The Voice in Between

Dear fellow travelers,

There is a voice that has been with me my whole life. It is rarely loud. It whispers.

"You'd better join in."

"Don't be such a drama queen."

"The others probably know better."

For a long time, I believed that this voice was reasonable. Today, I believe it was simply afraid.

Many years ago, I was in therapy. I was good at observing. Good at listening. Good at understanding what was expected of me. I was so empathetic that sometimes I already knew which answer would probably be exactly the right one.

Looking back, I believe that those insights helped me. But at some point, I realized: My real task was never to find the right answers. Rather, it was to trust my own experience again.

Something similar happened to me later. During massages. Sometimes they would say:

"That must hurt."

"You'll just have to get through it."

And my body said very clearly: No.

Not just because the touch was unpleasant. But also because something inside me sensed: This isn't about me anymore.

My body often knew before my mind did when something was no longer on the same level.

Today, I trust that " no." Not because I'm always right, but because I've learned that my body isn't an obstacle. It's part of the conversation.

Maybe that's why I design my spaces the way I do. Everything I offer is an invitation. Nothing more, but also nothing less.

In my space, there's always the option to say, "Hey, I'm not in the mood for that today."

And that would be perfectly fine.

Because I don't want to convince anyone. I don't want to break down resistance. I want to create a space where people can hear themselves again.

Challenges are part of the process. Sure. But there’s an inner threshold—stepping outside one’s comfort zone—that only the participants themselves should cross.

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At some point, I noticed how often we say, “It’s okay to be sad.” Or, “It’s okay to let go now.”

And suddenly I asked myself: Who actually says I'm allowed to? Who grants these permissions?

I've come to the conclusion that I'll give it to myself.

I allow myself to be sad. I allow myself to be angry. I allow myself to change my mind. I allow myself to leave a room. I allow myself to say no.

Not against others. But for myself.

Perhaps self-leadership begins right there. Not when we no longer need guidance , but when we stop constantly handing over our inner authority to others— to teachers, to books, to traditions, to the invisible committee in our heads.

I love good teachers. I absolutely love learning. But the most meaningful encounters of my life had one thing in common: No one tried to make me feel small. No one felt the need to be right.

They didn't tell me who I am. Suddenly, they didn't know any better than I did what I needed. Instead, they helped me hear myself again.

Maybe that's the biggest difference. I don't want to be someone others follow. I want to be someone next to whom others can discover themselves.

Because we don't need even more people telling us how to live our lives. We need spaces where we can remember that our bodies have long since begun to speak to us—and that we can listen to them again.

From the Circle Around the Campfire,
Jeannette