The Prickly Truth
In theis week's Journal we look at why the truth can seem prickly, the meaning behind 'Yi Tao Qi Tao' and how silence can trap us. Finally no one 'feels' your emotions.
“Today, we release the need to defend our truth like a weapon, and instead, speak it with calm, grounded grace. In our silence, there is power; in our softness, a strength that invites peace, not resistance.”
When Our Energy Sends the Wrong Message
Have you ever left a conversation knowing you were right, yet somehow, everything still ‘felt’ wrong? The facts were clear, your reasoning sound, yet the discussion still dissolved into resistance, silence, or distance. Have you noticed how even when truth stands firm, the way we deliver it can determine whether it inspires peace or invites conflict?
In this journal, we focus on an element often overlooked in communication teachings: not the words we select, but the energy behind them. We examine what it means to speak from Shen rather than our Inner Child, and how defensiveness, though it may seem like strength, often obstructs alignment and harmony.
Our intention (Yi) is not just to speak the truth but to live it. Not merely to win arguments but to build bridges. As the Tao teaches us, true power is gentle rather than loud. True wisdom is calm, not prickly. And truth, when rooted in Shen, doesn’t require a sword; it simply needs authenticity.
When Truth Seems Like a Weapon
It starts innocently. We believe in something deeply. We have reflected, observed, and even worked hard to separate emotion from clarity. When the moment arrives, we speak our truth. But something in our voice, posture, or timing conveys a different message. We are tense, edgy, defending more than expressing. The words are correct, but they land like accusations. The listener pulls back, reacts, or shuts down, and we are left wondering: “Why does this keep happening?”
This is ‘The Prickly Truth’. Prickliness isn’t about volume or vocabulary. It’s about intention (Yi). It’s the subtle emotional tension that says, “I must be heard,” or “You’re not listening,” or “I need you to change.” And that tension, even when quiet, radiates energy that can overwhelm or provoke.
As a powerful line from our recent journal reflection expressed it: “Truth doesn’t need a sword. It simply needs presence.” This is the wisdom of Shen. However, when we are prickly, we are not speaking from Shen. We are speaking from our Inner Child, trying to defend something that doesn’t need defending.
Our Inner Child believes that truth must be protected, demonstrated, or enforced. It thinks that without fierceness, we won’t be heard. But Shen knows differently. Shen doesn’t seek validation; it simply states what is true and then calmly rests.
The Silent Saboteur: Defensive Energy
What triggers this defensive attitude, even when we think we’ve let go of anger or blame? Often, it stems from unspoken beliefs like: “I must prove I’m good,” or “If they disagree, they’re rejecting me,” or “This is the only way they’ll listen.”
These beliefs are not true; they are emotional echoes. They represent our Inner Child’s emotional logic rather than Shen’s clarity. When we speak with these beliefs still active, our truth is veiled in tension. That tension resonates more loudly than our words. It hums beneath the surface, a silent alarm to those listening that we are not fully present in our Shen spirituality.
And here’s where the teaching deepens. Our Inner Child is often not concerned with truth, but with safety. Our Inner Child does not want to lose, to come second, or to be judged as inferior. Our ‘little One’ has carried the sting of humiliation and the shadow of rejection since childhood, and so it armours up not with understanding, but with defence. Whispering phrases like, “I won’t be a doormat,” or “I don’t want to be seen as weak.” These phrases are not strength; they are shields.
This is why our Inner Child seeks superiority: not out of arrogance, but out of fear. The need to win an argument, to appear flawless, or to have the last word is not driven by big headiness, but by a fragile belief that worth is something we must earn, prove, or defend. And this is our sacred work, to recognise that these are not adult truths but childhood misalignments. They are echoes from a time when our value was misunderstood, when we confused being lovable with being right, and respect with domination.
Imagine for a moment standing in a shallow pool of water. If we stamp, splash, and fight, the water becomes murky. We cannot see. But if we stand still, with patience and presence, the water clears, and clarity returns. This is the metaphor for working with our Inner Child. When we push, argue, and strive to be right, we muddy the truth. But when we breathe, listen, and align with our Shen, the clarity of our true worth, calm, loving, and unshakable, emerges.
So, instead of silencing or criticising this tender part of us, we guide it. We say gently, “You are safe now. You are already enough. There is no contest to win.” This is not indulgence; this is spiritual re-parenting. This is the work of alignment, replacing tension with truth, and fear with understanding. Only then can our words be more than sound; they become resonance, rooted not in defence, but in authenticity.
