Taoism and Narcissistic Abuse: Be Like Water and Reclaim Your Inner Power

If you have experienced narcissistic abuse, you probably know how unnatural it feels. Words don’t match actions, the energy in the room feels tense and chaotic, and your intuition keeps whispering that something is off. It can slowly disconnect you from yourself and from what feels natural.

In this article, I explore Taoism and narcissistic abuse. I won’t try to turn anyone into a Taoist. Instead, I want to share how some Taoist ideas about being natural, not forcing, polarity, Yin and Yang, ego, and soft strength can support you when you’re dealing with narcissistic behaviour or recovering from it.

My own experience of growing up with a narcissistic father pushed me toward Eastern philosophy. I first became interested in Buddhism and, through that, discovered Taoism. The more I learned about these perspectives, the more I recognised something important: narcissistic energy felt like the complete opposite of everything the Tao points to. Where narcissistic behaviour is hard, controlling, and full of force, Taoism speaks about softness, spontaneity, and living in harmony with nature.

Sadly, many people experience the brutality of narcissistic abuse. These experiences can fill your life with doubt, fear, anxiety, shame, and confusion. At the same time, they can also push you toward an uncomfortable but important question: if this isn’t natural, what is? Who am I, underneath all the roles, fears, and expectations?

For me, Taoism became a gentle way to explore that question. It helped me shift attention away from the narcissist’s world and back to my own inner nature. I hope this article can do something similar for you.

Taoism in Short

Taoism (or Daoism) is a Chinese philosophy that points to something very simple and very hard to describe at the same time. The word “Tao” is often translated as “the Way”. It points to the underlying way life moves, the natural order of things, the way nature behaves.

The opening verse of the Tao Te Ching already gives a warning: “The Tao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Tao.” In other words, the moment we try to pin it down with words, we’ve already narrowed it. Still, we can point to it.

You could see the Tao as the idea of the universe as a living, interdependent whole. There’s no central controller. Everything is connected and arises together. A simple example that helped me is the relationship between bees and flowers. You can’t really separate them. Where there are flowers, there will be bees. Where there are bees, there will be flowers. They look like separate “things”, but they arise together. They’re part of one process.

Taoism revolves around this kind of natural spontaneity. The world is seen as the result of an ongoing movement of energy and matter, often called Qi. Practices like Tai Chi or Qigong try to help this energy flow smoothly through the body so you can move in harmony with life instead of against it.

Some basic ideas in Taoism are:

• Wu Wei: often translated as “non doing” or “not forcing”, which I’ll explore later.
• Naturalness and spontaneity: allowing things, including yourself, to be as they are.
• The Three Treasures: compassion, simplicity, and modesty.
• Polarity, Yin and Yang, and constant change: seeing how apparent opposites belong together.

When you read the Tao Te Ching, you’re invited into a kind of paradoxical thinking. Things can be different and still one. Soft can be stronger than hard. Not forcing can be more effective than pushing. For survivors of narcissistic abuse, who often lived in a world of control, ego, and constant tension, this can feel like a completely different universe.

When Life Feels Unnatural

My path toward Taoism started with a feeling that something was deeply unnatural in my home. I grew up with a narcissistic father. Around the age of twelve, I realised my father’s words never aligned with his actions. When we first discovered he was secretly cheating, I told him that if his behaviour didn’t change, I had no reason to trust his words. Nothing changed. He never apologised. He carried on, pretending everything was normal, while building another life on the side.

To the outside world we looked like a happy family. On the inside, the energy in the house was tense and strange. There was always a performance going on. My father felt like an actor who never took off his mask. He drained attention from everyone around him. There was manipulation, gaslighting, lying, silent treatment, and an unspoken rule that you weren’t allowed to name what you actually felt.

I felt this was unhealthy, but it was hard to accept the harshness of my own judgement. How do you admit to yourself that someone who’s supposed to protect you is harming you, especially when they act charming in public and deny everything in private?

To survive, I slowly detached. I became quiet, observant, and emotionally distant. Years later I learned this looks a lot like the grey rock method, where you make yourself emotionally “boring” to protect your energy from a narcissist. It wasn’t a conscious method in my case. It was something my nervous system did to protect me.

