An Acceptable Risk
A story about coming into the light before I was ready—and what it taught me about healing, presence, and acceptable risk. May something come together in you, too.
However you receive these words—by reading or listening to my voice—may they help you meet the light in your own time.
The words “You got this” keep echoing in my head before my dental surgery... It’s a little risky.
Life is risky the moment we start to grow in our mother’s womb. It's dark inside—and it can be scary.
We get used to the dark, soothed by the warmth that surrounds us. But just as we settle in, something—or someone—pushes us out of our comfort zone, and we resist.
And then—we see the light. It’s almost too bright. Our first trauma.
For some, it comes before we’re ready. For me, it came in the middle of my seventh month. I knew I was preterm, but I didn’t think much about how I carried that trauma into my life.
No fancy incubators back then. My birth was right on the borderline of being too risky or acceptable—somehow God knew when it was time.
Maybe that’s why I’ve always needed time to catch up to the light. I came early, but I stayed. I’ve been learning ever since—and helping others learn that healing takes its own time.
Still, it’s been a catch-up game, whether in school, my health, or with life. Just when I catch up, it seems like there’s another challenge. I‘ve often felt like I have to work harder than other people—and I didn't understand why.
Now I know why I like to take my time—and appreciate every precious moment. That’s something hard to learn—but not impossible.
We sometimes look for big changes—the ones that are easy to measure—but we often miss the little ones that can be even more important.
It’s like worrying about how the game will end without noticing what’s happening that’s helping us get there. The outcome doesn’t teach us what to do next or lead to success if we lose ourselves along the way.
We also miss it when we do too much and don't trust others to find their own light. That can lead to kids—and the adults they become—to believe they’re not allowed to have their own emotions or thoughts—and eventually to stop trying.
I know the light is healing, but I can’t make people see it before they’re ready.
All I know is this: I may not have been fully baked, but no one can take away my power—nor yours.
Lately, it feels like every day is another wake-up call—an unacceptable reality. Let those who are hurting and scared know you care—the most acceptable risk of all.
Don’t crawl back inside to hide. That’s not who we are—or who we were meant to be.
The light of invisibility shows us our resilience and the growth that comes from our healing.
The light that once startled us is still here—waiting, steady, forgiving. We can meet it again, this time on our own terms—an acceptable risk.
It’s simple to say—not so easy to do. Like putting together a puzzle, sometimes it takes a while to see the big picture. You just have to trust the light inside.
Don't fear the unknown. Take it on with head, heart, body—and soul. You’re fighting for your life. After a while, it will get a lot less scary—and you’ll see the light that has always been there.
The wounded parts that learned to hide in the past to survive will know that they’re home now. They live in your heart where they’ve always been, with their Core Self leading the way—the person you were always meant to be.
Even when the day comes and the darkness calls our name, we may feel afraid. But the light of invisibility will meet us there—and it will welcome us home again.
Waking up to the light inside and around me, the fear is fading.
Like my life, this surgery, and a lot of other things we face in life, will be another acceptable risk—one we keep learning from together, even the day after.
Let the light of your own voice rise to the occasion. You got this. We all got this.
Our humanity depends on it.
Gratitude: In appreciation of those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine.
Confidentiality note: Any resemblance to your own life is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the shared fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.
Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.