It’s funny how so often we take ourselves and our journey, our story, for granted. One of the ways it shows up for me is through lack of self-praise.

My thoughts usually go along the lines of this:

If achieved something, it means it was achievable.

By me.

If I achieved something achievable, what is the need for celebration?

When we see other people achieve something, we see the result. We might hear some of the story behind it, but we will never know the extent of mental processing and struggle that was going on in order to get there.

We celebrate an achievement in others because we see the volume of the result, without seeing the details and depth of the journey.

For myself, I don’t have that perspective. I see the millions of small steps that were taken to get there. I see the moments when it felt easy. The moments when I wanted to give up.

And the final step to completion was probably not bigger than the first step on the journey.

The exertion needed to reach a goal is spread out over a long time, we are like a boiling frog. We don’t realise what’s happening until it’s happened.

The same scenario is often the case when it comes to our own growth. The you of today would hopefully not be recognisable to the you 20 years ago. But the you of yesterday would recognise you. And it’s the you of yesterday that’s most often the comparison.

I’ve been guesting on a few podcasts, and the question of “how did journaling impact you” usually comes up in one form or another. It’s a great reminder of how much impact this work has had on me.

Journaling helped me come to terms with parts of myself I was ashamed of. Like the fact that I actually love being the centre of attention (sometimes).

Realising that helped me be on stage at the Barcelona Journaling Festival without feeling shame for enjoying it. That’s real life impact of journaling.

It helped me realise that it doesn’t matter how much of a positive mindset you have around money (or anything else really), if you also have a part of you that wants to stay poor.

Once you can accept that this part is also there, you can have real change.

It also helped me realise that I can write a book without having all the answers. If you’d asked me five years ago about writing a book on journaling I’d just laugh at you. Of course not, I don’t know it all yet.

Now? Now I’m able to tell you the book doesn’t have all the answers. No book does. But what it does have is the tools I used to get to the point where I could let go of a lot of the shit I said to myself, and from that I could actually write a book.

Being able to let go of perfection (at least in some parts of my life) has been incredibly helpful. It’s let me move forwards, and, ironically this is the part I should be celebrating.

Perhaps the achievements themselves are not what we celebrate, but the fact that we managed to stick with it, that we managed to listen to the voices trying to hold us back, and told them to stuff it.

Keep writing,

Oliver

Who is Oliver Mann?

This is the worst question I get when I’m on a podcast or have to introduce myself. Who am I not, I like to think, and then I realise that I’m overthinking it.

I’m currently a journaling mentor, co-founder of the Barcelona Journaling Festival, creator of Shadow Journaling, and slightly obsessive about self-awareness and self-acceptance.

I’m also the author of Shadow Journaling: A Field Guide to Personal Alchemy.

The work I share came out of necessity. I was deeply unhappy with myself, as in, I thought I was fundamentally broken. Self-help books and personal development didn’t do much to make me feel less broken.

Through going into my shadow, exploring and accepting as much as I can find, I found a deep sense of relief, leading to a calmer relationship with myself. Less paradox, less shame, and much more contentment.

This Substack is my attempt to share my journey, the tools I picked up on the way, with the hope that it may serve someone else as much as it did me.

Subscribe now

I’ve written quite a bit about my drive to self-awareness. This push to know more, to see more of who I really am. And then, in one magic moment, I’ll know myself completely and I will be free.

Free from who I am.

The phrase “no pain, no gain” came up this morning. I wonder if this has been one of the drivers for more self-awareness. There’s no denying there is a lot pain in the process.

Having to look deeper and darker into the experiences we’ve had. The moments, the conversations, the meanings. Ontological explorers, creating pain where there perhaps was only a poorly communicated good intention.

I often speak about this from the perspective of how these intellectual realisations often come easy. But I realise now they come easy for someone who has masochistic tendencies. I had been so hurt in my childhood, what would an extra bit pain do?

Sometimes, I fear, quite a bit.

It has, however, helped me a lot. Although I went through a lot of dead ends, mostly that of thinking I would feel better purely through self-awareness.

And the message of “no pain, no gain” rings false. There was a lot of pain, but not a lot of gain.

Why?