Imagine two people speaking the same sentence: “I understand your point, but I see it differently.” One says it from Shen, calm, grounded, open. The other from our Inner Child, tense, sharp, full of hidden meaning. The words are identical. But the impact is different.
The Tao Te Ching reminds us, in Verse 56: “Those who know do not speak. Those who speak do not know.” This verse is not condemning words, but urging us to notice the difference between speaking from force and speaking from spiritual alignment. The one who knows does not need to convince. Their energy is the teaching.
This is why, in Taoist wisdom, communication is not merely about language; it concerns energy. Shen communicates without defence, trusting its own vibration. It leads through stillness, not struggle.
Prickly Invites Conflict
When we are emotionally reactive, even subtly, we invite resistance. Our energy says, “Disagree with me, and I will push harder.” We may not mean to send this message, but it is received loud and clear.
Why? Because prickly energy says: “This is about winning.” And when something becomes a battle, the other person must choose: fight or retreat. Even if they stay silent, their resistance grows.
What’s most tragic is that the truth we’re trying to express gets lost in the emotional static. We believe we’re being assertive, but we’re actually defending old unresolved issues. We think we’re standing firm, but we’re actually bracing for rejection. And the other person, consciously or not, responds not to our truth, but to our energetic tone.
We may be right, but righteousness alone doesn’t create harmony. It can isolate us, exhaust us, even justify our pain. And slowly, unknowingly, we begin to believe: “No one listens,” or “No one understands,” or “I’m always the one who cares more.”
These are not truths. They are reactions to prickly energy. This is where Shen offers a new approach. A path of calm strength. A route where truth stands alone, without the armour of defensiveness.
Calm Invites Resolution
So, what does it mean to express truth without being prickly? It means letting go of needing to be right. It means trusting that truth, when aligned with Shen, speaks clearly without pressure. It means pausing before speaking, not to rehearse or be perfect, but to ask: “Is this coming from clarity or emotion?”
When we speak from Shen, we are not trying to change anyone. We are simply honouring our alignment. We do not wait for others to agree. We do not fear their reaction. We say what needs to be said, and then we let it go.
This is not silence born of fear. It is calm born of authentic power. As one Taoist principle reminds us: “The wise do not contend. They let go and remain centred.” This is not passivity. It is strength without friction and wu wei flow.
When we respond to aggression with calmness, something unexpected occurs. The other person begins to mirror our tone. When they see we are not escalating, they soften. When they realise we are not demanding, they open up.
We cannot control their behaviour, but we influence the environment. This is the craft of Taoist communication. We don’t force the river; we flow like water, fluid, rooted, unstoppable. And if we need to walk away, we do so without drama, not as punishment but as clarity. Not to make a point, but to honour our internal peace.
Emotional Tone Is a Mirror
What often surprises us is that prickliness is rarely received the way we imagine. We believe we are showing strength, but others perceive weakness. We assume we are defending the truth, but others hear accusations. Why? Because energy never lies.
People might forget our words, but they always remember how they felt if we connect with their Shen. When we speak through the tension of our Inner Child, the message gets distorted. We become difficult to hear, to trust, and to communicate with.
In contrast, a calm tone makes us magnetic. It invites others to lean in, not pull away. It models what alignment looks like. And it reminds the listener, on a subtle level: “This is what truth without fear looks and feels like.”
Our tone is always a mirror. It reveals not just what we believe, but how aligned we are in that moment. When we are defensive, the mirror shows fear. When we are calm, the mirror shows clarity. So, let us check that mirror before we speak. Not to criticise ourselves, but to realign. We can ask, gently: “Am I trying to change someone, or am I simply choosing to be myself?” That one shift changes everything.
The Gift of Energetic Communication
When we start noticing our energetic tone, we uncover a new level of awareness. We realise that most arguments are not about content but about energy. We see that many people are not resisting our truth; they’re resisting how it’s being delivered.
And we remember: emotional volume does not equate to spiritual strength. Defensiveness does not equate to passion. Prickliness is not clarity. In fact, when we genuinely align with Shen, our truth becomes quiet, steady, and grounded. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t push. It doesn’t seek permission. It simply is.
