Voices from Around the World

Stop Running: Your Shadow Has Something to Say

• Obediah's Global Movement

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We explore shadow work as a lived practice, moving from personal rupture to cultural wisdom and offering simple ways to begin a gentle, lifelong relationship with the parts we hide. The episode includes a guided meditation to meet, soothe, and integrate your shadow.

• defining the shadow as exiled tenderness, rage, creativity, and unmet needs
• a personal story of loss, anger, and the letter that reframed anger as a guardian
• meeting the inner critic with compassion and the question “what do you need”
• inquiry prompts that transform comparison, shame, and grief into insight
• global healing forms—tonglen, ceremony with land, yogic samskaras
• five entry points: journaling, mirror work, somatic listening, creativity, community
• guided forest-door meditation for safe, paced integration
• shifting from perfection to wholeness and from survival to sovereignty

If this episode stirs something in you, honor it. Journal about what came up. Let your pen be the witness. Let your tears be sacred. Or share this with someone who might need it.


SPEAKER_00:

Welcome to Voices Around the World. A podcast that brings together diverse voices and perspectives from different corners of the globe. Each episode features interviews with individuals from various cultures, backgrounds, and professions, allowing listeners to gain insights into different worldviews, experiences, and ideas. From personal stories to discussions on global issues, this podcast aims to foster understanding, empathy, and connection among people from all walks of life. Join us as we explore the rich tapestry of human voices and celebrate the diversities that makes our world so vibrant. I'm your host, Obadiah, and today's episode is about inner healing and shadow work. Not as abstract concepts, but as lived experiences. In today's episode, we will explore what it means to meet your hidden self, how cultures around the world approach healing, and why embracing your shadow might be the most loving thing you can ever do. I invite you into this sacred space. Whether you're walking through the woods, curled up on a couch, or sitting quietly with headphones in, I invite you to pause, breathe, and listen. It is important to note that shadow work is not a trend, it is a calling. It is the courageous act of turning inward into the dimly lit corridors of the psyche, where the echoes of our forgotten selves still whisper. It is the practice of confronting the parts of ourselves that we have rejected, suppressed, or denied. Not because they were wrong, but because the world told us that they were unlovable. These aren't just negative traits. They are the raw, unfiltered truths of our being. The shadow holds our tenderness, our rage, our wild creativity, and our unmet needs. Maybe you were told that you were too sensitive, so you buried your empathy beneath layers of emotional strength. Or too loud, so you silenced your joy and wore quiet armor. Perhaps you were too ambitious, so you dimmed your light to make others feel comfortable. These fragments didn't vanish. They sank into the depths of becoming the silent architects of your choices, your reactions, and your patterns. Carl Jung warned us that until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you'll call it fate. Shadow work is how we reclaim our faith. It's how we stop living on autopilot driven by wounds disguised as instance. But make no mistake, this is not easy work. It demands us to be radical honest with ourselves. It asks us to sit in a discomfort of our contradictions, to listen to the voices we've ignored, the jealous ones, the insecure ones, the grieving, and to offer them not judgment, but compassion. Your sadness isn't weakness, it is a signal that something mattered deeply. Your envy isn't petty, is a mirror reflecting back your buried desires. Shadow work is not about becoming perfect, it is about becoming whole. It is the sacred rebellion against shame, the quiet revolution of self-acceptance, and the alchemy of turning wounds into wisdom. And when you begin to love the parts of yourself that you were taught to fear, something extraordinary happens. You stop running, you stop hiding, and you begin to live. The next segment is personal, is vulnerable, and it is the foundation of everything I've come to understand about becoming home. I didn't begin my shadow work in a therapist's office, under fluorescent lights, or with a clipboard in hand. No, mine began in the wild chaos of transformation. It was not gentle, it was not planned, it arrived like a storm. I had just uprooted my entire life, moved to a new state where I knew no one, no familiar faces, no safety net, just silence and space. And in that same season, I ended a 17-year relationship with someone I once believed I'll grow old with. We had built dreams together, routines, rituals. I knew the sound of their footsteps, the rhythm of their breath, and suddenly it was gone. The future I had imagined evaporated. I was left standing in the rubble of my old life, holding on to pieces I didn't know how to fit together anymore. The emotions, they all came in waves. Violent, unrelentant. Anger, disappointment, abandonment, unworthiness, rejection, confusion. I felt like I was drowning in my own skin. I was furious, actually. But I didn't know how to express it. I'd been taught that anger was dangerous, that it made me unlovable. So I swallowed it. I turned it inward. I blamed myself. I shrank. I became a ghost in my own life. Smiling when I was breaking, performing when I was grieving. I wore resilience like a mask, but beneath it all I was