I think inherently there’s no logical reason why we should punish ourselves for feeling bad. Feeling bad is punishment enough. However, what we are avoiding more than the pain is the discomfort. For some reason it’s easier to hurt ourselves rather than be uncomfortable.

Pain feels visceral. It feels real. Immediate. We can be right and still be in pain.

Discomfort is confusing. It’s identity breaking. It means we probably were not right, and that’s why we’re in this mess.

I remember the phrase “life begins on the other side of the comfort zone”, and felt great. I was so good at it. It was just that I was living on the other side of other people’s comfort zones. I would move countries, change schools, change jobs - and I was praised for being brave and I loved it. It’s just that I was comfortable moving around and changing.

My own comfort zone? Don’t get near it.

I’ll prefer to dig deeper into my pain and see what else I might find. Who knows, it might just be the answer.

It’s still something I struggle with, although I’ve become much more capable of facing the sides of myself I’m less than proud of. There’s more work to do, of course, but the more I accept myself, the more content I feel.

No discomfort, no gain. It doesn’t sound so good, but it’s definitely more accurate.

Keep writing,

Oliver

Who is Oliver Mann?

This is the worst question I get when I’m on a podcast or have to introduce myself. Who am I not, I like to think, and then I realise that I’m overthinking it.

I’m currently a journaling mentor, co-founder of the Barcelona Journaling Festival, creator of Shadow Journaling, and slightly obsessive about self-awareness and self-acceptance.

I’m also the author of Shadow Journaling: A Field Guide to Personal Alchemy.

The work I share came out of necessity. I was deeply unhappy with myself, as in, I thought I was fundamentally broken. Self-help books and personal development didn’t do much to make me feel less broken.

Through going into my shadow, exploring and accepting as much as I can find, I found a deep sense of relief, leading to a calmer relationship with myself. Less paradox, less shame, and much more contentment.

This Substack is my attempt to share my journey, the tools I picked up on the way, with the hope that it may serve someone else as much as it did me.

Subscribe now

I’ve not written on Substack for quite some time. I had a period where I was writing weekly here. I would use my journal as a place to dive into the void, dig something out that could be translated into a text for human consumption.

Then it stopped. I stopped.

Not the journaling, but the writing for others. I’ve been through yet another period of growth and change with the completion and publishing of my book. I don’t think I realised the intensity of it, and perhaps still don’t.

I’ve not written a long book. It has, however, been challenging. The major obstacle has been to take something that’s non-linear and turn it into a linear process.

Working with the Shadow isn’t something with a natural start and end point. It’s like going to the gym. There’s no right process of exercises to start with - leg day or chest day are just days. You’re going to have to do both at some point. You’re also going to have to keep doing it.

Just like going to the gym, working with your Shadow is something you have to find your own way with. And keep practicing.

Being mindful of this with the book was a major issue. I have a desperate need to create something that works. I wanted this book to be something of value - not an ego trip for myself to say “look at me, I’m an author”.

The book came from a desire to distill my thoughts into something outside of lectures and workshops. A way to communicate succinctly what I feel about journaling into the Shadow.

All these thoughts took me into a different creative space. Rather than creation of raw material, it was a creative honing of ideas.

And it was a lot of work on myself in the sense of having to let go. I’ve worked with ceramics and different materials in sculpture, and I know that at some point you need to let go. There’s always more that can be done. There’s always something that can be changed. Change doesn’t always mean better.

The fear, of course, was that I will let go too early. That the book won’t be “ready”. That there will be parts that aren’t quite fully formed. Or just that it’s not good enough. All these thoughts are energy draining.

What has helped me most in this has been doing my own work. Doing the processes in the book. Shifting myself from contradiction to paradox. Realising it’s possible to be scared and excited. Embarrassed and proud. Ready and not ready.

The energy gain from that shift is what I want people to experience more than anything. If nothing else, I hope people read the book and start accepting their own selves. To allow ourselves the space to be. Rather than hijack our lives, these versions of us we carry can help bring a new perspective of who we are.

Now I have to accept a new identity. Instead of the writer struggling to extract ideas and paste them onto paper, I’m now an author navigating the world of marketing and sales, trying to be proud, confident and humble. New paradoxes to be explored.

Keep writing (and reading),
Oliver

Get the book here: https://shadowjournaling.com/book

Or, go to your local bookshop and order it - and please take a picture of where you get it - I’d love to see the book around the world!

