Quiet Momentum
In this week's journal we explore that being quiet does not mean stagnating, tuning your emotions and the importance of words. Finally, what it means radically honest.
“Even in stillness, we are shaping our lives—each quiet pause a choice, each breath a beginning. Let us trust that one small, aligned step today can awaken the gentle current of change our spirit has long been waiting for.”
Have we ever caught ourselves waiting for life to decide for us, convincing ourselves that hovering on the sidelines is safer than stepping onto the field? We might call it “thinking time,” yet beneath the quiet lies an ache, the stagnation that seeps in when we decline to make a choice. The Inner Child nags that change is risky, that comfort is preferable, that “maybe tomorrow” will somehow hurt less today. This journal explores how that silent decision to remain unmoved erodes our spirit’s growth, why hesitation is not neutrality but an unseen vote for sameness, and how Taoist insights show us the way back to ‘Quiet Momentum’.
Together we will untangle the pain points of paralysis, self-doubt, fear of mistakes, and the heavy habit of criticising, comparing and being judgmental (CCJ). Then we will learn how intentional choices, rooted in wu wei, the effortless effort, release fresh energy, resolve unresolved issues, and honour our authenticity. Finally, we will close with simple, consistent steps we can take without expectations or condemnation, rekindling confidence in our unique flow.
The Freeze of Familiarity
Every morning, we decide sometimes loudly, often in whispers, who steers our day. When we hold back from action, we imagine we have postponed the choice, yet postponement is itself a choice. It keeps us planted in the familiar field where nothing new can germinate. Taoism reminds us: “When sitting in stillness, never forget to honour your flexibility and flow… Acting appropriately in wu wei creates order from disorder.”
Verse 64 of the Tao Te Ching portrays stillness not as avoidance, but as preparation, a poised quiet that recognises storms can rise at any moment. Healthy stillness flexes; unhealthy stagnation calcifies. If our Inner Child complains that moving forward ‘feels’ unsafe, we pause and ask, “Which belief feeds this resistance?” Often, it is an outdated narrative: “I might fail,” or “I can’t cope.” Those lines keep us circling the same ground, while our deepest intentions remain unexplored.
A previous journal post, Turning Negatives into Positives: A Key to Your Spiritual Growth, distilled this truth: “We cannot change what we do not understand and accept.” Acceptance is not resignation; it is the first courageous step of ‘Quiet Momentum’, acknowledging where we stand so we can pivot with clarity.
Voices Beneath the Silence
Why does indecision clutch us so tightly? Taoism frames it as misalignment with the flow of Qi. Our Inner Child badgers us with worst-case stories, convinced that sameness equals safety. Yet Hexagram 24 of the I Ching, Fu Return, speaks of a different rhythm: “In the rhythm of return, we find our true selves and the path to enduring fulfilment.”
Return is movement, not retreat. It encourages humility, moderation, and taking small steps that reawaken flexibility. Earth nurtures from below while Thunder stirs from above, illustrating that growth marries nourishment and decisive spark. When we default to no-decision, we miss that thunderous nudge. ‘Quiet Momentum’ begins by listening: “Which beliefs produce today’s hesitation? Which intention (Yi) would guide a single, gentle action?”
The Inner Child’s counter-arguments arise. “What if waiting prevents mistakes?” Yet Verse 64 cautions that brittle things break easily; small, focused steps forestall chaos. But big leaps feel impossible! ‘Quiet Momentum’ is never a reckless jump; it is a sequence of aligned, manageable choices. The grandeur of a temple starts “with its foundations in the dirt.”
Returning to Flow
To shift from stagnation to flow, we practice three Taoist keys:
Notice the nudge. Hexagram 24’s first line describes it as a “gentle nudge back.” The moment we sense tightening resistance, we pause, breathe, and trace the Golden Thread from feeling to belief. Instead of blaming the feeling, we investigate the belief that gave rise to it.
Choose a humble movement. The I Ching counsels modest, patient steps. When we decide on one actionable item, such as sending the email or stretching for five minutes, we reclaim our authorship. Each micro-choice is a brushstroke on the canvas of diversity that is our life.