This is the ultimate teaching of ‘The Prickly Truth’: that we no longer need to fight for what is already true. We need to express it calmly and consistently. And in doing so, we permit others to do the same. We become examples of what peaceful strength looks like. We teach without teaching. We lead without effort. We align without force.
This is wu wei, effortless effort, the Taoist art of movement through stillness. And it is available in every conversation, every moment, every breath.
Speak Like Still Water
This journal post invites us to look beyond the surface of our conversations, to explore the energy of intention (Yi) behind our words and how that energy shapes our relationships. We’ve seen that being right is not enough. That truth, when wrapped in emotional defensiveness, loses its clarity. That prickliness invites resistance, even when our message is sound.
And we’ve remembered that Shen, our inner guide, never defends. It expresses. It lives its truth without needing approval. And in doing so, it inspires change without demand. So let us take this moment to pause and reflect.
Are we speaking to be heard, or to align? Are we defending our worth, or expressing our truth? Are we trying to win, or to connect? The answers lie not in our vocabulary, but in our energy. Let us drop the sword. Let us choose calm. Let us remember: “Truth doesn’t need a sword. It simply needs presence.”
In every conversation moving forward, let us embody the wisdom of ‘The Prickly Truth’. Not as a technique, but as a path of integrity. A return to our Shen. A commitment to communicate not from fear, but from truth and flow.
And if we stumble, let us be kind to ourselves. Let us not criticise, compare, or judge. No CCJ. Just realignment. One breath. One truth. One step closer to the Tao. Let our truth be steady. Let our tone be kind and flowing.
Let our energy be the message.
The Tao of Intention
What if the energy flowing through your life right now, your motivation, your clarity, your vitality, was simply the echo of one original intention? What if the feeling of being stuck, emotional overwhelm, or even fatigue we often experience is not caused by what we’re doing, but by why we are doing it? In Taoist wisdom, there’s a powerful and subtle teaching that says: ‘Yi Tao, Qi Tao’. ‘Yi’ Intention follows Tao, and ‘Qi’ energy follows intention.
This truth reveals something extraordinary: every movement of energy in our lives, whether harmonious or chaotic, first begins in the silence of our intention. In this journal post, we explore this often-overlooked cornerstone of Taoist practice: how ‘Yi’ intention, when misaligned, silently sabotages even our most determined efforts. We will learn how to self-diagnose that misalignment without guilt or shame and how to realign our ‘Yi’ with our Shen and the Tao.
This is not about being more driven or focused. It’s about ‘The Power of Three’ being truthful, honest and having integrity. Because in Taoist teaching, right intention is not moral; it is truthful. It is aligned. It is grounded in Shen spirituality, not created from the confusion of our Inner Child. As we begin this conversation together, we ask: “Are we moving towards authenticity, or are we pushing ourselves down a path we never truly chose?”
The Invisible Root of Energy
We all recognise what it’s like to start a task full of enthusiasm only to be drained halfway through. Or to engage in a conversation with good intentions, only to be misunderstood and frustrated. Or to pursue a goal with remarkable commitment, only to discover it doesn’t bring the peace we hoped for.
Why does this happen? Because our energy (Qi) is not independent. It always follows something, and that something is our intention (Yi). ‘Yi Tao, Qi Tao’ is not a poetic metaphor; it is an energetic law. When our intention is misaligned, so too will our energy be. No matter how clear the outcome may seem, if the purpose behind the action is tainted by fear, control, or emotional confusion, then disharmony will inevitably follow.
This is how we begin to recognise that all misalignment, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual, starts not in what we’re doing, but in why we’re doing it. The Tao does not judge our actions; it simply reflects our intention through the quality of our flow. That’s why understanding is so vital: Our Shen communicates through intention. Our Inner Child communicates through expectation and emotions.
And where we place our intention determines the direction of our life.
Intention Is Not Thought
Many people mistake intention for planning or goal-setting. But intention is more subtle than thought; it is the energetic purpose beneath action. We can outwardly be doing one thing, while our intention is actually somewhere else.
Consider offering support to a friend as an example. While the act may seem kind, if we intend to seek validation, prove our worth, or avoid guilt, then the energy behind it is not pure. The friend may pick up on this. We might develop resentment. We may wonder, “I’m doing the right thing, why does this ‘feel’ wrong?” Because the Qi followed the Yi.