Who is Oliver Mann?

This is the worst question I get when I’m on a podcast or have to introduce myself. Who am I not, I like to think, and then I realise that I’m overthinking it.

I’m currently a journaling mentor, co-founder of the Barcelona Journaling Festival, creator of Shadow Journaling, and slightly obsessive about self-awareness and self-acceptance.

I’m also the author of Shadow Journaling: A Field Guide to Personal Alchemy.

The work I share came out of necessity. I was deeply unhappy with myself, as in, I thought I was fundamentally broken. Self-help books and personal development didn’t do much to make me feel less broken.

Through going into my shadow, exploring and accepting as much as I can find, I found a deep sense of relief, leading to a calmer relationship with myself. Less paradox, less shame, and much more contentment.

This Substack is my attempt to share my journey, the tools I picked up on the way, with the hope that it may serve someone else as much as it did me.

Subscribe now

I heard this from one of my 1:1 clients recently. It was such a great reframing of the core issue of self-acceptance. The process of wanting to be accepted is something we’ve been doing all our lives. It’s a critical part of how we build a community of people inclined to support each other.

One could argue that the development of our Shadow side is purely because of our deep-seated need for acceptance. We highlight certain parts of ourselves, hide others, make up new ones. All in the name of being seen as “ok” in the different levels of society we are in.

Many times those different sides are in conflict. The part of us that’s accepted at home will not be accepted at a party as a teenager. The part of us that’s accepted at work won’t be accepted in a romantic relationship.

Underneath all of this we sense a conflict that comes from the idea of contradiction. The feeling of contradiction is to be caught between two truths that cannot be resolved. It means living in a permanent state of conflict. It’s an exhausting state of being. We’re living with two irreconcilable truths, one we approve of, the other must remain hidden in the darkness.

However, as we all realise as we approach a certain age, that battle cannot be won without collateral damage: our sense of self, our inner peace. Our contentment.

The only way forwards is to embrace the paradox: the realisation that they both can be true at the same time. In his book “Owning Your Shadow”, Robert A. Johnson says “While contradiction is static and unproductive, paradox makes room for grace and mystery.”

The contradiction leaves us in stasis - being stuck - while paradox enables us to move forwards with grace. This sounds like a perfect solution. Who wouldn’t want grace and mystery in place of the inner conflict we carry?

How then, do we get there? This is perhaps the most critical question, and the answer isn’t something anyone wants to hear.

There’s a fundamental belief that if “they” could see all the flaws we carry, they would reject us on sight.

Accepting a Shadow part of yourself isn’t just being aware it exists. It’s the difference between “yeah, I get jealous sometimes” and “a part of me wants to be jealous, because it confirms that I cannot be loved for who I am.”

This is deeply uncomfortable, because it means to not just be aware of its existence. It means accepting, explicitly, that it lives within us.

One of these statements is awareness dressed as identity. “I know I’m jealous. It’s just the way I am.”

The other is acceptance and ownership. “A part of me is deeply insecure, and jealousy is a way it comes up and I don’t like it.”

When we move towards the process of self-acceptance, we have to recognise all the parts we are ashamed of, the parts we keep rejecting before anyone can reject us.

No wonder we find it hard to accept ourselves.

Who is Oliver Mann?

This is the worst question I get when I’m on a podcast or have to introduce myself. Who am I not, I like to think, and then I realise that I’m overthinking it.

I’m currently a journaling mentor, co-founder of the Barcelona Journaling Festival, creator of Shadow Journaling, and slightly obsessive about self-awareness and self-acceptance.

The work I share came out of necessity. I was deeply unhappy with myself, as in, I thought I was fundamentally broken. Self-help books and personal development didn’t do much to make me feel less broken.

Through going into my shadow, exploring and accepting as much as I can find, I found a deep sense of relief, leading to a calmer relationship with myself. Less paradox, less shame, and much more contentment.

This Substack is my attempt to share my journey, the tools I picked up on the way, with the hope that it may serve someone else as much as it did me.

Subscribe now

I heard a loud crash and people started screaming. I was at my desk at home, and the combination of sounds shook me out of whatever focus I was in. It was one of those moments when you somehow react instinctively.

