If I Can, So Can You (But Not in the Same Way)

Empathy, discernment, and the grace of knowing that our paths are not supposed to match.

The Tender Heart of Belief

I’ve always noticed the potential in people, even long before I truly believed in them. Before healing, that belief came with hesitation, sometimes even pain. I could see the light in others so clearly, but I didn’t always know how to hold that same faith for myself.

Over time, through healing, practice, and presence, that shifted. My faith in others became rooted in something deeper, not in who I thought they could be, but in the truth of who they already are.

And now, I find great joy in watching others thrive, in seeing people awaken to their own capacity, to witness them remember what was already within them.

That’s what keeps me teaching, writing, and showing up for this work: the quiet knowing that transformation is possible for everyone.

I often catch myself saying, “If I can, so can everyone.” It’s a phrase that has carried me through hard times, a kind of mantra of hope.

But lately, I’ve been sitting with that idea. Because the more I walk this path, the more I witness others walking theirs, the more I realize: What we can do, and how we do it, is never the same.

Empathy Isn’t Always Accuracy

When we heal, grow, or overcome something profound, our instinct is to share it  to say, “Look, you can do it too.” That’s the human heart in motion: empathy reaching outward.

But sometimes empathy blurs into projection. Without meaning to, we place our own timeline, our own tools, or our own temperament onto someone else’s journey. And suddenly, what began as encouragement can feel like pressure.

True empathy, though, asks for curiosity instead of certainty. It invites us to witness without directing, to believe in someone’s potential without assuming what their process should look like.

It’s not about stepping back, it’s about stepping aside, making space for their path to unfold in its own rhythm.

The Subtle Psychology of Overconfidence

In psychology, there’s something called the

, a term describing how, when people don’t yet know how much they don’t know, they tend to overestimate their understanding.

It’s often framed as a cautionary tale about arrogance, but underneath it lies something much more human: the way awareness grows in uneven light.

We don’t see the full picture until we’ve lived it. And once we do, it’s easy to forget what it felt like not to know.

When we experience an awakening, whether it’s emotional, spiritual, or intellectual, there’s a brief, shining moment when everything clicks into place. The fog lifts, and we see with such clarity that we want to shout it from the rooftops: “This makes sense now! Everyone needs to know this!”

That impulse isn’t ego; it’s enthusiasm. It’s the heart’s relief at having made sense of chaos. But it’s also the place where we can gently lose touch with remembering the memory of how confusing the fog once was.

The Other Side: When You Think It’s “Nothing Special”

The Dunning–Kruger curve doesn’t just reveal the overconfident, it also humbles the self-aware. Those with deep skill, knowledge, or lived experience often underestimate their wisdom. They assume, “If I know this, everyone must.” They forget that what feels natural to them might be sacred or transformative to someone else.

This is the quiet side of the same pattern, not arrogance, but over-humility. It shows up as the healer who doubts her gift because it feels too intuitive to explain, the teacher who dismisses their insight as common sense, the creative who hides their art because it doesn’t feel “original enough.”

But just because something feels effortless doesn’t mean it’s ordinary. In fact, that ease often is the sign of mastery, the point at which knowledge becomes embodied.

When we overlook our gifts, we rob others of what might awaken something in them. We forget that what flows easily for us might be the lifeline someone else has been waiting for.

So the Dunning–Kruger effect, in its full circle, reminds us to hold balance: to be confident enough to share what we’ve learned, and humble enough to remember that others are still finding their way through the fog.

Remembering the Fog

When I teach, write, or guide others, I sometimes catch myself thinking, “If I could do it, anyone can.” And in many ways, that’s true. The tools are available, and the capacity is universal. But the readiness? The timing? The safety it takes to even begin? Those are deeply personal.

We forget the nights when insight felt impossible. We forget the exhaustion that comes from not knowing what to believe. We forget that the brain, the heart, and the body each wakes up in its own rhythm.

Remembering the fog is a practice in humility. It keeps compassion alive. It keeps us from turning our clarity into a weapon or a measuring stick.

Transformation Isn’t Transmitted, It’s Remembered

True transformation doesn’t happen because someone tells us how to change. It happens because something in their story, their energy, or their presence reminds us of our own capacity to.

That’s the quiet magic of resonance. It’s not about convincing, it’s about aligning. The moment we stop trying to “teach” enlightenment and start simply embodying it, others find their way to it naturally.

In this sense, advice can only go so far. It’s the energy behind it, the lived experience, and the patience that allows it to land.

Awareness as a Living Practice

When we honor how gradual awareness really is, we make space for softness for ourselves and others. We begin to see that overconfidence is not just a psychological quirk; it’s a byproduct of forgetting the process.

The antidote isn’t self-doubt, it’s remembrance. Remember how hard it was to see before you could. Remember that clarity is a privilege, and humility is what keeps it from hardening into pride.

When we hold that awareness, we guide others with presence, not pressure. We inspire through embodiment, not explanation. And that, I think, is the gentler version of wisdom the Dunning–Kruger curve forgets to show, the one that bends back toward compassion.

From Projection to Presence

There’s a profound difference between inspiring and imposing.

Inspiration says,

“I believe in your capacity to grow.” Imposition says, “You should be growing like I did.”

Presence, though presence says nothing at all. It listens. It witnesses. It trusts the intelligence in another person’s process.

This is something I’ve had to relearn many times, especially as a teacher, a friend, and a healer. Because when we’ve walked through fire, it’s natural to want to pull others out of the flames. But sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is stand at the edge, holding a lantern, until they find their own way through.

Empathy with Boundaries

Empathy without boundaries can turn into burnout. Belief without discernment can turn into disconnection.

When we say “If I can, so can you,” let’s mean it but with gentleness. Let’s say, “If I can, maybe you can too  in your own way, in your own time.”

Because healing isn’t a race, and awakening isn’t a performance. It’s a deeply personal unfolding.

And when we release the need for others to mirror our path, we become better mirrors of truth, compassion, and grace.

The Energy of Empowerment

In the language of yoga and energy work, this represents the transition from solar energy to heart energy, from shining to sharing. 

Solar energy says, “I did it, look at me.” 

Heart energy says, “I did it, you can too, but I trust your way.”

Both are necessary at different stages of growth. But when we reach the heart-centered stage, our role shifts from teacher to space-holder. We stop trying to make others understand and start creating environments where understanding can naturally arise.

That’s the evolution of empathy from enthusiasm to embodiment.

Reflection

So maybe the new mantra is this:

“If I can, so can you, but it doesn’t have to look the same.”

Because comparison dilutes compassion. And when we release the need for sameness, we create space for authenticity.

The truth is, everyone can heal. But the way they do that’s the sacred part.

So, if I can, maybe you can too. And maybe, just maybe, your way will teach me something mine never could.

Let’s take this reflection beyond our inner work and into the world we share.

Look around your life, your community, and the collective spaces we move through: Where do you see the Dunning–Kruger effect playing out?

• Where are unqualified voices causing harm, leading, legislating, or speaking with confidence but little awareness?

• And where are the wise, experienced, or compassionate voices staying silent, believing their insight isn’t special enough to matter?

  
  

Both ends of the spectrum ask something of us: humility when we don’t know, and courage when we do.

This week, let’s observe, not to judge, but to understand.

Where do we see this imbalance reflected in the systems we live in, and in ourselves?

And how can we each step forward not from ego, but from integrity to restore balance in both awareness and action?