A Window of Opportunity

Ever found yourself questioning what’s happening while everyone else seems completely on board? I remember watching a hyped-up Broadway show once, and by the end, the audience erupted into a standing ovation. People were on their feet, clapping, cheering—completely enthralled. So, I stood too, clapping along, even though, if I’m honest, I thought it was…well, crap.

Why did I join in? Why didn’t I just sit there, quietly sticking to my opinion? Because it felt easier to conform, to avoid the awkwardness of being the lone dissenter. And isn’t that just human nature? We’re wired to fit in, to go with the flow, even if it means betraying our own feelings in the process.

This memory came rushing back as I’ve been reflecting on my current experience in a year-long breathwork program. There’s so much to learn, much of it fascinating and meaningful. But then, there’s a part that just doesn’t sit right with me. While everyone else in the group seems fully on board—ooohing and aaahing at each new revelation—I find myself silently questioning. Am I missing something? Am I in the same room as them?

The discomfort isn’t new. I’ve been in rooms before where everyone else seems to be having a life-altering epiphany, a "road to Damascus" moment, while I sit there thinking, “This doesn’t add up.” It’s like watching that Broadway show all over again, wondering if the emperor is actually wearing any clothes while everyone else marvels at his invisible garments.

So why do I hesitate to speak up? Why do I hold back my questions, even when something feels off?

The Fear of Questioning

Why is it so hard to say, “I don’t think this adds up”?  Why does questioning feel like an act of defiance, as if by raising a concern, I’m betraying the group or the programme?  There’s a part of me that fears being the one who raises their head, only to have it metaphorically shot at.

Recently, I listened to an episode of The Diary of a CEO podcast, where Steven Bartlett interviewed Dr. Martha Beck, life coach to Oprah Winfrey.  Beck had some powerful insights that felt eerily relevant.  According to her, much of our suffering comes from people-pleasing — staying silent in relationships, tolerating bad habits, or suppressing our doubts because we’re afraid of being unpopular or causing conflict. She suggests that the cure for unhappiness lies in living with integrity.

Integrity: The Cure for Unhappiness?

Beck defines integrity not as honesty (though that’s part of it) but as wholeness. To live in integrity is to be true to your core self.  She argues that unhappiness arises when we split into two: the person we truly are and the person we think we should be to please others.  That divide—between truth and pretence — is what causes our psychological suffering.

“To be in integrity”, she says, is to listen to our internal signals and honour them.  It means recognizing what we yearn for, as opposed to what society or culture tells us we should want.  When we stray from this alignment, we lose our sense of self, and along with it, our happiness.

The Price of Staying Silent

Here’s where it gets tricky.  If I think something is off, and I don’t call it out, am I living in alignment?  If I bite my tongue and play along, am I abandoning my integrity? Beck suggests that when we stop living in alignment with our truth, we experience stress — both psychological and physical.

Research backs this up. Studies have found that lying, even small lies, creates measurable stress on the brain and body.  Our minds struggle to hold two competing realities: the one we sense and the one we fabricate.  This duality taxes our physiology, leading to headaches, poor health, and strained relationships.

In one study, participants were asked to reduce their lying.  Even without strict enforcement, those who told fewer lies reported fewer doctor visits, improved relationships, and even fewer headaches.  It’s a stark reminder: staying true to ourselves is not just good for the soul — it’s good for the body too.

So, where does that leave me?  If I don’t raise my concerns about the programme, I risk feeling misaligned and unwell. But speaking up isn’t just about venting frustrations; it’s about giving thoughtful, constructive feedback. Beck emphasizes that honesty doesn’t mean brutality.  It means finding a way to express your truth in a way that fosters understanding and growth.

Just writing this has given me clarity.  I’ve decided to reach out to someone in the programme and voice my concerns — not aggressively, not accusatorily, but openly and curiously. Why am I doubting?  Why do I feel disconnected from what others seem to embrace so fully? Maybe there’s a lesson here I’m missing.  Maybe I’m blocking myself from seeing something deeper.

What I’ve learned from Beck — and from this process of reflection — is that integrity isn’t always easy.  It’s not about avoiding conflict or going along with the crowd.  It’s about staying whole, staying true, and being willing to explore uncomfortable truths.

So, I’ll have that conversation.  Because if I don’t, I’m not just being untrue to myself—I’m being untrue to the programme and its potential.  And as Shakespeare wrote  “Above all, to thine own self be true” And who knows?  Maybe speaking my truth will open a window I didn’t even know was there.