the hero & the bitch

As a child, I was the architect of an exquisite and impenetrable fortress. Despite my best efforts, I could not build it around my exterior, and so I went in and many layers deep. I built a panic room in a coal mine, and I spent decades there. 

I've always considered myself a kind and gentle person. I shy away from confrontation and conflict. I'm empathetic, and often overly so, at the expense of my own feelings. 

But when I am hurt, when my boundaries have been crossed, or when I perceive someone to be a whole lotta talk with little to no action, I shut it down. 

When I'm done, I'm done. 

“I am a planet of love with a hair-trigger drawbridge that closes without much warning.”

— Danielle LaPorte

This tendency to show up in relationships, my smudged face peering out suspiciously from within the safety of my subterranean shelter, has often meant their failure. I didn't speak to my dad for 20 years. My best friend and I didn't speak for five. Stonewalling has contributed to the death of several romances, including that with my daughter's father. Often I fear that stonewalling will be the thing to kill my relationship with my daughter, too. 

I seem so cold, so unfeeling, so insensitive and cruel.

Really, I'm just too damn sensitive. 

It's taken me 30 years to learn how to soften into feeling instead of sequestering myself from it. And it's taken me a few more years to learn that being soft and open still does not mean I have to take any shit. 

Recently, in her blog post three things great leaders get about change, alicia talked about the difference between power and leadership. "leadership is what they say yes to. power is what they say no to [...] masterful implementation of change, the exquisite blending of yes and no, is how potential is achieved." 

I think there's a misconception in all this new conversation about wholeheartedness and vulnerability, and even in the "New Age" appropriation of concepts like manifestation and gratitude and love, that we are supposed to say yes to everything. To that I say, no. Just, no. 

Our potential is in our yes. But our power is in our no. 

My worthiness superhero is the one who says "yes." She leans in, she hangs on and asks "Is this fear, or is this intuition?" Asked on a date? Ok, sure. Feeling scared to share a thought or feeling? Go ahead, it's ok. Having a tender day where my heart feels as though perched upon an open window-sill? Get on your mat, take a bath, have a good cry. It's all so brutiful, isn't it? 

My gatekeeper is the one who says "no." She is the power broker, the bitch. No, that didn't feel ok. No, I will not be spoken to that way. No, this isn't what we want. 

She is tough. And she scares me sometimes. I worry that she is too rough, too cold, too judgmental, too reactive. I worry that she leads with fear, not love. 

But the truth is, her love is in her fierce and unwavering loyalty. Like a CFO or Secret Service agent, her only concern is keeping me safe, getting me where I want to go, and protecting our bottom line. The more she says "no," the more more opportunities my hero has to say "yes." 

It is a symbiotic relationship, one that has drawn me out from the depths of myself. And as surprised as I was to discover the existence of my co-conspirators — the hero & the bitch — I was more surprised to discover what it is that they have in common:

They are both bravely facing forward, out towards the world, leading with love.

Every hero needs a sidekick, a little badass yang to the open-hearted yin. 

meet stan gardner

Stan is a character that I've written for and about for many years. Recently it occurred to me that Stan is my Worthiness Superhero. I have instinctively set her in motion when I need to figure something out, when I need to face something that is far too scary for plain old me to face. Stan is capable of far more than I am, on my own. 

Stan is cooler than I am. She's stronger, and she is way, way more adventurous.  

I've come to know that I can count on her to get up.

When she's knocked down, when life seems like more than one soul can take, Stan gets up.
That's a hell of a superpower to depend on.

This site is an exploration of the basic idea of creating a Worthiness Superhero. We see a worthiness superhero as a tool in what author Brené Brown calls shame resilience.

‘We’ are Alicia Johnson and Shannon Gallagher.

I am Alicia. I created Stan.
Shannon is a personal change agent. (She's shared more about herself in I Need a Hero.)

Shannon and I have worked together in a number of ways over the years, and the very funny part of this site is that both of us are total scaredy pants about being seen.

So we agreed to lean into Stan’s chutzpah and step out into the light — and to make something that we believe has value for ourselves and for others. 

This is Worthiness Superheroes (or as we affectionately call it, WHOOSH!). As so many do, the idea for this came into being of it’s own accord, springing itself on us rather fully formed as a site, a practice, a speaker series; a platform that sheds light on paths out of shame.

Here’s how we intend to use this site: Shannon believes that calling on your own worthiness superpowers is critical to manifesting positive change in your life. She will use the site, and facilitating the development of worthiness superheroes, as part of her change practice. You can read more about that, too, in I Need a Hero.

I am finishing a digital novel, POSITANO: WITH EYES OPEN, that sets Stan out ahead of me once again. I'll use WHOOSH! to connect with people about shame and worthiness and the unique value of having a worthiness superhero. My sense is that the people who will love the story will have an affinity with the notion of a worthiness superhero, and will have done work of their own in the whole shame area (imagine my hands up and birdlike as i say “shame area”).

As I work on this note, though, I also sense that this could be a great place for writers to introduce characters. A place to poke at what their characters mean to them. Stan came barreling into my life a decade ago and every day I’m so crazy glad she did.

We hope that if you found this site you'll share your own Worthiness Superhero, and join us in lighting the way.

I keep thinking to myself “how cool is this?” We are calling on our highest selves to make something happen that we believe in. For me, even though I think it‘s cool, it scares the bejeezus out of me. And then in that endless internal back and forth, I think, “Why not, what's the worst that could happen?” Maybe I'll tumble and fall, crash and burn, fall flat on my face, or flat on my ass... and I settle on this: I’ll be OK. I've learned from a superhero about the art of getting up.

— aj