unraveling. Then one night, in the quiet of my new apartment, I sat down and I wrote a letter to my anger. Not to banish it, to meet it. I allow it to speak. It said, I am here to protect you. I show up when your boundaries are crossed. I rise when you've been silenced. I burn because you've been betrayed. And in that very moment, something shifted inside of me. I realized my anger wasn't the enemy. It was a guardian I had misunderstood. It wasn't here to destroy me. It was here to defend me, to remind me of my worth. That letter cracked something open inside of me. Two years later, I found myself in India, at a meditation and yoga retreat, tucked between valleys and forests. No phones, no talking, just me and the echo chamber of my own mind. There, in the stillness, I met my inner critic. She was relentless. She whispered cruel things. You're not good enough. You're too much. You'll be alone forever. Her voice was sharp, familiar. She had lived inside of me for years. But instead of fighting her, I asked, What do you need? And she answered, trembling, I'm scared you'll be abandoned. That voice wasn't cruel. It was wounded. She didn't need punishment. She needed love. She needed reassurance. She needed me. Since then, I've met my shadow in many forms. In comparison, when I watched someone else thrive and question my own worth, I didn't shame myself. I asked, where have I abandoned my own potential? In shame when I felt publicly and wanted to just disappear. I didn't go and hide. I asked, what story am I telling myself about failure? When I experienced grief, when loss lingered longer than I thought it should, I didn't rush it. I asked, what part of me is still holding on? Each time I've learned to ask, what are you trying to tell me? Shadow work taught me that healing isn't about becoming someone new. It is about remembering who you were before the world told you who you should be. It's about gathering the lost pieces of yourself, the wild, the tender, the fierce, and saying, you belong. It's not easy, of course, and is definitely not linear, but it is sacred. And if you're in a thick of it, hurting, unraveling, questioning, notice. Your shadow is not your shame. It is your story, and it is waiting to be heard. Healing isn't just personal, it is profoundly cultural. Across continents and centuries, people have turned to ritual, storytelling, and communal practices to confront their shadows and mend their spirits. Shadow work may feel like a solitary journey for many, but in truth, it's woven into the fabrics of collective memory. In this next segment, we'll journey through different countries and explore how healing and shadow work are practiced across cultures through ceremony, storytelling, movement, and connection. Each path offers its own medicine. Let's step into that global tapestry now. In Tibet, the practice of songli, which is a form of Buddhist meditation, which invites us to breathe in the suffering of others and breathe out compassion. It is a radical act of empathy, one that dissolves the illusion of separation. In this tradition, healing is not about escaping pain, but transforming it into love. The shadow is not exiled, it is embraced as part of the path to enlightenment. In indigenous communities and traditions across the United States, healing is deeply ceremonial. It involves drumming, chanting, sweat lodge, and communion with the land. The earth is not just a backdrop, it is a witness, a teacher, and a mirror. The land holds memory. The ancestors speak through wind and fire. Healing is ancestral, cylindrical, and sacred. In India, shadow work is embedded in yogic philosophy. The concept of samkara's mental impressions from past experiences suggest that healing involves burning through old patterns to reach clarity. Through breath, movement, and meditation, practitioners confront the residue of trauma and conditioning. The body becomes a map of the soul's journey. These traditions remind us that healing isn't isolation, it is integration. It's not about fixing what's broken, but remembering what was whole and is whole. It's about reclaiming the parts of ourselves we've lost to shame, silence, and survival. And most importantly, it's about belonging to ourselves, to each other, and to the earth, to the stories that shaped us and the ones that we're still writing. Healing is not a destination, it's a return. If you're filling the pull towards shadow work, towards inner healing that goes deeper than surface affirmations, this is your invitation to begin. Not with pressure, not with perfection, but with presence. Shadow work isn't a one-time ritual. It is a lifelong relationship with the parts of yourself that you tucked away, the ones that whispers in the moments of silence, the ones that flare up when you're triggered, the ones that ache to be seen. Now, I would like to highlight a few powerful yet gentle ways to begin your journey. The first one is journally. Start with a quiet space and a pen that feels like an extension of your soul. Ask yourself, what am I afraid to feel? What do I pretend not to care about? And where do I feel unsafe being fooling myself? Let the answers flow without editing. Let your truth spill onto the pages. This is not about writing beautifully, it's about writing honestly. The next one is mirror work, which allows you to witness your own eyes. Stand before a mirror. Look into your own eyes. Not as a critic, but as a witness. Say out loud, I see you. I love you. Even the parts that I hide. It may feel awkward, vulnerable, even emotional at first. That's okay. That's the point. You're meeting yourself in real time. The next one is somatic healing, which allows you to listen to your body. Your body is a vault of emotions. It remembers