Growing older, I became scared of turning into my father. I used him as a negative example. I didn’t want to repeat the same patterns. That fear and pain pushed me onto a path of self reflection. I started reading about Buddhism and Taoism. I became very interested in ego, identity, expectations, attachment, and how the mind works.

Eastern philosophy became a kind of therapy for me. It helped me understand what I’d lived through. It helped me see the difference between natural energy and forced behaviour, between true self and performance. I began to believe more deeply in the strength of kindness, compassion, and harmony.

Narcissistic abuse can leave you with doubt, fear, anxiety, discomfort, and a lot of pain. It can also push you to ask deeper questions about who you are and what you want your life to be. In a strange way, a narcissist can force you to eventually develop yourself, work on self worth, and look for your true self. It doesn’t justify what happened, but it can be the only possible gift that follows from such an experience.

Being Natural Instead of Living a Role

One of the central messages of Taoism is living in a way that’s natural. That sounds simple, but in daily life it isn’t. Many of us are encouraged into a script. Go to school, work hard, build a career, buy a house, find a partner, start a family, achieve, perform, keep up appearances. You’re given a role and the world applauds when you perform that role well.

In that script, essential questions can remain buried. Who am I behind my identity or personality? What’s left when I drop the labels and roles? What’s my true self?

For me, narcissistic abuse made these questions more urgent. In a narcissistic dynamic, you’re often expected to play a very specific part: the admirer, the caretaker, the forgiving partner, the understanding child, the one who always comes back. Your own nature gets pushed aside to keep the peace or to keep access to small moments of love or attention.

From a Taoist perspective, this is very far from being natural. A narcissist doesn’t cultivate compassion, simplicity, or modesty. Their behaviour is full of force and control. It’s disproportionate, tense, and disconnected. In Taoist language, you could say their energy is fully disentangled from the natural way.

So what can you do with this?

You can start by gently asking yourself whether your relationships feel natural. Do you feel like yourself, or are you always acting a part? Does your connection with someone allow you to stay close to your own nature, or do you constantly adjust, shrink, or perform in order to be tolerated?

These questions apply to your relationship with yourself as well. Are you living in a way that feels aligned, or are you mostly living through expectations, fear, and comparison?

You don’t need to answer these questions perfectly. Just letting them exist already opens something.

Wu Wei: Not Forcing What’s Unnatural

A fundamental principle in Taoism is Wu Wei. It’s often translated as “non doing” or “not forcing”, but that can be misunderstood. Wu Wei doesn’t mean you sit still and let everything happen to you. It means you act in accordance with the pattern of things instead of fighting reality with constant effort.

Think about learning a musical instrument or a sport. At first, you practice the movements very consciously. You have to think about every step. Over time, if you keep practicing, something shifts. Your body remembers. You stop forcing every movement and start playing. There’s still action, but there’s less tension and control. You move with what you trained, not against it.

Taoism values this kind of natural action. Wu Wei means taking no unnatural action. It trusts that, when you’re aligned with your nature, something in you knows how to move. Spontaneity isn’t chaos. It’s what happens of itself, like your heartbeat. You don’t control your heartbeat by thinking about it. It happens because you’re alive.

Applied to narcissistic abuse, Wu Wei is a very important message. It does not mean you should let yourself be mistreated or stay in harm’s way. That wouldn’t be very natural. Your intuition knows when something’s unhealthy. Wu Wei points in the opposite direction. It invites you to stop forcing a situation that’s out of balance.

Many survivors use a lot of force on themselves in order to survive. They force themselves to be more patient, more forgiving, more understanding. They force themselves to ignore red flags and painful feelings. They force themselves to believe the narcissist’s version of events rather than their own. They force themselves to keep trying to “make it work” long after their body has started to collapse.

Wu Wei asks: what happens if you stop using that force?

Sometimes not forcing means you allow the truth you already feel inside to surface. You stop bending reality to fit the narcissist’s story. You stop carrying the responsibility for their behaviour. You accept that the relationship is unnatural and that no amount of effort from your side can make it healthy.

This kind of not forcing often leads to a hard but clear conclusion: you need distance. You need your own space. You may need to leave. That’s not passivity. That’s a very firm action that follows from honesty.

Be Like Water and the Grey Rock Method

Because Taoism’s so focused on naturalness, it often uses water as a metaphor. Water is soft and without fixed shape, yet it can wear away rock. You can’t grasp it or hit it and damage it. It flows around obstacles. It settles in low places. It seems weak, but over time it overcomes what looks much stronger.

