End the War With Yourself

You Can’t Heal the Programming You’re Too Ashamed to Look At

I was talking to my religious coworker, Faye, about the ego.

I’ve been developing a very different relationship with mine lately.

Instead of treating my ego like some terrible thing I need to transcend, defeat, silence, or get rid of, I’ve started seeing her almost like a well-meaning but slightly chaotic coworker.

She works hard.

Maybe too hard.

😂

She’s constantly scanning.

Looking for patterns.

Trying to predict what’s going to happen.

Trying to keep me from being rejected.

Trying to make sense of uncertainty.

Occasionally producing entire fictional storylines nobody requested.

But I don’t hate her anymore.

So I was explaining this to Faye, and because she understands the world through Christianity, she immediately translated what I was saying into language that made sense to her.

She said:

“That’s your flesh.”

And I thought, Yes!

Different language.

Similar idea.

So I agreed.

“Yes. It’s my flesh.”

Then without missing a beat, she said:

“And it needs to be beat into submission.”

I just blinked.

😂

I didn’t argue.

Partly because I didn’t want to turn an interesting conversation into a religious debate.

But mostly because I wasn’t sure I had the words yet.

Something about that sentence bothered me.

Not Faye.

The idea.

Why am I beating any part of myself into submission?

Why does healing require an internal war?

Why does something inside me have to become evil before I’m allowed to change it?

I didn’t have an answer for her that day.

So I said nothing.

But apparently my slightly chaotic coworker took the assignment home.

😂

Because by the next day, I knew exactly what I wanted to say.

The Computer

When I saw Faye again, I told her I had something I wanted to ask her when she had a minute.

About an hour later, I saw my opportunity.

I drove my sweeper over to her and said:

“Imagine you bought a brand-new computer.”

Someone comes to your house and programs it for you.

Then they leave.

And afterward, the computer starts acting crazy.

Would you get mad at the computer?

Or would you question the programming?

She immediately understood.

The programming.

Exactly.

And that’s when I told her:

Your ego is like the computer.

Not literally, of course.

But as a metaphor, stay with me.

The computer isn’t evil.

It’s running what was installed.

And human beings collect an awful lot of programming before we’re old enough to understand what is being installed.

Who Programmed You?

A child doesn’t come into this world with a fully formed belief system.

She learns.

She watches.

She absorbs.

She detects patterns.

She figures out what seems to create safety and what seems to threaten it.

Maybe she grows up hearing:

You’re too much.

Or:

You’re not enough.

Maybe nobody says it directly.

Maybe she learns it because affection disappears when she makes mistakes.

Maybe she learns:

Don’t need too much.

Don’t cry.

Keep everyone happy.

Be useful.

Work harder.

Don’t trust anybody.

Love leaves.

Money disappears.

Conflict means danger.

If somebody is upset, fix it.

If I’m perfect, maybe I’ll be safe.

If I’m useful, maybe I’ll be wanted.

If I can predict what everyone is going to do, maybe nobody can hurt me.

And somewhere along the way, those ideas become code.

Not because the child is defective.

Because the child is learning how to survive the environment she has been given.

Then she grows up.

The environment changes.

But some of the programs keep running.

Bad Code Can Feel Like Identity

This is where I think things get dangerous.

If I’ve been running a program long enough, I might stop recognizing it as programming.

I start calling it me.

I’m just jealous.

I’m an angry person.

I’m insecure.

I’m needy.

I’m lazy.

I’m controlling.

I’m not good enough.

I’m difficult to love.

And once I identify completely with the program, every time it runs I use its existence as further evidence against myself.

The code says:

You’re not good enough.

Then I experience insecurity and think:

See? Something really is wrong with me.

The program has now produced its own evidence.

That’s one hell of a loop.

And if I’ve also been taught that the uncomfortable parts of myself are evil?

Now I don’t merely have painful programming.

I hate the computer for running it.

You Cannot Heal What Doesn’t Feel Safe Enough to Be Seen

This may be one of the most important things I’ve learned.

People have to feel safe enough to admit there’s a problem before they can change it.

And that applies to our relationship with ourselves.

If every uncomfortable truth I discover about myself results in punishment—

why would I look?

If jealousy makes me bad, I’ll hide my jealousy.

If anger makes me bad, I’ll suppress my anger.

If insecurity makes me weak, I’ll pretend I’m confident.

If wanting attention makes me pathetic, I’ll deny that I want attention.

If an old attachment thought means I’m failing at healing, I’ll be ashamed every time one appears.

Now the pattern gets pushed into darkness.

But it doesn’t disappear.

It just operates where I can’t see it.

That’s why I’ve started creating a different environment inside myself.

Everything is allowed to tell the truth.

Not everything gets its way.

But everything gets heard.

There is a difference.

Ask Why

So now, when the computer starts doing something strange, I don’t immediately start beating on the computer.

I investigate the code.

Why did that bother me?

Why am I suddenly afraid?

Why did I become defensive?

Why do I need this person’s approval?

Why am I jealous?

Why am I trying to control this?

Why am I imagining rejection before anybody has rejected me?

Why does resting make me uncomfortable?

Why do I feel guilty receiving?

Why do I believe I have to earn love?

And I keep asking.

Not as an interrogation.

As curiosity.

Where did you learn this, baby?

Sometimes I find something.

Sometimes I don’t.

Not every weird thought contains a profound childhood wound. Sometimes a tired brain is simply a tired brain.

😂

But when there is a root, I can finally see it.

And once I see the program, something magical happens:

I don’t have to run it anymore.

Compassion Does Not Mean Permission

This part matters.

Understanding why I behave a certain way does not excuse harmful behavior.

Healing isn’t:

Well, I have abandonment wounds, so everybody else just has to tolerate whatever I do.