I ran to the window and saw either smoke or a cloud of dust coming up from the building two doors down. My first thought was that the roof had caved in and I ran down to see if anyone needed help.

There were already people gathered around, and slowly we realised what actually was happening. A fire had broken out after a gas bottle had exploded. In one window we could see a couple and a small child. The mother was screaming for help and pointing toward another window. A boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old was looking confused out of the window.

“Help my son, he’s autistic!” she cried. People scrambled to find ladders to get up to the first floor. We could hear the fire, see the smoke rising up, while neighbours were extending whatever ladders they could find. At one point we couldn’t see the boy.

The window where the boy had been 20 seconds ago filled with smoke, and before we had a chance to do anything, the flames were pouring out. By the other window, a ladder had come up and someone went to pick up the small child, and one by one everyone came down. Including the boy we had lost sight of.

The flames took over, and after some time the firefighters were there to get it under control.

Nobody died.

As a bystander I realised the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that came over me. I didn’t want to be here, terrified I could be watching someone dying in the flames in front of me. Locked into being here out of responsibility as a fellow human being, a neighbour. I was scared of my impotence for not being able to rescue anyone. I felt useless, and at the same time guilty for wanting to be a saviour.

There was a raw feeling of not wanting the pain of something bad happening next to me to impact me emotionally. It was pure privilege. I don’t want this pain in my life. Not here, not now.

As the street was blocked, the black smoke changed to grey, to white, and finally disappeared. I went out on the balcony to watch, going back in because I felt like a voyeur. I was trembling. Feeling guilty for feeling affected when it was not my life being turned upside down. Guilty for wanting to not be affected by someone else’s disaster. For excessively worrying about the dogs and whether they had been rescued too.

In the moments earlier when I was on the street, I had flashes of memory coming up. Partly visual, partly sensorial. It took me some time to connect the dots, and slowly it dawned on me. The sound of chaos, of sirens, of shouting and helplessness came back to me. As a 6 year old boy I was in this. Not a fire, but a car accident. Seeing my father injured, being taken away by ambulance separately. Powerless, abandoned, rescued.

I’ve worked a lot on my pain and trauma over the last decades. It’s quite possibly the only hobby I’ve managed to stick with for so long. Digging into self-help books, meditation, yoga, journaling, and finally shadow work. The desire to unlock the secrets of my past, with the hope that it will solve my shit. And to be fair, it has worked.

The memories of the accident have naturally faded, but I was resigned to the fact that I would have two depressions every year. Spring time, when the accident happened. Autumn, when my father’s birthday appeared on the calendar. These downtimes have disappeared, and my sense of personal guilt when it comes to visiting my father in the care home has been resolved.

Yet here I was. Crying into the mattress like I’ve not done for many years. Guttural screams, and feeling deeply sorry for myself, while people were taken to hospital for smoke damage and burns. The visceral nature of being so close to something that brought up my own memories was both a relief and another layer of guilt.

As the days have gone by, the street still smells of fire. I look up at the window, still seeing the face of a woman screaming for someone to save her child’s life. I feel the relief of knowing that this time at least, I was a witness to something that didn’t end in a tragedy.

I realise now how far I’ve come, and how far I still have to go.

Who is Oliver Mann?

This is the worst question I get when I’m on a podcast or have to introduce myself. Who am I not, I like to think, and then I realise that I’m overthinking it.

I’m currently a journaling mentor, co-founder of the Barcelona Journaling Festival, creator of Shadow Journaling, and slightly obsessive about self-awareness and self-acceptance.

The work I share came out of necessity. I was deeply unhappy with myself, as in, I thought I was fundamentally broken. Self-help books and personal development didn’t do much to make me feel less broken.

Through going into my shadow, exploring and accepting as much as I can find, I found a deep sense of relief, leading to a calmer relationship with myself. Less paradox, less shame, and much more contentment.

This Substack is my attempt to share my journey, the tools I picked up on the way, with the hope that it may serve someone else as much as it did me.

Subscribe now

I’ve journaled a lot. I always say that this isn’t something to be proud of. It has come out of necessity, not because I’m terribly bored in the morning.

Throughout the last decades, my journaling has developed, in particular as I dove deeper into Dialogue Writing.