There’s a verse in the Tao Te Ching that says:

“Nothing in the world is softer or weaker than water
Yet nothing is better at overcoming the hard and strong.
That the weak overcomes the strong
And the soft overcomes the hard
Everybody in the world knows
But cannot put into practice.”

This is repeated a lot in Taoist writings: be like water.

When I think about narcissistic abuse, this image feels very accurate. A narcissist often tries to “squeeze” another person. They want to control their love, empathy, time, attention, and energy. They tighten their grip through manipulation, guilt, confusion, and fear. Ironically, the tighter they squeeze, the more life drains out of the relationship. You can’t force real love. You can only perform it for a while.

If water’s squeezed too hard, it simply flows away between your fingers. In the same way, when a narcissist tries to own someone completely, they eventually lose the very connection they try to control. The victim often has to disconnect from themselves in order to stay. Their heart closes because there’s too much pressure.

The grey rock method has some overlap with this. In a grey rock phase, you try to make yourself emotionally neutral to the narcissist. You respond with simple, calm, uninteresting answers. You give as little emotional reaction as possible so you don’t feed their need for drama or control. You detach.

This can be a useful short term strategy when you can’t leave yet. It creates space for your independent mind. It protects your energy while you plan your next steps.

At the same time, it isn’t natural as a long term lifestyle. Being constantly detached and “grey” keeps you in the game, just on another setting. Your attention still circles around how to behave so the narcissist doesn’t react. You’re still bending yourself around their needs.

Taoism invites something deeper. It invites you to be like water in a fuller sense. That means being soft and gentle in your nature, but very clear about where you flow and where you don’t. Water doesn’t argue with a rock. It doesn’t plead with it. It simply finds another path.

When you combine the practical protection of grey rock with Taoist softness, a clear direction appears. You protect yourself in the short term, detach emotionally as much as you can, and use that space to prepare a firm move that supports your nature. Often, that move is walking away or going no contact when it becomes safely possible.

Polarity: When Opposites Belong Together

Another core idea in Taoism is polarity. In Western thinking, we often interpret opposites as enemies. Light versus dark, good versus bad, positive versus negative. One side is seen as desirable, the other as something to defeat or remove.

Taoism suggests something else. It says that many of the opposites we see are actually two sides of one movement. Light isn’t the enemy of darkness. You can’t have one without the other. Life doesn’t fight with death. They belong to the same cycle. Happiness and unhappiness aren’t separate rooms. They define each other.

If you removed unhappiness from the universe, happiness would lose all meaning. You’d have nothing to compare it to. The more you chase only the “positive” side of a polarity, the more frustrated you become, because you’re fighting half of reality.

This is important in the context of narcissistic abuse. Many survivors get stuck in a painful form of polarity. On one side there’s an idealised version of the relationship: the good days, the nice memories, the love bombing, the soft moments where the narcissist seemed present and warm. On the other side there’s the cruelty, the distance, the lies, the manipulation.

It’s very tempting to hold onto the “good side” and fight against the “bad side” in your mind. You might think, “If I can just fix this problem or become better in this way, we can go back to the good version.” You hold onto one pole and try to erase the other.

From a Taoist point of view, that doesn’t work. The good moments and the bad moments are part of one pattern. They belong together. They’re not two separate relationships. They’re one dynamic that includes both. When you see this more clearly, it becomes easier to stop chasing the “good half” as if it could exist on its own.

Polarity in Taoism invites you to let reality be whole. You don’t have to like what you see. But recognising that light and shadow come together in this person can help your mind step out of the fantasy of “only light”. That’s often a quiet turning point.

Yin and Yang: When the Narcissist and the Empath Lose Balance

The symbol most people associate with Taoism is the Yin Yang circle: a swirl of black and white, each with a small dot of the other inside it. It’s a simple picture of a profound idea.

The white side, Yang, is associated with activity, firmness, clarity, day, heat, and the visible world. The black side, Yin, is associated with softness, receptivity, night, coolness, and the subtle, unseen world. They’re not “good” and “bad”. They’re two aspects of one whole. Each side contains a seed of the other, which is why there’s a small circle of white in the black and a small circle of black in the white.