Align, don’t force. Wu wei teaches acting with effortless effort, allowing our Qi to flow like water through a riverbed. “The Sage lets things take their course… Remaining calm and balanced in wu wei.” Alignment replaces striving; presence, our authenticity, guides timing.
“I am the co-creator of my reality.” When we let this truth settle, we recognise that even a shrug of indecision is an act of creation, a quiet brush-stroke on the canvas of our days. By hesitating, we have already chosen to keep the page blank, and blank pages are never empty; they quickly gather the scribbles of the Inner Child, who would much rather spin on the familiar ‘Carousel of Despair’ than risk the fresh air of movement and flow. That younger voice prefers the dark because darkness hides the criticising-comparing-judging glare it dreads, and in the shadows it can redirect that harsh spotlight onto others, or, more painfully, back onto us. Yet our Tao practice reminds us that avoidance never suspends accountability; it simply hides it. Accountability is “always on, always delivering, always matching like with like,” whether we act, doubt or stall. Each postponed decision feeds the very outcome we claim to resist, binding us to the carousel’s squeaking rhythm.
So, we step forward, not in a hard-edged push, but in the spirit of wu wei, effortless effort, reintroducing curiosity to our Inner Child one manageable choice at a time. The Tao Te Ching whispers, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” That single step can be as small as asking, “What am I creating by standing still?” When the Inner Child protests, we answer with steady patience: “We will not rush you, but we will not freeze with you either.” We teach through repetition, because new beliefs “take time, patience and persistence,” loosening the grip of the old story every time we redirect our attention to a wiser one.
Instead of hurling the Child into bright light, we widen the circle of the torch gradually, letting curiosity outshine dread. We replace the carousel’s looping tune with open-ended questions. “What alternative seems exciting? What option sparks learning?” Until the Inner Child begins to sense that experimentation, not certainty, is its true homeland.
Of course, the Inner Child may return with a counter-argument: “But what if staying neutral protects us from mistakes?” Taoist wisdom offers a richer view. Inaction seldom leaves reality untouched; it simply assigns authorship to fear. By forfeiting choice, we surrender the pen that writes our destiny, allowing external events, or louder personalities, to draft chapters that do not honour our Shen spirit. Worse, we sacrifice the sovereign right to refine our path, because growth demands feedback and feedback arrives only through motion. In this light, so-called neutrality is revealed as a costlier risk than deliberate movement.
Here is the solution we practise: first, acknowledge every impulse to stall as a signal, not a verdict. Pause, breathe, trace the Golden Thread back from the red-light sensation to the belief beneath it: “If I decide, I might be judged.” Then meet that belief with truth: judgment already lives in the pause; decision merely relocates it to a landscape where we can respond with agility.
Second, speak an affirmation our Inner Child can trust, grounded in honesty rather than wishful gloss: “We are safe to choose, and safe to revise.” Remember that “the power of words is the brickwork of the house we live in;” articulate choices in language of ownership, “I decide,” “We explore,” “I refine” so the walls that rise around us are strong, spacious, and translucent to possibility.
Third, adopt micro-actions that kindle momentum without provoking overwhelm: write the email draft, sketch the proposal outline, taste the unfamiliar cuisine. Each micro-movement breaks a link in the chain of paralysis and proves to the Child that novelty seldom carries the anticipated burn.
With consistency, the carousel slows. We begin to sense, almost hear, the quiet hum of a different ride, one that moves in widening spirals rather than tight circles. Accountability, far from being a punitive spotlight, becomes the lantern we carry to navigate uncertainty. As we own our agency, the CCJ voices fade; the Inner Child, once terrified of blame, discovers it can redirect its boundless creativity toward exploring rather than defending. Decision by decision, step by trusting step, we re-educate that younger part of us back to its original nature: inquisitive, adaptive, willing to discover rather than predict.
Let us close where we began, with the mantra that unlocked the door: “I am the co-creator of my reality.” Spoken daily, it reminds us that hesitation is not a hiding place but an unseen stroke on the canvas. When we choose, we paint with intention; when we refuse, we still paint, only in colours picked by fear. Today, may we lift the brush consciously, guided by integrity, intention (Yi), and the effortless current of the Tao. In doing so, we transform accountability from a looming judge into an ally, an inner compass pointing us toward the boundless diversity of paths that await our next, courageous step.
