Dear First name / Friend
My book proposal is currently under review by my longtime mentors and teachers. And submitting my body of work—flaring my feathers like a peacock—has been terrifying. My fear has been scrambling to protect me from ridicule, conjuring up the ghosts of past fumbles and stumbles: "You can't teach compassion. Remember the ways you critically judged yourself and others, or how about all the times you were arrogant, defensive, and jealous? Let me play these out for you…"
A fearful aspect of myself mounts her case against vulnerability, terrified of being fully seen. Yet this time, the peacock accesses power from truth: the brilliant light of my feathers cannot exist without the shadow beneath them. To embrace this acceptance, I heed my heart's whispers: “Don't resist the fear; it will keep you stuck.”
Healing is a paradox:
If I allow fear to run the show, I block my heart's call to share my perspective. Yet, if I try to reason my way out by listing good deeds, affirming my rigorous study and credentials, or insisting I'm a good writer, I merely imprison my sense of 'good enough' inside external conditions—something we have culturally done for far too long.
No. Our freedom comes in listening, making space to hold our fearful cries.
I listen to my body-- constriction in my chest, a furrowed brow, regret, embarrassment-- and they guided me to the muddy waters of self-forgiveness. My fear required me to lean into my human and earth kin; healing never happens alone. I gazed up at the moon and felt her wisdom radiate on my fear, loving me not despite my shadows, but because of them.
Over the weeks of waiting, as I soften into forgiveness, a profound adoration for my humanity is expanding. A deep tenderness for what it is to be in this human form, fumbling through this complicated and beautiful wilderness of life.
With each vulnerable act, when we allow our light and shadow to dance like a prism, we release externalized power over our worth. I notice my capacity to surrender the outcome—and live into my life—is expanding, making room for authenticity to pour through me.
Vulnerability is not in the absence of fear; it is moving towards what I love with fear tenderly cupped in my hands as I take flight.
And so, whether I produce a book or not, whether it is published or not, whether it resonates with others or not… my flawed, rusty, very human self will write because I love to write.
Thank you for being here. Walking alongside one another is everything.
