In difficult phases of life, we have all known moments of grief, shame, and terror. Periods of utter aloneness — when our entire universe seemed to shatter and nothing made sense anymore. Moments that felt larger than life, too heavy to contain. Times that shook both soul and body. In the intensity of those experiences, we reeled. Our bodies could not fully integrate what happened. Our rational minds could not make sense of it. Sooner or later, something had to step in to help us survive. The mind created protection. It may have consciously or unconsciously formed beliefs such as:

• Life is meaningless.

• Apathy is safer.

• I’m pathetic. It’s all my fault.

• I’m not good enough.

• The world is dangerous.

• People are horrible.

• I’m a coward.

Or it may have said:

Forget it. I’ll just let it all drown.

And then came numbing — through alcohol, tobacco, sex, social media, shopping, overworking, or endless distraction.

Our preferred strategies vary, but underneath each one lives a belief. A meaning. An understanding that helps us transcend the pain just enough to keep going. To make breakfast. To shower. To show up for work or school. To not let everything collapse. In Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy, we might call these beliefs and emotional imprints burdens.

A burden is a meaning we take on in response to overwhelming experience — a belief that once protected us. And for a while, that protection works. But there is a cost. To lock away the pain, we must also lock away our gifts. We cannot numb ourselves to grief without also numbing ourselves to love. We cannot guard against terror without sacrificing freedom. We cannot defend against shame without relinquishing our power. Eventually, the cost accumulates. As Anaïs Nin wrote:

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

When that day arrives, something in us longs for a different way. Healing does not come from forcing ourselves to relive pain alone. It requires a space of love, respect, and safety. Because we cannot fully feel grief without also allowing love. We cannot touch shame without standing in respect. We cannot approach terror without experiencing safety. When we begin to inhabit a space of warmth, compassion, and grounded presence, the body can finally exhale what it has been holding for so long.

Layer by layer.
Breath by breath.

Like sunlight dissolving the morning mist,
we release what once felt unbearable.

And slowly, gently,
the light reaches our shadows. ✨