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A Journey to Wholeness
For most of my life, I thought that if I just stayed in the light, radiating positivity, being understanding, choosing harmony, I could escape the weight of my pain. If I focused on kindness, joy, and love, I could somehow outrun the parts of myself that felt heavy, uncomfortable, or dark.
But I am learning that I cannot be whole without embracing all of me.
I cannot live only in the light and pretend the shadows do not exist.
Because they do. And they are calling out to be seen and to be loved.
The Body Holds the Truth
It started with my body.
I began noticing how I carried myself, shoulders rounded, breath shallow, body tensed. A posture not of openness, but of holding. Holding emotions I hadn’t allowed myself to feel, holding pain I had buried so deep I convinced myself it wasn’t there.
But it was there. And the more I ignored it, the more it demanded my attention.
I could feel the tightness in my chest, the weight pressing down on me. My body was telling me a story I had refused to listen to. A story of emotions long rejected—anger, grief, hurt, rejection.
And in allowing myself to feel, I discovered what I had been avoiding for so long.
The Cycle of Rejection
I never let myself feel angry at my father.
I told myself I had made peace with his absence. That I had made peace with the way he faded from my life, first as a weekend dad, then an every-other-weekend dad, then an occasional presence, then… nothing.
But the truth is, it wasn’t just abandonment. It was rejection.
And the most painful part? Many years later, when we reconnected, he told me why.
He had felt rejected by me as a teenager. So he rejected me.
I remember sitting there, hearing those words, and feeling the ground beneath me shift. He, the adult, the father, had felt rejected by me—a child, a teenager. And so, in his pain, he made the choice to reject me in return.
I had no words. No reaction. Just quiet understanding. I had trained myself to be so understanding that I didn’t even allow myself to feel the outrage of it.
I should have been angry. But I wasn’t. I swallowed it down, like I always had. I told myself, Okay, I get it. That’s how it was. He was hurting too.
But now, I see it differently.
I see the cycle of rejection that wove its way through my life. How I had learned to reject before I could be rejected. How I had built walls around myself, believing it was safer that way.
How I had protected myself by pushing others away.
Because deep inside, a younger part of me was still waiting. Still waiting for my father to choose me, to love me, to see me.
And when he didn’t, I learned not to need him. I learned not to need anyone.
But the need didn’t go away. It just got buried.
Letting the Anger Out
For years, I held it in, convincing myself I was fine. But inside, a part of me was screaming:
"Where were you? Why didn’t you fight for me? Why wasn’t I worth it?"
And then, years later, when he died, I wasn’t even given the chance to go to his funeral. I was told it had already happened, though I don’t know if that was true. And again, I accepted it.
Just another thing to quietly accept.
But I don’t want to quietly accept anymore.
I want to feel.
I want to get angry.
And so, I have been leaning into it. Letting the anger rise, feeling it fully in my body, allowing it to move through me instead of staying locked inside. I have screamed. I have shouted. I have not yet let myself feel rage.
And I want that rage, I want to feel something loosen. Something shift.
A release.
Not a resolution, I will work with this.
A beginning of allowing myself to feel what I never allowed myself to feel.
A beginning of breaking the cycle.
True Harmony Requires Both
For so long, I believed that harmony meant choosing peace, choosing light. But now, I understand that real harmony comes from balance. And balance means embracing both—light and shadow, love and pain, joy and grief.
It means making space for the rejected parts of myself.
It means holding my anger with love, allowing it to be seen, to move through me instead of staying locked inside.
It means trusting that I can feel everything, the full spectrum of my emotions, and still be whole.
Because I am whole.
Not in spite of my shadow, but because of it. And as such, I continue my journey of embracing and loving those shadow parts of myself.
About the Author
Debbie Brupbacher is an executive coach, ultra runner, and founder of Embodied Transformation, guiding leaders, individuals and teams through deep personal growth and self-awareness. Drawing from endurance sports, somatic practices, nature and transformational coaching, she helps others navigate life's challenges with resilience, trust, and embodied presence.
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