A Gentle Invitation
If you’re feeling stretched thin or like you’ve been holding space for everyone but yourself, pause.
Take a slow breath.
Place a hand on your chest.
Ask gently:
“What would being my own hero look like today?”
Then let your body — not your to-do list — answer.
Maybe it’s stillness. Maybe it’s movement. Maybe it’s a real meal or a real cry.
Whatever it is, make room for it.
Not because you’ve earned it but because you belong to the same sacred humanity you offer others.
There was a time I thought being a good therapist meant being endlessly available, tirelessly wise, and mostly invulnerable. I thought strength was found in silence and that my own pain should be tucked neatly away behind the couch cushion.
But I was wrong.
My journey into therapy began not from mastery but from a wound. Like many of us, I entered the field because I knew suffering intimately. Somewhere along the line, I realized that if I didn’t learn to tend to my own heart with the same tenderness I gave my clients, I’d burn out — or worse, I’d disappear behind my own mask of competence.
So I began a different kind of work.
I began to retrieve my own hero.
1. I re-owned my exiled, woundedness.
I stopped pretending I had it all together. I allowed myself to be human — in supervision, in personal therapy, and in front of the mirror. My wounds weren’t weaknesses; they were maps. They reminded me of where I had traveled and what I still needed to learn. They also became bridges to those I served.
2. I owned that Boundaries are sacred, not selfish.
For a long time, I agreed too often. I feared being perceived as cold or unavailable. However, overextension diminishes presence. I learned that genuine care stems from a rested nervous system. Boundaries became my shield, not my barrier.
3. I sat in peace with my shadows.
I still experience imposter syndrome and feelings of inadequacy. However, I no longer exile those parts of myself; instead, I approach them with curiosity. I ask, “What do you need right now?” The hero’s journey isn’t about fearlessness — it’s about walking alongside fear, hand in hand.
4. Self-compassion has been reborn.
Offering compassion to clients came naturally. To myself? Not so much. But I began practicing the sacred art of self-kindness. I whispered to myself, “You are allowed to rest. You are worthy, even in your doubt.”
5. My teachers found me when I needed them the most.
Mentorship showed up in supervisors, in the Stoics, in the hawk circling my window. I listened to poets, to mystics, to my grandmother’s wisdom. They became my soul’s lanterns.
6. I coaxed out joy in taking the smallest of steps
Sometimes, courage is simply showing up, naming a boundary, or softening instead of pushing. I began to recognize those moments as victories because real heroism doesn’t always roar; sometimes, it merely whispers, “Keep going.”
This journey of self-discovery shows me each day that true strength comes from abiding with my authentic self. By holding fast with my boundaries and practicing self-compassion, I’ve fostered a deep connection to me. Each task of self-care is meaningful and reminds me that I hold the power to be the hero in in my own story. Self-nurturing with kindness, creates space for peace and a more genuine connection with others.
Ex Impedimento Via
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