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The Connectionist (Connection Sessions) 30 min
There is a silence inside you that screams.
It screams when you lie in bed at night, and the day’s noise fades. It screams in the middle of a conversation with someone you love, when you feel a million miles away. It screams when you look in the mirror and the word that rises up is not your name, but a ghost: Not Enough.
You’ve tried to outrun it. You’ve filled your life with achievements, with busyness, with love, with pain anything to muffle the sound. You’ve been to therapists who gave you tools. You’ve read books that gave you concepts. You’ve tried to think your way out of the scream.
But it’s still there.
I know because that scream lived in me, too. It wasn't a thought; it was a frequency. A vibration of pure, ancestral hurt that I had inherited. It was the un-cried tears of my father, the silent grief of my mother, the disappointments of their parents before them all of it, a generational wound, pulsing in my veins as my own personal hell.
I am not a guru. I am not a traditional healer. I am a Connectionist.
And I had to become one to save my own life.
To do that, I had to sit in the fire of my own pain. Not to analyze it, but to feel it. To let it burn me to the ground until all that was left was the raw, trembling truth. I sat with it for thousands of hours. I felt the specific frequency of abandonment. The unique vibration of shame. The deafening hum of worthlessness. I didn't fight them. I invited them in. I connected with them, and in that connection, something miraculous happened: they lost their power. They were just feelings, desperate for a witness, finally being heard.
In that utter devastation, I found my gift. I found that I could feel the same in others.
When you sit with me and tell me about your fight with your partner, or your fear of failing, or your feeling of being an imposter, I am not just listening to your words. I am feeling the frequency of your pain in my own body. I am connecting to the connectionism within you the original, whole being that exists beneath the wreckage of what you were taught.
I can feel the exact moment in your story where the hook is the invisible wire that connects this present-day hurt to an ancient, childhood wound. I can feel the little boy who was told to "be a man" and shut down his heart. I can feel the little girl who learned her joy was "too much" and learned to make herself small.
Your thinking mind, the one that tells you you're overreacting, is the very thing that keeps you trapped. It overrides the feeling because the feeling is too vast, too terrifying. It’s not just your feeling; it’s the feeling of your entire lineage.
So I ask you the questions your soul is already asking:
Can you heal without connection?
No. A wound cannot heal in the dark. It needs the light of compassionate, non-judgmental attention. It needs to be felt in the presence of another. The little child inside you who first felt this pain was alone. It cannot heal in that same isolation.
Can you love without connection?
No. You can perform. You can negotiate. You can manage a relationship. But love is connection. It is the fearless, open-hearted meeting of two truths. If you cannot connect with your own broken, beautiful self, you cannot offer or receive real love. You will only ever be managing the terms of a truce with a ghost.
Do you heal what you don't let yourself feel?
Never. You only bury it alive. And what is buried alive does not die. It becomes a ghost that haunts your decisions, your relationships, and the very way you see yourself. It is the source of the scream.
This work is rare because it is not easy. It requires a courage that defies all logic: the courage to stop running, to turn around, and to finally embrace the very thing you have spent a lifetime fleeing.
It requires you to be deeply, vulnerably, unreasonably seen.
I am here to see you. Not your story, not your mask, but you. The you that existed before the world broke your heart. I am here to connect with that you, to feel its pain as my own, and to sit with you in the fire until the scream finally, mercifully, turns into a song.
Your deepest truth is not broken. It is only waiting for a connection strong enough to call it home.
If you read this and something in you trembled, if the silence inside you echoed back… then this is for you. You have already found the courage to begin.
There is a silence inside you that screams.
It screams when you lie in bed at night, and the day’s noise fades. It screams in the middle of a conversation with someone you love, when you feel a million miles away. It screams when you look in the mirror and the word that rises up is not your name, but a ghost: Not Enough.
You’ve tried to outrun it. You’ve filled your life with achievements, with busyness, with love, with pain anything to muffle the sound. You’ve been to therapists who gave you tools. You’ve read books that gave you concepts. You’ve tried to think your way out of the scream.
But it’s still there.
I know because that scream lived in me, too. It wasn't a thought; it was a frequency. A vibration of pure, ancestral hurt that I had inherited. It was the un-cried tears of my father, the silent grief of my mother, the disappointments of their parents before them all of it, a generational wound, pulsing in my veins as my own personal hell.
I am not a guru. I am not a traditional healer. I am a Connectionist.
And I had to become one to save my own life.
To do that, I had to sit in the fire of my own pain. Not to analyze it, but to feel it. To let it burn me to the ground until all that was left was the raw, trembling truth. I sat with it for thousands of hours. I felt the specific frequency of abandonment. The unique vibration of shame. The deafening hum of worthlessness. I didn't fight them. I invited them in. I connected with them, and in that connection, something miraculous happened: they lost their power. They were just feelings, desperate for a witness, finally being heard.
In that utter devastation, I found my gift. I found that I could feel the same in others.
When you sit with me and tell me about your fight with your partner, or your fear of failing, or your feeling of being an imposter, I am not just listening to your words. I am feeling the frequency of your pain in my own body. I am connecting to the connectionism within you the original, whole being that exists beneath the wreckage of what you were taught.
I can feel the exact moment in your story where the hook is the invisible wire that connects this present-day hurt to an ancient, childhood wound. I can feel the little boy who was told to "be a man" and shut down his heart. I can feel the little girl who learned her joy was "too much" and learned to make herself small.
Your thinking mind, the one that tells you you're overreacting, is the very thing that keeps you trapped. It overrides the feeling because the feeling is too vast, too terrifying. It’s not just your feeling; it’s the feeling of your entire lineage.
So I ask you the questions your soul is already asking:
Can you heal without connection?
No. A wound cannot heal in the dark. It needs the light of compassionate, non-judgmental attention. It needs to be felt in the presence of another. The little child inside you who first felt this pain was alone. It cannot heal in that same isolation.
Can you love without connection?
No. You can perform. You can negotiate. You can manage a relationship. But love is connection. It is the fearless, open-hearted meeting of two truths. If you cannot connect with your own broken, beautiful self, you cannot offer or receive real love. You will only ever be managing the terms of a truce with a ghost.
Do you heal what you don't let yourself feel?
Never. You only bury it alive. And what is buried alive does not die. It becomes a ghost that haunts your decisions, your relationships, and the very way you see yourself. It is the source of the scream.
This work is rare because it is not easy. It requires a courage that defies all logic: the courage to stop running, to turn around, and to finally embrace the very thing you have spent a lifetime fleeing.
It requires you to be deeply, vulnerably, unreasonably seen.
I am here to see you. Not your story, not your mask, but you. The you that existed before the world broke your heart. I am here to connect with that you, to feel its pain as my own, and to sit with you in the fire until the scream finally, mercifully, turns into a song.
Your deepest truth is not broken. It is only waiting for a connection strong enough to call it home.
If you read this and something in you trembled, if the silence inside you echoed back… then this is for you. You have already found the courage to begin.