Finding the Courage to Feel

I’ve noticed — in conversations with others, and within myself — how difficult it can be for us to truly and deeply feel. It’s fascinating, really. Social media overflows with messages like “Become the best version of yourself” or “Just trust your inner voice.”

Beautiful ideas in theory — yet I often found myself struggling, caught in a tug-of-war between my heart and my mind. My head wanted to understand, to control, to do the feeling… rather than simply be with it.

What I’ve witnessed in clients, friends, family — and of course, within myself — is this: We think we’re feeling. But most of the time, we’re only touching the surface. Beneath that lies something much deeper — something that longs to be seen, held, and felt. Something that has been part of us all along, yet was packed away in an old backpack and hidden deep in the darkest corner of our inner cellar.

Even after years of personal and spiritual growth, I still find it hard to truly allow emotions like grief, shame, or fear. Maybe you’ve heard phrases like these before:“

Don’t be sad — life’s too short for that.”

“Come on, toughen up.”

“Alright, enough with the bad mood now.”

We’ve been taught that uncomfortable emotions have no place.

In a performance-driven world — especially in the shiny realm of Instagram — we’re expected to be strong, positive, and radiant. But the truth is: many of our emotions, especially the painful ones, have been buried deep inside.

Once, that was a necessary act of protection — sometimes even essential for survival. But now, years later, our bodies and souls suffer when those emotions remain unfelt.

To truly heal, we must allow ourselves to feel what was once too painful to touch.

It takes courage — and often, support.

Because yes, no one can feel our emotions for us.

But that doesn’t mean we have to face them alone.

There’s something profoundly healing about having someone who simply stays — who holds us in moments of fear, sorrow, or shame, and softly says, “I’m here.”

Real. Genuine. Without judgment.

And it’s not only old wounds that need space.

Sometimes, we hide behind roles we once adopted — because being our true selves didn’t feel safe.

Because we wanted to be loved.

Because it was easier to perform than to feel.

Yet deep down, we are all social beings.

We long for connection, for recognition, for someone to truly see us.

So we deny what lives within us, wrap pieces of our souls in paper, and lock them away.

We seal the box, put on a smile, and keep going — alone, but “functioning.”

Don’t feel.

Don’t be vulnerable.

Don’t be too much.

And over time, we forget how to do it at all — how to really feel.

On my own journey — especially walking the Camino — I realized that I had attended countless retreats, traveled the world searching for myself, and understood intellectually what it means to truly feel.

But my heart often remained silent.

To this day, I find it hard to feel deeply — not only pain, but also joy, pride, and gratitude.

When I ran my first half marathon under my goal time, I simply thought, “Okay, done.”

When I arrived in Santiago, I felt empty.

And when I received the email that my first book — my lifelong dream — would be published, what I felt most was fear.

The joy I expected never came.

After the Camino, I realized how I’d been running — from goal to goal, from dream to dream — and when I arrived, there was often only silence.

No euphoria, no fulfillment. Just emptiness.

Strange, isn’t it? As an achievement-oriented person, I rarely gave myself the gift of time. I was always already thinking about the next step, the next finish line.

Never pausing. Never celebrating.

Even in moments of loss or heartbreak, I rarely allowed myself to feel deeply. A few tears, yes — but never enough time or space for true sadness.

I’d tell myself, “Others have it worse.” or “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

And I kept going.

Maybe you’re thinking, “Well, you can’t just dwell in sadness forever — at some point, you have to let it go.”

And yes, that’s true. It’s important not to drown in our pain. But often, we don’t even have access to those emotions anymore — because we’ve cut them off, buried them so deeply that we can’t reach them with the mind alone.

Trying to “let go” without truly feeling can be dangerous — for both body and soul.

Because what has been suppressed doesn’t disappear.

It finds other ways to speak: through fatigue, anxiety, illness, or depression.

As Gabor Maté says: “The body keeps the score.” - The body remembers what the soul wanted to forget.

Deep down, I know:

The treasure lies where I least want to look.In my cellar. Among the neatly wrapped packages of emotions I’ve avoided for so long.

Descending into that space is frightening.

It takes courage — and someone who stays when the shadows of the past reappear — our own, and those we carry from generations before us.

They whisper that we are too weak, too much, too little.

But what if we allowed ourselves to feel safe again?

What if someone could hold the space while we opened our hearts once more?

Then the demons lose their power.

Then they can exist — and we can finally see them for what they are: parts of us that simply wanted to be acknowledged, accepted, loved.

Yes, it takes courage to walk into the darkness.

But I know — it’s worth it.

Because there, in the deepest shadow, true life begins.

When we allow ourselves to feel again — to really feel —when we drop the masks and live with open hearts,something shifts.

A new way of being emerges — softer, truer, more alive.From the depth and purity of the heart.

So when will we begin?

When will we stop hiding?

When will we open — to ourselves, to others, to life itself?

We were never truly alone.

We aren’t now.

We are always connected — to one another, to life, to the love that carries us.

So let’s begin.

Today.

Even if it’s hard. 

For a life of truth, aliveness, and love.

Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments below — I’d love to hear from you.