As a child, I was a bedwetter. And I wasn’t just wetting the bed. I’d wet my pants at school, during recreational sports, and even at birthday parties. My small bladder wasn’t entirely to blame. It was the confidence I lacked to speak up for myself, combined with a paralyzing fear of the bathroom—a place that became a hunting ground for bullies.
I’d been “swirlied” (head dunked into a toilet), shoved into giant urinals, and left trembling in stalls while bullies banged on flimsy partitions, hurling insults and hate speech. Every trip to the restroom felt like walking into a lion’s den. I dreaded the vulnerability of being caught off-guard, so I avoided it at all costs—even if that meant quietly enduring the humiliation of wet pants.
I prayed for invisibility, envisioned force fields, cloaks, anything to protect me from being noticed, and for years, that desire to disappear clung to me.
Even as an adult, I’ve committed to the comfort of anonymity. I reveled in the invisibility afforded by my years in New York City, blending into the crowd like a whisper. But this weekend, I had a powerful realization during a Colette Baron-Reid exercise using two chairs. As I sat in the chair representing insecurity, doubt, and fear, I flashed back to little John with his damp pants, trembling in fear, desperate not to be seen.
It hit me: This was my origin story—not for becoming a villain but for a lifetime of invisibility. That scared little boy grew into a man who avoided risks, buried his creativity, and shied away from vulnerability. From a faltering musical theater career marred by stage fright to abandoned creative projects that never saw the light of day, my fear of being seen had repeatedly sabotaged me.
Even now, having completed projects like my children’s book and tarot deck, I feel the pull to retreat. A part of me wants to hide, to pretend these accomplishments never existed so that I don’t have to face the terrifying vulnerability of putting them out into the world.
But here’s the truth: Hiding won’t heal me. And it won’t heal you either.
Why Do We Hide?
Take a moment and ask yourself: Where are you avoiding being seen in your life? Are you making choices to prevent the physical and emotional pain of past bullying? Has the fear of judgment and ridicule from peers or authority figures held you back from taking risks or speaking your truth? Has the deep shame of imperfection or failure kept you from pursuing your passions or stepping into the spotlight?
These fears don’t come out of nowhere. They’re born from experiences that left you hurt, humiliated, or diminished. But if you stay in that metaphorical chair of doubt and insecurity, you give your past more power than it deserves.
A Shift in Perspective: From Fear to Power
Colette Baron-Reid’s two-chair ritual invites us to do something revolutionary: stand up and move to a different chair. Imagine leaving behind the chair of insecurity and stepping into the chair of power, prosperity, and potential. What would it feel like to shed your cloak of invisibility and replace it with a superhero cape that reminds you of your worthiness, invincibility, beauty, and strength?
Picture it: Standing tall, feeling your feet firmly planted, and recognizing your story—flaws and all—is powerful. What could you create, share, or experience if you stopped hiding? Who might you inspire? What life could you live?
Tools for Transformation
Revisit Your Origin Story. Reflect on the roots of your fear. What moments taught you to hide? Write them down in a journal or discuss them with someone you trust. Awareness is the first step toward healing.
Create Your Superhero Cape. Find a tangible object—a scarf, a bracelet, a token—that reminds you of your strength and courage. Use it to symbolize your commitment to show up fully, even when it’s scary.
Practice the Two-Chair Ritual. Move from a “chair of insecurity” to a “chair of power.” As you sit in the new chair, visualize stepping into your potential. Feel the strength and confidence of this new perspective.
Use Affirmations. Replace self-doubt with empowering affirmations. Try: “I am worthy of being seen. My story matters. I am strong, capable, and enough.”
Start Small. Share a piece of your story with someone safe. Post your thoughts online. Take one step toward being visible in a way that feels manageable. Every small act of courage builds momentum.
Develop a Ritual for Resilience. When the desire to retreat surfaces, pause and ground yourself. Light a candle, take three deep breaths, and remind yourself of the life you’re creating—not the one fear is trying to control.
An Invitation to Step Into Your Light
This year, I’ve committed to telling my story—messy, imperfect, and vulnerable as it may be. I’ve realized that healing begins with reflection and connection, and I want to honor my journey by sharing it openly.
I hope you’ll join me in stepping into your own story. Take a moment to examine the fears that hold you back, explore the memories that shaped you, and embrace the courage to share your truth—whether it’s with yourself, a trusted friend, or the world. Together, we can replace shame with self-acceptance, doubt with courage, and invisibility with invincibility.
Let’s make this the year we leave the shadows behind and step boldly into the lives we’re meant to live.
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