Yeah, I know.

The phrase is I really COULDN’T care less.

I get it. It’s a grammatical pet peeve of mine too.

The “typo” is intentional.

Believe me, there really ARE times when you could care less than you do. I’ve been learning that lesson for the past year or so.

About a year ago this week, I found myself sitting on my porch, sipping some apple whiskey and talking on the phone, unloading on a beloved colleague, someone I consider both a mentor and a genuine friend.

“How,” I asked, probably with more exasperation than I intended, “do you always seem so unflappable? How do you navigate all the… absolute bullshit… without letting it chew you up and spit you out?”

Their answer was swift, simple, and landed like a dropped brick.

“Care less.”

My internal record screeched to a halt.

I almost snarfed my whiskey.

Care less?

On the surface, it sounded flippant.

Terrible, even.

Like an invitation to apathy, a shrug emoji in human form.

But I’ve been turning those two words over in my mind for nearly a year now, and the truth is, they are anything but awful. In fact, they’re a quiet revelation.

As my friend tried to explain on the phone that day, I’ve been learning that I need to care less, not out of a cynical detachment, but out of a fierce clarity.

After all the emotional gymnastics, the bending over backwards to explain myself, the overthinking that turned my brain into a pretzel, “care less” feels like a cool compress.

It isn’t loud or cruel. Just calm.

What does this kind of “caring less” look like?

It means no more shrinking myself to fit into spaces clearly not designed for me.

It means abandoning the exhausting marathon of chasing approval.

It means no more tiptoeing around eggshells for someone else’s perceived comfort, especially when that comfort comes at the cost of my own.

Instead, it’s about letting boundaries and self-worth take the driver’s seat.

They navigate pretty well, unbothered by the constant noise of opinions or the heavy baggage of other people’s well meaning, but often wildly exaggerated and surprisingly selfish, expectations.

This version of caring less can be the very beginning of authentic freedom.

Now, let’s be clear.

Caring less in this way isn’t about becoming numb or emotionally vacant. It’s not about slamming the door on empathy.

Far from it.

It’s about choosing, with intention, what actually deserves the precious currency of my energy. It’s discerning where my focus truly matters.

This is the path to trading people-pleasing for genuine peace.

It’s about finding the courage to, just maybe, ruffle a few feathers or even, dare I say, piss someone off — if it’s for the greater good of your own sanity, or a principle you hold dear.

Sometimes, the kindest thing you can do for yourself, and by extension others, is to stop managing their feelings.

When enacted with this kind of mindful intention, “care less” becomes a boundary drawn in bold, confident lines. It’s a quiet, internal decision to respect and protect my own space, my time, and my mental well-being.

And here’s the kicker, the beautiful paradox I’ve stumbled upon while sitting with this weird notion: caring less about the draining, the distracting, the ultimately insignificant, actually allows me to love more.

It frees up so much emotional real estate.

It allows me to draw the circle of compassion even wider, to move beyond the stifling status quo, and to lean into a truly radical hospitality and acceptance – for others, and crucially, for myself.

So, if you find yourself tangled in the shoulds and expectations, maybe give it a whirl.

Consider what “care less” could unlock for you.

Not as an act of giving up, but as a powerful strategy for showing up more fully, more authentically, and with a whole lot more love to give where it truly counts.

It might just be the most liberating spiritual practice you haven’t tried yet.