The Dance of Avoidance: A Lightworker’s Lesson
On a flight to Scotland in mid-December, I met a woman who changed me before I even realized what was happening. She was a lightworker, a healer, and as often happens with those who carry such energy, we found each other as if by design. From the moment she sat beside me, there was a silent knowing—a connection so palpable that words seemed secondary.
Normally, I’m the type who retreats into my own world the moment I board a plane. Headphones on, eyes down, I use the hours in the air to escape, to avoid—not just the strangers surrounding me but often the heaviness of my own mind. But this time was different. I felt compelled to talk. We both did.
For the entire flight, we shared pieces of ourselves. She spoke of her sanctuary, a space she had built to nurture her clients physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Her mastery of Tai Chi and her dedication to helping others find rest and balance were awe-inspiring. I, in turn, shared my journey: my work with families, my writing, my path toward healing and understanding. Yet even as we spoke, it felt like these words were merely placeholders for the energy that pulsed between us. Without speaking, she seemed to know me—the parts I’ve spent decades hiding, even from myself.
When we landed, we exchanged numbers with promises to stay connected. And she kept her word. She has reached out several times since, sending messages that I read and reread but have yet to answer. Every time I try to respond, something holds me back. It’s not indifference. It’s not forgetfulness. It’s avoidance—and it’s brought me face-to-face with questions I can no longer ignore.
What Am I Avoiding?
Avoidance is a peculiar thing. On the surface, it seems harmless—a way to defer discomfort. But the truth is, avoidance is never neutral. It is an act of resistance, a barrier we build to protect ourselves from something deeper. In my case, the avoidance is not about her, this kind and insightful woman who reached out to me. It is about me.
What does she see in me? What does she bring to my awareness that I am unready or unwilling to confront? Perhaps it’s the energy she radiates, which mirrors a part of myself I’ve long suppressed. Perhaps it’s her confidence in her gifts, a confidence I’ve struggled to find in my own. Or perhaps it’s simply the fact that she sees me at all—truly sees me—in a way that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.
As a child, I learned to suppress my abilities to survive. Growing up in a deeply religious family, my sensitivity to energy and emotion was seen as dangerous, even evil. I became the black sheep, the outsider, the one who didn’t fit. The trauma of those years taught me to hide, to blend in, to avoid drawing attention to my otherworldly gifts. And while I’ve spent much of my adult life reclaiming those parts of myself, the scars of that suppression remain.
This woman, this lightworker, challenges all of that. Her presence feels like an invitation—and an insistence—to step fully into who I am. But stepping into that space requires courage. It requires confronting the fears and insecurities I’ve carried for so long. And so, I avoid.
Why Do We Avoid?
Avoidance often stems from fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of the unknown. But deeper still, it stems from a fear of transformation. To engage with this woman would mean to engage with myself in a way I’ve been resisting. It would mean peeling back the layers of protection I’ve spent decades constructing and exposing the raw, unpolished truth beneath. And that is terrifying.
But avoidance doesn’t make the fear go away. It only delays the inevitable. The questions I’m avoiding now will not disappear; they will only grow louder. The parts of myself I’m hesitant to confront will continue to surface, demanding my attention. And the longer I avoid, the harder it becomes to face them.
The Path Forward
So, what now? How do I move beyond avoidance and into action?
First, I must acknowledge the fear. Naming it gives it less power. I’m afraid of being seen, of being vulnerable, of stepping into the fullness of who I am. But fear is not a stop sign; it is a guide. It shows us where we need to grow.
Second, I must extend grace to myself. Avoidance is not a failure; it is a coping mechanism. It’s okay to feel hesitant, to need time. But grace must also come with accountability. I can acknowledge my fear without letting it control me.
Finally, I must take a step—however small—toward connection. That might mean replying to her message with honesty: “I’ve been hesitant to respond because our connection brought up a lot for me, but I’m grateful for it.” It might mean exploring the questions she’s awakened in me through journaling or meditation. Or it might simply mean sitting with the discomfort and allowing it to teach me.
The Gift of Avoidance
In the end, avoidance is not the enemy. It is a signal, a mirror reflecting back the parts of ourselves we’re not ready to face. By paying attention to what we avoid, we can uncover the fears, desires, and wounds that shape us. And in doing so, we can begin to heal.
This lightworker entered my life for a reason. Whether or not I ever fully embrace that connection, the questions she’s brought to my awareness are a gift. They remind me that healing is not a destination but a journey—one that requires courage, self-compassion, and the willingness to confront even the parts of ourselves we’d rather avoid.
So, to her, and to the universe that placed her in seat 14B, thank you. Thank you for reminding me that avoidance is not an ending but a beginning. And thank you for showing me that sometimes, the connections we resist the most are the ones we need the most.
