There comes a moment after clarity when silence lingers.
The first pruning wires have been named, the cage has been seen, but the question remains: what now?
For Hedwig, that moment did not arrive as triumph. It arrived as unease.
Clarity had stripped away the illusions — the masks she wore, the roles she performed — and left her raw.
She was not yet free, but she was no longer blind.
The wire of “never disappoint”
Hedwig had grown up under the constant hum of a simple rule: a good girl does not disappoint.
Her mother carried it like gospel — not as cruelty, but as survival. “Don’t upset them. Keep the peace. Do what’s expected. That way, you remain safe.”
Her mother also taught her other survival codes: never let men see you are actually a bit cleverer; be super efficient and supportive, but never dominant. Above all, supportive — as her father had drilled into her. Become a good little man, but not better, never ever!
That wire ran through Hedwig’s body like steel.
It was why she stayed late polishing presentations no one would remember.
It was why she smiled politely when investors interrupted her mid-sentence.
It was why she offered more than was asked, and then resented the exhaustion that followed.
Each time she tried to loosen that wire, guilt and deep programming tightened its grip.
She feared becoming careless, selfish, exposed. How would she survive if she dared to break those rules?
The wire of “always visible”
Later came another strand — woven in during her rise through corporate ranks: Visibility is everything.
Speak up. Take the stage. Own the spotlight.
But over time, it became another form of bondage.
Every outfit chosen for optics, every word calculated for effect, every gesture rehearsed.
The performance never ended.
Hedwig sometimes wondered if there was any self left beneath the projection.
She could no longer tell where the show stopped and she began.
And beneath that confusion lay another battle. The new ideas of empowerment, suggested by previous coaches and learned from books, promised freedom, yet fought with the ancient law of conformity — the base code that whispered you must stay wired, cling to the trellis, never break free. This inner battle left Hedwig torn between the call to step out and the fear of losing the very structures that had once kept her alive. She also felt guilty, because she did not feel empowered at all — so she assumed something was wrong with her, that she was not good enough to “get it.” Nobody told her about the trellis and how every woman is connected to it in her own way.
All of this came at a cost. These wires had built her success, but they had also stolen her own rhythm, liveliness, joy – in a way her life.
Her body kept score: migraines, sleepless nights, blood pressure that hammered in her ears.
Her mind whispered of freedom, but her calendar spoke only of duty.
This was when she turned more fully toward our work together.
She had called me in the moment of her public triumph, desperate for clarity.
Now, clarity alone was not enough.
She needed something deeper: anchoring.
The slow work of rhythm
Anchoring does not arrive in a weekend retreat or a sudden epiphany.
It is the slow re-weaving of inner threads.
For Hedwig, it began in the smallest of choices.
One evening, she declined an invitation to yet another gala.
Instead of polished laughter and strategic conversations, she sat barefoot on her balcony, listening to the wind.
The world did not collapse.
Her absence went unnoticed by most.
But in her body, something shifted. A tiny pulse of relief. A new rhythm, fragile but alive.
Another time, she spoke her opinion in a meeting without calculating how it would land.
Her voice trembled, unused to such naked honesty.
But when she finished, the room was quiet — and then someone said softly: “Thank you. That’s exactly what needed to be said.”
In that moment she felt again the wire — never be too clever, never outshine, never dominate. Speaking her truth so openly went against everything her parents had pressed into her. And yet, here she was — the words landing, not breaking the world apart, but making it more whole.
She began to experiment.
A morning walk without her phone.
Speaking her opinion before weighing the politics in the room.
Letting her children see her tired, instead of pretending she could do everything.
These were not grand gestures.
They were daily steps, fragile experiments.
Each time she chose differently, she felt both terror and relief.
It was as if her heart, long pressed under borrowed rhythms, was beginning to beat in its own time.
The resonance of others
In sharing her struggles with me, Hedwig also began to hear echoes from others.
A colleague confessed that she, too, was tired of performing competence when all she wanted was space to breathe.
A friend admitted she had forgotten what joy felt like, caught in the grind of endless demands.