And the Yi was misaligned. This occurs in many aspects of life: relationships, careers, and healing journeys alike. We might believe we are seeking truth, but if our actual aim is to gain approval, silence criticism, or avoid discomfort, then the energy will expose that misalignment through tension, resistance, or fatigue.
As one line from our recent journal post beautifully expressed: “Getting well and reaching your potential are rooted in truth and inner guidance.” Not performance. Not perfection. Truth. So how do we know where our intention truly lies? We look not at what we say, but at what we’re creating.
This may seem simple at first glance, but intention is rarely transparent. We often speak of alignment and truth as if they were static landmarks, easy to identify. Yet the real work is peeling back the emotional layers, the performative habits, and even the well-meaning stories we tell ourselves, for it is entirely possible to be deceived not by others but by our own emotional reasoning. We can convince ourselves that our intentions are pure, that our actions are aligned, and that we are being guided by Shen, when in truth, we may be operating from unresolved fear, control, or the silent whispers of our Inner Child seeking validation or certainty.
We’ve all done it. Made a decision that seemed aligned, only to realise later it was coloured by CCJ, avoidance, or the desire to be approved of. This is why the teaching of understanding your core ‘Yi’ intention is so vital. It acts like a lantern in the fog, helping us discern the quiet voice of Shen from the louder, emotional cries of the needy Inner Child. Without this deeper enquiry, we may live out misalignments with convincing confidence, believing our own illusion. As we often teach, “We are not the storm, we create the weather”. And if we are the creators, then we must be vigilant in examining what clouds we’re conjuring, and whether they obscure or illuminate the truth of who we really are.
This gentle yet profound process is not about guilt or punishment; it’s about clarity. It’s about questioning: “What core intention gave birth to this action? Does this align with my Shen, my spiritual compass? Or am I operating from old conditioning?” The difference is everything. While the words and justifications may be clever, the evidence lies in what we manifest. The Tao never lies; it reveals.
So let us not settle for surface-level honesty. Let us go deeper, beyond the noise of external validation and into the quiet, enduring current of our spiritual integrity. In this depth, we remember: truth is not what we want it to be. Truth is what aligns us with Shen, with the Tao, with that sacred inner flow that requires no justification and offers no contradiction. Only clarity. Only peace. Only Truth.
The Red-Light Clues of Misaligned Intention
The Tao does not punish; it teaches. The most compassionate way it guides us is through the natural outcomes of misalignment. When our ‘Yi’ falls out of harmony, our ‘Qi’ becomes scattered. We notice the red-light signals: fatigue, anxiety, conflict, confusion, and procrastination. These are not punishments; they are invitations to realign.
Often, when these red lights appear, we instinctively blame the situation, other people, or our own effort. But the Tao encourages us to look deeper: “What intention is driving me right now? Am I flowing towards truth, or away from discomfort?”
For example, helping others can be a beautiful act of Shen when we intend to share truth. But when we are trying to fix, please, or rescue someone so we don’t have to ‘feel’ rejected or irrelevant, then our Qi becomes blocked. We may even begin to resent the very people we’re trying to support.
Misaligned intention doesn’t mean we are bad. It means we are confused. And the red-light signal is simply a signpost pointing back to clarity. This is where our Inner Child often steps in. It will say things like: “But I was only trying to help!” or “They should be grateful!” or “I just want peace!” But Shen sees through this. Shen knows: “Peace cannot be created through emotional control.”
Suppose our intention is driven by fear or manipulation. In that case, no matter how noble the action seems, the Tao will not flow with us because the Tao is not interested in appearances. It follows the truth.
Returning to Shen Without Shame
One of the most elegant aspects of Taoist wisdom is that realignment does not require punishment. It only needs awareness. We do not have to criticise, compare, or judge ourselves for past misalignments. That is CCJ, an inner-child coping mechanism that only creates more tension. The Tao doesn’t demand perfection. It invites us to be honest.
When we find that our ‘Yi’ has become misaligned, we don’t need to explain or justify. We return to Shen, with humility and clarity, and ask: “What is true for me now?” The beauty of ‘Yi Tao, Qi Tao’, is that each moment presents a new choice. Each breath signifies a new alignment. Yesterday’s intentions do not bind us. The river flows on right now.
When we realign with ‘The Power of Three’, the energy comes back. We don’t need to force it. That is wu wei, effortless effort. And it only becomes possible when we let go of guilt and open the door to new intention.
