The Wisdom of our Wounds: Striving for a Space of Love in a Castle of Cards

“Show me where you avoid stillness, and I’ll show you the patterns that run your life.” - Cory Muscara

It’s in the stillness and silence that the under currents of our inner world starts to surface. The discomfort, the fear, the grief, the parts of ourselves we’ve tucked away in order to function. And that’s where these patterns come in. Designed to protect us from pain and fear to get love. They're often learned responses, shaped by our early experiences or deep-seeded trauma. They’re not random. They’re intelligent, protective, and often look like... success.

A full calendar. Constant activity. Overachieving. Hustle culture. Grit.

These patterns get celebrated, especially in high-performance, high-productivity cultures. But underneath, they may be covering emotional wounds we haven’t had the capacity to face. Usually fear, scarcity and unworthiness. It’s akin to a 50-watt lightbulb trying to hold a 1000-watt charge, we short-circuit if we try to hold more than we’re ready or willing to. So, our protectors step in.

And they’re brilliant.

These patterns become the architecture of our lives — shaping our careers, relationships, habits, and identities. Eventually, the life we’ve built reinforces the very patterns that built it. We find ourselves in a loop — the same defenses, the same roles, the same emotions, the same suffering. And it can be intense to reconcile with the difficult truth that our life has been built from the foundation of a house of cards. 

AND - there’s nothing wrong with this.

These protective parts of us aren’t bad. They’re trying, in the best way they know how, to keep us safe. In fact, the extent of their effort is often a measure of how much they love us. 

Let me share one of my favorite examples: Will Smith.

In an interview, he shared that the character of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air — the role that launched his legendary career — wasn’t just an act. It was a survival strategy! Growing up in a volatile home environment, he discovered that being funny could keep the peace. If he could make people laugh, they wouldn’t fight. There wouldn’t be violence. He could control the emotional temperature of the room at the whim or crack of a joke.

That protector part of him — the funny, charismatic persona in one of the most watched shows in the 90s, helped him stay safe as a child. But it also had the power and wisdom to help him thrive as an adult. That’s what’s so incredible: the same parts that helped us survive often carry deep gifts.

So no, these parts are not something to “get rid of.”

Quite the opposite. They’re parts we can learn to appreciate. We can celebrate the love they represent, even when they’re acting from fear. We can thank them. And in doing so, help them relax. Not by force, but by giving them what they’ve been trying to create all along:

Love. Safety. Appreciation. Being seen.

And when they soften, we gain the capacity to meet the deeper emotions they’ve been shielding us from. 

When we do this, we go from coping to creating. 

And ultimately, become the Space of Love they’ve been trying to build for us all along. 🌀 Questions for Reflection

To help you deepen into this message, consider journaling or meditating on the following:

1. Where do I avoid stillness in my life? What might I be avoiding when I stay constantly busy or distracted?

   
   

2. Which of my behaviors might be protective patterns in disguise? Are there ways I use humor, control, achievement, or people-pleasing to stay emotionally safe?

   
   

3. What is one protective part of me that helped me survive? What wisdom or gifts does it carry?

   
   

4. How would it feel to thank that part instead of trying to fix or silence it?

   
   

5. What would shift if I offered that part the love, safety, and appreciation it’s been working so hard to find?

   
   

6. Am I ready to become the space of love — for myself, and others?