Seeds of Quiet Momentum
How can we integrate these teachings into our daily lives?
Start small, stay steady. Verse 64 reminds us that “a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” We make that step reasonable: five minutes of journaling, one honest conversation, swapping the restricting word “but” for an open “and.”
Replace CCJ with curiosity. Criticising, comparing and being judgmental block and redirect Qi. Instead, we ask, “What can I learn from this hesitation?” Curiosity soothes the Inner Child; reproach inflames it.
Daily return. Practice Fu each evening: reflect on the day’s choices, celebrate progress, and gently learn and correct course. Small, consistent returns build sturdy roots.
Honour spirit, not perfection. Our aim is alignment, not flawless performance. ‘Quiet Momentum’ trusts that each aligned step carries the nourishment of Earth and the vitality of Thunder.
Walking Quiet Momentum
‘Quiet Momentum’ is the art of deciding to move, silently, consistently, without fanfare, and trusting that life answers align with our intention (Yi). When hesitation next appears, we can recall Taoism’s counsel on brittle branches, Hexagram 24’s melody of return, and the insight that understanding plus acceptance equals change. Our spirit deserves growth beyond the comfort of sameness.
So, let us choose, gently, consciously, now. We pick one small, manageable action that lives well within today’s embrace: a single phone call, a fresh paragraph in the journal, the first five minutes of mindful silence before dawn. We release it from the icy grip of critic-compare-judge, trusting that modest deeds, like brushstrokes, can awaken whole new landscapes of colour we have yet to imagine. And when tomorrow arrives, we nourish that choice with one more drop of courage, one more breath of intention (Yi). ‘Quiet momentum’ gathers; the Tao’s rhythm taps softly beneath our ribs, and even amid turmoil, we discover that motion, however slight, creates its uplifting breeze, urging our vision wider than the storm clouds overhead.
We anchor this practice with a living affirmation: “With every humble step we take, we align and honour our spirit. We move in wu wei, trusting the Tao”. ‘Quiet Momentum’ carries us forward, one breath, one truth, one effortless stride at a time. We whisper these words whenever doubt leans in, letting them settle like morning dew on dry ground. They remind us that alignment need not be loud, nor brilliance flamboyant; genuine power often arrives disguised as a willingness to keep going, to keep learning, to keep loving the unfolding path.
And so, we journey together, hand in hand with our Inner Child and all its bright curiosity restored. Should we stumble, we return, return to breath, return to choice, return to the ever-present invitation to paint another stroke upon the vast diversity of our shared experience. ‘Quiet Momentum’ is not a race; it is the steady unfurling of possibility, the slow-turning lantern that reveals new horizons with every patient pivot. Let us keep walking, keep revisiting, and keep allowing the gentle current of the Tao to carry us toward horizons where challenges become teachers and the ordinary shimmers with promise. Together, we step, and in stepping, we rise.
Have You Ever Felt Out of Tune with Yourself?
Have you ever woken up feeling overwhelmed and confused by emotions that seem to contradict each other? One moment you're content, the next inexplicably anxious or frustrated. Have you ever criticised yourself for "overreacting" or wondered why you seem trapped in a loop of emotional highs and lows? These moments of internal chaos might make us question our emotional stability, but what if they're not problems to be fixed, but preludes to harmony?
In this journal post, ‘Emotional Tuning’, we explore how our emotions are not unruly disruptions but essential instruments in the inner symphony of our spirit. Just as an orchestra sounds discordant before achieving harmony, so too must we allow space for our emotions to tune themselves. This post guides us through a Taoist understanding of emotions, presenting them not as distractions but as integral parts of our journey toward authenticity. We’ll explore how to interpret emotional signals, quiet the Inner Child’s need for control, and embrace wu wei, effortless effort, so that emotional balance naturally arises from within.
Together, we’ll uncover how each emotion plays a vital role and how listening and enquiring, rather than silencing or judging, leads to a deeper alignment with the Tao. Let’s begin by acknowledging the beauty of our emotional symphony and learning how to conduct it with wisdom and grace.