The I Ching speaks to this in Hexagram 31, which is rarely quoted but deeply relevant here. It says: “When intention is aligned with receptivity, influence becomes natural.” This reminds us: We do not create transformation through pressure, but through alignment with life’s rhythm. And alignment begins with ‘Yi’.
Let Intention Be Your Compass
When we start living intentionally rather than guided by emotion, a subtle and remarkable shift occurs. We cease to react impulsively. We begin to choose deliberately. We stop trying to prove ourselves. We start expressing our true selves. We stop living in fear. We begin to flow freely. Through this transformation, we become conscious creators. No longer driven by confusion or emotional noise, we are guided by something quieter, truer, more constant; our Shen.
This doesn’t mean we never stumble. It means we stumble to learn. And we realign more quickly. Without the drama. Without the spiral. We begin to see intention not as something to control, but as something to check in with. “Am I trying to prove something? Am I trying to avoid something? Am I moving towards truth, or away from discomfort?”
We can ask these questions gently, without accusation, as we might check the direction of the wind before setting sail, not with fear, but with curiosity. And once our ‘Yi’ is clear, our ‘Qi’ follows naturally. That is the law of the Tao.
Flow Follows Truth
So, much of life’s effort can be softened, clarified, and redirected by this single principle: ‘Yi Tao, Qi Tao.’ Intention aligns the flow. And energy follows where intention leads.
Today, we’ve examined how misalignment often begins not with our actions, but with the hidden motivations behind them. We’ve observed how our Inner Child can lead us into well-meaning confusion, and how our Shen gently guides us back, not with guilt, but with truth. We’ve learned that the red-lights we experience are not evidence of failure. They are the Tao guiding us back to clarity. And now, we are invited to take this awareness forward, not as a doctrine, but as a spiritual compass.
Whenever confusion arises, whenever effort becomes struggle, whenever connection turns into control, let us ask: “What is my intention?” “Is it aligned with my Shen?” “Is it based in truth, or in fear?”
And when we find ourselves out of alignment, as we all will, we can pause, learn, return, and choose again. This is the gift of the Tao. It is never far away. It flows wherever truth is honoured.
Let us honour it with our Shen spirituality. Let us live with ‘Yi’ intention. Let ‘Qi’ follow. In every moment, in every breath, may we remember: ‘Yi Tao, Qi Tao’. Let your intention speak clearly. Let your energy follow effortlessly.
And never doubt, this path is yours to walk, one calm step at a time. No CCJ. Just realignment. Just truth. Just flow.
Have you ever noticed how quiet it becomes when you’re protecting yourself? Not just the absence of external noise, but the inner hush that arrives when we step back from vulnerability, shielded by emotional defences we barely recognise. Perhaps you’ve caught yourself choosing silence over truth in a conversation, avoiding eye contact when connection feels too raw, or replaying scenarios in your mind instead of reaching out. There is a specific kind of quiet that doesn’t bring peace, but rather separation. That is the sound of the ‘Shield of Silence,’ our Inner Child’s invisible armour, crafted long ago not to deceive but to survive.
In this journal post, we’ll explore why this shield forms, what it looks like in daily life, and how we can gently start to lower it. We will delve beneath our emotional patterns to uncover the beliefs that sustain them. We’ll reflect on why our Inner Child clings to outdated defences, even as our Shen seeks genuine connection. And most importantly, we will consider how to begin living without relying on that shield, not by forcing ourselves to be vulnerable, but by recognising that we are already safe, already enough, already whole.
Our aim isn’t to tear the shield away. We confront it with respect. We understand it was created for a purpose. But we also realise this: a shield intended to protect can become a barrier to truth, love, and alignment. And when we are prepared to live from Shen rather than from fear, we begin the sacred process of releasing the ‘Shield of Silence’.
What’s rarely acknowledged is this more profound truth: the same shield that blocks energy from coming in can also prevent our energy from flowing out. We don’t just keep pain at bay; we trap vitality within. And over time, this self-made armour becomes a prison, not a sanctuary. Qi energy, the lifeblood of our being, cannot circulate when confined; it becomes stagnant, withheld, silenced. And without that flow, our Shen, the radiant light of our spirit, begins to wither like a flame denied oxygen.
The irony is tender but profound. What we once used to stay safe becomes the very structure that leaves us starved of growth, of connection, of joy. That’s why, in Taoist wisdom, we learn not to fight the shield, nor shame its existence, but to compassionately question whether it still serves us. Because no part of us was ever meant to be walled in. Life, love, and Shen all require flow. And where there is no flow, there can be no flourishing and growth.
