This essay is the first in a series on why turning towards what activates us is the path to setting ourselves free. The rest of the series will feature modalities & tools for working with our triggers and welcoming suppressed emotions.

Turning inward — taking our shadows, insecurities, and relationship dynamics into our own hands — and resolving our inner conflict day in and day out is the first step in walking the path towards collective flourishing.

Whenever I commit my energy to writing about an area of my life I’m grappling with, it’s as if I’m tempting the universe to pressure test how deeply I’ve integrated it in my life. As I wrote A lifetime of should-ing, I found myself in the throes of shoulding myself. As I shaped Year of doing the damn thing, every ounce of my being seemed to resist doing the damn thing. After I published The mourning of a new dawn, I was hit by the most intense waves of grief I’ve experienced in a long time.

A few weeks ago, I decided to write about turning towards our triggers and how my relationship with triggers has evolved meaningfully. I used to think that “self-improvement” was about mindset work and focusing on the positive. All I needed to do was control my thoughts and then I wouldn't feel nervous, anxious, incompetent, fill-in-negative-emotion.

Now, I know that tuning into our bodies and shining a light on our unwelcome feelings is the path towards understanding ourselves more deeply. As I began drafting this essay, the universe took it as a sign to stress test whether I was really ready to thank my triggers and whether I’ve truly embodied the wisdom of being activated.

The past month has brought about a lot of change. Our move to a new neighborhood coincided with the start of the year, a time of hitting reset and starting fresh. I had anticipated that the new year and a new environment would create space for cultivating new routines and beliefs, allowing me to shed old habits that no longer served me. Our new apartment and upgraded routines would be up and running in no time. Or so I thought.

Instead, I found myself floating in the liminal space, unsettled and ungrounded. Like a plant that’s outgrown its pot, I uprooted my life and repotted myself in a new planter, expecting myself to acclimate and flourish immediately.

What I underestimated was how it would feel to be pulled out of the familiar. I forgot that with a new...

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