the glass case
Written by: Heidi Neubauer ND
The Glass Case
Once upon a time, a little baby lay in her crib and made a decision.
Her light was bright—too bright, she sensed, for her mother. So she chose to hide it. She encased it in glass, surrounding herself with a protective barrier so her mother could feel more comfortable, so she might receive the love she so desperately needed.
For many years, her light could be seen—but not touched.
She moved through the world encountering trouble, strife, and abuse, never fully aware of the brilliance waiting patiently inside her. As she grew, she learned to prioritize the needs of others. To shrink. To soften. To fit.
Her search for answers—about meaning, behavior, and the deeper patterns of life—eventually led her to shamanism. During a soul retrieval, she learned that she had encased herself and her light in glass during infancy. A survival strategy. A loving sacrifice.
Sadly, it took what felt like centuries after that realization for her to prepare herself fully—to grow, to soften, and to face her fears.
Then one night, she sat at a kitchen counter in a foreign land, surrounded by a language not her own, listening to the labored breathing of her husband as he slept in the bedroom. The Universe had recently pulled the rug out from under her, and she wondered what lay ahead.
In her heart, she knew this upheaval was necessary. Things had to change. They had to shift. Something new was preparing to be born.
She wanted to bring more light into the world. She longed to create something better—more loving, more conscious. She dreamed, perhaps naïvely, of utopia. Of making a meaningful, positive impact.
Lost in her thoughts at the kitchen counter, the glass stovetop suddenly exploded.
The sound was like a gunshot. Sharp. Violent. Terrifying. It scared the life out of her. Shards of glass flew everywhere.
Her first reaction was frustration and self-blame. Why would she create this? In this beautiful condo they had rented for three months while figuring out their next steps? Why another expense—especially after finally clearing their debt? She berated herself for her carelessness, convinced she must have done something wrong.
No one was hurt. But the mess was everywhere.
The next morning, lying in bed listening to a meditation, it dropped in.
She had created it.
Not consciously—but symbolically.
She had literally caused the glass to explode, and it had scared the crap out of her. And suddenly, she understood: this was the most powerful metaphor she could have asked for.
The glass lay shattered into tiny pieces. It was loud. It was startling. It was disruptive. But it caused no harm.
It was time.
Time to let the light out—loud and unapologetic. Even if it felt scary. Even if it made noise. Even if it disrupted the familiar.
You cannot create more light in the world until you are willing to be the light.
She sat there laughing as the message landed fully, marveling—as she so often does—at the intelligence of the Universe.
I recently experienced an extraordinary act of generosity from an unexpected source. What surprised me most wasn’t the help itself—but my reaction afterward. I noticed a resistance to re-engage with this person, a subtle pull to retreat, and a deep discomfort I couldn’t ignore.