The Orchestra Within: Understanding the Inner Soundscape
Each of us carries an emotional orchestra within, an ensemble of emotions that includes love, anxiety, joy, anger, happiness, sadness, excitement, and uncertainty. Too often, we try to silence the instruments we perceive as unpleasant, attempting to control our emotional score by muting the drums of anger or the sharp violins of worry. This is often the Inner Child trying to protect us by badgering us to seek emotional soothing, comfort or predictability. It perceives uncertainty as danger and control as safety. But the Tao teaches a different path.
In Hexagram 58 of the I Ching, we are reminded: “True joy comes not from suppression but from expression, when speech and silence are both rooted in understanding.” We must remember that it’s not the presence of uncomfortable emotions that causes suffering but our resistance to their expression. By acknowledging our Inner Child’s cries without aligning with its need for certainty or external reassurance, we begin to understand that even the dissonance is part of our unfolding harmony. Just as the conductor never panics when the orchestra warms up, neither should we panic at the messiness of emotional beginnings. This is not a breakdown; this is ‘Emotional Tuning’.
Listening Beyond the Noise: What Emotions Are Telling Us
Every emotion arises from a belief, thought, or choice. When anger surfaces, it might stem from a belief that we are not being heard. When sadness appears, perhaps we believe something meaningful has been lost. These emotions aren't arbitrary; they are intelligent messengers. Our job is not to suppress but to inquire.
In our “From Trauma to Tranquillity” journal post, we reflected: “Even in chaos lies a profound opportunity for growth.” The Golden Thread Process invites us to follow our emotions back to their originating belief. For example, if we’re anxious about a conversation, we might discover a belief like “I must avoid conflict to be accepted.” Recognising this belief, we can gently challenge it. “Is it true? Is it useful? Is it kind?”
The Inner Child often pesters us with worst-case scenarios, pressuring us to take control or retreat. But as we explored in “From Fear to Flow – The Inner Child’s Journey,” journal post, this urge for control is rooted in vulnerability and past emotional patterns. Rather than obey the fear, we can align with the rhythm of life through wu wei and listen, not react.
Let’s imagine each emotion as a section of the orchestra:
Joy is the bright flute—light and clear.
Anger is the drums—bold, demanding attention.
Anxiety is the violins—rapid, repetitive, requiring tuning.
Sadness is the cello—deep and resonant, teaching us the art of stillness.
We don't want every instrument to play the same note. That would be monotony, not music. The goal is balance, not sameness.
From Discord to Flow: Wu Wei and Emotional Mastery
When we stop resisting our emotions, we begin flowing with them. This is the essence of wu wei, not inaction, but effortless effort. It’s the graceful dance between awareness and non-interference. Instead of reacting to anger with shame or anxiety with avoidance, we observe, question, and choose differently. The Tao Te Ching reminds us in Verse 36: “If you want something to shrink, you must first allow it to expand. If you want to be rid of something, you must first allow it to flourish.”
This truth shines brightly when we discuss emotions. Emotions flourish when we acknowledge them. They dissipate not because we force them out, but because we invite them in, let them show their shape and colour, and understand why we are creating them. This is not passive acceptance. It is dynamic alignment. It is saying with calm authority, “I hear you, anger. What are you pointing me toward?” or “Welcome, anxiety. What belief are you echoing back to me?”
But here's where the more profound wisdom of wu wei reveals itself. A cornerstone teaching is this: ‘you cannot change what you do not understand and accept’. That’s why we always begin with awareness. In our journal work, we offer a light, soft yet unwavering, to illuminate the source of our confusing, overwhelming, or seemingly irrational emotions. We don’t chase them away or smother them in logic. We honour them. Because they aren’t random, they are messengers carrying the echoes of a misaligned belief from deep within.
This is the essence of the ‘Golden Thread Process’: to follow the emotional reaction back to the belief that created it. Not with judgment, but with curiosity. We ask ourselves not just, “Why do I seem this way?” but “What belief am I holding that gives rise to this reaction?” This process brings clarity. We begin to understand. But understanding alone does not shift the belief. Understanding is the adult mind speaking.
