In a gathering of ninety women, each carrying their own universe of stories, I found myself both seen and seeking to hide. The weekend promised renewal—complete with a luxury hotel stay and peaceful moments in the spa between workshops.
Yet instead of emerging refreshed, I felt stripped bare. Deeply humbled. Raw. More vulnerable than when I arrived.
Today, I'm sitting with what feels like an emotional hangover—that tender, raw state after opening up parts of yourself that have long been hidden. Yet there's wisdom in this vulnerability, in learning to trust not just the highs of our journey, but these quiet, sensitive aftermaths too.
The beauty of the gathering is undeniable. But it cracked open something I've carried silently: my deep-seated fear of being truly seen.
This fear isn't new. As a teenager, public speaking would send waves of heat to my cheeks, making me a target for teasing. My solution then was simple: disappear.
Now, years later, that same instinct surfaces in different ways—particularly in spaces where vulnerability is celebrated. Women's circles both draw and terrify me.
In these sacred spaces, there's nowhere to retreat. The carefully constructed walls begin to crumble, and while others seem to flourish in this collective intimacy, I find myself fighting the urge to flee.
The timing was particularly challenging—I was in my inner autumn, my luteal phase, when emotions run deeper and every feeling amplifies. Even with the wisdom gained from mentors about navigating these cycles, the intensity remained overwhelming.
Yet this is exactly what it means to trust our bodies, to honor our cycles, to respect our own mental and emotional capacities. The journey isn't about matching someone else's pace—it's about honoring your own rhythm, your own timing, your own way of being.
There are no quick fixes here, no magical transformations that erase the fear or discomfort. Instead, it's about learning to move forward with these feelings, not waiting until they're gone. It's about finding that sweet spot between comfort and growth—not pushing ourselves to extremes, but gently stretching into the person we're meant to become, one brave choice at a time.
When I look back at my own path, not comparing myself to others but to who I used to be, I see how far I've come. Here I am, showing up in spaces I once would have avoided, speaking truths I once would have swallowed, being visible when every instinct still sometimes screams to hide. Isn't it remarkable how our greatest fears can become our path to freedom?
My relationship with femininity has been a winding path. Raised in an environment where softness was seen as weakness, these gatherings feel like stepping into foreign territory.
Yet despite the discomfort, I'm drawn to become this woman—the one who stays present even when exposed, who allows herself to be seen even when trembling. This isn't about becoming someone new, but rather uncovering who we've always been beneath the armor we once needed.
This is why I share: because somewhere, someone else is feeling this same tender uncertainty. As a guide for gentle rebels and sensitive visionaries, I've learned that this very rawness, this exquisite sensitivity, holds transformative power.
Your healing journey isn't a weakness—it's your medicine. Your sensitivity isn't a flaw—it's your gift to the world.
If you find yourself feeling exposed or uncertain, know that this vulnerability isn't your ending—it's your beginning. And your story, in all its messiness, is precisely what makes you magnetic and light up.
Here's to transforming our rawness into resilience, our fears into fierce authenticity, and our sensitivity into our most powerful source of strength.
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