This is a core technique I use in my Reveal, Reclaim, Rewrite methodology, and for good reason. Dialogue writing was a breakthrough technique for me right from the start. It’s perhaps the most uncomfortable way to write for beginners, and the benefits more than make up for it.

The essence of it is simple: write a dialogue with something you want to learn something from.

Then the complexity. Who or what do you want to learn from? Here the doors open wide. It can range from a dialogue with a rock (I had someone in a workshop do this), to your Inner Child, your Inner Critic, Fear, or Wisdom. And anything in between.

My belief is that everything we have in our lives that gives us friction is something that once upon a time had good intentions. When our Inner Critic is protecting us, it might be making sure we don’t fail, don’t make fools of ourselves, or what it might be, at age 7 or 12 might have been a great way to stay safe. At 47 it’s stopping me from doing what I need in order to get to where I want.

So in any dialogue I start with a friendly approach. How are they helping us? How can we become friends?

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The goal here is not to get rid of all the different parts of ourselves, but rather to connect, be seen, and to make sure that they all know what their roles are, and when they should stay quiet.

I once had a dialogue with Fear, because I felt I was holding myself back. Too many new things felt scary, so I naturally avoided them. Intellectually I knew this was irrational, yet still that resistance was there.

In our dialogue I asked Fear to stay away. It replied “What will I do then?”. Fear cannot just disappear. It’s a crucial response that can save our lives. When someone is running towards us with a knife, the best response is to be absolutely terrified and run. Being fearless at that point is not a helpful response.

Instead, we renegotiated. I asked if perhaps Fear could show up more clearly as Excitement. If perhaps instead of making me paralysed, it could make me curious, so new opportunities would seem like openings rather than trap doors. And, on my side, I conceded that yes, in the rare event of knife attacks, please do show up with clarity of mind, and speed of legs.

This process happened on page. Writing it out as if it was a play:

O: How do you feel you are helping me?
F: I’m just trying to keep you safe. There’s a lot of scary shit out there.
O: Yeah, I get that. But it’s not all scary, and sometimes I feel you overreact.
F: Better safe than sorry…

And so on and so forth.

One question I get on this is if they can’t just do it in their minds. You can, but I don’t recommend it: The writing process slows us down, and keeps us on track. Rather than a floating idea that can be sidetracked in a moment by our monkey minds, the journal keeps us true.

It also does something vital in that it externalises the ideas. Rather than having an experience of “me”, it’s on page, allowing us to disassociate, and be freer in what we write.

The process is complex in that it’s hard to bypass the ego, and I think especially when you are alone. In workshops there’s more peer pressure, in the best possible way, because we cannot go make ourselves a cup of tea or do the dishes.

The ego will very quickly look at the insanity of what you’re doing, writing out a dialogue that’s not happening anywhere, between you and some imagined concept. The idea itself doesn’t make much sense, and the ego, desperately aware that this can go past its control, will try to keep you away.

These are the key tricks: don’t stop writing. The moment you stop, you open up for the ego to say “look, I told you this was stupid. Let’s do something useful instead”. If that happens, just write “I don’t know what to say”, or “I’m not sure how to answer that”, and allow the conversation to continue.

Write for at least 15 minutes. The first seven will most likely be awkward, stilted chats, and the juicy bits commonly appear in the second half. If you find yourself “finished” after 5-7 minutes, I encourage you to ask “what else have you not told me”, and see where you go. It’s funny how much of the good stuff we hide from ourselves.

If you want to try it, I’d recommend starting with your Inner Wisdom. It’s a safe and solid ground, a place where we can connect with the best of us, the part that knows what we need, and who will give us advice in a gentle and supportive way.

Having dialogues with Resistance, with the Inner Critic, with your Inner Coach, can all be fantastic explorations of who we are. And of course, going deep into a conversation with your Inner Child can be revealing. It led me to writing page after page, sometimes crying, sometimes nodding in agreement, and all the time feeling like I was doing myself a tremendous favour.

We contain it all. The only problem we have is with access. This is your way in.

Keep writing,
Oliver

The first breakthrough I had in journaling, and in my own personal growth, was when I didn’t flinch and wrote down the parts of me I was scared of.

I remember the moment clearly. The task was simple. I was in a fiction writing course, and I was to write a passage about my shadow self, in some dramatic scene.

