Holding Our Tenderness
Last week, I attended a women’s circle where a friend I appreciate and respect shared her story. It was incredibly moving. During her talk, something she said touched a place deep in my heart. I could feel emotion rising—subtle at first, then stronger.
When she finished speaking, there was room for us to share as well. I noticed my heart beating faster, which is often my cue to speak. So, I shared.
I spoke about how something she said stirred a memory from over forty years ago—something I hadn’t thought about in a very long time. There was sadness there, possibly grief. And yet, it felt good to express it in such a safe, supportive space. My sharing opened the door for deeper conversation within the group.
There is something powerful about witnessing someone speak with courage and vulnerability.
Whether their story mirrors our own or is completely different doesn’t matter. Their willingness to open their heart invites others to do the same.
The next morning, I woke up feeling a tenderness in my heart. The sadness was still there, and a feeling of vulnerability. I didn’t try to analyze it or figure out why. I trusted that if I needed to understand more, it would come in time.
Instead, I made a conscious choice to meet this tenderness with love and compassion.
Tenderness and I spent the whole day together.
While I was with clients, tenderness joined me, and it felt beautiful—my heart was more open and supported greater depth in the sessions. Then I brought tenderness to lunch with a friend, holding her like I would cradle a baby—with care, patience, and love.
Tenderness and I were breathing together. We also did some EFT Tapping.
Later in the afternoon, tenderness came with me to the gym. We enjoyed a swim and a cleansing sauna together. It was perfect.
In the evening, tenderness and I went for a walk together in Warbler Woods. It felt so nourishing to see new growth, feel the warmth of the sun, and the quiet signs of life returning.
When I was lying in bed that night, I did a body scan. My mind was quiet and clear, and I felt so relaxed from head to toe, like I was melting into my mattress.
Tenderness and vulnerability were no longer there. She was replaced with a gentle sense of comfort and softness, of love.
Where did tenderness go?
She returned home. She dissolved into pure consciousness, love.
When our feelings are met with compassion and understanding, something shifts. There is a release. What remains is our true essence.
I appreciate that I didn’t try to push this part of me away, even when it felt really uncomfortable at times.
Instead, I held her in my heart. I talked to her. I supported her. This is what she wanted. This is what she never had before.
This is self-care.
This is self-love.
This is spiritual growth.
So often, when difficult emotions arise, we want them gone. We push them away, judge them, or judge ourselves.
The feeling may disappear for a while, but it doesn’t truly leave. It waits, beneath the surface, creating tension in the body and mind, and separation in our hearts.
When we push our feelings away, we abandon a part of ourselves that is reaching out for care.
Our tender parts do not want to be pushed away - or gotten rid.
They want to be held and met with kindness and care.
When we gently turn toward that part—with compassion and presence—healing happens, love prevails.
Coming home to ourselves is a moment-by-moment practice. It’s about being grounded in our bodies and observing what is moving through us with curiosity, openness, and presence.
We recognize we are not the feeling; we are consciousness observing the feeling.
I am grateful tenderness visited me this week.
It felt like an invitation to offer myself deeper love and care. And I’m equally grateful to be part of a circle of women whose courage helped reveal a part of me that was ready to be seen and longed to be held.
With love + compassion,
Diane
“You can hold your pain while offering yourself kindness. One doesn’t have to cancel out the other.
~ Kristen Kneff