Why I’m Afraid to Ask, “Why?”

I journaled for over an hour this morning. I wrote until my hand started to hurt and then kept writing! That’s unusual for me.

What was I writing about? 

I journaling about: why am I afraid of asking “why”? and 16 pages later, I’d written out a big part of my story, how I got to where I am and why I do what I do. 

Do you want to hear it? 

It’s messy and still in the first draft and it already feels powerful... 

I've been afraid of asking, “Why?”

Because it felt too open ended, and the chances of getting it wrong, too great. Or my ability to answer would take too much time to explain. 

I just wanted to beam the thought, feeling, or memory into the other person's mind so that they would instantly get it. I feel like my whole life has been trying to explain myself and getting really frustrated, and the other person didn't get it.

And, eventually, I just shut down because that felt easier. 

Why questions felt like an attack, like I was supposed to know more than I already did, that I needed to articulate every thought and back it up with empirical evidence. 

I was trying to explain a feeling or sensation that I had, it wasn't logical. 

It wasn't something that clicked in, that I knew deep down was true. But trying to explain that to my mom, my teachers, my friends felt impossible. Like there was a deep chasm between us. And I began to believe that no one would understand me truly. So I just needed to learn how to live with that feeling. 

That meant then when that meant that when I became a mom, I was faced with a hard truth. Do I continue living my life half hidden in the shadows, pretending to be something that I'm not?

Silently teaching my daughter through example that this is how women are supposed to behave? Or do I figure out a new way to be? I didn't want my daughter feeling trapped and hidden the way I did in my own mind. So I fell into the money pit of personal growth. I bought up every book, every self paced course I could get my hands on.

But none of them felt quite right. And I'd lose interest before I barely began. I kept buying more bookmarks because my existing ones were all stuck between pages 27 through 43 of the dozens of self-help books shoved into my bookshelf. And the self paced courses? It was a small miracle if I completed module one.

I felt lost, alone, confused. 

And there were times that I fantasized about getting in a car accident so I wouldn't have to think or do anything. I could just spend a week recovering in a hospital bed, and that would somehow magically reset my life in the right direction. Thankfully, that didn't happen. Somewhere along the way, as I flitted from shiny thing to shiny thing, I realized there was something keeping me sane.

A place I went to religiously every week where for one hour, I didn't fantasize about a car crash or breaking my leg, where my anxiety felt more like an annoying fly rather than a persistent mosquito. And I felt comfortable with myself. I was going to yoga. 

Yoga was the only thing keeping me sane. And on the weeks I had to miss class due to a family dinner or my daughter's school performances, I'd feel it. My husband would feel it and commented on how I was so much better, happier, grounded. I don't know the exact word he used, but it took him noticing and saying that he saw the changes that yoga did for me. 

That this wasn't just in my own head. Someone outside of me also saw that yoga had a positive impact on me. Yoga, unlike all the books and self led courses, was working.

And because I tend to lean in hard, some might say, obsess, or some might say, you know, fall down the rabbit hole in an obsessive way. That's what I do with the things that spark my interest. That's what I did with yoga. I decided. I decided I would do yoga teacher training and become a yoga teacher because that would surely give me more of this feeling.

So maybe, just maybe, I could be alone with my thoughts outside of the yoga studio and not feel like a homicidal freak. I don't do things half ass. I either commit everything or I abandon them in chapter one. I dedicated myself to my yoga teacher training, attending every lecture, every class, and absolutely freaking out when we had to do a blindfolded yoga class. I lost my freaking mind. It felt like a loss of control. And at the same time, I was slowly growing and changing. Graduating from my program, auditioning to teach, and landing a teaching job with flying colors. 

Then yoga became even more sacred. I'd take class twice a week on Tuesdays and Sundays.

And I started missing family events on Sundays because without that class, I didn't feel like myself. I still needed that space to reset. It was working, but only if I committed to taking class twice a week. 

The truth was I still didn't fully trust myself or my decisions. I still felt lost and alone.

And though I knew nearly every teacher and student at the yoga studio, I didn't feel fully connected to them. I only saw them at the studio. And I'd be jealous when I'd see photos of other teachers hanging out together at a restaurant or someone's house. I wanted that. I wanted that connection and camaraderie.

I wanted to be invited. I didn't think that I could ask to join in. And the few invites I did receive, I'd usually turn down because I was too concerned with how I'd get there or where I park, or if there was drinking involved, how I would get home. Because this was before Uber and Lyft existed. So in a lot of ways, I was a lost cause.

I was craving connection. But every time it came towards me, I'd push it away. 

There was some part of me that thought I didn't deserve this connection. I wasn't worthy of real friends. Then the pandemic hit, and I was cut off from the yoga studio and pretty much everyone in it because I hadn't allowed the connections.

