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Hello Reader, Welcome to the conversation. There's a Hawaiian prayer that's been around for centuries. Its name alone tells you everything: Ho'oponopono. It means "to make right." The prayer has four phrases. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you. No elaborate ritual. No difficult conversation. Just four phrases spoken inward, to yourself, to the divine, to whatever you believe is listening. In the 1980s, a psychologist named Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len worked at a psychiatric facility in Hawaii, a ward considered beyond hope. He never treated a single patient directly. He just worked on himself, repeating the four phrases, clearing whatever stirred in him. The ward transformed. Patients improved. Staff stopped leaving. Nothing changed except one man's interior. From My Chair to YoursA professional development class I'm currently taking brought Ho'oponopono forward in a new way for me, and with it, a fifth phrase I hadn't encountered before. I forgive you. The original four turn inward. This one points outward, at a person, a situation, a loss. And the instruction was clear: do this work on yourself first, before you show up for someone else. Clear what you're carrying so your presence is actually present. I know something about that kind of clearing. A few years ago, I found myself in a work situation where I felt mistreated. I was certain the story I was telling myself was true, and maybe parts of it were. But I've learned something about myself over the years: I don't do subtle. I don't pay attention to whispers. I need a shout. That situation was a shout. It cracked me open to something I hadn't wanted to look at. And once I looked, really looked, I ended up on the other side of it grateful. Grateful for the people I felt had wronged me. Grateful for the feedback that stung. Because without it, I don't make the turn. That's what "I forgive you" does. Before you even have the words for it. The LensHere's what Ho'oponopono understands that most forgiveness frameworks miss. Forgiveness isn't absolution. It isn't saying what happened was acceptable, or that the other person deserves to be let off the hook. It isn't even about them. It's about what you're carrying into the room. When you walk toward someone in pain, or toward a hard conversation, a difficult relationship, a season of loss, you bring everything you haven't cleared. Your unfinished business. Your old resentments. The story you're still telling yourself. And that weight doesn't stay invisible. People feel it, even when nothing is said. The five phrases aren't a performance of virtue. They're a practice of self-clearing. Done privately, inwardly, before you arrive. Not so the other person receives your forgiveness, as they may never know. But so you do. I'm sorry for whatever I'm holding that keeps me from being fully here. This is where Reflection lives on the path from depletion toward fulfillment. Not as a rest stop. As a threshold. The place where you stop defending your version of events long enough to ask what this is actually here to teach you. Nothing outside you has to change first. Reflection
Until we see each other again, I hope you have a powerful day. -Joanna Joanna Douglas |
I've spent years helping others navigate the gap between achievement and aliveness and right now, I'm navigating it myself. This newsletter is where that happens in real time: honest writing about the messy middle, the questions worth sitting with, and what it looks like to let life lead when certainty takes a leave of absence. If you're somewhere between who you were and who you're becoming, pull up a chair. Oh, yeah - I am an ICF Certified Coach, a Certified Enneagram Professional, focus on leadership development with a customized path to Emotional Intelligence through the wisdom of the Enneagram and I created the Depletion to Fulfillment framework.
Hello Reader, Welcome to the conversation. I moved back to Georgia not long ago, after seven years in Texas, and it didn't take long to hear it again. Bless your heart. That same sing-song lilt from all the years I lived here before. For a second I just stood there, because I couldn't tell if it was kindness or if it was aimed at me. I've been noticing phrases like that lately. Not just the Southern ones. The everyday ones. "You're fine," said before I've even finished apologizing for...
Hello Reader, Welcome to the conversation. I was driving to work last week with a Spotify playlist on shuffle when Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days" came on. In the first verse, Bruce runs into an old friend from high school, a guy who used to be the star pitcher. They grab a drink at a bar, and all his friend can talk about is back then. The best part of his life already happened, and he's still sitting in it. It struck me as so sad. We all know someone like that. Sometimes they show up at...
Hello Reader, Welcome to the conversation. The band Dire Straits has a song called "The Bug," later covered by Mary Chapin Carpenter, built on an image most of us understand without explanation. Some days you're the windshield, moving fast, and whatever you hit barely registers. Other days you're the thing that gets flattened. For most of my life, I believed I could stay the windshield if I worked hard enough at it. Staying in control, appearing powerful, keeping the upper hand. It kept a lot...