Open-Hearted… Even When You’re Afraid

I remember sitting in my car in the parking lot before work, hands on the steering wheel, just breathing for a minute longer than necessary.

Not because I didn’t know what I was doing once I walked inside, and not because I didn’t want to go inside. 

But because there was always that flicker of doubt right before I stepped out.

Who do you think you are?

I was in my thirties. Newly divorced. A single mom. Back in the professional world after years of being home with my kids. I had the credentials. I had the work ethic. I cared deeply about doing a good job. I always had.

But there was this invisible weight I carried with me into meetings, classrooms, and offices. A quiet sense that I should keep my head down. 

Not push too hard. 

Not speak too boldly. 

Not take up more space than necessary.

So I didn’t.

I didn’t attend two of my higher degree graduations.  And while my bosses urged me to get one of them for a much more prestigious and higher-paying position, I consistently questioned myself throughout my years of schooling. I actually felt like a fake, and it was all a farce.  

Even though…

I worked my ass off.
I over-prepared.
I tried to prove myself without ever saying outright that I was capable.

On the inside and even on the outside, I was confident…but still…

I softened my voice when I had something important to say.
I waited to be asked instead of stepping forward.
I told myself I was being humble, patient, realistic.

But looking back now, I can see it clearly.

I was playing small.

And that’s the part that still catches in my throat a little. Because the truth is, I was good. Really good. Smart. Driven. Thoughtful. Committed. I wasn’t fumbling my way through. But I was trying to earn permission to exist in rooms I already belonged in.

No one told me to shrink.

I did that all on my own.

At the time, I didn’t call it shame. I didn’t have language for it. I just knew there was something in me that hesitated. Something that pulled me back right when I felt myself getting bigger, bolder, more sure.

Only later did I understand what was underneath it.

Shame has a way of disguising itself as practicality. As caution. As “knowing your place.” And when you’ve lived a life shaped by childhood messages, complicated family dynamics, divorce, and the unspoken expectations placed on women, it settles in quietly.

You don’t even notice it at first.

You just start holding back pieces of yourself.

This is what Brené Brown names so clearly in her research. Shame isn’t loud. It’s subtle. It’s the belief that something about us makes us unworthy of love, belonging, or connection. And once that belief takes root, it doesn’t need an audience. We police ourselves.

That was me.

And the cost of that kind of self-protection is open-heartedness.

What Open-Hearted Living Actually Looks Like

(and what it doesn’t)

When I first heard the phrase open-hearted living, I misunderstood it. I thought it meant being emotionally exposed all the time. Saying yes to everything. Letting people see every crack.

That’s not it.

Open-hearted living is quieter than that.

It looks like:

• Speaking up even when your voice isn’t steady yet

• Letting your work be seen without over-explaining or apologizing for it

• Allowing yourself to feel pride without immediately minimizing it

• Saying, “This matters to me,” and letting that be enough

• Staying present instead of shrinking or performing

• Being honest without being defensive

It does not look like:

• Oversharing to earn connection

• Saying yes when your body is already saying no

• Confusing openness with self-abandonment

• Performing vulnerability to prove you’re healed

• Making yourself smaller so others stay comfortable

That distinction matters.

Because shame is clever. It often dresses itself up as being easygoing, low maintenance, or “not wanting to make waves.”

That’s not open-heartedness.
That’s fear in being polite.

How Shame Actually Shows Up

(usually before we notice it)

Most of us don’t wake up thinking, I’m ashamed today.

Shame shows up sideways.

It sounds like:

• “I’ll wait until I’m more confident.”

• “Someone else probably has a better idea.”

• “I don’t want to seem full of myself.”

• “I should already be past this.”

• “Who am I to think I get to want more?”

According to Brené Brown’s work, shame thrives in secrecy, silence, and judgment. Which means the moment you start noticing it, it’s already losing some of its grip.

The hard part is noticing it without turning that awareness into another reason to beat yourself up.

Shame loves that too.

A Few Real Ways to Move Through Shame

(not around it, not over it)

This isn’t a checklist. It’s a practice. And it’s slower than most of us want.

Name it gently.

Not “What’s wrong with me?”
But “Oh. This feels like shame.”

That small shift creates space.

Get curious instead of corrective.

Ask yourself:
– What story am I telling myself right now?
– Where have I heard this story before?
– Does this feel familiar from another season of my life?

You’re not interrogating yourself. You’re listening.

Separate facts from feelings.

 Your feelings are real.
They’re not always accurate.

Shame loves to recycle old conclusions and present them as current truth.

Bring it into the light.

With one safe person.
One honest conversation.
One moment of saying, “This is what’s coming up for me.”

Shame weakens when it’s spoken.

Practice self-compassion without excuses.

This is where many people get stuck.

Compassion doesn’t mean letting yourself off the hook forever.
It means not tearing yourself down while you’re learning.

You can acknowledge where you hold back and choose differently next time.

Both can be true.

The Quiet Courage of Open-Hearted Living

Open-hearted living isn’t loud.
It doesn’t announce itself.
It doesn’t look impressive on the outside.

It looks like staying present when your instinct is to pull away.
It looks like letting yourself be seen as capable, flawed, and still worthy.
It looks like choosing honesty over armor.

And sometimes… it looks like realizing how long you’ve been holding your breath and finally letting yourself exhale.

That’s not weakness.

That’s strength that no longer needs to hide.

Affectionately,

Diana

Love is ALL there is