The spiral of becoming

Table of Contents

• A note from me (2025)

• IAM allowed to witness my pain.

• Reminder: the inner journey ‘Being obsessed with S …

• Morning devotion with Maya Angelou.

A note from me (2025)

I wrote this essay two years ago—on a day my body cracked open and everything I thought I had “healed” came roaring back through. At the time, I didn’t know what I was shedding, only that something in me was dying—and something else, just as sacred, was trying to be born.

Reading this now, I don’t need to edit a lot of words, although I wrote some side notes. It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s real. It’s meeting me in a space where I find myself somewhat now. A different awareness is here to witness this process time, an awareness that I didn't have on the time of this writing, but funny enough it’s still a bit the same, only (as always) watched through different eyes.

This version of me—the one crying on the floor, doubting her worth, whispering truth into the void—she is still part of me. She made me.

And she deserves to be seen.

So I’m sharing this not as a representation of where I am now. But the echo is here for me to see again, as a love letter to the parts of us that are still learning to be with the unbearable. As a remembering that even while ‘now’ seems different, I still swim through the thickness of the old echoes that are being offered to the one I am becoming. We spiral through space.

As always, I meet them here—in the only place where they can be witnessed by the one I always was.

May this meet you wherever you are.

You’re not broken. You’re becoming. Until the end.

WithObsession,

Lincy

IAM allowed to witness my pain.

I notice it again—like today—when I find myself crying, in pain, throwing up energy on the floor—that this version of being doesn’t really have a place in most communities.

Sure, we all know that in ‘normal’ society you’re supposed to act normal, whatever that means. But even in spiritual communities, especially among the ‘light and love warriors,’ life is somehow seen as better when it’s free from heaviness, density, depth—the raw, intense expressions of our inner darkness.

Which, of course, also means they reject it in others.

I’m not judging—I get it. There’s nothing scarier than looking yourself in the eye when you’re deep in your own discomfort (aka pain/grief/fear/etc).

I still catch myself sometimes (not always, but yesterday, yes) judging those uncomfortable moments of being—especially when they’re believed to be too much for others to witness. Because yes, they do trigger. The brain (mine, others’) rushes in with solutions, opinions, distractions, strategies, the moment a single tear or a drip of snot shows up.

And I’m not even talking about the pretty kind of crying—you know, the cinematic teardrop gliding down the cheek. I’m talking full-on dying-on-the-floor, howling kind of crying.

Because sometimes, as deep feeling human beings, we do feel like the pain of the world is threading our hearts together (that was me yesterday). And we forget that we can breathe.

Safety vs. Openness

Building a sense of safety in myself to allow that kind of dying has been the work of the past ten years. Especially after my accident—when I couldn’t do anything but die.

Now I would change the word ‘safety’ into openness.

My brain ran away with a meaning of safety that made me look for a rescuer outside myself.

Being saved from my belief that I cannot be a ‘responsible’ adult.

(I still wish this sometimes.)

That old version of safety made me feel stuck and judgmental about the storm that always lives in me.

But now—thanks to lived experience—I know that these moments pass. Just like the ‘good’ ones do. And on the other side, I’m always reborn with a new layer of awareness, growth, acceptance—whatever you want to call it.

I’ve learned to love all the visible parts of myself.

Even the shadowy, blind spots I haven’t met yet—I’ve got a warm bath waiting for them whenever they show up.

But right now, in the middle of the pain, after another awakening—rolling and screaming on the floor, clinging to my body like it’s about to either explode or implode (probably the same thing)—it’s the echo of my old identity I’m shedding once more.

That I’m weird.

Broken.

Incapable.

Those are the words echoing in my head, looking for a bit of mental soil to root into and grow into a new belief.

And honestly, I’m still choosing soft words here.

But it’s up to me whether I believe them. Whether I let those seeds settle—or let them float away on the winds of change, the wind of openness, the wind of surrendering.

Shit.

You know what’s kind of funny?

Whether the suffering happens secretly (behind closed doors) or publicly (say, on the floor of a grocery store—I’ve done both), it doesn’t really matter.

The opinions (from the brain) are just as loud.

Shame. Judgment. Inner punishment.

They show up no matter what.

That’s interesting, isn’t it?

One cannot be saved from oneself.

In our pain, there’s nowhere to hide from the identities our minds have built through upbringing, norms, experiences, opinions—aka suffering.

So… What to Do?

Maybe write a blog.

About pain. About breaking. About suffering.

About rolling unashamed in my own drool on the floor—so that in the world I create, it’s real. And it’s allowed to be seen.

Honestly, just writing this down, knowing someone might read it—someone who doesn’t know how to crawl out from under the weight of their shame—that gives me purpose.

(A bit of illusion maybe, but still—it softens the sting.)

Because if the me from ten years ago could read this now, she might say:

“I’m not alone.

There are people like me who feel so deeply that being human is sometimes unbearably heavy—or just plain f*cked.

I’m not crazy. 

I’m not broken.

I’m different—but not alone.”

Hear hear, you beautiful human. Hear. F*cking. Hear.

Reminder: the inner journey ‘Being obsessed with Self’ is still available for you to use on a daily basis where you teach you human system to grow into the awareness that is waiting for you.

Just go to the homepage of my essays and open the tag ‘Being obsessed with Self’

Meet yourself on paper, in the mirror, in the space of devotion.

Morning devotion with Maya Angelou.

This video helped me today to breathe again a bit deeper and touched a part of allowance to step into the space where my humanmess is being hold in times of difficulty.