To truly transform, we must also accept. And here lies the sacred pause, where resistance most often arises. The mature mind may see that a belief such as “I must be perfect to be loved” or “I can’t cope unless I control everything” is misguided. But the Inner Child does not want to accept this. Not because it works, but because it’s familiar. The Inner Child badgers us to hold onto it, not for its truth, but for its comfort and perceived control.
And so, we come to a subtle truth: the greatest grip in our psyche is not the influential lie, but the comforting one. This resistance is not something to fight. It’s something to understand and gently soften. The Inner Child believes that letting go of familiar beliefs equates with danger. “If I stop believing this,” it complains, “who will keep me safe?” Our task is not to scold or bypass this resistance but to sit with it. To say, “I understand why you cling to this. You believe it keeps you safe. But we are safe now. We don’t need to live from this outdated script.”
A counter-voice may rise within us at this moment, insisting that these emotions must be controlled, not courted. But control, though seductive, rarely leads to peace. It leads to suppression, and what we suppress returns with sharper claws. The Tao teaches us otherwise. Real harmony is not created by silencing the discordant notes but by giving each its proper place in the symphony. When we resist nothing, when we accept and align, the orchestra plays on, with depth and beauty.
This is how the Inner Child learns to trust, not by being forced into change, but by witnessing the stability of our mature alignment. As we listen, not react, the Inner Child realises, “I am not alone anymore. I don’t have to lead the show.” And slowly, the emotional chaos begins to settle, the instruments tune. The melody of our life becomes resonant, authentic, and profound.
This is the power of acceptance, not as a passive resignation, but as an active, graceful movement toward authenticity. And so, we continue, not with force, but with gentle, consistent steps. We shine the light of understanding, accept what we find, and then align with the truth. This is how we tune the instruments of our inner orchestra, not in haste, not with blame, but with deep listening and a willingness to evolve. We trust in the process. We move with wu wei. And the music plays on.
Harmony Is Not Silence: Integration, Not Elimination
Let’s dispel the myth that spiritual growth means we never feel anxious, never get angry, or never cry. Authenticity lies in embracing every note of the human experience. In the Tao Te Ching, we read: “The master accepts things as they are.” We do not need to be emotionless; we need to be emotionally wise and authentic.
Your Shen, the radiant essence of your spirit, is not here to mute the symphony. Shen is the conductor. It knows when to allow the violins to weep and when to raise the tempo with trumpets of joy. Our goal is to trust Shen’s guidance, not the Inner Child’s frantic directives.
As explored in the “Awakening to Your Inner Greatness” journal, we are already whole. Emotional wholeness isn’t about eradicating sadness or anger; it’s about honouring their place in the composition of our lives.
This emotional authenticity becomes a practice when we:
Acknowledge each feeling without resistance.
Trace it back to the belief or thought that created it.
Re-align with the Tao through truth, honesty and integrity. Wu wei.
A Life in Emotional Tuning
So, what have we truly explored in ‘Emotional Tuning’?
We began by acknowledging that our emotions, though often chaotic, are not signs of failure but signs of life. Each is an instrument in the great symphony of our being. By aligning with the Tao and applying wu wei, we move from discord to harmony, not by force but by listening deeply and responding wisely.
We no longer ignore or silence the Inner Child but gently guide it with understanding and trust. We tune each emotional string, not for perfection, but for resonance.
As we step forward, we must remember: our Shen spirit is the conductor of this symphony. We must never doubt ourselves. Each emotion is a note of experience, each pause an opportunity to breathe, and each discord a tuning toward greater authenticity.
Let us take small, consistent, and manageable steps. Without expectation. Without CCJ (criticising, comparing, judging). Let us allow our emotions to tune, not tame. Let us trust the Tao’s rhythm as our own.
And so, in this quiet moment of reflection, let us embrace ‘Emotional Tuning’ not as a passing idea but as a sacred, daily practice, a prelude to more profound harmony and wholeness. Like any masterful symphony, the richness of our emotional life depends not on perfection, but on the awareness of when something is out of tune and the gentle, loving willingness to adjust. This is not a task for force or control, but for the quiet power of connection, to our Shen, the eternal conductor within.
