What If the Thing You’re Avoiding Is the Key to Your Healing?

Image by akbaranifsolo from Pixabay

Years ago, after beginning my own inner work, I was determined to self-heal and, for the most part, succeeding. Then I came across some wisdom that stopped me cold. It said something like “You can only take yourself so far. At some point, healing must happen in relationship with others who can reflect back who you’re becoming”.  

I remember a wave of cold dread rising in me. The idea of group work felt exposing, messy – unsafe even. I’d worked so hard to be okay on my own. Why would I invite strangers into that?

And yet, something in me knew it was true. The self I was becoming needed to be witnessed. My patterns needed the reflection of others, within a growth space, to soften. The parts of me shaped by relationships needed healing in relationships, not just in private journalling or solo therapy.

Just the thought of group work had freaked out, I was convinced it would be awkward at best and humiliating at worst.

I was wrong.

When a close friend trained as a Family Constellation facilitator and needed volunteers a few years ago, I balked. Mingling. Standing around awkwardly, especially with the kind of “known unknowns” like other mums from school, absolutely not.

Truthfully if she hadn’t have been such a good friend, I’d have booked a trip to get out of town right on that day so I could say no with a certain amount of integrity. But she was a close friend, so I pulled on my big-girl pants and showed up, full of dread, standing silently with my inner critic yelling, What the heck are we doing here?

What unfolded wasn’t awkward as I expected. It was honest.

And over time, it’s become one of the most profound practices in my life. If my friend is facilitating a constellation nearby, I’ll be there. I no longer care who else turns up. There’s no ego in the room. No performance. Just presence, and profound connection.

So what is a Family Constellation?

We all carry parts of ourselves we’d like to change. Maybe you wish you could soften, feel more, be more compassionate, but you’re scared. What happens if you really let yourself feel? Can you ever put the cat back in the bag?

Maybe you look at your adult children and feel a quiet ache, a distance you long to bridge but don’t know how.

Or maybe, like me, you’ve spent years longing to be truly seen by people who’ve never quite looked at you as the full, complex person you are.

These longings often sit beside unspoken wounds. Family secrets. Quiet shame. Grief too painful - or taboo - to name.

Imagine taking a silent ache or lingering resentment (a father who never really saw you, a child who pulls away, a sibling who’s always been “too much”) and laying it out like a living chessboard.

Only it’s not a board. It might be a lounge floor, or an open room. In this work, the space itself is called the field.

Into that field, a facilitator invites people to stand in as representatives. They might represent family members, ancestors, or even something symbolic like “truth” or “grief”. They don’t tell people how to behave, nor necessarily what or who they are representing at first. They’re simply placed in relation to each other, like pieces moved gently into position, or asked to stand in relation to the other representatives in a place that is comfortable – that in itself can be telling.

A posture changes. A wave of emotion rises. A sentence is spoken, not from personal memory, but from something deeper. A woman might suddenly feel an overwhelming guilt she knows isn’t hers. And yet it fits perfectly in the story of the person she’s representing.

That’s the power of constellation work.

You see the child whose father drank too much.
You see the adult he became - shut down, angry.
You see the grandfather - traumatised by war.
And suddenly, the pattern is visible. Felt. Understood.

This isn’t performance or therapy-speak. It’s truth embodied, in real time. And none of it would be possible without a skilled facilitator.

A well-trained constellation facilitator doesn’t just guide the process, they hold it. They track emotion, posture, energy. They see the pattern behind the story, gently adjusting placements, asking just the right question, or inviting a movement that shifts everything.

This work takes rigour. Deep training. Not just in family systems and trauma-informed approaches, but in their own emotional maturity and inner work too.

They’re not there to diagnose or interpret. They’re there to listen, sense, and support what’s trying to move, so that what was hidden can be seen.

I have played many “parts” in others’ constellations over the years. And I’m always amazed by what surfaces. Sometimes it’s a reticence or a flicker of guilt or anger. My body might want to recoil, or it might want to soften and reach out.

Usually, there’s enough there, for both the facilitator and the person whose field we’re in, to discern what’s unfolding and to make connections that were previously overlooked or unseen.

In my own constellation work, I remember a moment when the facilitator was searching for something in my timeline that just wasn’t showing up. She gently asked who had been the last beacon of kindness in my life - and there I was, suddenly standing in the memory of my gran, who died when I was 14.

I’m not usually prone to public displays of emotion, but the tears flowed. It was a relief to recognise that I had known that kind of kindness, and to feel the deep sadness that it was taken away from me so young.

That moment of connection, witnessed in the presence of strangers, opened a door in me that words alone could never have unlocked, especially for someone as cerebral as me. It felt like, from that moment on, I slowly but surely began to emit a beacon, a signal that helped me attract more kindness simply because I became more acutely aware of its absence.

And there was another moment, when I was struggling with menstrual problems and wondering why, now that I had children, I still had to deal with monthly cycles. What was the point of this womb space?

I can’t remember all that was unfolding on the field at that time, but I distinctly remember that all I wanted was to curl up in a ball and sleep. When I did, I had a vision of light filling my womb - a knowing that it is the sacred seat of our creative power, whether that’s the miracle of making children or any other act of creation.

These moments on the field - standing in the presence of strangers, feeling old wounds surface and soften - taught me something profound.

What if the thing we’re avoiding - the awkwardness, the exposure, the not-being-in-control - isn’t something to dread, but something that holds the key?

I thought I had to do it all alone.
And I did, until I didn’t.

Letting others witness the truth I carried, letting their presence and words bring clarity I could never find on my own... it didn’t make me weaker. It made me softer. Stronger. Freer.

Sometimes, healing isn’t about trying harder. It’s about stepping into the space you’ve been avoiding and letting something ancient and loving meet you there.

Could stepping into that uncomfortable space, with kindness and curiosity, open a door you didn’t know was there?

​Maybe the courage to be seen, fully and without apology, is the first step toward a softer, freer you.

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