Cue raw, senseless violence, a side of me that let rip, and in 500 words I gave room for a part of me I was terrified of. I expressed, through third person perspective, the anger and frustration I carried inside. A micro-story of a woman who glorified violence, fearlessly fighting for pure joy.

The pure opposite of myself. Not only peace-loving, but terrified of conflict, especially physical conflict. Someone who would pride himself on not getting into fights because I’d talk my way out of it, but also not wanting to say that I would talk myself out of it because I was scared to fight.

I had no idea of the value of that honesty. The openness I needed to write the darkness I carried helped me do something fundamental: I allowed myself to look at it.

For the first time in my life, I could see, on paper, the violent fantasies I carried inside.

The relief was the surprise. I no longer had to pretend they didn’t exist. It didn’t make me want to go out and fight. But it allowed me to recognise that this part is there. It was a step on the process of self-acceptance.

Nathaniel Branden said self-acceptance doesn’t preclude us from change, on the contrary, it’s what makes it possible to change. But it’s not the first step.

We cannot change what we are not aware of.

We cannot love what we don’t accept.

The process here is simple, and it’s fucking uncomfortable:

Write what you’d be terrified someone else might find out. Then burn the paper if you must.

But write that shit out. Don’t hold back.

Once you’ve done that, write yourself a letter from the future.

Tell yourself how great you’ve been doing now that you’ve managed to siphon off some of that poison, and how you’ve managed to take a small step to accepting all of you: becoming whole, becoming healed.

Keep writing,

Oliver

You’re there, scribbling away, your favourite pen, your best paper.

You’re being more honest than ever. The ink is flowing effortlessly, just like the words of wisdom you’re spilling out.

On a roll, you create a connection, a click. You see how a moment you vaguely remembered in the past is twinned with what you feel today, a moment, a reaction.

That flash of chaos and uncertainty suddenly has an anchor point in the past. Ahh. The rush.

The joy. This is who you are!

You’ve figured some serious stuff out now. You pat yourself on the back for doing the work.

Except it’s a bit like saying buying the book and opening it up is the same as reading it. We’re definitely on our way, and it’s also quite far from completion.

The ego is good at getting you to buy more books to feel more like a reader. It looks good on the shelf, and it’s just the beginning.

In a client call this week we had a silly way of describing the process of going from unaware through to making change in your life:

First you smell that something isn’t quite right. You just don’t know what it is, but there’s definitely something off.

Then you’re curious about where you are, what’s going on. Self-awareness starts building, and you realise there’s a shit in the corner. No wonder it was a bit off here!

You found the shit, you realise the connection, and you feel proud of yourself.

But you still don’t do anything about it:

“I know I have abandonment issues.”
“I self-sabotage all the time.”
“I feel like such an imposter.”

Well observed. Now what? Most people stop here. I stayed here for decades.

This is where the wellness industry thrives, the self-help publishing world lives. This is the podcast that keeps giving you soundbites making you go “ooooh, I feel that too”. The journaling prompt that shows you a door that might be opened.

None of this is bad. It’s like saying bread is bad just before it’s been in the oven. It has to go through this phase. This is the work, just not all the work.

The problem is it’s hot in the oven. It’s gonna hurt to go through the next phase. It involves transformation, and that means change. It means doing something differently.

We can’t just turn to people and say “I’ve got baggage and I’m aware of it, so you have to deal with it”.

That’s not setting boundaries. It’s avoiding responsibility for your own shit.

The problem is, it feels good to get awareness. It feels tough to take responsibility.

Self-acceptance is the part where we do something about it.

We’re not just sitting there being self-aware while it stinks around us.

We start cleaning up our own mess. We get rid of that shit, and we’re feeling good about ourselves, because we’ve taken action beyond observation.

When we change the relationship to what we have around us, things obviously change. When you show up and say “yeah, that’s mine, I’ll deal with it”, you’re empowered.

The reason this is hard is because it’s not actual shit.

It’s the shame of being the one who’s at fault for a divorce.
It’s the pain of regret for not having said I love you to someone who passed away.
It’s the fear of being judged for something we judge others for.

The ego will keep you safe from this pain. It will feed you dopamine to keep you away. It will feed you another connection between the past and present. A new framework. More awareness. More shit, but pretending it’s not yours.

