How would you feel if you had urgent information you believed would keep someone safe, and every time you tried to share it, you were dismissed and disrespected? If your sense of urgency was rooted in the belief that something terrible would happen if you didn’t speak up, I’m guessing you would raise the volume, maybe jumping up and down to get attention. This is how your inner critic feels when you’re about to do something risky, something that could lead to criticism, and ultimately, to feeling shame. Your dedicated inner critic is a member of your risk management team --->

I arrived at my son’s preschool mid-afternoon, a few hours before I would typically pick him up. The three-year-olds were having their post-nap snack, seated in tiny chairs around a table, and my son happened to be at the head of the table facing the door. When he saw me, he jumped up and said, “MOM! Let me introduce you to my friends!” He proceeded to tell me each friend’s name (as though I’d never seen them before!). His affection for them and his eagerness to share how important they were still warms my heart. You have a group of --->

The things that divide us – politics, religion, race – are painful. Do you stand on your side of the divide, wondering how you can ever cross the chasm to reach someone on the other side? Do you even want to bother? Why bother trying to bridge a divide? Hanging with our tribe, the people who agree with our view of things, and ranting privately or publicly might feel good for a time. But righteous indignation gives way to grief and hopelessness. I don’t want to stay in that pain, and I’ll bet you don’t either. Bridging divides begins inside --->

This time last year, I had a crash course in the impact of minimizing vulnerability. It’s one of the most common protective strategies, and it comes with a cost. I’d been waiting for a call all week. Grabbing my robe, I hurried to get to the phone. I sat down on the window seat, listening to the rush of words from the surgeon. When she said, “carcinoma,” I was stunned. Despite the possibility that the biopsy would show cancer, the doctors I’d seen uniformly told me, “it’s probably nothing.” But it wasn’t “nothing”; it was breast cancer. The surgeon was --->