Perceived Limitations: Releasing the Roles, Receiving the Person

Author: Bianca Moeschinger

June 2025

I have a perceived idea about myself—how smart I think I am, what I know, and what I believe to be true. Let’s call it my perceived level of intelligence. It’s not just a passing thought—it’s intertwined with my identity, with how I measure myself and how I locate myself in the world. And I know I’m not alone in this. We all carry a version of ourselves built from what we’ve studied, lived through, survived, and felt. Some carry it with conscious reverence, others unconsciously live by it.

Because of my commitment to a life of self-realisation—through years of therapy, teaching, guiding, and writing training programs—I hold myself to a deeply personal standard of awareness. This is my compass. My offering. It’s sacred to me. And from that space, I believed I was always listening, always present. Especially in my work. With clients, I create deep spaces of receptivity. I listen not just to words but to breath, silence, tone, and feeling. I reflect. I receive. I respond with care.

But something was missing in my personal life. I started to notice that, with my partner and my family, I wasn’t listening in the same way. I thought I was, but in truth—I was gently filtering their words through a quiet belief that they might not fully understand where I was coming from. That perhaps their insights wouldn’t meet me where I was. That they hadn’t travelled the same inner landscapes I had, and so maybe I unconsciously assumed they had less to offer me in those moments. And yet, they continually show up with presence, care, and wisdom in their own way. This realisation softened something in me—it opened the door to hear them differently.

And whether or not that perception was accurate—that’s not the real point. The deeper truth was that I had closed a door. I had silently withheld the chance for connection. I had placed a barrier between myself and the ones I love most. And in doing so, I’d missed the real gift—the dialogue, the chemistry, the energy that only emerges when two people truly meet, open, and respond to each other.

When I finally named this aloud to my partner—that I had, at times, perceived him as less conscious—he didn’t shut down. He didn’t defend. He opened. He softened. He leaned in. And in that moment, I saw him not just as the man I thought I knew, but as someone alive with insight and value, someone capable of rising when invited into true connection. It changed something between us. A richer intimacy unfolded. One that had always been possible, but was waiting for me to let go.

This has led me to reflect more deeply on discernment. How do we choose what to take in, what to allow to shape us? How do we filter without shutting down? There’s a paradox in needing strong internal boundaries while also remaining porous and curious.

And it’s made me question something else: do I reserve deep listening only for those I’ve categorised as worthy of it? Do I assume value based on external markers—training, education, language—or do I let people surprise me?

Just because someone hasn’t walked your path doesn’t mean they’re not holding keys to something you can’t yet see. Sometimes the most profound insights come from the unexpected. And sometimes, love asks us to meet another not with hierarchy, but with humility.

The truth is, no matter how conscious we think we are, there is always another layer—of awareness, of humility, of connection—waiting to be discovered. Not through effort or knowing, but through surrender. Through the willingness to release our stories, our superiority, and our certainty, and simply meet what’s right in front of us.

This is the work. Not just the work I teach or guide—but the work I am still doing. In partnership. In family. In life. Letting go of my perceived limitations… and opening to the immense value that others offer me every day.

Because even when I think I know, or have gone further, or seen more—life continues to surprise me. The wisdom of those I love doesn’t need to sound like mine to hold truth. And the next level of intimacy, growth, or understanding is often waiting right there—in the person beside me—if only I’m willing to let them in.

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