Reader,

​

Last week in supervision, someone said:

And my gut response was:
​Fuck that.
​
​Because how can we be grounded all the time when the world is on fire?
When we’re witnessing genocide, injustice, collapse... and still expected to “regulate,” to “self-soothe,” to “model calm”?

Let’s name what’s really happening here:
We’ve internalized professional standards that demand emotional neutrality in the face of collective suffering.
We’ve mistaken containment for care.​
We’ve confused stability with suppression.

And it’s not our fault.

The real culprit?
A mental health field built on colonial ideals of professionalism—detached, stoic, “objective.”
A capitalist system that values productivity over presence.
And training programs that told us to be safe containers for others while never offering us a safe container ourselves.

So we try to perform the impossible: to stay grounded, wise, and measured while our nervous systems are screaming that something is profoundly wrong.

We were never meant to do this alone.
We were never meant to hold the world’s grief while pretending it doesn’t touch us.

What if, instead of forcing ourselves into professional composure,
we offered ourselves compassion?
What if we modeled humanness instead of groundedness?
What if we said to our clients,
“I’m feeling this too. And I’m still here, with you.”

That’s not losing professionalism—that’s reclaiming authenticity as part of healing.
That’s what liberatory practice looks like in a burning world: showing up, trembling, honest, and committed to collective care rather than polished performance.

It’s not your fault that you feel like you’re failing at “groundedness.”
​The system asked you to be superhuman in an inhumane world.
​The invitation is to remember: healing isn’t about functioning in a dysfunctional world—it’s about learning how to feel alive within it.

📝 Reflection prompts

• Where have I internalized professional standards that disconnect me from my own humanity?
• What would it look like to model compassion instead of composure?
• How might authenticity, not groundedness, serve as my anchor in session this week?

​

🌿 Before you go…

What I share here — the naming, questioning, and truth-telling — is part of my own practice of unlearning.
But it’s only one layer.

Beneath it lives a quieter current: the vulnerable stories that don’t fit neatly into public spaces.
The moments of grief, tenderness, and becoming that shape how I show up for this work.

I want to start sharing those deeper reflections, the behind-the-scenes heartwork of decolonizing therapy, healing, identity, and self, in a more intentional space:
​a paid version of this newsletter called:
✨ The Practice of Liberation.

It’s for those who want to walk with me through the ongoing, imperfect, and beautiful practice of decolonizing everything — because everything is connected to how we show up in our work.

This space will be slower. More spacious.
A place for what needs care, nuance, and time — not quick takes.

If you’ve found resonance in these letters — if they’ve helped you name something, breathe a little deeper, or remember why you do this work — I’d love for you to be part of what’s next.

Because sustaining liberatory practice means resourcing it.
And decolonizing our work also means tending to the spaces that make collective truth-telling possible.

👉🏽 Join the waitlist for The Practice of Liberation.

We’ll move slowly.
We’ll go deeper.
And we’ll keep practicing liberation together — not as an idea, but as a way of being.

​

With warmth and resolve,

​

Silvana @ Decolonize Your Practice

​

PS. If this is the kind of reflection you want to keep returning to—the kind that asks us to slow down, question, unlearn, and rebuild—join The Practice of Liberation.​
It’s where I share what doesn’t fit in social media posts: the messy, vulnerable, resourced work of living liberation as therapists and healers.
​Join the waitlist to be the first to know when it opens.

PPS. You can read previous Liberatory Letters here.

​

​​​​

⬆️ Let's connect!