Your Shen knows your true rhythm. It senses when anger is beating too loudly or when anxiety tightens the strings of your peace. But Shen does not criticise, it listens, it adjusts, it tunes. And this fine-tuning is not done all at once. It is a process of small, consistent, and courageous steps. It’s choosing, again and again, to pause, to listen, to reflect, and to realign, not because you are broken, but because you are beautifully complex and worthy of harmony.
So, may we rise each morning and declare, “Today I honour the emotional tuning, for it leads me closer to my true harmony.” Let us not rush the melody of our lives, nor mute the notes that challenge us. Let us learn to hear them differently, not as flaws, but as invitations to align more fully with our authentic essence.
The music of your life is waiting to be heard, rich, layered, and entirely your own. Will you listen? Will you tune in? Will you allow yourself to experience your emotions not as disruptions, but as the sacred sounds of your unfolding story?
Now is the moment to pick up the baton, connect with your Shen, and begin again with grace, wisdom, and an open heart. Tune in. Play true. Flow forward. Your harmony is already within you, waiting to be heard.
Understanding the True Message Behind “Not Good Enough”
Have you ever been caught off guard by a surge of discomfort after someone said something small, or perhaps said nothing at all? Do you notice that tight grip in your chest or the sudden heaviness in your shoulders, and immediately hear the harsh inner voice proclaim, “You’re not good enough”? Have you ever paused to ask yourself: “Where does this come from? What does it mean? Not good enough for what or whom?”
In this journal post, we'll explore the more profound truth behind those three emotionally charged words: We’ll examine the bodily sensations that arise seemingly before the thought, the misunderstood signals from our Inner Child, and how these messages are distorted in an attempt to stay safe. We'll explore how this phrase is not a conclusion, but rather a question, an invitation for deeper self-inquiry and alignment with the Tao.
This journey matters. Because misinterpreting these signals keeps us bound to emotional cycles of doubt, fear, and self-rejection. And when we live under the shadow of "not good enough," we forget our innate power, disconnect from our authenticity, and sidestep the flow of wu wei, Taoism’s path of effortless effort. Let us decode the real message behind these words and transform misunderstanding into insight, criticism into clarity, and pain into a return to truth.
The Misunderstood Language of the Body
The Inner Child speaks in a language of absolutes. With a limited emotional vocabulary and a deep longing for certainty, it clings to phrases like “not good enough” as if they were protective charms. Simplicity is its comfort zone, and so it paints the world in black and white, safe or unsafe, lovable or rejected, good or not good enough. One of the most common confusions we hear is: “I don’t feel good enough.” But let’s pause here, because this statement, although deeply believed, is misleading.
This phrase gives an emotional experience a label it doesn't deserve. It transforms a thought or belief into what appears to be a spontaneous emotional truth. But emotions are not random clouds that drift into us from nowhere. They do not land on us uninvited. We are not their victims. We are their creators.
Let’s be precise and gentle: you can’t ‘feel’ not good enough. What you’re experiencing is a sensation, perhaps a knot in your stomach, a weight in your chest, or a racing heartbeat, that arises because of a belief you hold, usually inherited from childhood. That belief, repeated often enough, triggers a physical reaction. The body responds to the belief, not the other way around.
When we say, “I feel not good enough,” we are mistakenly merging a physical sensation with a limiting belief. This clouds our understanding and separates us from the truth, honesty, and integrity of our Shen, our spiritual essence. Shen is never confused. Shen knows you are enough, without a doubt, have always been, and always will be. The confusion only arises when we interpret our bodily sensations through the distorted and confusing lens of the Inner Child’s story.
Understanding this is powerful and liberating. You are not at the mercy of feelings that float in from nowhere. Every emotion has a root. Every reaction has a reason. And you are the creator. You hold the brush. You choose the colours. The belief, not the body, writes the script.
So, the next time that heavy cloud of “I don’t feel good enough” appears, let’s not take it as fact. Let’s gently inquire: “What belief just created this sensation?” “Where did I learn this belief?” “Is it aligned with my Shen, my truth, my integrity?” and more importantly, we can apply the ‘Shen Test’, would I say this to a physical child?
