Transformational Connection: Returning to What’s Real
For years, I immersed myself in yoga, dance, meditation—genuine practices that brought me closer to my breath, my body, and tangible moments of presence. I could feel a sense of flow while dancing, or a deep stillness during meditation. But when it came to building close relationships—the ones that really mattered—something still felt off, though I couldn't quite name it at the time.
I didn’t realize how much of myself I was hiding, guarding, and subtly shutting off.
There was a quiet undercurrent running through my relationships—anxiety, self-protection, a sense of not being fully there. I wasn’t choosing to be guarded or performative. It was more like a subtle layer of unconscious behaviour, shaping how I showed up without me even noticing. I often adapted myself to fit what I thought others expected, trying to come across a certain way—more confident, more relaxed, more together than I actually felt.
Alcohol helped mask the discomfort. A glass of whiskey before a date or a social event would take the edge off—but it also dulled something essential in me. It kept me disconnected from my authentic expression, from my vulnerability, and ultimately, from real connection.
Looking back now, I see how much of my energy was wrapped up in trying to manage how I was perceived, without even realizing it. And beneath all of that, what I truly wanted was simple: to connect. To be seen. To be myself—with someone else there.
The journey into the unknown wasn’t graceful.
I had longed for real connection—for the feeling of being seen and being myself with another person there—but when I first stepped into the practice of Transformational Connection, what I encountered was something far messier. I was judging everything—myself, the other participants, the space holders, even the structure of the space itself.
In hindsight, I can see that part of me was refusing the call. Not in a dramatic way, but in the subtle grip of skepticism, control, and resistance. I wanted connection, yes—but not this way. Not through awkward silences, uncomfortable truths, and foggy emotional states I couldn’t name.
Beneath all the judgment was a deep impulse to control. To shape the experience, manage how I was seen, anticipate what was coming. It gave me a sense of safety, or at least something to hold onto.
But the practice didn’t offer clear steps or predictable outcomes. It invited me to stay—right where I was, even in the tension, even in the uncertainty. And so I began practicing with the controlling layers themselves. Not trying to fix them, just noticing, and slowly allowing myself to be with them.
That practice seeped into my daily life. It took time and a kind of conscious surrender—choosing, again and again, to let go into the unknown. To stay with what didn’t make sense, what didn’t resolve.
I began to sense the quieter layers underneath: moments of lostness, numbness, disorientation. Not problems to solve, but states to witness. To include.
The practice of Transformational Connection isn’t about insight as much as contact. Contact with what’s here, even if what’s here is foggy or unpleasant or makes no sense at all. And weirdly, it was often in the moments where I felt the most stuck, the most “off,” that something real began to emerge—not because I pushed for it, but because I stayed. Or someone stayed with me.
These days, the practice continues—not as something I’ve figured out, but as something I keep returning to.
I’m still learning. Still stumbling, softening, meeting new edges. But something has shifted. Quietly, over time, without any dramatic moment or clear turning point.
There’s a deeper trust now—one I couldn’t have imagined before.
A trust in my own wholeness.
Not because I’ve cleaned up all my messes or reached some final stage—but because I’ve touched a space in myself that doesn’t need me to be any different. A space that feels infinitely loving.
It’s not always loud or obvious. But it’s there. Underneath. And from that place, I know—truly know—that I’m lovable. Even in my fear. Even in my shame. Even in the parts of me that still get tangled or lost.
I’ve cried tears that used to be stuck. I’ve let grief open me instead of crush me. I’ve listened to anger without letting it explode.
And I’ve learned to speak—to lead—even when I feel exposed or unsure, because I don’t need to hide those feelings anymore. They belong too.
There’s more energy now. More joy. More capacity to meet what arises—from within or from the world—with presence.
And while the path still unfolds, what feels clear is this:
My purpose is to walk it with others.
Not as someone who’s arrived, but as someone who’s practicing. Someone who’s committed to living from love and wholeness, and to reminding others that they are whole too.
Because we are. Even in the mess. Even in the confusion. Even when we forget.
And the more I stay with what’s real, the more I see:
This wholeness has been here all along.
Not something to achieve—just something to remember.
And that is enough.
Thank you for reading 🙏
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With Love, Tanka
