Being Good, Being Loved, and Letting Go

💌 From Me to You:

When I was young, I learned that being liked and useful meant I was safe.

My parents did their best—I choose to believe that. But time was scarce, and the currency of care was obedience, helpfulness, being easy to manage. If I made life smoother for the people around me, I got attention. I got love. Or at least… it felt like love.

When I was a teen and we became homeless, that lesson became survival. If I was liked and useful, I kept my job. And that job was keeping my family afloat. There was no room to fall apart. No space to not be needed.

In my twenties, we were finally back in an apartment, but the story didn’t change: usefulness was safety. Being liked meant I had a place in the world.

I don’t know exactly when that story became me. When “What do I offer?” became more important than “Who am I?”

But somewhere along the way, the mask fused to the skin. My neurodivergent brain, always scanning for risk, made safety the top priority. Physical safety. Emotional safety. Social safety. Masking, mirroring, pleasing.

And even after all these years—after building a life and a practice rooted in care and truth and body liberation—there are still days I ask myself:
If I’m not useful, who am I? Why would anyone want me? Why would anyone love me?

My partner has been telling me for twenty years that it’s not my job to make them happy. That I don’t have to earn love. And for the first time… I believe them.

Not in theory. In my bones.

This isn’t a neat transformation arc. It’s not all peace and clarity. There are still jagged edges. But my shoulders are lower. My breath is deeper. I spend more time living than existing.

And I share this not to drop my pain into your lap, but because I know I’m not the only one. I know someone reading this has also learned to contort themselves into usefulness. To perform likability as if it’s an audition for safety. To hustle for love like it’s a paycheck they can’t afford to miss.

But here’s what I’m learning, slowly and imperfectly:

• You don’t have to be good to be loved.

• You don’t have to be useful to belong.

• Peace isn’t something you achieve—it’s something you allow.

I’ve thought long and hard about who I am, what I believe is just and right, and what I want to offer this world. That’s the only part I can control: to live in alignment with what I know to be true. To speak and act with integrity. And then to let go of the outcome.

I won’t lie: detaching from the outcome is hard. Equanimity isn’t apathy. It’s just… peace without performance. It’s trusting that I can show up truthfully, and whatever happens next isn’t a reflection of my worth.

Worrying won’t protect me. Guessing what the world wants only erodes my truth.

So instead, I’m learning to sit with the question:
Who am I if I’m not reacting to the world’s demands?
I don’t know if I will ever have a firm answer, but I know it’s worth trying to figure out.

🌊 On Equanimity:

Equanimity isn’t about numbing out. It’s not the absence of emotion—it’s the ability to stay grounded within emotion. It is presence without panic. It’s giving yourself permission to feel everything… without needing to fix everything.

It’s taken me years to realize that equanimity isn’t some stoic, untouchable zen. It’s letting go of the need to be liked, to be useful, to control how I’m received. It’s trusting that I can live in alignment with my values and release the rest.

Some days, I still forget. But more often, I remember. I breathe. I soften. I stop performing.

That’s equanimity. Not perfection—just permission to be.

🪷 This Week’s Practice:

Restorative Yoga + Yoga Nidra: Prepare the Body, Rest the Mind
Sunday, May 25 @ 9PM Eastern – Livestream

If any part of this letter resonated—if you’ve ever found yourself chasing worthiness or clinging to the illusion of control—this practice is for you.

This 60-minute class is designed to help you lay it down. The pressure. The performance. The idea that rest has to be earned.
We’ll begin with grounding breathwork and restorative postures to gently unwind your nervous system. You can practice on a mat, in bed, or in a chair—whatever feels most supportive.

Then, we’ll shift into a 35–40 minute guided Yoga Nidra practice. You won’t be asked to fix or perform. Just to be. To listen. To soften. To rest.

This practice isn’t just rest—it’s radical non-attachment. It’s a space where equanimity isn’t an idea, but an embodied experience. A remembering that you are already enough, just as you are.

Whether you’re crawling to the mat or floating in on a breeze, you are welcome. Pajamas encouraged. Judgment not invited.

You don’t have to prove anything here. Just bring your body, and let it rest.

If you missed last week’s Where Joy Lives in the Body | Restorative Yoga for Self-Study + Emotional Awareness

With love and loosened shoulders,
Shannon
(still unlearning the hustle for worthiness, one deep breath at a time)