Episode 76
What if there is something you already know…
but you don't want to know that you know it?
And what if the reason you don't want to know isn't necessarily because you're afraid of the truth itself…
but because you're afraid of what that truth might require of you?
Maybe you know you've outgrown something.
Maybe you know a pattern isn't working anymore.
Maybe you know there's something you've been avoiding.
Maybe you know you want something different, but you don't know how to get there.
Maybe there's something your body has been telling you for a long time.
Or maybe there's simply something that keeps whispering to you—and every time it comes close to your awareness, another part of you says,
“Nope. Not yet. Don't want to look at that."
I've been sitting with a question for the last month or so that has opened up far more than I expected:
What do I know that I don't want to know?
And in this episode, I want to explore what happened when I actually sat with that question.
We'll look at why we sometimes resist what we already know, how the mind can take a simple knowing and turn it into an entire future that we haven't actually chosen, and the distinction I discovered between what I know and what I think that knowing means.
And then we'll see where the question takes us.
Because I honestly didn't know where it was going to take me when I started asking it.
So… let's explore it together.
And if you're ready to join me, pull up a comfy chair, invite in your soul and be open to receive exactly what you need to live, be and thrive as the embodied soul you are.
So, I think part of what led me into this question was another question I had been sitting with for a while.
And that question was:
Why am I not making some of the changes I say I want to make?
And that one was interesting to me because I had just come back from Canada with a whole list of things I wanted to change.
I had ideas.
I had clarity about some things.
There were things that had felt really obvious to me while I was there.
And then I came home…
and didn't do most of them.
And I started wondering,
"Why?"
Why do I say I want these things to change…
and then I don't change them?
Is it fear?
Is it resistance?
Is it that I actually don't want those things as much as I thought I did?
Is it that the timing isn't right?
Is there some part of me that knows something I'm not acknowledging?
And that last question started to get really interesting.
Because if you've been around me for a while, you probably know that I talk a lot about listening to ourselves.
Listening to the body.
Listening to those inner nudges.
Listening to the things that keep coming back.
You know when you know. And yet…
what happens when you know something…
and you don't want to know it?
And that's where this question came from:
What do you know that you don't want to know?
You may even want to ask yourself that question now, as we walk through this.
So I sat with it.
And when I asked myself that question, three things came up.
And I'm not going to share exactly what those three things were, because I'm still working through them. But I was also specifically called to share this with you while I'm in the process—not after I've figured it all out.
And I actually think there's something valuable in that. Because sometimes we wait until we've had the realization, made the decision, taken the action, and figured out what it all means before we share what we're experiencing.
But that's not where I am with this.
I'm in it.
So I'm inviting you into the inquiry with me, rather than giving you a neat answer from the other side of it.
But I can tell you the kinds of things I'm talking about.
It could be a job that you know you've outgrown.
A business or creative direction that you know isn't quite right anymore.
A relationship or dynamic that has changed.
A boundary you know you need to set.
A pattern or habit you know you're ready to stop repeating.
Something you've been tolerating.
Something you've been avoiding.
Or even something about yourself that you know you're ready to see differently.
The way you keep abandoning yourself to keep somebody else comfortable.
The fact that you're not actually using your voice in the way you want to.
Something you've wanted to create for a very long time.
A boundary you know you need to have.
A way you've been living that you know doesn't fit the person you're becoming.
It could be something huge, or it could be something that, on the surface, seems incredibly small.
But when you really sit with it… you know.
And what struck me about the things that came up for me was that they weren't new.
They weren't these enormous revelations that appeared out of nowhere.
They were whispers.
They were thoughts that had come and gone.
Little hits of knowing.
Body sensations.
Ideas that would appear and then disappear again.
Things that I'd noticed before.
Things that, if I'm really honest, I'd probably been conveniently ignoring.
And I thought,
“Oh…. I've actually known this for a while.”
Maybe this is why this question is so powerful.
Because sometimes we aren't being asked to discover something completely unknown. Maybe we're being asked to acknowledge something we've already been brushing up against.
And then I began wondering:
Why would I not want to know this?
Why would I not want to acknowledge something that, on some level, I already seem to know?
And that's where it started getting really interesting for me.
Because I don't think it's always that we don't want the truth.
Sometimes…
I think we're afraid of the ramifications of the truth.
We're afraid of what the knowing might require of us.
Because if I know this… then what?
If I really acknowledge this… what happens next?
Do I have to change something?
Do I have to say something?
Do I have to stop doing something?
Do I have to start doing something?
Do I have to disappoint somebody?
Do I have to leave something?
Do I have to let go of something?
Do I have to become somebody different?
And then the mind starts going.
And it doesn't just ask one question.
