When the Spotlight Feels Like a Threat (and You Do It Anyway)

Last night, I led the first session of that women’s group I’ve been developing—something rooted in authenticity, parts work, healing, and reclaiming our gifts. I had poured hours of thought, heart, and energy into creating a space that could hold women in all their beautiful mess and wisdom.

And then, 6 p.m. hit.

My Adderall wore off. My brain got foggy. My inner critic came out swinging.

Even though it looked like the group was well received, I walked out under the heavy voice of a part of me who had a clipboard and red pen, circling everything I could’ve done better. It wasn’t just feedback—it was a self‑attack. It felt personal.

It’s wild how quickly we revert to old roles, old stories. For me, being in the front of a room can feel like standing on a pitcher’s mound, or being a hockey goalie—positions where the whole crowd watches, counts on you, judges you.

It taps into my childhood narrative:

Be perfect. Be impressive. Be safe.

I used to feel proud that I “never got in trouble” growing up—like that was proof I had things together. But therapy helped me see it differently: that little girl who “never got in trouble” was probably terrified. She worked overtime to stay in good graces because the alternative felt dangerous. Unbearable.

So here I am—decades later—holding space for women, guiding them toward their truths… while a part of me still wonders if I’ll be enough. If they’ll spot the flaw and leave.

But here’s the deeper truth:

I’m not afraid of groups.

I’m afraid of being

seen

.

Not just looked at—but really seen.

Seen by others. Seen by myself.

Seen by that old part of me who learned that imperfection = rejection.

But last night, I showed up anyway.

Despite the post‑medication brain fog.

Despite the parts who wanted to run.

I stood in the circle I created, and I held it.

That matters.

And what’s more—I realized: I’m not the one being judged anymore.

I’m not the child performing for approval.

Now I’m the one creating the stage—

not for performance, but for presence.

For other women to take off the masks.

For us all to be held in our humanness.

For connection, not evaluation.

That spotlight? It isn’t on me. It’s been diffused. It’s softer now. I built it that way.

And for the record—yes, I took my booster today. Because support is not shameful.

Because I deserve to function fully.

Because my brain matters.

As I keep moving forward in this group process, I’m going to stay honest—with myself, with the group, and here, with you.

I’m going to let the part of me that’s confident step up a little more.

Not to dominate, but to stand beside the vulnerable one.

They can share the mic.

So if you’re reading this and you’ve got your own pitcher’s mound or spotlight or old story about needing to be perfect:

Let’s do it anyway.

Let’s show up.

Let’s keep going.

Not because we’re flawless—

But because we’re real.

As always…

Sending Good Vibes!

Naazh✌🏽❤️