This distinction is not just academic; it’s a doorway back to your power. It invites you to step out of the passive role of emotional victim and into the active, wise space of emotional creator. From here, everything changes. You are no longer reacting. You are responding. You are no longer stuck in the story. You are writing a new one—one that honours your Shen, reflects your uniqueness, and flows in alignment with the Tao.
Let us remember: emotions are not who we are. They are messages. Let us read them wisely. Let us listen with compassion. But let us never confuse them with the truth. The truth is more straightforward, softer, and always waiting to be remembered.
According to the Taoist principle of wu wei, all things move toward harmony when left to their natural rhythm. That tension or contraction is not a judgment, but a red-light signal prompting pause and reflection. “What belief just caused that physical reaction?” Most often, it is not that we are unworthy, but that our Inner Child has absorbed a message about worthiness through misunderstanding.
In our journal blog post "Turning Negatives into Positives," we examined how the Inner Child clings to outdated narratives in its quest for a sense of control. The phrase “I’m not good enough” is one of those inherited lines in the Inner Child's script, used to prevent risk, to avoid uncertainty, to control outcomes. But in reality, it's a reaction to unfamiliarity, not a reflection of truth.
Let us remember the wisdom in Tao Te Ching, Verse 38: "The true master acts without claiming the result. They hold to the centre and remain silent, knowing the truth cannot be found in names." Our worth does not reside in a label; it is innate, our birthright.
A Deeper Look: The Origins of “Not Good Enough”
Most of us were introduced to this phrase long before we could defend ourselves against it. Perhaps it came masked as comparison, why aren’t you more like your sibling, the popular kids, the overachievers? Sometimes it was spoken aloud, but more often, it echoed in the gaps, when love seemed conditional, when our efforts went unnoticed, when reassurance was lacking.
These moments planted seeds in the Inner Child’s fertile but naïve soil. Over time, they bloomed into tangled beliefs. “Not good enough” became shorthand for all the ways we thought we had to perform to be loved.
In the "From Fear to Flow – The Inner Child’s Journey" journal post, we saw that the Inner Child’s pursuit of control is an effort to secure love and validation. But the irony is apparent: this chase distances us from our Shen. Accurate spiritual alignment cannot grow in the soil of comparison, criticism and judgment (CCJ). Instead, it requires curiosity, compassion, and courage.
So, the next time those three familiar words echo in your mind, we ask instead: “What is my Inner Child trying to protect me from?” It may be failure, rejection, shame, or simply the vulnerability of being seen. However, once these fears are illuminated, they lose their grip. They are shadows, not truths.
Wu Wei and the Art of Reinterpretation
To live in wu wei is to allow, not to force. This is not passivity, but a brave trust in the unfolding of life. When we align with wu wei, we stop trying to wrestle our emotions into submission or ignore them altogether. Instead, we observe them, listen, and gently ask questions.
Imagine the phrase “not good enough” as a guest knocking on the door of your awareness. Instead of slamming the door or letting them run the house, we invite them to sit for tea. We ask questions. We listen with openness.
“We are the creators of our emotional reality, not victims swept away by the tides of circumstance.” That tight chest is not your enemy. That pit in your stomach is not proof of inadequacy. They are cues, a signal from your Shen that a misalignment has occurred.
In these moments, instead of spiralling into CCJ, we pause. We apply the Golden Thread Process, tracing the sensation back to the belief that caused it. And we ask: “Does this belief serve my Shen? Is it rooted in truth, or inherited fear?”
Unveiling the Spirit’s Message
Our Shen does not deal in shame. It never says, “you’re not good enough.” Instead, it quietly points to what we’ve outgrown. It signals that an old belief has expired, like a fruit left too long in the sun.
These reactions are safeguards, not condemnations. The heaviness you experience is not because you’re less; it’s because you’re growing beyond the limitations of your old narrative. The I Ching teaches in Hexagram 24, Return: “Going out and returning are natural. Like the seasons, there is a time for contraction and a time for expansion.” “Not good enough” often shows up in the contraction, but it is not the conclusion. It is merely the prelude to your expansion.
When we see it for what it truly is, a moment of miscommunication between our Inner Child and Shen, we gain power. We shift from reacting to responding. We replace the old script with a new one grounded in truth: “I am growing.” “I am listening.” “I am aligning.”