When you’re journaling, and you feel like you’re having a breakthrough, take some time to check in. Does it feel nice? Is it a soft feeling of wow, I know something new about myself?

Keep going. You’re not there yet.

Make it yours. Take ownership, personal responsibility.

Say “Yes, this shit is mine.”

Because the feeling you get when you take ownership isn’t joy.

It’s relief.

It’s noticing that the baggage is still there, but it’s got wheels and a name tag.

It’s mine but it’s a hell of lot easier to drag along now.

Keep writing,

Oliver

Projections and triggers are two of the most powerful ways to experience the unconscious. They are both surprising and obvious once we start digging deeper.

The first thing to define is the difference: projections are your unconscious thoughts and feelings plastered onto someone else; triggers are external inputs that give you an emotional reaction to something in your past.

“Projection on the Ego Level is very easily identified: if a person or thing in the environment informs us, we probably aren’t projecting; on the other hand, if it affects us, chances are that we are a victim of our own projections.”
(Ken Wilber, Meeting the Shadow, edited by Connie Zweig)

This distinction is worth remembering. The fact that something affects us is what makes it valuable to investigate, and in many ways can be used for triggers as well as projections. The essence here is how we are reacting. Someone might say something that reminds us of something from the past, but there’s no emotional reaction. Or it might trigger a response that brings to life a past experience.

In projections, it’s similar: if someone behaves badly and you brush it off, there’s nothing to see here. However, if their behaviour makes you react, you might want to look at why.

Robert A. Johnson describes it as “the error of attaching an aspect of your inner life onto someone or something on the outside. This way you do not have to take responsibility for it. In projecting a disowned part of yourself, you endow other people and things with the power to make you blissful or miserable.” (Robert A. Johnson, Contentment)

The good news is it’s something we can become more and more aware of. As with most things we do unconsciously, we can slowly make it more and more conscious. The process of self-awareness, however, isn’t always comfortable. To be honest, it’s rarely comfortable.

In having to face our projections, we need to actually look at what it is we’re putting out there. What from inside ourselves are we pasting onto someone or something else?

Once we dig into this it quickly becomes clear we have to deal with something that’s not actually happening right now. Just as with triggers, our projections take us to a place where something else is or was going on.

That means we react in a way that’s emotional and often out of proportion to the situation at hand.

When that happens, in order to “fix” it, we have to be willing to admit to it. Be willing to say “yes, I reacted to what you did because it reminded me of when something similar happened when I was younger”. Or that we can look at someone we’ve decided is an arrogant asshole and say “this person pisses me off because I wish I was better at looking after my own needs”.

As with all this, the main point, at least to start with, is to admit it to ourselves. You need to be able to see it in order to change it.

There are many ways this shows up, and in each one, we need to realise that there’s no single answer that will solve it.

I hate arrogance when I see it others. I know that sometimes it’s because I wish I could be more confident. Other times it’s because I don’t like it when people behave like they know it all, because it reveals how much I’m holding myself back from fear of being judged.

Projections are a way for us to start digging into who we are, and sometimes people are just being dicks. But, if someone is being a dick, unless someone is being hurt, why do you care?

My go-to on this is really to imagine I’m the Buddha. Would the Buddha care if someone is behaving poorly? Not likely. Then why do I?

Even if it’s clearly someone else’s “fault”, by behaving in a particularly bad way, what is it in me that’s reacting? I’m not saying this in the sense that we should all stop reacting and become docile. I’m saying it from the perspective of better self-understanding.

When we can see that this person is pissing us off, and we also know WHY (at least in this moment), we can respond appropriately, rather than react emotionally and compulsively.

I remember talking to someone who was struggling with the way a certain politician made her feel. When we discussed projections and how they often reveal what we are dealing with unconsciously it became even more uncomfortable. How could this narcissist have something in him that she also was carrying?

Eventually it came to light she had grown up in a religious community where her needs were secondary to those around her.

Having been told her individual needs were below the needs of others, it became quite clear how this politician would anger her. And also that the anger came from her capacity (or lack of): it was envy of his capacity to put himself first.

As much as she was, and is, a kind and generous person putting others before herself, there’s also a person inside who wants to be taken care of, who wants to be seen, admired, and spoiled even.

