Let’s begin with this: you already carry goodness. It’s built in. Like your breath. Like your pulse.
Before anything else—before the people-pleasing, the overthinking, the soft shrinking down—you were whole. Still are.
This is about remembering that. And being gently honest about everything you learned along the way.
This reflection lives there, in the soft return to what has always been true. A return to the fundamental wellspring that nourishes all growth.
And from that place, we can be in honest contact with the survival patterns that shaped us. We can name them clearly. Stay with them fully. Acknowledge their brilliance and their cost. We can do this with our feet on the ground. With clarity. With courage. With presence, instead of fear. With honesty, instead of overwhelm. We begin with goodness. We stay with truth.
After a weekend with family, I returned home carrying many layers. The kind of fullness that feels textured. The kind that settles in the ribs, behind the eyes, in the pause before the next breath.
Family time awakens something ancient in me. It rises in the quiet spaces. The way someone’s absence echoes across a room. The glance exchanged when too much sits beneath the surface. The ache when others feel distant, even while close by.
We gathered to honour my mother. She passed ten years ago. Her absence still carries a presence all its own. We showed up with stories and silences. Some family members stayed away. Some arrived with protection. Emotions spilled sideways. The grief felt vast, more than the day could hold.
And I noticed something in myself: a part of me that longed to fix it. To steady the space. To dissolve the tension. She’s walked with me since childhood. She learned how to mediate, how to soothe, how to stretch herself to keep peace in the room.
She stepped forward again this weekend.
And afterwards, my body carried the imprint.
When I came home, the weight lingered. A fog wrapped around my chest. Pressure behind the eyes. My breath stayed shallow. My mind looped its familiar rhythm: Was I enough? Did I speak from truth? Did I disappear a little to maintain harmony?
These thoughts felt familiar, and this time, I stayed present.
An EMDR session had already been planned. It focused on parts. That choice, made weeks earlier, felt like grace moving ahead of me. A place to land.
In the session, I met her again—the part who holds the responsibility for everyone else’s comfort. She carries it in her spine, her jaw, her way of softening truth to keep peace.
Together, we listened to her story. We stayed with her breath. The EMDR protocol helped unwind what once braced and held. Only presence. The edges softened. The holding loosened. She felt less alone.
She requested connection.
Later that day, I listened to a Substack post by Chris Dierkes—The Two Pillars of Embodied Awakening. His timing, as usual, aligned with everything I had just lived. He spoke of two realities: the always-already-whole essence that lives inside, and the adaptive strategies we crafted to survive.
Between the two lives, a field he calls liquid love.
That field felt instantly familiar.
Chris also spoke of the pendulum swing between extremes—the swing between over-expression and withdrawal. That rhythm feels woven into me. It mirrors my Gene Key 15.5 in the sphere of Relating. This key speaks to extremes of contraction and expansion, of shrinking back and stretching too far. That movement has defined many moments of my life. Chris’s words offered a reflection of that dance. One that carries grace when witnessed rather than judged.
These swings, these strategies, often arise from very real histories. Familial. Ancestral. Cultural. We carry survival codes in our bodies—messages formed long before us. They helped us stay safe, accepted, and included. Over time, many of us began to follow those codes more than our own compass.
Chris spoke to this beautifully—the loss of the internal guidance system. The compass that once pointed inward. The sense that we once knew how to navigate through felt-sense, intuition, and instinct. And then, piece by piece, that compass became clouded. Overridden. Swapped out for a set of external rules. All as adaptation.
And so, many of us now live under a kind of spell—the spell of separation from that inner compass. A collective trance that says someone else knows better. Someone else holds the authority. That spell begins early. It often shows up in the moments when our natural knowing went unseen, when our truth created conflict. When our sensitivity felt too much for others to hold.
This weekend, that spell stirred. And I could feel the younger part of me reaching outward, looking for approval. Searching for confirmation that her sensitivity had a place.
And something in me stayed. Stayed with her. Stayed with the sensations. Stayed with the breath.
That presence became the medicine.
In a conversation with a friend recently, we explored this dynamic of handing away authority. To people. To systems. To ideas. Sometimes slowly, over time. A small silence here. A little override there. Until the signal grows faint.
The shape of that gesture felt deeply familiar.
I’ve seen myself pause, wait, or adjust when someone else speaks with certainty. Especially when that person carries a role I was taught to respect. That old imprint still hums: someone else carries the answer.
The part of me that learned to defer benefits from witnessing. She thrives when I say, “You are welcome here.” When I place a hand over my heart and say, “I’ve got us now.”
Authority expands from attention inward.
Chris’s reflection circled it all back. He spoke of the two pillars—wholeness that lives beneath strategy, and survival responses that deserve reverence. Healing flows from presence and the space between these truths. And from remembering that the compass remains. It continues to wait for quiet.
This echoes what I witness in Acutonics. The Earth Day tone offers resonance. The Moon Fifth speaks gently. These frequencies invite. They create space where the system can remember.
That’s what the weekend offered. That’s what EMDR opened. That’s what Chris’s language illuminated.
The Gene Keys speak of 64 survival codes—each a variation of how consciousness adapted itself into form. Each shadow, gift, and siddhi maps one way we learned to survive, and one way we now learn to thrive. What began as survival now opens into thival—a term I use to describe thriving with awareness, with embodiment, with grace.
These codes unfold us.
The body holds it all.
The parts know the path.
The breath carries the remembering.
Already, I am whole.
This reflection keeps circling back to the theme I see in my clients again and again. The one who tries to fix. The one who holds back. The one who holds everything together. The one who wants to speak and feels the lump rise in the throat.
They all belong.
Every part carries intelligence. Every part emerged from care. From wisdom. From a desire to stay connected.
When those parts are met, their patterns soften. Their posture shifts. Their rhythm joins the field.
Liquid love moves like water. It saturates.
For those who feel deeply, who leave family gatherings with more questions than answers, more sensation than resolution, you are welcome here.
Your body may carry echoes. Your parts may still hold roles you played as a child. Your heart may pause before opening again.
Each signal holds truth. Each discomfort offers direction. Each breath reveals rhythm.
Let this be the week of returning.
Here are a few invitations from my own unfolding:
1. Sit beside the part that still manages.
Let her rest. Offer breath. Honour her service.
2. Touch your heart with presence.
A palm. A whisper. A rhythm that says, “I am here.”
3. Use sound, if that supports you.
A fork. A hum. A vibration placed gently where the ache lives.
4. Reflect on where you hand over authority.
Feel that gesture in the body. Bring it home.
5. Read words that resonate.
Let language be frequency. Let the tone guide you inward.
Already, you belong.
Already, your rhythm speaks truth.
Already, the field holds you.
Let this remembering be enough.
Let this reflection stay open.
Let this moment carry grace.
You are the presence you’ve been seeking.
With Love
Christina x