Rewriting the Inner Narrative
Healing doesn’t come from fighting these feelings but from understanding them. Each time “not good enough” rises, we respond with truth, not reassurance. We do not say, “Oh no, you are good enough!” We say, “Why do you believe you’re not? Where did you learn this? Does it still apply?”
This is not indulgence. This is the sacred kind of responsibility that brings us back into alignment. As the Awakening Accountability journal post reminds us, “We are the architects of our emotions, the shapers of our realities.”
So, we speak directly to the Inner Child, who pesters us with old fears. We say, “Thank you for trying to protect us. But we are no longer that helpless child. We are wise. We are capable. And we choose to move forward.”
And we remind ourselves daily: “I release the need to compare. My path is mine alone.” In this, we reclaim our spirit and its infinite worth.
A Gentle Return to Truth
What then is the truth behind “not good enough”? It is this: your Shen has never agreed. You were taught to believe it, but that belief was a borrowed coat that no longer fits, perhaps never did. The truth is more straightforward and more profound: you are always enough because you exist. The Tao has no prerequisites for value. Neither should we.
We do not need to shout our worth from the rooftops. We only need to stop whispering against it in our thoughts. Let us return to wu wei, to a life of alignment where every sensation is met with compassion and clarity.
As Tao Te Ching, Verse 70 says: “My words are easy to understand and easy to practice. Yet no one understands them, and no one practices them. My teachings come from the ancient Source. Those who know this are few.” Let us be among the few. Let us practice alignment over approval. Inquiry over assumption. Wisdom over reaction.
Living Beyond Words
In this journey ‘Beyond Words’, we’ve unmasked “not good enough” as not a truth, but a misunderstanding. We’ve seen it not as a verdict, but an invitation, one that leads us back to our Shen, our alignment, and our flow.
Next time that familiar phrase echoes within, let it be your cue, not your condemnation. Let it prompt a breath, a question, and a return to wu wei. Trust that your worth is not up for debate. It is the still, eternal truth behind the noise.
And from this place of knowing, let’s move forward, not with expectation, comparison, or criticism, but with small, consistent, manageable steps. Each one aligned with compassion. Each one a whisper of truth.
Affirm with us now: “I do not need to prove. I need only to align. I listen to the wisdom of my Shen spirit, and I respond with the truth of my Shen spirituality.”
In ‘Beyond Words’, we have learned that you are never the voice that says, “not good enough.” You are the quiet, unwavering presence behind it, the one who always knew better and finally chose to believe it.
Moments of Inspiration…
A Weekly Review of Taoist Insight and Inner Wisdom
Have you ever felt truth caught in your throat, longing to speak, yet silenced by fear of judgment? Perhaps you've softened your honesty with politeness, even when it costs your peace.
In Wu Wei Wisdom, we often speak of alignment, moving in harmony with the Tao. One of the most potent acts of alignment is Radical Honesty.
This isn’t about harsh truths or confrontation. Radical Honesty is the gentle return to what already lives within. It’s the clarity to speak about needs and beliefs with calm strength. It honours Shen, our spiritual essence, saying: “This is who I am, and I stand in integrity.”
True honesty doesn’t demand force or defence. It calls for softness, presence, and trust. When truth is shared as a compass—not a weapon—it guides us back into a state of authentic flow. This is wu wei: effortless effort, revealing without pushing.
We owe no one perfection—only our presence and truth in harmony with the Tao.
Affirm: “I honour my truth with clarity and compassion. I trust that my voice, when spoken with integrity, is a light that guides my path and invites connection.”
This week, speak clearly, not louder. Let your truth unfold with grace. Ask yourself: “Where have I held back?” Now is the time to return to yourself and let your voice flow from Shen, naturally and effortlessly.
In the Next ‘Inner Circle’ (Paid) journal…
Anchored in Truth
An exclusive translation of a Tao Te Ching verse and commentary
Ocean Release
Moments of Inspiration
In the Next free Journal…
Possibility Thinking
Radiant Core
Bare Bravery
Moments of Inspiration
Journal #F037 14/07/2025