*Typing*

You are going to hurt people. The only way to avoid hurting people is to become a hermit; to banish yourself from society. But, even this would hurt people. Your absence would hurt the people who love you. Friendships and relationships are like china shops. Despite your very best intentions––despite how gentle and kind and delicate you try to be––if you walk around a china shop long enough, you're inevitably going to break something.

When you do break something––or someone, rather––what's important is that you apologize. An apology is the same as accidentally knocking a tea kettle off a shelf, watching it shatter and then offering to purchase it from the shop owner. You're not under the false impression your offer will make new the tea kettle you've broken. It won't. Apologies can't work magic.

An apology is simply an acknowledgement of someone else's hurt. The reason it's so difficult to apologize is because it hurts to acknowledge that you've hurt someone else. It's far less painful to ignore that you've hurt someone. Furthermore, deep down you're scared of what acknowledging that you've hurt someone might say about you: "Am I the kind of person that hurts people?"

You are––we all are––but you are also the kind of person that apologizes when you hurt people.

Godzilla stands 400 feet tall. His skin is bullet-proof, bomb-proof, everything-proof. He can swim at speeds of up to 70 miles per hour. When he gets pissed off he shoots an atomic laser-beam out of his mouth that's hotter than the surface of the sun. And, in the rare instance that something manages to destroy Godzilla, he can regenerate himself from a cluster of cells.

Self-doubt is like Godzilla. It's impossible to kill. All we can do is keep it at bay. We get ourselves in trouble when we assume we can vanquish self-doubt; when we assume we will wake up one day and it will no longer be there, breathing down our neck. We're far better off accepting the fact that self-doubt will always be lurking beneath the surface of our mind, waiting to attack.

Courage isn't the absence of self-doubt. Courage is action despite self-doubt.

We get so caught up in our thoughts and emotions, that we forget we are entirely separate from them. It's the same as watching our favorite sports team duke it out in the arena. We become so invested in the game––screaming and cheering––that we forget we're just a spectator watching the game.

When you notice that you're becoming swept away by the thoughts and emotions flooding your mind and heart, take a seat in the stands. Watch your thoughts and your emotions run wild, all the while reminding yourself that they aren't you. They're outside of you. No amount of screaming and cheering will allow you to control them––so don't attempt to. Watch them instead. Allow yourself to be curious by them, entertained even.

You are not your face, nor your eyes, nor your ears, nor your nose. You are not your neck, nor your shoulders, nor your back, nor your ass. You are not your hands, nor your feet, nor your fingers, nor your toes. You are not your skin that gravity melts like the sun does a cone. You are not your waistline that refuses to stay trim. You are not your naked body that feels so insignificant beneath the florescent lights of a public locker room.

You are a beautifully imperfect soul that has been hurt by other beautifully imperfect souls and that has certainly hurt other beautifully imperfect souls and that is trying desperately to leave the world a little bit better, a little bit softer, a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter, even.

It takes time to put words to what we're feeling; to name our emotions like a child names a sea of paper animals in a picture book. But even then, our emotions aren't always as they seem.

Emotions are like shape-shifters in this way. An emotion that might first look like "anger" could very well be "hurt", just like an emotion that might first look like "jealousy" could very well be "insecurity".

Because of this, it's important to sit with our emotions, giving them ample room to breathe and take shape. Once we're able to sit with our emotions and name what we're feeling––what we're really feeling––then we must find compassion for ourselves and what we're feeling.

We are so often ashamed by what we're feeling. We're ashamed to feel anger, hurt, jealousy, insecurity, lust, hatred, anxiety and stress. In a desperate attempt to escape this shame, we hide what we're feeling, we run from what we're feeling or we distract ourselves from what we're feeling.

Instead, we must treat our emotions like a mother would treat a child that has fallen and scraped her knee. We must hold space for what we're feeling and show ourselves a considerable amount of compassion as we process those feelings.

If we can learn to hold space for our own emotions, we can learn to hold space for other people's emotions too.

Compassion for ourselves can lead to compassion for others.