Absolutely not.

😂

Understanding explains.

Awareness chooses.

I can understand why jealousy appeared without letting jealousy control my behavior.

I can understand why anger appeared without giving anger unrestricted access to my mouth.

I can understand why abandonment scares me without chasing someone who is leaving.

I can understand why hypervigilance developed without allowing it to run surveillance twenty-four hours a day.

I can tell a wounded part of myself:

“I completely understand why you’re here.”

and then:

“We’re still not doing that.”

That’s not rejection.

That’s leadership.

Thank the Program Before You Delete It

This may sound strange, but I’ve also started feeling gratitude toward some of my old programming.

Because at one point?

It worked.

Hypervigilance tried to protect me.

People-pleasing tried to keep me connected.

Overworking tried to create security.

Overthinking tried to predict danger.

Control tried to make uncertainty tolerable.

My ego wasn’t sitting around plotting my destruction.

She was working overtime trying to keep us safe with whatever information she had.

Some of her methods are outdated now.

Some are downright ridiculous.

😂

But I don’t have to hate her for that.

I can say:

Thank you.

You helped me survive something.

But look around.

We’re not there anymore.

We have new information now.

I’ll take it from here.

Update the Code

This is where healing becomes more than understanding.

Once I identify the old program, I need to give my nervous system new experiences.

Old code:

Rest is dangerous. You should be doing something.

New experience:

I rested for twenty minutes and nothing fell apart.

Old code:

If somebody is upset with me, I need to fix it immediately.

New experience:

Someone was disappointed and I survived their disappointment.

Old code:

If someone leaves, I’m not worthy of love.

New experience:

Someone left and I remained.

Old code:

I need to predict every possible problem.

New experience:

I handled the problem when it actually arrived.

Old code:

My worth comes from how useful I am.

New experience:

I sat outside and did absolutely nothing productive, and I remained worthy of being alive.

That’s how the computer learns.

Not because I scream new affirmations at it.

Because I repeatedly give it new evidence.

My Ego Isn’t Management

I still love my slightly chaotic coworker metaphor.

Because my ego isn’t getting fired.

She’s part of the team.

She’s creative.

She’s observant.

She’s fantastic at pattern recognition.

She’s also dramatic enough to deserve a daytime television contract.

😂

So she can bring things to my attention.

She just doesn’t get final approval anymore.

She says:

Something feels dangerous.

I check.

Is it actually dangerous?

She says:

We’re being rejected.

I check.

Did somebody actually reject us, or did something remind us of rejection?

She says:

We need to know what’s going to happen.

I answer:

I don’t know. And we’re okay not knowing.

She says:

We should probably investigate this completely irrelevant Facebook interaction.

Ma’am.

Denied.

😂

That’s the new organizational chart.

My ego provides information.

Awareness gets the final say.

End the War

I don’t want another war inside myself.

I’ve lived through enough conflict externally.

I refuse to create an internal relationship where one part of me spends the rest of my life trying to dominate another.

I don’t want to beat my body into submission.

I want to understand it.

I want to listen to it.

I want to teach it.

I want to update what it learned when it was too young to know there were other ways to live.

Because maybe the parts of ourselves we’ve been calling broken, sinful, weak, dramatic, needy, difficult, or bad aren’t asking for punishment.

Maybe they’re asking:

Is it safe yet?

And maybe healing begins when the conscious adult inside us finally answers:

Yes, baby.

I’m here.

Tell me the truth.

Show me the ugly thought.

Show me the jealousy.

Show me the fear.

Show me the anger.

Show me where you don’t feel good enough.

You don’t have to hide any of it from me.

I’m not going to hate you for what I find.

We’ll look at the programming together.

We’ll figure out where it came from.

We’ll decide whether it’s still true.

We’ll keep what serves us.

We’ll rewrite what doesn’t.

And then we’ll move forward.

Together.

Because I don’t have to fragment myself into good parts and bad parts to become a better person.

I don’t have to hate the version of me who learned how to survive.

I don’t have to beat anything into submission.

I can heal it.

The baby gets comforted.

The wound gets listened to.

The shadow gets brought into the light.

The bad code gets questioned.

The slightly chaotic coworker gets lovingly supervised.

And the conscious woman I am today gets the final say.

My ego was never my enemy.

She was running old programs and working overtime trying to protect me.

So I’m not firing her.

I’m not fighting her.

And I’m certainly not beating her.

I’m handing her the updated employee manual.

😂

Thank you for keeping me safe.

But we’re not surviving that life anymore.

You can rest now.

Maybe healing isn’t finally winning the war with yourself.

Maybe healing begins when you realize there was never supposed to be a war at all.

Closing Reflection

Before you leave this chapter, notice what happens when something uncomfortable rises inside you.

Do you immediately judge it?

Or can you become curious?

The next time you feel jealous, angry, insecure, defensive, afraid, rejected, controlling, or simply not enough, try resisting the urge to make the feeling mean something terrible about who you are.

Instead, ask:

Why?

Where did I learn this?

What is this part of me afraid will happen?

What is it trying to protect me from?

Is this actually happening now—or is an old program responding to something familiar?

And most importantly:

Is the programming still true?

You don’t have to obey everything you discover.

Compassion isn’t permission.

You can understand why a pattern developed and still decide:

We’re not doing that anymore.

But perhaps you can retire the shame.

Thank the younger version of you who learned whatever she needed to learn to survive.

Give your nervous system new evidence.

Update the code.

And remember:

You are not the programming.

You are the awareness capable of seeing it.

You can question it.

You can heal what created it.

You can choose differently.

Nothing inside you has to become your enemy before you’re allowed to change it.

What might finally become visible if every part of you knew it was safe enough to tell you the truth?