Finding Your Internal Boardroom: A Journey to Conscious Wisdom

The Internal Boardroom

My gift is the courage to dig deep. I find the points of pain and fear, asking the hard questions until the answers finally surface. This is the truth I offer the world, but living in that arena is a daily trial. I can feel the weight of the masks I’ve worn, the ego pulling at my sleeve, trying to distract me from the simple act of being. I am learning to rise in the moment, to exist in a constant state of becoming, even when the space feels foreign. I listen to myself and others; I allow the words and the stories to be heard. I listen to learn, I learn to care, I care to guide, and I guide to heal.

I see the struggle in my own hands. When I am rushed or out of alignment, my words become unreadable—a messy scrawl across the page. It is the "protectors" taking my pen, trying to shield me from the very heart I’m trying to reach. To get past them, I have to stop. I have to breathe into the moment to find the questions for the solution. I close my eyes, taking a reset to strip away the emotion and the outer influence. It is a practice that forces a necessary pain, an uncomfortable honesty that takes away the view of others and leaves me standing alone with myself. Until we truly take the time to listen and learn to love who we are, we are only just meeting ourselves.

There is a young, brave boy who stands guard in my mind. He is the one who shields the most vulnerable parts of me when the world feels like an attack. His name is Steve. When he doesn't feel threatened, he is pure joy—running, riding bikes, and exploring the world. Then there is the older teenager, the one who convinced the world that "Riggo" was the coolest person in the room. I call him The Mullet. He is the artist, the singer, the one who can fit in anywhere and make everyone believe he’s as good, if not better, than anyone else. I’ve lived with these protectors for years, and for the first time, I see them clearly. I see "Big Boy," too—the adult protector, the driver, the success-oriented version of me who wants the wealth, the fitness, and the leadership.

But even Big Boy carries a shadow. I’ve realized I am afraid of true wealth because a part of me fears it will make me a bad person—that I’ll stop the work of healing. I see the pattern now: the younger version of me seeking acceptance, shrinking to belong, while the adult version compensates by trying to be the brightest light in the room, outshining everyone else just to feel safe.

To bridge these parts, I have found my method:  LAF Method™ (Listen, Allow, Follow). I see the path it’s carving for me. I see myself at the Gypsy, that small, quaint coffee shop, practicing my content at the open mic poetry nights, getting the stories locked down. This is where the LAF (Listen, Allow, Follow) work is rooted—in the quiet practice. But I see the larger vision, too. I see the big stage where we’ve made it, and Bradley is opening the show, shining his light through the theme song he wrote for me. This is where the work becomes visible. In order to listen, we must allow our hearts to speak; only then will the message arrive. It takes a level of professionalism and discipline I am only now beginning to craft—the work that happens when nobody is watching, the work in the sweat. The product may be judged, but the reward is in the doing.

Every morning is a reset. My holistic wellness is the foundation; without it, the protectors get loud, and I become judgmental and difficult. I have to exist as if I am seeking this wisdom for the first time every single day. I’ve accomplished nothing, and I have today to change that.

This morning, the music opened a door I didn't know was locked. During my cacao meditation, a cry broke through me—a breakthrough of clarity and acceptance. I sat with my team: Little Cory, Riggo, and the engine that is Cory. I saw "Coach"—which is the current me, the version of me that leads with peace and wisdom. I am learning how to become the wellness coach for myself, leading and guiding this internal team so that I can eventually show others how to do the same. Coach spoke to each of them. He told Steve he was allowed to play. He told Riggo he was free from the shame of self-judgment. He told Cory he was the engine of our growth.

Then Coach spoke to Cory J—my truest self, my highest version. He told him that he is our North Star, and for the first time, we are all coming home to him. The internal ecosystem is finally moving as a unit. We are not alone or separate any longer; we are a team. And together, we will. We will be healed, loved, and worthy of everything we achieve.

I’m Cory J Riggs. I love you all. Be blessed.