From our earliest moments, we learn that safety is not guaranteed. As children, we are highly sensitive, absorbing not only words but also silences, facial expressions, inconsistencies, and unpredictability. A look of disapproval, a moment of neglect, a passing criticism, these experiences, while seemingly minor to an adult, can leave lasting impressions on our Inner Child. We learn that certain parts of ourselves are not welcome. Therefore, we build our shield. This may manifest as emotional numbing, perfectionism, excessive independence, or chronic overthinking. But at its core, the shield is constructed from a belief: “I must protect myself because I am not safe being seen.”
Often, this belief is not about physical danger but emotional exposure. We come to associate vulnerability with risk. Being open might invite criticism. Being authentic might lead to rejection. So, we become experts at hiding what matters most, our authentic selves. But over time, this shield not only guards us from harm, but also from intimacy, joy, and growth. We stop truly living and instead start managing. We manage impressions. We manage outcomes. We manage emotions. And all the while, our Inner Child keeps nagging, pressuring, and reproaching, whispering, “Don’t let them see the real you. It’s not safe.”
The irony is that the shield we built for safety eventually becomes our cause of disconnection. That shield, once appropriate, is now outdated. It no longer suits who we are becoming. However, we hesitate to remove it because our Inner Child still believes it is necessary. This is where Taoist wisdom provides a deeper way.
In the Tao Te Ching, Verse 38 offers a profound insight: “Those who are aligned do not perform virtue; they live it naturally. Those who perform virtue do not have alignment; they act out of habit and fear. True power comes not from acting aligned, but from being aligned.”
This passage reminds us that authenticity cannot be performed; it must be genuinely lived. We cannot feign vulnerability while shielding ourselves with silence. Instead, we must move from the inside out, guided not by emotional reasoning but by the truth of our Shen. Shen does not fear exposure. Shen does not conceal. Shen expresses, shares, connects, and aligns. When we live from Shen, we no longer need the shield.
But this shift cannot be hurried. Our Inner Child is not wrong for feeling afraid. Those early experiences were genuine. The pain, rejection, and confusion mattered. So, we start with compassion, not correction. We listen not to indulge the fear but to understand it. We say: “Yes, I see you. I understand why you built the shield. But we are no longer in that place. We are safe and aligned now. We can choose a different way.”
To do this, we must recognise the signs of the shield in action. It may manifest as perfectionism, a belief that we must appear flawless to be worthy of love. It may take the form of emotional numbing, where we disconnect not just from pain but also from joy. It might be overthinking, where we try to outsmart emotional vulnerability by staying three steps ahead. Or it may be chronic independence, where we refuse to rely on others because we’ve learned it’s dangerous to need.
But perhaps most subtly, the shield often masquerades as control. A need to choreograph every outcome before it happens, to script every interaction, to rehearse life so thoroughly that nothing unexpected can pierce our defences. This is not control for power’s sake; it is control as a misguided search for emotional safety. Our Inner Child, once overwhelmed by unpredictability, now clings to the illusion that if we can control enough, we can finally relax. If we anticipate every threat, we might avoid the pain. But this is like trying to still a river by damming its flow. The more we control, the more disconnected we become. We are not preventing chaos; we are preventing life.
Because the Tao does not move in straight lines, and it does not respond to control. It responds to truth. And the more profound truth is this: we do not find peace by knowing every outcome. We find peace by trusting our ability to meet whatever comes with presence and alignment.
Each of these represents a form of the shield, and each is rooted in a belief driven by emotional logic rather than Shen logic. Our Inner Child believes: “If I let this shield down, I will be hurt.” However, the truth is that the shield itself harms us.
The journey to releasing it is gentle, not forced. We start with small, consistent steps. Maybe it’s expressing a truth we’ve kept hidden. Perhaps it’s allowing ourselves to receive care without guilt. Possibly, it’s noticing when we’re defaulting to performance and choosing authenticity instead. These are not dramatic changes; they are quiet revolutions.
We do not dismantle the shield all at once. We soften it. We loosen its grip. We start to trust that we can survive the misguided idea of vulnerability, that it is not a threat, but a bridge. And gradually, something shifts. We stop overthinking every interaction. We stop editing ourselves to please others. We stop measuring our worth by how flawlessly we perform. Instead, we begin to listen. We begin to feel. We begin to express, even when it’s messy. We begin to live.
