knocks loudly.
Let your mind be a place where your children feel safe.
Let your thoughts be a place where you feel safe.
It’s time to stop inviting in the neighbors that don’t belong.
