Confession... I'm a coward.

Me as the Cowardly Lion

It sounds harsh, but it is true. It’s rare to hear someone admit cowardice; it’s typically an insult vehemently thrown in judgement of others. But today I’m officially making my 37th revolution around the sun and to celebrate, I’ve decided to grow in courage— which requires being painfully honest and vulnerable with myself and you. If I can’t admit to being a coward, I can’t learn to be courageous.

cowardice [kou-er-dis] noun

lack of courage to face danger, difficulty, opposition, pain, etc.

When you realize that you are a coward, that shit is embarrassing to say the least. But the deeper I’ve engaged with this concept, I understand that cowardice is a hallmark of the human condition. Life is difficult, full of suffering and uncertainty. And as humans, we quickly learn to adopt strategies to avoid the pain of our wounds.

Everyone has a core wound(s) they get to heal in their lifetime, often caused by trauma during childhood. My core wound of abandonment was inflicted when I was 15 years old. My brother, 19, died in a fatal car accident. As a result, my dad relapsed and disappeared for 5 months; this began the battle of dealing with his drug abuse for the next 10 years. My family wasn’t well-versed in healthy coping, so like any teenager with no emotional tools or resources to process tremendous grief, I unconsciously chose to survive by suppressing and denying the excruciating emotions that arose. As if nothing ever happened, my life continued, and I was just “fine,” pretending all is well.

My expertise in cowardice lies in patterns of codependency and perfectionism— two terms you’re going to hear a lot about. They were my way to avoid the pain, prove my worthiness, and grasp some illusive sense of control. But as we know, and Carl Jung so perfectly stated, “What you resist, persists.”

As a birthday gift to myself, I choose to face my pain from over 20 years ago. And this decision is what brings you here, to witness my vulnerability, the formation of courage and the growth and healing to come.

Welcome to Subtle Lessons.

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