Nothing stays purely Yin or purely Yang. If activity reaches an extreme, it collapses into stillness. If stillness becomes too heavy, it flips into movement. The system’s always changing and seeking balance.

When you look at narcissistic behaviour through this lens, you can see how unbalanced it is. A narcissist is often stuck in a distorted version of Yang. There’s a heavy focus on the visible, on status, image, achievement, control, and winning. There’s little to no interest in the subtle inner world, in softness, vulnerability, or shared truth. The Yin side, with its gentleness and receptivity, is denied or even despised.

Because they cling to this distorted Yang, narcissists see the world as competition and comparison. There’s constant measuring: better, worse, higher, lower, superior, inferior. They can’t allow real unity in a relationship, because that would mean sharing space and letting another person’s reality exist next to their own. Any feedback or criticism feels like a threat to their entire self-image.

In this dynamic, the empathic person often gets pushed into an exaggerated Yin position. They become the one who listens, softens, adapts, forgives, understands, and stays in the shadows. Their natural gentleness is abused instead of appreciated. The more the narcissist demands space, the more the empath shrinks to fit around them.

You can see some common dualities in this pattern:

• The narcissist takes, the empath gives.
• The narcissist demands attention, the empath disappears into the background.
• The narcissist creates chaos, the empath tries to restore harmony.

From a Taoist point of view, this isn’t only unhealthy for the narcissist. It’s unhealthy for the empath as well. Both are out of balance. The narcissist is all hard, pushing Yang. The empath becomes mostly soft, overextended Yin. Together they form a dynamic where nobody’s truly themselves anymore.

Breaking free involves restoring this balance inside yourself. If you identify with the empathic side, that means you don’t have to throw away your softness. You don’t have to become cold or harsh to protect yourself. Instead, you let your natural Yin stay gentle, while you invite some healthy Yang back in to protect it.

That can look like:

• Feeling your feelings and also stating clear boundaries.
• Caring about others and also caring about yourself.
• Staying kind in your nature and also being firm when your limits are crossed.

Softness without any firm edge becomes self sacrifice. Hardness without softness becomes cruelty. Taoism invites you to be both gentle and firm at the same time. This is a powerful state.

Force and Softness: What Gung Fu Can Teach About Leaving

To go a bit deeper into the idea of soft strength, I like to look at how Bruce Lee talked about Taoism and gung fu. For him, gung fu wasn’t just fighting techniques. It was a way of understanding life and conflict.

He described the ideal mind in gung fu as one that’s free from rigid desires and fixed emotion. The key is harmony with the opponent’s movement, not fighting force with more force. If the opponent pushes, you don’t push back harder. You yield. You let their force extend itself until it becomes unbalanced. Then you move.

This mirrors the Yin Yang idea. When Yang goes to an extreme, it flips into Yin. When someone overextends, they create an opening. You don’t create that opening by wrestling them head on. You allow it to happen by not meeting force with an equal and opposite force.

Applied to narcissistic abuse, this has a very practical side. If you try to confront a narcissist directly in their own game, with the same weapons, you usually end up exhausted and more entangled than before. They’re used to manipulation, twisting words, changing the story, and attacking the person instead of the problem. When you go into a battle of ego with them, you’re pulled out of your own nature. Your mind becomes as reactive as theirs.

Nonresistance in a Taoist sense doesn’t mean you let them keep harming you. It means you stop feeding the power struggle. Instead of trying to “win” against them, you use your energy to step out of the game altogether. You become less available as a target. You stop explaining yourself over and over. You stop defending your worth in a place where it’ll never be recognised.

That’s where the grey rock method and Taoist softness can work together. You might still need to live with or see the narcissist for a while. During that time, you can practice being less reactive, less emotionally open to them, and more conscious of your own truth. You reduce the supply they get from you. While they’re busy chasing validation elsewhere, you quietly gather information, build support, and prepare a firm move.

In many situations, that move is going no contact or significantly limiting contact. It’s a clear, Yang decision that protects your natural Yin. It’s not done from revenge, but from respect for your own life.

It’s important to say this clearly: when there’s physical danger, you do whatever’s needed to protect yourself and seek help. Philosophy isn’t a replacement for safety. The Taoist idea of nonresistance applies to emotional battles, not to situations where your body’s at risk.

