The Law Firm
I've spent 32 years doing the same type of work in a law firm. When I first started, I was young and naïve. I worked with a narcissistic attorney who would berate me every chance he got. My nickname was 'little girl.' I found myself trying to do the best work I could because I would get condemned when I didn't. I was berated because I wore makeup. I was constantly compared to somebody else who was considered 'a treasure.' I stayed in a toxic environment with highly toxic people. I'm not sure why I never left. I guess I wanted to prove to myself that I could stick it out. All of this may sound like me being a victim. It's not. Because without these lessons, I wouldn't be who I am today.
The Marriage
Eventually I found myself in a relationship where my needs weren't met, and I felt alone. After my marriage, I became so interested in someone who was emotionally unavailable.
The Realization
To make a long story short: today I had a realization. A coworker of mine asked for a change in her hours to accommodate her needs, and I found myself very angry. I thought I was angry at her. I stood there for hours thinking: It's not fair that she could just come and go as she pleases. All she needs to do is tell them what she needs. Meanwhile here I am — I live 45 minutes away — and I could really use some flexibility in my schedule too. As I sat there, angry, I realized: it was not her. I was angry at myself for not asking for things that I might need. It never occurred to me to ask because in my mind, I would always think the answer would be no. And I realized: I stayed small and safe in every area of my life.
The Cost of Small
Changing careers seems like a very scary thing because it would hinder my financial stability. Could I do something different with my life after 32 years? Can I eventually have enough courage to love and to be loved? When am I going to stop unconsciously choosing people who are physically and/or emotionally unavailable to me? I want to live a beautiful life — one that's free, safe, happy, and beautiful. I won't be able to do that if I continue to stay small. When I look back now, I don't even know how I went through my divorce. I know I would've died in that house. I was unhappy to say the least. It was an emotionally and sometimes physically toxic environment. And I'm surprised I didn't stay small through that. The divorce was the scariest thing I ever had to do. But I did it. Somehow, I found the courage to take the appropriate steps to get out. So I know I can do it.
The Exception
The awareness of this behavior is so palpable now. I can't continuously stay small and have a full life. I have to take chances. The other thing I noticed: when I'm teaching a class and I step into that studio, something shifts. I'm expansive. Purposeful. Seen. And it hit me today: even my safety strategies are consistent. The job keeps me financially safe. The unavailable crush keeps me emotionally safe — can't be rejected if he was never really there. Not asking keeps me relationally safe. Smallness keeps me safe from visibility — and from the risk of being dismissed or harmed. But here's what I finally get: safety isn't the same as aliveness. When I'm teaching, I'm not protected — I'm present. And it costs me nothing. It actually fills me.
The Work Now
To stop letting my nervous system make all my decisions. To risk being seen in other rooms. To trust that the expansion I feel in class can exist outside of it too.
Somatic Practices for When You're Ready to Stop Staying Small
If any of this resonates, here are three somatic tools I'm using myself:
When you notice yourself shrinking, freezing, or assuming 'no' before you ask — pause. Put one hand on your heart, one on your belly. Breathe into the space between them. Ask: 'What am I protecting myself from right now?' Don't fix it. Just witness. This builds the habit of noticing before reacting.
Cross your arms over your chest, hands on opposite shoulders. Gently alternate tapping — left, right, left, right — like a slow heartbeat. This soothes the nervous system and creates a felt sense of safety without forcing your body to shut down. Try this for 60 seconds when you feel the urge to go invisible.
Once a week, ask for something low-stakes. A different table at a restaurant. Help with a small task. The goal isn't getting what you want — it's teaching your body that asking doesn't end in danger. Build the muscle in safe places so you can use it when it counts.
I'm still learning. If any of this resonates, I'd love to hear your patterns too.