The not so uncommon receiving blocks

The first time someone told me I was beautiful, I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because I didn’t know how to receive it.

When someone said I was glowing, I laughed it off.

Blamed the lighting.

The angle.

Anything but myself.

When clients said I was brilliant, I redirected it.

“It’s your work.”

“Your readiness.”

“Your receiving.”

I remember one day my therapist admired my artwork.

I listed everything that was wrong with it.

The lines.

The balance.

What I should have done better.

He listened quietly.

Then asked, softly,

“Why do you hate yourself so much?”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Not because there was no answer.

Because the answer had lived so long in silence, it had never learned words.

For years, I had given.

Given love. Given time. Given energy.

But receiving? That felt foreign. Unsafe.

I flinched at kindness.

I hesitated at compliments.

I questioned whether love or support was truly meant for me.

It took years of quiet, patient practice to cross that bridge.

To learn that receiving is not betrayal.

That receiving is not selfish.

That receiving is, quietly, an act of self-love.

The first time I truly received a compliment, I felt something open inside me.

A soft, unhurried warmth.

A reminder that the world could hold me as I am.

And in that opening, I realized I could sit with the resistance of others too.

Not to fix. Not to teach.

Just to witness.

To hold the quiet ache of not knowing how to receive—and slowly, gently, help them meet it.

If you feel that quiet tug—the hesitancy, the old disbelief that you deserve kindness—you are not alone.

I am here.

And sometimes, that is all we need to begin.