You think you know yourself, you think you have it sorted out. Can't know a thing more. Then someone shows you something about yourself you didn't know. That you are beautiful, undamaged; the scars simply the ornamentation of life. Pretty to look at, difficult to remember. Sometimes someone comes along and sees all of that, sees what's behind your eyes, and says, "I love that; you have worthy dents and scratches. You are extraordinary."
And for a minute, the anxiety fades, the fear subsides. You stop apologizing for the humanness of your own life, for what you have suffered. You begin to lift the yoke around your shoulders.