We all have wounds; they’re part of what it means to be human. Whether physical, psychological, or spiritual, our wounds are like crazy glue; they bond us in solidarity. If we lived in an indigenous society, our wounds would be seen as shamanic rites of passage, but in modern Western society they’re not. So we forget that our wounds are universal, that others have them too. Eventually, we begin to see our wounds as a sign that we don’t quite deserve to be human. Even in the yoga community, which by definition should be unconditionally accepting, we hide. “I won’t be able to teach because of this neurological disorder,” a young student in training recently told me. “No one can know about my anxiety,” said another. “They’d never come to class if they did.” So we grow ashamed of our wounds, and hide them from others.
We may even project the negative labels we give our inner self onto others. We may think that our parents, teachers, or media are judgmental, and often that’s true. It can feel so convincing, this idea that the people we expect to care for us—our friends, teachers, partners—don’t fully value our “broken” parts. But this is also projection. When we delve under the surface, the story becomes clearer: it is we who dishonor our inner self, and it’s hard to accept this truth.
Bo Forbes in Ode to the Unbroken: Our Wounds Make Us Human