It asks 1,001 questions.
"Okay, well if that's true, where's this gunna to go?"
"How is that gunna to work?"
"What will that look like?"
"How am I going to support myself?"
"What will everyone else think?"
"What if I make the wrong choice?"
"What if I regret it?"
"What if I leave this job?"
"What if I change my business?"
"What if I stop doing this thing I've been doing for years?"
"What if I finally say no?"
"What if I stop being the person everybody expects me to be?"
"What if I acknowledge that this relationship has changed?"
"What if I admit that the life I've created isn't the life I want anymore?"
And before we know it…
we've gone from one tiny piece of knowing…
to an entire future.
We've imagined the next ten years.
We've imagined everybody else's reactions.
We've imagined the logistics.
We've imagined the grief.
We've imagined the fear.
We've imagined what might happen if we make the wrong choice.
We've imagined what might happen if we make the right choice.
And now we're looking at this enormous mountain of things we think we're going to have to deal with.
And we think,
"I can't do all of that."
And so… we stop looking.
We put it back in the closet.
We go back to what we were doing.
And maybe we tell ourselves,
"I'm not ready."
Or,
"Maybe I don't really know."
Or,
"Maybe I'm just overthinking this."
Or,
"Maybe it's not that important."
And we move on.
But the question doesn't necessarily go away.
Because most times the knowing is still there.
Quietly.
Whispering.
Waiting.
And this is where I started to see another layer.
Because I began to wonder:
What if what I think I know isn't actually the whole knowing?
What if I've already attached a conclusion to it?
What if I've taken one piece of information and immediately decided what it means?
And this became really important for me.
Because something can change… without us knowing what the change means.
Something can come to completion… without the entire story being complete.
A chapter can end… without the book ending.
And I really like that distinction.
Because I think that sometimes we recognize that a chapter has closed, or something has changed, or something is no longer what it was…
and immediately our mind says,
"Okay.
So this means this.
And therefore I have to do this.
And then this is going to happen.
And then my life is going to look like that."
We've gone from recognizing the end of a chapter… to writing the entire rest of the book.
And maybe we don't actually know the rest of the book.
Maybe we don't even know what the next chapter is.
Maybe all we know is:
"This isn't what it was."
"This has changed."
"This part of my life has shifted."
"This no longer fits."
"This has run its course."
"This is something I need to release."
Whatever the knowing is… maybe that's all we actually know.
And that felt very different to me, because I started realizing that there is a difference between:
What do I know? And…
What have I decided that knowing means?
I’m going to repeat that:
What do I know? Versus
What have I decided that knowing means?
And those aren't necessarily the same thing.
And I want to slow down here because I think this is an important distinction.
Because when we say, "I know this."
sometimes we're actually saying, "I know this, therefore this has to happen."
But the second half isn't necessarily knowing.
It may be interpretation.
It may be fear.
It may be projection.
It may be the mind trying desperately to create certainty.
And I found myself asking:
What do I actually know?
Not what do I think is going to happen.
Not what am I afraid will happen.
Not what do I think I should do about it.
Not what would the logical next ten steps be.
Just… What do I actually know?
And that was harder than I expected.
Because there is something in us that really wants to finish the story.
We want to know.
We want certainty.
We want a plan.
We want to know that if we take this step, then that will happen, and then we'll be okay.
We want the map.
And I understand that. I really do.
But I started noticing how often my mind was trying to make me solve something that I hadn't actually decided needed to be solved.
It was trying to answer questions that hadn't been asked yet.
And I thought, … ”Wait.”
Maybe I don't have to do that.
Maybe I can just be here.
With what I know.
And I sat with that.
And I kept coming back to the question.
What do I actually know?
What am I assuming this means?
What am I adding to it?
What happens if I don't add anything?
And then…
something very simple came to me.
And this is the part that surprised me.
Because I had been thinking that if I acknowledged the knowing, I would somehow have to do something with it.
I would have to make a decision.
I would have to take action.
I would have to figure out the path.
And then I asked myself:
Am I willing to allow this as a possibility?
Not decide it.
Not act on it.
Not figure it out.
Just… am I willing to allow this as a possibility?
And I remember thinking,
"Ahhhh."
Because that was different.
That was a space I hadn't really considered.
I didn't have to commit to anything.
I didn't have to make a plan.
I didn't have to know how the story unfolded.
I didn't even have to know whether this possibility would ultimately become anything at all.
I could simply acknowledge what I was seeing…and allow it to exist…As a possibility.
And when I did that…
my body changed.
My shoulders dropped.
My stomach relaxed.
I felt lighter.
It was almost like I had been carrying around this heavy bag of sand…and I put it down.
