The Paradox of Being Seen

There’s a strange kind of ache in the soul that sits with that inner sense of becoming more of ourselves...

It feels like liberation—for sure!
But there’s also some tension there...

Sometimes, it shows up as doubt—or a question—humming just under the surface:
“What will they do when they know these truths about me?”

To be authentic in a world not designed for our wholeness
is an act of quiet rebellion.
A devotional practice.
And a bit of risk (for sure)!

We start to notice the way certain folks—or entire rooms—contract when we expand. A sudden hush when we speak...

Our joy, misread as arrogance.
Our softness, mistaken for fragility.
Our power, seen as a threat.

And yet—
we keep unfolding.

NOT because it’s easy.
Not because it’s safe.
But because our soul doesn’t want to live in pieces anymore...

So.

We reach a point where the cost of staying silent—
of playing small, or safe, or invisible—
becomes far too steep.

There’s a kind of grief in that too:
The grief of outgrowing the containers that once held us.
The grief of no longer being able to protect those we love from their own discomfort in our truth.

And we realize:
It’s not our job to be palatable to them.
It’s not our responsibility to shrink so they can stay safe inside limited thoughts.

Our (art)work is to stay connected to ourselves.
To keep listening inward even as the volume of the outside world rises.
To remember that wholeness doesn’t always look peaceful—
sometimes it looks like disruption.

And maybe that’s the point.

Because when we dare to show up fully—
even in places that weren’t made for us—
we’re not just freeing ourselves...

We’re leaving cracks in the walls...

We’re letting in the light.
And we’re making space for others to do the same...

So yes, this path can be lonely—
but it’s also luminous.

And there—within the light of your full, unfiltered self—
you begin to find your true kin...

The ones who don’t flinch when you rise.
The ones who whisper “me too”
as they unfold, right there beside you.