The Disco Ball in a Dark Room

Mark Nepo's reading in The Book of Awakening today talks about the fame we often seek in success — and how that seeking steals our essence. How we chase celebrity and "all eyes on me" when the real gift is in seeing others.

When I was a kid, I was shamed for something I didn't understand yet. I knew — in my bones — that I was here to make a worldwide impact. Not because I needed attention. Not because I craved the spotlight. I just knew. And I got flack for it my entire life. For being too much. For being gifted. For taking up space. It wasn't until recently that I finally understood why.

The Disco Ball in the Dark Room

I've been gifted in a lot of the fine arts since I was little. Singing. Piano. Art. Writing. Reading. Poetry. I tried everything to see what would stick, then later applied it all to the business world — building a branding agency, then a speaking business, all while suffering with crushing anxiety that I didn't even know I had.

A few years ago, I attended a weeklong medicine guide training, hoping to finally be surrounded by people who were curious, conscious, and supportive. Instead, two of the attendees told me on separate occasions that I was just seeking attention.

I really took it to heart. I went to the guides who were training us — people who had known me for years at that point — and they said, "Sounds like they wish they could be as confident as you. I'd say that's projection since I can see that you've don't the healing on your need to be seen."

It was then that I realized I assumed everyone had done the same work I had done — that if they said it, they must be right. I had no ego about my growth. I had just walked into another room where the people had only begun to heal their own wounds, and they were projecting their idea of themselves onto me.

That became a theme for me: constantly putting myself in places where people saw me through the filter of their own healing while I gave them the benefit of the doubt. Only to be projected on. Blamed. Rejected. Ghosted.

Since I was a kid, I've collected misfits. I'd befriend the kids nobody else liked because I believed everyone had something to offer. I've hired people others turned down because I could see their gifts. I've picked up those who were suffering because I could see all the possibility inside them.

This is my gift: I can see people for who they will be. I have the tools to support them in supporting themselves.

The only problem is when I become friends with their future selves. When I treat them like they're already through their triggers. This battle of knowing who they are and seeing who they can be becomes a mess when they decide it's not worth the time or effort — when they're really just happy as they are.

And that's their right. I know that now.

The Truth-Teller Problem

Five years ago, I learned I'm a 5/1 Manifestor – that simply means that I am here to catalyze change, learn how things work so I can break the systems that aren't working, and lead others to their deepest truths. I always knew the way I saw the world was different from other people's views, yet couldn't understand why I rarely met others who were as clear as I am.

I'm a truth-teller. A truth-seer. And anyone who isn't willing to look at their own truth is incredibly activated by me. I get it, I would be too (and have been) if I wasn't interested in looking at my own stuff.

I'm here to be a catalyst. If you show up in my life — or I show up in yours — and you aren't interested in changing anything, you'll end up despising me. You'll see yourself in me and either love what you see or be annoyed that I'm there.

It's not that I need to be seen or in the spotlight. It's that I am a giant disco ball of light shining in the darkness — and anything you're hiding or lying about to yourself or others will come through. That's not ego. That's just how I'm built. And it actually helps me do my work in the best possible way.

The Wound of Not Being Seen

10 days ago, I hosted the final Remembering retreat in this magical house. One of my mentors came to do her own healing work before sitting for all of us in support of ours.

I normally don't take up time doing work on myself at these retreats because I'm typically creating and guiding the container. But I felt a pull to be seen in my own healing — in front of clients who have often put me on a pedestal. One I will always fall off of, so I figured I'd do it on purpose.

I lay down in front of her. And we got to it.

Only to find that my deepest, oldest wound was that I didn't trust myself — all the way back to fifteen weeks in utero. (At some point, I'll explain what that even means.) And that I chose people who couldn't see me on purpose so I could learn to see myself.

In the end, it came down to choosing myself. Something I've been working deeply on these last six months. Something that sounds simple until you realize it means letting go of everyone who needs you to be something you're not.

A Profound Projection

Later that evening, a dear friend came up to me and said she was surprised I had done that. "You don't do vulnerability in front of groups," she said.

I looked at her sideways. "I don't? That's interesting — because the only way you're here right now, and that I host these retreats at all, is because of how vulnerable I've been in front of groups."

It was then that she saw her own projection. Her fear of having to go next. Her fear of being vulnerable in front of the rest of the people there.

It was a simple conversation that felt profound — because of how quickly she caught it. How conscious she was to see it without defending it.

Our desire to be seen — but only as perfect or healed or right — is the very thing that keeps us from the connection we're craving. Vulnerability is what connects us. Noticing is what heals us. And our ability to see our own projection on the people around us? That's where the real work begins.