Together, their stories revealed a hidden truth: the trellis was not personal, it was systemic.
Women everywhere had been shaped by wires they did not choose.
To anchor differently was not indulgence. It was the first steps of defiance — a quiet kind of rebelling.
It was survival — not of the old trellis-program, but of her true self breaking through.
The work with me
Our sessions became her ground — and she began to understand that this would be a journey requiring steady investment of time and presence with me.
Sometimes she arrived with fire in her eyes, ready to cut a wire.
Other times, she collapsed in exhaustion, unsure she could take another step.
Anchoring, I reminded her, is not about perfection.
It is about practice.
About choosing presence over performance, even when the wires scream.
We mapped the invisible architecture together — tracing which voices belonged to her mother, which to the boardroom, which to fear itself.
We breathed into the moments her body wanted to collapse, teaching her nervous system that rest was not failure but foundation.
Bit by bit, she began to distinguish between the trellis pulling her back and the inner rhythm calling her forward.
The long road ahead
Anchoring is not a finish line.
It is a lifelong rhythm, a practice of returning — again and again — to the pulse inside.
Some days, Hedwig still finds herself back on the wires, caught in guilt or performance. The old teachings resurface too — don’t outshine, don’t be too clever, don’t dominate — whispering that she should retreat. But now she notices them for what they are: inherited voices, not her truth. She names them. And each time, she chooses a little differently.
Slowly, quietly, she begins to grow beyond the trellis — every day a bit, a step.
✨ Practice: Prune Ambition
Notice where your ambition has overgrown into exhaustion.
Choose one branch to prune this week:
Say no to one demand that serves only appearances.
Speak one truth without polishing it.
Allow one moment of visible imperfection.
Small cuts, repeated patiently, free your rhythm to breathe.
The deeper cycle
She is beginning to realize this is the beginning of freedom. Not the glossy kind of freedom sold in lifestyle magazines — retire to Mallorca, meditate in Bali, drop out and start over. Only to find out that the wires follow everywhere. And most women cannot abandon their lives and careers even if they wanted to — so they stay, sink into resignation. Depression creeps in, silent but heavy.
No, the raw truth is harsher and more liberating: freedom is not about escape. It is about staying in your life, in your career, and ripping out the wires one by one, with your own hands if you must. It is bloody work, and it is daily work. But only this kind of work lets you live, step by step, from your own pulse, right where you are.
I know this truth in my own body. Years ago, I left my corporate role not out of courage, but because I had nothing left: sick, disillusioned, exhausted. And even now I carry the practice of anchoring — learning day by day to live more from my own rhythm. The collapse was also an opening, and the deeper rhythm keeps calling me forward. In my case, it meant letting go of my old world completely so I could heal and discover my true calling.
What Hedwig is discovering is not a quick fix.
Not a passing relief.
But the beginning of a deeper cycle — one that will carry her further than any trellis ever could.
The Deep Cycle is not about chasing another IPO, stock price spikes, or soaring valuations from the markets.
It is about learning to live from the steady pulse of your own female source of power — your real self, your identity, your truth.
Hedwig’s story is only one thread in this unfolding.
Perhaps you recognize yourself in her — the invisible wires, the exhaustion, the longing for a rhythm that is finally your own.
If you do, know this: you are not alone.
The orchard is full of women ready to step out of the trellis, one branch at a time. And even as old wires still whisper — don’t outshine, don’t be too clever, don’t dominate — more and more women are learning to recognize those voices, and to choose their own pulse instead.
PS: This is the second chapter of Hedwig’s journey. The next will unfold as she steps into sovereignty from inner conviction.
About the Author
Renate Hechenberger works with women in key positions — board members, top executives, founders, supervisory board roles — and with women navigating transitions into new roles, phases, or new forms of power. She clarifies the inner architecture of their female power, enabling decisions grounded in meaning, presence, and integrity.
👉If this resonates, you are welcome to explore more with me in a private Power Talk.
© 2025 Renate Hechenberger. All rights reserved.
Credit: Image created with ChatGPT- DALL·E (AI-generated), customized by Renate Hechenberger.
