If I Trusted I Was Fully Held, I Would Stop Torturing Myself
- Karen Di Gloria
- Oct 2
- 3 min read
Updated: Oct 3
If I trusted I was fully held, I would stop torturing myself that I need to get online and look for a job.
I would just post and release my project into the universe without worrying if it's being seen or received well.
That was my original intent anyway: to let it go, not to micromanage its reception.
But somewhere along the way, I slipped into the loop of control.
Asking yes-or-no questions about every little thing.
Second-guessing my intuition when it didn’t line up with the numbers.
Beating myself up for being “wrong” about the amount of money I’d receive for something as small as a computer sale.
It wasn’t about the money—it was about my faith. About wondering if I was delusional to believe that I could truly trust God to hold me.
The Early-Morning Dream: the Box I Didn’t Open
In the early morning — that liminal, half-awake place — I received a small black square box, like a jewelry box.
I woke up before I could open it. The image stayed with me: the box in my hands, closed, waiting.
Later that day I went to the beach and sat with the feeling of the morning: the knot of expectation, the replay of old control loops. That evening, in meditation, I returned to the image in my dream. It was then — deep in that meditative place before bed — that I opened the small black box and discovered it was empty.
I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t shocked. It simply was empty.
The Auditorium Dream
That same early morning, I had another dream. I walked in from the left side of an auditorium and saw two people already there. One stood high at a podium, the other sat silently at the bottom.
At the time, I was only a witness. But later, in meditation, the clarity came: the quiet person sitting below was me.
The roles felt reversed. The one above at the podium seemed to be the one receiving, while I — the one below — was simply holding presence. I wasn’t there as a first-time student or a spectator. I was the observer, the producer, the one with purpose.
That realization landed like truth: I am not here to scramble for answers or to prove myself endlessly. I am here to witness, to hold space, to release. My presence shapes the room, even in silence.
The Realization
The sequence of morning-dream → beach → evening meditation mapped a single lesson for me.
Morning: I receive the closed box, and I witness the auditorium scene.
Afternoon at the beach: I feel the weight of control and the old fear of being “off.”
Evening meditation: the box is opened (empty), and the seated figure reveals itself as me.
The message was direct: the emptiness isn’t failure. The witness is not powerless. I can release the need to force outcomes and still be held.
The Invitation
So here’s my offering, simple and direct:
If you trusted you were fully held, what would you stop torturing yourself about?
Would you stop performing for approval?
Would you stop scrambling to secure love from people who can’t even hold themselves? Would you finally release the project, the post, the truth that’s been waiting in your chest?
The box is empty because it doesn’t need to be filled by you.
Your only task is to open it, release what’s inside you, and trust that you are already held.
Music has always been my muse —
the unseen teacher, the companion in surrender.
This song found me in the ebb between fear and faith,
and carried me deeper into trust:
If any part of this touched something inside you, I’d love to know.
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From one healing soul to another,
Karen Di Gloria 🌟
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