The Well Worn Path

My son Ben and I have always talked about real things—the kind of conversations that leave you feeling more alive, more yourself. But that Christmas visit, we hadn't had a single one.

The holidays came and went. He was in town, but we kept missing each other. So I asked him to help with some work on the property. Not because I needed the help, but because I missed him and didn't know how else to ask.

He showed up after dark. Too late to do anything.

The next day, he didn't show at all.

I texted pretending everything was fine, but the underlying message was: You should come see your mother.

His responses were vague and non-committal.

I knew what I was really doing: wrapping my need for him in something "useful and productive," because I was afraid he wouldn't want to come unless there was a "good enough reason."

There it was. The pattern I know so well—the one maybe you know too.

If you've ever waited for your partner to notice you're overwhelmed instead of asking for help... or taken on one more thing for a friend because saying no felt too selfish... or scheduled a client call you dreaded because disappointing them felt worse than exhausting yourself—you know this instinct.

We wrap our real needs in something useful. Something that justifies taking up space.

I gathered my courage and sent this text:

Hey Ben. The truth is, I don't really care about the work. I'm using that as an excuse because I want you to come hang out with me. I don't feel like we've had very much quality time in a long time, and I miss you.

His response broke down the walls.

"I love our conversations," he wrote, "but right now they feel taxing, not filling. I'm dealing with some other stuff. I'm sorry if that hurts, but that's how I feel."

I wasn't hurt anymore. I actually felt free and secure in our relationship.

Knowing the truth, even when it's not what we hoped for, is better than the story we tell ourselves while waiting in the dark.

Why Moments Like This Feel So Hard

I was shocked at how hard it was to tell the truth in the first place.

I knew what I wanted, but there’s a part of me — maybe a part of you too — that still believes needing something from someone is dangerous. That if I say it out loud, I might be too much. Or not chosen.

Most of us were never taught how to have wants and needs and still feel safe in relationships. We were taught how to be thoughtful. Capable. Grateful. To make things easier for everyone else before we consider ourselves.

So we make our wants sound useful: “Can you help me with this?” When what we really mean is: “I miss you. I want you.”

It’s not weakness. It’s a survival pattern. It’s the nervous system doing whatever it must to keep us safe — even if that means disconnecting from ourselves.

What Happens Over Time

We become the ones who show up for everyone else—and go unseen in the process. We end up feeling loved for what we do, not for who we are.

We buffer bad news for our teams, smooth over tension in our families, say yes to the client who's got "just one more quick question.” Our own needs become background noise we've learned to tune out.

When we finally do tell the truth, guilt and shame walk in like we broke something.

Our bodies know the cost before we do:

• A chest that doesn't fully expand
• Breath stuck high in the throat
• A body always slightly leaned forward—like it's waiting
• Quiet resentment we don't want to feel, because these are people we love

It looks like being dependable. It feels like disappearing.

We smile, say "it's fine," and our chest tightens just a bit more.

Eventually, even if we don't say it out loud, something in us is craving to be seen, too. 

A Different Way to See It

Have you ever considered that asking makes you visible and knowable--not needy and burdensome? 

What if saying the real thing is how we let ourselves be seen, felt, and understood?

And loved.
 
We all want to be loved for the real us, not the version that always says, “I’ve got it, it’s fine.” We don’t want people to love us just because of our helpfulness. Your soul knows that’s hollow.

Now, telling the truth doesn’t guarantee a soft landing. But it does something better — it keeps you connected with you.

And from there, connection with others has a chance to be deep, meaningful, and genuine — not just polite or convenient.

We Begin with the Body

You can’t tell the truth from a body that’s bracing for the impact of rejection or fear. To start to rebuild the relationship with yourself, I invite you to try a tiny experiment.

Stand up tall. Plant your feet.
Lift your chest. Shoulders back — not rigid, just present.

Notice how that feels. More air? More exposed? Strong? Wobbly?

Now do the opposite.

Let everything soften. Shoulders round forward. Belly relaxed. Chest caving slightly.

How does this feel? Slouchy? Safe? Tired? Protected?

Same body. Two completely different internal states. Neither is right or wrong.

This is where it starts—not with the right words, not with better boundaries—but with noticing what your body does and how it feels when you take up space… and when you don’t.

If your body doesn’t believe it's safe to be here—fully here—your voice won’t believe it either.

When you start small with tiny practices, it makes it easier to stay with yourself as you:

• Say the real thing. Even if your voice shakes or it comes out messy.
• Let people have their response. Don’t rescue them from discomfort or take it back make it easier.
• Notice what happens inside. Does your breath move differently? Do your shoulders drop? Do you feel more alive or more present? Or maybe even more uncomfortable?
• Celebrate the honesty — not the outcome. The goal isn’t to control someone else’s reaction--or yours-- but to stay in connection with yourself by noticing your experience.

If this resonates—if you're tired of disappearing into what everyone else needs and ready to stay with yourself—I'd love to support you.

The Unshakeable Woman is a private coaching container for women who are done performing and ready to rebuild their relationship with themselves. It's where we practice telling the truth, staying in your body, and creating a life that doesn't require you to leave yourself behind.

We work with your unique nervous system-- what your body already knows--and build from there—slowly, intentionally, without the pressure to be "fixed" or "better" by next Tuesday.

If you're curious, learn more here.

Warmly,

Kathy Taylor
Neurosomatic Confidence Coach

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