I read a quote today from Salma Hayek, speaking about playing Frida Kahlo. She said that Frida taught her she could still create when she was broken — that even burnt, hurting, scarred, you can make something beautiful.

It landed like a stone in my chest.

Many years ago, I wrote an article called “RSI of the Heart and Soul.” I compared the human heart to a sea anemone.
When all is well, the anemone opens easily — soft, flowing, casting out its little tendrils to find food, light, connection.

Then one day, a careless or cruel finger pokes at it: rejection, betrayal, abandonment, contempt, dismissal. The anemone does what it’s designed to do. It pulls everything in. It closes.

Given enough time and safety, it opens again.
But if life keeps poking — person after person, hurt after hurt — the opening gets smaller. The tentacles don’t reach so far. The closing comes faster. Eventually, some hearts stay mostly shut. They’re not “cold.” They’re starving.

Starving for the very thing they’re too scared to risk again.

There are people who close early and never really open again.
And then there are the others — the ones who keep opening long past the point that would make sense to anyone else. The ones who keep saying, “Maybe this time. Maybe this person. Maybe this place.”

They keep extending those tender filaments of trust, love, belief.
And life, or people, or systems, keep sticking their fingers in.

That second group is where I’ve lived most of my life.

Right now, it feels like I’m in the messy middle of a Disney story — you know, the bit after the golden beginning, when everything goes to shit and the music turns minor. Except this isn’t a movie, and I’m not at all sure there is a guaranteed happy ending.

I don’t know, in this moment, if my heart has another full opening in it.
I don’t know if the resilient version of me — the one who always found a reason to try again — is still intact, or if she’s just exhausted.

What I do know is this:

Even when I feel burnt, I still reach for words.
Even when I don’t trust life, something in me still wants to tell the truth about that.
Even when I’m not sure I can open my heart again, my hand still opens — to write, to create, to put one more small, honest thing into the world.

Maybe that’s my version of Frida’s teaching.
Not a triumphant “I’m healed and everything is fine now,” but a quieter, shakier truth:

I am scorched around the edges.
I am not sure how this part of the story ends.
And I am still creating anyway.

If your own heart feels like that sea anemone — tired of being poked, tempted to close for good — I’m not going to tell you to “just stay open.” That’s easy advice from the sidelines and brutal from the inside.

Instead, I’ll say this:

Maybe for today, you don’t have to fling yourself wide.
Maybe you just let one small tendril of yourself reach for something that feels true or beautiful or kind.
One sentence. One brushstroke. One breath of honesty shared with someone safe.

It doesn’t fix the past. It doesn’t guarantee a happy ending.
But it might keep your heart from starving completely.
And it might be enough, for now.

Shamarie Flavel | Field Explorer & Mystic Interpreter of Living Patterns

A Note for Your Own Heart

If your own heart feels a bit like that sea anemone right now — tired of opening, tired of being hurt, but still quietly longing for connection — please know there is nothing wrong with you. Closing was your nervous system trying to keep you safe. Opening again will never be a demand here, only an invitation.

If you feel called to have someone walk beside you while you gently renegotiate that opening, his is the kind of quiet, real heart-work I share in my sessions. You can gently come closer here: shamarie.com.au

Join me in exploring how energy, awareness, and daily life weave together to create a sanctuary of coherence and calm.
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