02/02/2026
So many of us were taught how to block,
but not how to release.
How to override, but not how to listen.
How to calm down, behave, carry on —
but not how to let something move through us without becoming overwhelmed, ashamed, or alone.
Blocking isn’t a failure of character.
It’s often a brilliant act of survival.
When emotions arrived with no witness,
when intensity overwhelmed the room,
when our caregivers didn’t have the capacity to stay present with what we felt —
our systems learned to close the gates.
Not because we were weak.
But because we were wise enough to survive that moment.
Over time, that wisdom gets mistaken for personality.
“I’m just not emotional.”
“I don’t feel things like other people.”
“I stay logical.” (so me)
“I cope.”
But what if nothing was wrong with your capacity to feel —
only with the absence of guidance around how to feel, how to process, how to release and land big feelings somewhere helpful?
What if the tenderness you learned to block
is the same tenderness the world keeps asking you to bring —
to your relationships, your leadership, your parenting, your art, your way of being human?
I’m no longer interested in asking people to “feel more”
or to “process faster”
or to “heal harder.”
I’m interested in something gentler and far more radical:
👉 creating places where feelings are allowed to arrive in their natural time
👉 where the nervous system isn’t rushed or corrected
👉 where complexity doesn’t need to be turned into a neat insight
👉 where we learn how to stay — with ourselves and with each other — just a little longer than we were taught to
I sometimes say, “Come on, let’s go and sit on the moon and look at this.”
Not to escape life — but to see the whole pattern.
Because when we understand ourselves differently,
everything we think we understand changes.
This isn’t about fixing emotion.
It’s about giving it somewhere safe to land.
And breath.....
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