Excessive Personal Importance and the Hungry Ego

Taoism also has a lot to say about ego and personal importance. There’s a verse in the Tao Te Ching that describes people who show off, brag, or constantly seek recognition as having a kind of “tumour” in the body of the world. It sounds harsh, but the message is simple: when you need to be the most important person in every room, your energy becomes distorted.

Lao Tzu encourages letting go of excessive personal importance. He warns that boasting and self righteousness don’t bring real respect. The more you try to make yourself special at the expense of others, the more you move away from the Tao.

A simple image here is the sun. The sun gives warmth and light without asking for applause. It doesn’t say, “You owe me” to the earth. It shines because shining is its nature, not because it needs validation. This is a Taoist picture of healthy giving.

Narcissistic energy acts like a strange version of the sun. It wants to be seen as the source of all light and warmth, but it also wants constant praise for it. It doesn’t shine for everyone. It shines selectively for those who admire it the most, and it demands loyalty, attention, and worship in return. Love becomes conditional. Warmth is used as a reward and taken away as punishment.

The answer in Taoism isn’t to stop giving altogether. It’s to stop giving from ego. When you consciously practice gratitude and a sense of shared existence, the grip of personal importance softens. You’re still allowed to feel proud of your efforts or happy about your gifts. You just don’t build your entire identity on them.

For survivors of narcissistic abuse, this is a sensitive topic. Many empaths are natural givers. They enjoy caring for others and often feel uncomfortable receiving. Taoism values giving, but it doesn’t say you should let yourself be used. Being a giver doesn’t mean you have to accept manipulation, disrespect, or abuse.

In fact, Taoism would say that giving while abandoning your own nature isn’t real giving. It’s self betrayal. True giving is natural and joyful. It doesn’t cost you your soul.

So one of the most important shifts after narcissistic abuse is to turn this giving energy inward first. You learn to give yourself compassion, kindness, and love. You protect your boundaries so your gentle nature can exist safely. When your inner state is more stable, your giving becomes healthier as well. It flows out of fullness, not out of a desperate need to prove your worth.

Favor, Disgrace, and the Dependent Mind

Another verse in the Tao Te Ching talks about “favor and disgrace” and how both can make us fearful. The idea’s simple: when your sense of self depends on other people’s approval, you suffer whether you receive that approval or not. If you have it, you fear losing it. If you don’t have it, you chase it.

Taoism calls this “the greatest misfortune”: building your entire life around a small self that needs constant confirmation from outside. If you could live from a deeper sense of self, the verse suggests, this fear would lose much of its power.

This is a very clear description of narcissistic energy. A narcissist is extremely afraid of disgrace, criticism, or humiliation. They may act arrogant or superior, but underneath there’s a fragile dependence on praise. Their identity leans on the outside world like a house on stilts. Any sign of disapproval feels like an attack on their entire existence.

Because of this, narcissists spend a lot of energy managing their image. They collect status symbols, achievements, admirers, or victims. They rewrite history, twist conversations, and project their own faults onto others. All of this effort is driven by a dependent mind. Their sense of worth depends on what other people think or say.

From a Taoist point of view, this is the opposite of living in harmony with the Way. The independent mind doesn’t mean you stop caring about people or withdraw from the world. It means your core sense of self isn’t held hostage by external opinion.

Survivors of narcissistic abuse can develop a dependent mind as well. Sometimes this started in childhood, even before a romantic relationship. You might find your mood and sense of worth shifting up and down based on someone else’s reaction. A compliment makes you feel suddenly okay. A cold look, a silent treatment, or a critical comment makes you collapse inside.

A narcissist feeds this dependent mind. At first they might shower you with attention and appreciation. Your nervous system learns to associate their approval with safety and value. Later, when they pull away or turn cold, you feel empty and desperate. Your mind starts working overtime to get the “favor” back. This dynamic can be very addictive.

From a Taoist perspective, healing involves strengthening your independent mind again. You slowly turn your attention back to your own truth and your own experience. You remember that your value doesn’t rise and fall with someone’s mood. You allow yourself to feel your pain without interpreting it as proof that you’re worthless.

Lao Tzu has a famous quote that fits here: “Care about what other people think and you will always be their prisoner.” It doesn’t mean you should never listen to feedback. It means that when your entire sense of self rests on others’ opinion, you’re not free.

Realising Your True Self

So what’s this “independent mind” in practice? Taoism points to a deeper self that exists underneath all the labels, thoughts, roles, and stories. It’s sometimes described as your true nature. You could also call it simple being.

