About clarity
Clarity isn’t forced or found by thinking — it comes from deeply relating to all of yourself, feeling old pain and hidden layers, and reconnecting with the voice that knows your true yes and no.
Today I re-remembered something about clarity, a topic I have been struggling with on and off for most of my life.
By clarity, I don’t mean mental sharpness or having all the answers. I mean being in living connection with what feels most delicious, most alive, most exciting — and just as much with what is an absolute, embodied no. It’s that felt sense of alignment where body, heart, and mind agree, where action flows not from effort or control but from an unshakable knowing.
What I re-remembered after having a NARM session of my own exploring this topic is that clarity does not come from looking directly for it, or from forcing oneself into it. Clarity is a consequence of having a true and heartfelt relationship with oneself — embracing all parts of the inner experience.
For me, it means feeling and being with those earliest, wordless pains: the sense of worthlessness, loneliness, existential fear, heartbreak. And, in more surface-level but still hidden layers, feeling the anger and resentment towards my caretakers; the absolute and utter tiredness of trying to understand and control a world where I felt completely clueless about how I could ever feel safe; the regrets about things I have or haven’t done in life; and the ache of wishing I could have been a better father, husband, friend — yet often falling short.
All of this stems from a rough start in life, imprints etched into the nervous system, and the survival strategies that grew from shame-based identifications:
- a deep sense of shame about not feeling worthy,
- the inability to trust that others will treat me well.
And then, the pride-based counter-identifications:
- feelings of superiority,
- believing I’m special,
- thinking I could achieve great things if I only wanted to,
- that I could beat anyone at anything, given enough time to practice.
Back to clarity. When I suppress all the turmoil and pain buried in my subconscious and nervous system, I am also suppressing that embodied relational voice — the one that helps me find my deepest, sweetest yes, my clearest, unwavering no, and guides me to take actions rooted in that voice.
There is simply no way to suppress parts of the relationship with oneself while still maintaining access to the parts that bring clarity.