And nothing had changed externally.
I hadn't made a decision.
I hadn't taken an action.
I hadn't changed my circumstances.
Nothing had actually happened.
And yet… something had happened.
Inside me.
Because I wasn't fighting the knowing anymore.
I wasn't trying to shove it back into the closet.
And I wasn't forcing myself to figure out what it meant.
I was simply willing to sit beside it.
And there was so much relief in that.
And then, of course… my mind jumped back in.
Because that's what the mind does.
And it was like,
"Okay!
“So what are we doing?"
"When is this happening?"
"What's the plan?"
"What does this look like?"
"How do we make this happen?"
And I actually had to laugh.
Because I was like,
"Whoa, your horses."
“No. No. No. No. No.”
"I didn't commit to doing any of that yet."
I had only said I was willing to allow something to be a possibility.
That's it.
Simply opening or expanding the frame of what’s possible
And I think this is such an important distinction.
Possibility is not a decision.
Possibility is not commitment.
Possibility is not action.
Possibility is simply space.
Space to see.
Space to feel.
Space to notice what happens inside you when you stop fighting something.
And perhaps, in that space, something else can emerge.
Because when we're busy trying to figure out the whole path, we're not necessarily available to notice the next thing that wants to reveal itself.
And I think that's what I'm learning here.
I don't need to know the whole thing.
I just need to know what the next step is.
And sometimes…
the next step isn't action.
Sometimes the next step is sitting with something.
Sometimes the next step is allowing yourself to acknowledge what you already know.
Sometimes the next step is simply saying, “Okay. I'm willing to look at this.” And then waiting.
Not because you're procrastinating.
Not because you're avoiding.
But because you're allowing all of the parts of you to catch up.
And I think that's important too.
Because sometimes one part of us gets the information and immediately wants to run.
"Let's go! Let's change everything! Let's fix it! Let's make the decision!"
And another part of us is still standing there going,
"Hang on. I'm not there yet."
And maybe the answer isn't to drag that part along.
Maybe we create enough space for all of us to arrive together.
And that feels very different from forcing ourselves into a new reality.
Because you can't really step into a new version of yourself based on who you've been.
There may be something new that needs to emerge.
And perhaps we don't help that emergence by demanding that it tell us exactly what it's going to look like.
Maybe we help it by making some room.
And so, if something in what I've shared today has resonated with you, perhaps this week the invitation is simply to become curious.
And perhaps to ask yourself:
What do I know that I don't want to know?
And then… don't force it.
See what comes.
Maybe something comes immediately.
Maybe it doesn't.
Maybe it comes later.
Maybe it's something you already knew but had never quite put into words.
Maybe it's something your body has been trying to get your attention around.
Maybe it's a relationship.
Maybe it's work.
Maybe it's a dream.
Maybe it's a pattern.
Maybe it's a boundary.
Maybe it's something you've been telling yourself for years that you're going to do…
and you keep not doing it.
And if something does arise, you might ask:
What do I actually know?
And then:
What am I assuming this knowing means?
Because those may be two very different things.
And then perhaps the question becomes:
Am I willing to be with the knowing?
Not solve it.
Not act on it.
Not decide the rest of my life.
Just…
be with it.
And notice what happens.
Because for me, the biggest shift wasn't getting an answer.
It was realizing that I could stop fighting with the question.
I could stop demanding that knowing something meant I had to immediately do something about it.
I could let the chapter be the chapter.
I could acknowledge what had changed without writing the rest of the book.
And I could allow myself to be curious about what might come next…
without pretending I already knew.
And maybe that's where we begin.
Not with certainty.
Not with a five-step plan.
Not with blowing up your life because you've suddenly realized something.
But with honesty. With awareness. With the willingness to sit beside what is here…
and say:
“I know what I know.”
“I don't have to know what it means yet.”
“I don't have to know what happens next.”
“I am willing to be with the knowing.”
And maybe… just maybe… that's enough for today.
For me, as I’m continuing to move through this process, I’m already sensing another layer of inquiry.
I don't know exactly where it's going.
And I'm actually finding that strangely comforting.
Because maybe I don't need to know.
Maybe I just need to stay present enough to recognize the next thing when it arrives.
So for now I’m curious about:
What happens when we allow ourselves to know?
I don't know yet.
And for now…
I think that's okay.
Thank you for being here with me.
And if this question opens something for you that you'd like to share, please do. And know that you don't have to share the details if you don't want to.
You can simply tell me that something came up.
And if you'd like me to share the next layer of this as I move through it, you can let me know that too.
Or just take the question with you and see what unfolds.
I'm sending you so much love, and I look forward to being with you again next week on Embodied Soul.
