Alchemizing Resistance

And What's Possible When You Do

Red wire hanger attached to a tree trunk.

There are two kinds of resistance I see again and again with my clients.

The first kind is almost gentle—like overwhelm. It’s the body whispering: Do you realize what you’re stepping into? It’s the awareness of the sheer scale of a dream, the enormity of saying yes to a desire with your whole being. This one can be softened, breathed through, steadied with presence and a healthy inner dialogue.

But then there’s the other kind. The kind that doesn’t whisper at all. It slams the brakes just as you’re about to hit momentum. It throws smoke in the road. It spins you in circles until you forget where you were headed.

This second kind is where the real battle is.
And also—the real liberation.

So here’s the question: How do you meet your resistance?
Do you fight it? Bargain with it? Collapse under it?

For me, the only way through is to give it shape. To wrestle with it in language, humor, reverence, and patience. Poetry has become my companion here—it's the way I can both curse and bow to the journey.

So I offer you my own clenched-fist, humbled-heart wrestle. Not as a polished map, but as a living practice. In the hope that it invites you into compassion—for the part of you that resists because it’s terrified, and the part of you that still dares to keep going anyway.

Resistance

My constricted heart—
my inarticulateness,
newfound,
relentless.

Swimming—
in molasses.
Sticky,
arms fighting,
lungs tight,
mind thick.

Pulling,
dragging—
the subconscious
into light.

Resistance—
sopping wet,
immeasurably heavy,
like the buzkashi ball—
slammed,
hauled,
nearly impossible.

A gear grinding,
teeth catching,
motion that won’t move.

Feet glued to the floor,
each step
stretching tar.

Edges splinter,
catching skin,
tearing as I push through.

Breath snags—
short,
shallow,
stalled.

Muscles burning.
Slow.
Steady.
Burning.
Stopped.

The bridge

I walk my resistance,
step it out on heavy legs.
I dance my resistance,
hips pouring into circles,
feet pounding,
still—
it clings,
it clenches.

I sing to my resistance,
voice cracking,
humming into the ache—
yet it stays,
thick and unmoving,
jammed up,
reluctant
in my chest.

I try to charm it.
I try to shake it loose.
I burn sage,
I howl,
I pray,
I drum—
still the knot
doesn’t untie,
still the river dammed.

I wonder if distraction will help.
I try to ignore it.
I turn my back—
but my eyes drift to the corner,
to the place it waits,
unyielding,
unyielded,
and I can’t escape it.

I bargain with it.
I try to feed it—
fiber,
hoping it will finally move
through my system.

An espresso-rubbed burger,
a sacrifice laid down
at the altar of my flesh and blood.

Still it chews slow,
swallows nothing,
stares back,
unmoved.

So I soften.
I stop fighting.
I bow my head,
open my palms,
and surrender—
to its weight,
to its will,
to the waiting.