The Practice of Showing Up

There’s a kind of freedom that comes when you stop trying to appear composed. The armor we wear — the practiced smile, the tidy story, the illusion of control — never really protects anyone. It only keeps the real parts of us underground, unable to breathe.

Transparency isn’t weakness. It’s trust. It says, I’m here as I am, and I believe that’s enough. Whether I’m sitting with a client, writing a letter, or standing in a room full of strangers, I’ve learned that courage has nothing to do with perfection. It lives in the act of showing up uncovered.

When we drop the pretense, connection happens. The air lightens. People recognize themselves in what’s true, not in what’s polished. That’s the whole point — to meet one another where we actually live, not where we pretend to. Trying to manage how we’re seen only blocks our growth. It blurs our vision of ourselves.

Of course, dropping the armor takes practice. Self-honesty can sting. But that’s where light begins to enter.

I tell my clients all the time: we’re feeling what we’re feeling whether we allow ourselves to see it or not. Hiding doesn’t stop the pain; it just pushes it into the dark where it festers. That’s why I talk so often about light — not as exposure, but as healing. When we bring something into the light, we can finally work with it. In the dark, it runs the show.

And honestly, I don’t care much anymore if people see my flaws. Who am I kidding — they see them anyway. Working hard to control other people’s perceptions only keeps me from tending to my own. When I start from the simple truth that flaws are human, I can stop performing and start living. That acceptance frees up energy — energy I can pour into real growth, creativity, and presence.

People who know me well will tell you I wear my feelings on my sleeve. They’re right.Despite my flaws, I try to own them without hiding. My self-criticism isn’t punishment or shame — it’s accountability. It’s how I stay honest with myself, how I keep growing through what I find. Sometimes it hurts, but it’s a clean kind of pain — the kind that refines instead of wounds, that invests in a better being, inside and out.

This is the heart of recovery, too. Addiction thrives in secrecy — in the places we pretend are fine. But transparency is the beginning of freedom. Showing up honestly, even shakily, is what lets us breathe again.

Because armor doesn’t keep us safe. It only keeps us separate.And I’d rather be real — even raw — than hidden in the dark.