what your mind forgets. Scan yourself gently. Where do you feel tightness? Where does your breath catch? Place a hand there. Breathe into it. Move, stretch, shake. Let your body speak. Let it release what words cannot. The next one is creative expression, which allow the shadow to speak in color. The shadow often speaks in metaphor. Dance your rage, paint your grief, sculpt your longing, sing your silence. You don't need to be an artist. You just need to be honest. Creativity is breakthrough. The last one is community and therapy, where you will be seen and where you will be held. Healing amplifies when witnessed. Find a therapist, a healing circle, or a trusted friend who can hold space for you without judgment. Sometimes the most powerful medicine is someone saying to you, you know what? Me too. Understand that shadow work is not a checklist. It's not a race. It's a sacred unfolding. It's important to be patient with yourself. Be curious and be kind. I admit, some days you feel cracked wide open. Others you feel nothing at all. Both are part of the process. Remember that the goal of shadow work isn't to fix yourself. The goal is to meet yourself, to love what you find, to walk with your shadow and not behind it. And in doing so, you begin to reclaim every piece of who you are. Now I would like to invite you to a closing meditation, a sacred pause to meet yourself beneath the surface. Find a comfortable position. You can sit cross-leg, lay down with a blanket, or even walk slowly in a quiet space. Let your body settle, let the outside world fade. Begin by breathing deeply, inhaling through your nose. Hold for a moment and exhale slowly through your mouth. Let your breath be your anchor. Again, inhale deeply through your nose. Hold for a moment and exhale slowly through your mouth. Feel your body. Notice the weight of your lens, the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle rhythm of your breath. You are safe here. You are held. Now imagine yourself standing in a quiet forest at twilight. The air is cool. The trees whisper ancient truths. There is a path in front of you, soft with memory. Follow it. As you walk, you come up on a door. It's old, carved with symbols that you don't recognize. But somehow they feel familiar. This door leads to the part of you that you've hidden. The part you've been afraid to meet. Your shadow. You don't know what's behind the door yet. But you're ready. Place your hand on a door. Feel its texture, its weight. And when you're ready, open it. Step inside. What do you see? Maybe it's a younger version of yourself, eyes wide with wonder or sorrow. Maybe it's an emotion, anger, sadness, fear, waiting patiently to be acknowledged. Maybe it's a memory, long buried, now rising like mist. Whatever appears, greet it with kindness. Say, I see you, I'm here for you, and you are safe with me. Let this part of you speak, listen without judgment. What does it need? What does it want you to know? Now, imagine holding this part of you in a warm embrace. You're not fixing it, you're loving it, you're saying, you belong. Breathe in and out. Now, bring your attention to your heart. Imagine a light growing in your chest. Soft, golden, study. With each breath, it expands. It fills your lungs, your belly, your limbs. It touches your shadow warmth with grace. Let this light remind you that you are whole, you are worthy, your healing. Let it dissolve shame. Let it soften fear. Let it illuminate places you've forgotten. Now imagine a shadow gently stepping back into the light, not to disappear, but to integrate, to walk beside you, to become part of your strength. When you're ready, gently close the door. But now do this. You can return anytime. The shadow is not your enemy, it is your teacher. Begin to bring your awareness back to your body. Feel your fingers, your toes, the surface beneath you. Take one final breath. Deep, slow, intentional. And when you're ready, open your eyes. Welcome back. Shadow work isn't about becoming perfect. It's about becoming whole. It's about gathering the fragments of yourself, the ones you've buried, the ones you feared, the ones you forgot, and welcoming them back home. It's about standing in a mirror, not to critique, but to witness, to say, I see you, all of you, and you're worthy. Every time you meet a hidden part of yourself with compassion, you rewrite your story. You shift the narrative from survival to sovereignty, from silence to truth, and from shame to sacredness. And that is healing. So if you're walking through the fire right now, if your heart feels heavy, if your past feels loud, if your future feels uncertain, notice. You are not broken, you are breaking open. You are brave for being here, for listening, for choosing to turn inward when the world told you to numb out. That is courage, that is transformation. Thank you for sharing this space with me. Thank you for showing up for yourself, for your healing, for the generations that came before you and the ones that will follow. You are part of the lineage of light, a cycle of reclamation. You are never alone in this work. Somewhere, someone else is sitting in silence, meeting their shadow, whispering the same words. I'm ready. If this episode stirs something in you, honor it. Journal about what came up. Let your pen be the witness. Let your tears be sacred. Or share this with someone who might need it. Healing is contagious. It ripples outward. It creates waves and places you never see. And as you move forward, remember, the path to wholeness isn't straight. It curves, it spirals, it circles back. But every step you take inward is a step toward freedom. Until next time, keep listening inward, keep loving the parts of you that was once unloved. Keep becoming.