Change is inevitable. I have heard this phrase many times, but I never realized I could choose what to change about myself.

I used to cut myself off from my emotions. It was safer that way.

Take a look at how I was in 2012, in this except from my soon-to-be-published biography, For Once in My Life:

Wednesdays were Rob’s 1-on-1 meetings with his manager, Ken Healy. They carved out a weekly half-hour phone call so Rob could report to Ken on how the web development team was doing, and Ken would keep Rob apprised of projects other teams were working on.

Toward the end of the call, Ken’s tone shifted.

“How are you doing?” he asked, his voice gentle yet probing.

Rob answered reflexively, “Okay.” It was the response that slipped out whenever he was asked that question. He need not even think about it.

Ken did not want the congenial response. “Are you sure?”

Rob swallowed. “No,” he admitted, his throat still tight.

Ken gave him space before he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, he did. Lord, did he want to talk about it. To let the jack-in-the-box spring of grief that he had kept locked behind his professional exterior. But he knew if he opened his mouth, it would not be words that came out. It would be sobs, ugly and uncontrollable sobs that would engulf his sentences whole, leaving nothing but raw emotion in their place.

“No,” he whispered.

Ken paused. “Is she getting worse?”

Rob could not hold it back anymore. “Yep,” he managed, but his voice cracked, betraying the pressure of keeping himself together.

“Take the time you need,” he offered.

“K. Thank you.”

In the past three months, Rob had vacillated between clinging to the dream of a miraculous cure and facing the harsh truth of palliative care. He had become adept at convincing himself that she had more time, that there was still hope—until moments like this forced him to acknowledge what he already knew deep down. Saying it out loud and sharing it with someone else made it too real. It cemented the fate he was trying to avoid, the truth that Arlinda was slipping away, one painful day at a time.

Emotional connection takes practice. It requires a safe environment for me to be vulnerable and share my sensitive side. I was not in a safe place back then. In the years of shaping Arlinda’s book from a stack of anecdotes, I was able to explore my feelings, examine Arlinda’s pain, and see the world through a different pair of eyes.

Although I was avoiding the emotional connection during that meeting, to write that scene I had to dive down into those emotions, cry, yell, and otherwise get that energy moving to be able to put it on the page. And in the process, I learned how to do it for myself.

The interesting thing about this emotional transformation is that I feel stronger now that I can express my feelings than when I thought that strength was keeping my emotions bottled up inside.