I fell into a deep, dark depression. Luckily and thankfully, I was already planning a special class with one of the other yoga teachers (Leo). We'd planned to teach it in April of 2020. It was on the studio calendar, our own calendars. But now everything was shut down, so we decided to teach our class online instead.

That decision changed everything for me. Leo and I met over Zoom to plan our sequence, to make sure that the two parts and the different teaching strengths we brought blended. And they did. We taught our class online over Zoom to a collection of friends, family, and dedicated students. It felt effortless to plan that class with Leo.

Leo brought a layer of humor that I was missing. And I loved how her analytical mind helped me to see a new perspective. And I knew I wanted to spend more time with Leo, but it was the pandemic. How are we going to do that? 

Before the pandemic hit, I led a monthly journaling group called CommuniTea, where we'd meet at a cafe, I'd offer up three journaling prompts and inspirational quotes, we'd journal, and I'd lead an intentional conversation where everyone got a chance to speak, listen, and feel heard and understood.

I had so much positive feedback, but it felt like pulling teeth to get the same group of people to come back. So every month was a fresh group that I had to initiate into the process. They love it, but then their schedule never aligned to come back again, with the exception of two people. I knew I had something magical that filled this need for genuine connection. Was there a way that I could bring this back to life during the pandemic?

Yes. Definitely. But doing it once a month wasn't gonna be enough. We were isolated in our homes. So I decided, with the encouraging input of Leo, to do it once a week.

And so, weekly CommuniTea began on April 7, 2020. 

At first, there was a rotation of people coming through. But more and more, we got a solid group that came every week that made this an important part of their self care. Leo, Sarah, Visnja, Mitzi, Adrienne were all early adopters, and Dana and Elena joined shortly thereafter, forming the OG CommuniTea crew. We no longer met at a cafe, but the name stuck, and the connection and transformation were real.

That space became sacred. 

It was the one judgment free space where we could all come, say whatever uncomfortable truth was on our heart, and laugh until we cried. It was pure magic. And it's still going. Five years later and weekly CommiuniTea is still a thing.

The other awesome thing that happened along the way is that I became a coach. 

It's like I'm saying this as a side note when really it's one of the most important things I've done for my professional well-being, even more so than becoming a yoga instructor. Becoming a coach was like opening a door that I didn't know existed, that was hidden inside of me. 

Becoming a coach was like finding a golden sparkly crystal key that opened a hidden door inside of me. 

I've been a coach all my life. I just didn't know that's what this skill is called. 

Back in high school, I was a year ahead in math, than most of my friends. So when my friends took geometry sophomore year and the curriculum was literally a workbook that you were just supposed to figure out and the teacher wasn't supposed to teach. Seriously, we never got a single lesson taught by the teacher in that class! And my friends' parents were not math people, so they'd call me when they needed help with their homework because I am a math person, and the way this workbook was set up was designed for me and my brain. But it didn't work for everyone, so I helped my friends. 

I would never tell them the answer because I knew that wouldn't help them pass the class. Instead, I would coach them through each problem until it made sense to them. I'd ask questions to help them figure out the problem in a way that made sense to their brain so they could learn, understand, and pass geometry. I think back on those moments and marvel at what a beautiful gift I had, but I couldn't see it.

I didn't know how to use it to help me. I felt so lost. Even when those friends that I helped with their math, I never felt fully connected to them. I was always a bit too weird, too different, too something. And I ended up switching friend groups my junior year.

That's all to say that I didn't really find my people until I became a coach and started CommuniTea. Until then, I felt super lost and misunderstood. 

So what's my why behind why I coach? What drives me? What's my mission statement?

I'm here to help you unlock the magic door hidden inside you. The one that a troll, a fairy, and a wizard guard with their lives and use their unique powers to keep it hidden from you so that you feel safe. Except the irony is that you don't feel safe because you're cut off from this part of you. The part of you that's creative, that flows freely, that wants to sing and read among the trees of the forest, that wants you to laugh in your PJs until tears are streaming down your face, and you are rolling around on the floor with the people that get you. 

Where you don't have to pretend, where you don't need to play small, where you don't need to apologize for being excited, where you no longer think that you talk too much, where you no longer think that you're not a good listener because you are, And where you no longer believe you're too weird, too much, too excited, or any of the toos that other people have told you.

I'll pause here in my story because this is the first draft. I know there's more clarity landing in, and yet so much of what I've said here is already clear. What's hiding inside you? What magic, creativity, vibrancy, life, all the things?

What's wanting to come to the surface? What parts of you are ready to be free? I'm Kerstin, the boundaries coach and the founder of Love and Love Wellness. And I help you connect to you and to find the humans that get you so you don't need to be stuck in the toos anymore. 

Our stories and experiences are powerful, especially when we share them with people that get it. 

That’s a big part of my why: Creating judgement-free spaces where we can share our stories and experiences, where we can take up space, and unearth the parts of us that we’ve kept hidden even from ourselves. What magic might you be hiding?