A letter to part of me
I’m writing this in Costa Rica after a sunrise walk on the beach. My time here on retreat with Foster community members, as well as my wife, Allison, has been incredible. We’ve been delving deep into what’s alive, present, and pressing for us right now—through writing and other modalities. Yesterday, during our writing session, we were prompted to write letters to what has been coming up for us, whether it was an emotion or a person or whatever. For me, it was my shame. I read my letter aloud to the group and asked them to give me a big round of applause at the end. It felt amazing hearing all those amazing humans give me so much love after sharing something so vulnerable. I hope you find it helpful for yourself.
First of all, I want to say that I hear you and see you—sometimes more often than I’d like to. It’s not that you’re unimportant or unworthy of my attention. It’s just that you kind of hijack everything. When you show up, my body seems to shrink, and my mind races. You paralyze me. I’m not saying I want you to go away. You’re part of me. You’ve shaped me, for better and worse. What I’m asking for instead is space. Space for my other parts.
In the breathwork session with JJ the other day, he encouraged me to name you Shame Buddha. You’re one of a multitude of Buddhas inside me—some of which have been suppressed for far too long. I want to get to know them more. To be reintroduced to them again. To spend time with them.
I want to spend time with…
I know there will be times when you need attention and you’ll cry out for help. I promise that I will see you and understand you. But I will also kindly ask you to calm down and take a deep breath, and maybe even sleep it off. Because you’ve become too strong of a force in my life and you don’t define who I am.
I love you,
Thank you for reading. If you liked this piece, could you please let me know by giving the heart button below a tap?