The true self knows there’s no job title, degree, relationship status, or spiritual label that can fully define who you are. Those things can be part of your life, but they’re not your essence. Your essence is present even when you lose them. It’s present when you sit alone in a quiet room. It’s present when you laugh with a friend. It’s present when you feel pain, shame, or fear.

In the process of healing after narcissistic abuse, this can feel like a very distant idea. Your mind may be full of doubts, self criticism, shame, anger, and fear. It might be hard to imagine that underneath all that, there’s something steady and peaceful.

But this is exactly what many Eastern practices try to help you experience, even for a moment. When you meditate, breathe consciously, or sit in mindful silence, you’re not trying to become someone else. You’re making space to notice what’s always been there but has been covered by noise.

Your thoughts may still spin. Your emotions may still feel intense. That’s okay. You don’t have to force them away. You can simply practice being aware of them without treating them as the full truth of who you are.

From a Taoist point of view, you move from a life driven by ego and dependent mind to a life guided a little more by your inner nature. That nature isn’t perfect or impressive. It’s simple. It’s natural. It doesn’t need a spotlight. It just needs a chance to breathe.

Gentle Tao Inspired Practices in Daily Life

You don’t have to become an expert in Taoist texts to let some of this wisdom support you. Small, simple practices can already shift something inside. The goal isn’t to become a perfect spiritual person. The goal is to slowly move your attention from the narcissist’s world back to your own.

One way to do this is to notice where you’re still forcing. Are there relationships or situations where you keep pushing yourself to fit in, even though your body feels tense and your intuition says no? Are you forcing yourself to forgive before you’re ready, just to keep someone else comfortable? Are you forcing yourself to ignore red flags because you’re afraid of being alone?

You can gently ask yourself: what would be the more natural movement here? Not the easiest, not the least painful in the short term, but the one that aligns with your deeper self.

Another practice is to consciously honour both your Yin and your Yang. You can take small moments in your day to be soft, quiet, and receptive. This could be a few minutes of sitting in silence, feeling your breath. It could be walking in nature without your phone. It could be listening to calming music or placing a hand on your chest when you feel overwhelmed.

At other times, you can practice your healthy Yang. That’s the part of you that sets boundaries, says no, makes a clear decision, or asks for help. It’s the part that turns thoughts like “I deserve respect” into actions, even if they’re small at first.

You can also experiment with gratitude in a Taoist sense. Not as forced positivity, but as a daily shift of attention. Narcissistic abuse trains your mind to scan for danger. Gratitude invites the mind to also notice what’s still supporting you: a kind friend, a warm shower, a quiet evening, a moment of clarity, a step you took for yourself. You don’t deny pain. You simply allow your awareness to see more than pain.

Practices like meditation, mindfulness, and conscious breathing can help with all of this. They’re different in form but share a similar goal: less mental noise, more presence, and a clearer sense of what’s going on inside you right now.

Gentle Closing Thoughts

Taoism doesn’t offer a step by step recovery plan. It doesn’t promise that if you follow certain rules, everything will be fine. What it offers is a different way of looking at life and at yourself.

After narcissistic abuse, it’s very easy to stay stuck in analysing the narcissist. Why did they do what they did? Do they know? Will they ever change? Some understanding of their patterns can be helpful, but at a certain point it becomes another way of staying in their world.

Taoism invites you to slowly step out of that world. It invites you to notice where things feel forced and where they feel natural. It reminds you that softness isn’t weakness, that being like water can be stronger than being like stone. It shows you how imbalance in Yin and Yang creates suffering, and how recovering your own balance can change your life from the inside out.

You don’t have to grasp all these ideas at once. You don’t have to become perfectly “Taoist”. You can simply take what resonates and leave the rest.

Maybe that’s one question you can carry with you after reading this: “What would be the more natural step for me right now?” Not in five years. Not in the perfect version of your life. Just now.

It might be setting a boundary. It might be resting. It might be saying the truth out loud to yourself for the first time. It might be reaching out for support. It might be placing your hand on your heart and admitting, “This hurts, and I still deserve kindness.”

You’re not meant to live in a constant state of chaos, doubt, and force. There’s a part of you that knows what natural feels like. Even if it’s quiet right now, it’s still there.