Rocking the Boat
September 4, 2025 · 6 min read
When we walk the path of self-knowing, it naturally ripples outward—shaping how we know ourselves in relationship: with others, with the world, with the moments that ask us to speak up, reclaim our voice, set boundaries, dance freely, and care more about how we feel than how we appear.
A few conversations drift into my memory when I think of the phrase "rocking the boat." Almost every time, it comes tethered to fear: dread, resistance, doubt, the tug of rejection. For many, this act is colored as disruptive, unnecessary, threatening to the peace. "Why bother?" becomes the quiet mantra of the self-silencing.
Fast-forward through generations of inherited messages—"womxn should not," "men should not," "children should not," "in our family we always"—and the effect settles into our bodies: the hush of repression, the ache of disconnection, the quiet presence of anxiety, depression, thyroid imbalances, gut unrest. A vague feeling that something is off.
But with awareness comes responsibility. And in relationships, it only takes one person to wake up. Many of us held this awareness as children—sensitive, connected, sensing deeply—but without language or permission to express it. The issue was never our sensitivity; it was never our voice. The pain came from not knowing how to hold what we knew.
So now, as adults, we bring in our capacity to respond. Responsibility—not as burden, but as response + ability—our simple (and yes, sometimes difficult) capacity to respond to life, to our bodies, to injustice, to joy.
This includes how we relate to ourselves. Rocking the boat in our inner relationship means naming discomfort, learning how to support our nervous system when we feel dysregulated, questioning long-held beliefs, tapping into courage, and gently turning toward the parts of ourselves we were taught to silence. It means noticing when our mind is trying to script a version of who we should be, and instead making space to embody the nameless, free space of who we actually are.
Awareness is the start, but not the end. It's the opening of the door, not the journey itself. So we ask:
Are there places in my life where awareness alone hasn’t shifted much?
Do I “know” something but still feel stuck?
Am I open to the possibility that I have blind spots?
What small step has helped me move in the past?
If you let them, these questions can take up space. Let them. Breathe with them. You are exactly where you need to be right now. The younger parts of you don’t need fixing—they need care, presence, and kindness. That is something your adult self can offer.
Even if we’ve never met, I want you to know: I’m proud of you for showing up with your curiosity. Let your breath settle, and notice what this moment wants to show you. Listen gently.
For many clients I work with—especially those from immigrant or intergenerationally heavy backgrounds—"rocking the boat" often comes up as a side effect of healing. As self-acceptance grows and inherited patterns soften, a shift happens. And with the right support, that shift doesn’t have to feel like a storm—it can feel like grace.
In sessions, I often feel the pulse of change—small movements, subtle dances between tension and harmony. In one conversation, a quiet clarity arrived: Relationships are like boats. They are meant to move. To rock. They are vessels that want to serve us in this river called life. When we honor this, we allow the relationship to fulfill its purpose: a container for choiceful transformation.
No two relationships are the same. Each one carries its own life, its own rhythm. I feel a tender care to be stewards in supporting the alive essence within each relationship to feel actualized and utilized. And sometimes, honoring that rhythm means walking away. Sometimes it means leaning in. Sometimes it means staying curious even when things feel shaky.
It’s okay if your closest relationships feel rocky. It’s okay to speak honestly in spaces where trust exists. Rocking the boat doesn’t always mean rupture—it can mean deepening. It can mean discovering new shores together.
Of course, most of us weren’t taught how to relate in this way. We carry so many unspoken rules: friends must stay platonic, partners must meet all needs, don’t show emotion at work. But we get to question those rules. We get to create new templates.
One of the most transformative spaces for me has been group therapy—a kind of relational playground where we practice rupture and repair, honesty and care, listening and speaking up. We rehearse the risk of being real, and learn how much beauty can come from being met in our wholeness.
The invitation is to start small. Begin in spaces that feel warm, welcoming, neutral. Let yourself be seen. Let others see you. Try things out. Be surprised. Offer yourself to relationships that invite your whole self forward. Become a refuge for this relational way with yourself.
My wish, always, is to create intentional spaces rooted in radical inclusion—where all parts of you are welcome, where transformation is not demanded but invited, and where your boat can rock without capsizing.
If you recognized yourself in any of this, know you are not alone. You are worthy of relationships that hold and reflect you. If you want to explore this further with me, I’d love to hear from you.
Here’s to rocking the boat,
Daya