One of the most vital steps in this journey is recognising the moments when we are tempted to retreat behind the shield. We may notice this during conflict, when we suddenly shut down. Or in joy, when we pull away before we can become too happy. Or in silence, when we choose isolation over connection.
In these moments, we pause. We ask: “What belief just surfaced?” Often, it’s something like: “I don’t deserve this.” “They’ll leave if they know the truth.” “It’s safer not to care.” And we meet that belief not with logic, but with Shen. With truth. With compassion. We do not argue with our Inner Child. We acknowledge, and then we guide.
As we once shared: “Our Shen does not push us to be perfect; it invites us to be present. It reminds us that vulnerability is not weakness but wisdom, the wisdom of living in alignment, without pretending, without performing.”
The wisdom of Taoism teaches us that effortlessness occurs when we align with our true nature, including our emotional side. When we try to override, suppress, or control our emotions, we fall into emotional chaos. But when we honour what we create, trace it back to belief, and gently realign, we return to flow.
This is the essence of wu wei, not resisting what arises, but allowing it to guide us back to truth. The Tao doesn’t require us to be fearless, only to be honest. We do not need to be unbreakable. We need only to be willing. And so, we begin to live without the shield. Not recklessly, but courageously. Not by denying our fears, but by meeting them with love. Not by forcing or avoiding vulnerability, but by choosing truth.
We remember that each time we choose to lower the shield, even just a little, we teach our Inner Child that it is safe now. We show that emotional vulnerability is not something to survive; it can be something that connects, heals, and frees. Each time we step into alignment, we model wu wei. We model what it means to live as the Tao intended, not from emotional defences, but from the flow of spiritual truth.
And in that space, the silence changes. It is no longer the silence of hiding. It becomes the silence of peace. Of presence. Of authenticity.
In conclusion, let us remember this: The shield of silence was once a necessary protection. But now, it serves as an invitation. An invitation to grow, connect, and align. We no longer need to Criticise, Compare, or be Judgmental (CCJ). We can live from Shen, without performance or pretence.
We do not need to doubt ourselves. We do not need to wait for the perfect moment. We begin here. We begin now, with small, consistent, manageable steps. Without pressure. Without expectation. With courage and kindness. Affirm: “I release the shield of silence. I honour my Inner Child with compassion, and I live from Shen, trusting that my truth is safe, and my spirit is strong and innate.”
Let us live aligned. Let us live real. Let us live free.
Let us gently lower the ‘Shield of Silence’.
Moments of Inspiration…
There is a sacred space between emotion and expression, a quiet breath where Shen softly speaks. Have you ever noticed how inspiration arrives not with fanfare, but in the hush of presence? A single glance at the sky, a word from a friend, a truth that rises unbidden. These are not grand events; they are gentle reminders. In those fleeting moments, we remember something important; no one else creates or truly knows the emotions we create.
The world may witness our smile, our silence, our gestures, but it cannot trace the thread of belief that birthed our feelings. That is our sacred task. No one else feels your emotions because no one else creates them. You are the author. The artist. The meaning-maker. And that is powerful.
When we awaken to this truth, we stop waiting for others to understand or validate what we emotionally experience. We stop hoping someone will translate our silence or rescue us from sadness. Instead, we turn inward, toward the source. With compassion, we ask: “What do I believe that created this?” We listen. We honour. We guide. This is wu wei, not suppression, not indulgence, but effortless alignment.
These quiet awakenings are ‘moments of inspiration’. They are not loud. They do not demand. They simply invite us to return; to presence, to truth, to Shen.
Affirm: “I honour the emotions I create. I guide them with wisdom, knowing my spirit holds the clarity, the courage, and the calm I seek.”
Let today be a day of quiet noticing, not of forcing, but of following. Trust that your inspiration will arrive when you meet yourself with ‘The Power of Three,’ truth, honesty and integrity. Let us live aligned, awake, genuine and authentic.
In the Next ‘Inner Circle’ (Paid) Journal…
Claim Your Power
Innocent Wisdom
Echoes of Now
Moments of Inspiration
In the Next Free Journal…
Burning Bridges
Deep Trust
Hidden Currents
Moments of Inspiration
Journal #F056 24/11/2025
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