Those two opposing ideas are both true at the same time. The goal is not to live out both sides equally. The goal is to be aware of both so we no longer are slaves to the unconscious, so we can start to understand, start to see, and become more aware of who we are.

That’s done with curiosity, honesty and kindness. First we need to be open to the fact that what we’re experiencing is a projection. Then we need to take ownership and be honest with ourselves that perhaps what we’re seeing here is about me too. Finally, that process can leave us wondering how people put up with us (maybe that’s just me), or how many times we’ve done this without knowing about it.

I’ve felt mortified looking back at how many times I reacted poorly in a variety of situations. I still do! But the fact is still that it was unconscious. I didn’t choose to do this. Now that I’m facing myself I can see more clearly what’s going on. And I can look at my past with compassion. I did the best I could with the experience and tools I had at the time.

This is an excerpt of my upcoming book. If you want to know when the book is out, subscribe below:

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I had a trip down memory lane, almost literally, on a trip to a place I spent many years as a completely different person to who I am now.

I was younger (obviously), I was more creative, more raw, unpolished, fearless. Or at least that’s how the story goes.

There was a time when I was deeply involved with sculpture, and I felt both the need and the desire to create. There are works from that time I wish I still had, because I can see the value of the thoughts and emotions put into it.

I remember the urgency. The sense that this needs to be created now or it will never happen. And I had the time and the space to create. It was liberating.

Or at least that’s how the story goes.

I’ve written before about the idea of identity and change here:

What’s powerful in this process is the realisation that the way we can decide how we respond to something we feel. As long as we get out of reactive mode.

My nostalgia could so easily take me down:

I was so much more creative before, now I’m getting old and boring.

I was so much more ready to do new and crazy shit before, now I can’t decide which t-shirt to wear. Etc etc.

However, once you start the journey not only of self-awareness, but also self-acceptance, it’s easier to manage these rushes of experience.

My nostalgia could be seen through a different lens:

The version of me then was so creative, and I can invite that part of me back. And with a great deal more experience now.

The version of me that wanted to do new and crazy things was spontaneous, and I when I give myself room for that, it’s also possible now.

The way I can do this is through awareness. I can notice that I’m sitting in front of my laptop “working” in the evening, and I also know that I don’t really have to.

When I’m disciplined, I can get the most important things done within a few hours. The rest of the time is free for me to use on creativity. If I’m ready and motivated.

So the biggest difference between me then and now is perhaps this: I was more motivated then. Why? Because art was a greater part of my life.

Then put more art in my life now, right? Yes! This is exactly what I’m doing, and the results? You’d be shocked to know that when I read more fiction I want to write more fiction. When I go to sculptural exhibitions… yes, I want to do more sculpture.

There’s absolutely nothing here that’s revolutionary. It’s common sense.

However, in order to get to the common sense, you need to break free from the reactive patterns and the spiraling thoughts that take us out of the current moment and throw us into a whirlwind that leaves us in a hot mess.

The process of breaking free for me, has been deep journaling, digging through layers and layers of self-loathing and into a self-acceptance.

This is not a one-time job. I still have moments when I wake up and think this body of mine is hosting a nutcase of a mind, and it’s all going to hell in a hand cart.

But it’s not. It’s actually going quite ok, despite my best intentions of derailing myself.

When I was younger, I would derail, crash, feel sorry for myself and have a long period of wallowing. Now I derail, look at the mess, pick myself up like a toy trainset and put myself back on track.

It’s not always pretty, but it sure as hell beats the alternative.

Keep writing,

Oliver

Humans love connecting dots. We love seeing how one thing leads to another, building a network of events, leading us to an understanding of where we are. The truth of who we are and why we’re like this.

It’s a dopamine machine.

You do your journaling, your meditation or whatever. You spot something you remember from your past. An event, a statement, an emotion. Boom. “That’s why I am the way I am!”

Dopamine rewards your self-awareness, and the journey to self-discovery feels like it’s on its way. And in many ways it is. I wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t examined my past experiences and what they meant at that point.

I analysed the objective event, I saw how as a child I might have interpreted it. And I felt my self-awareness deepen. It’s crucial work to do.

Without a sense of progress, we won’t keep it up. However, it also cements our identity. Our identities can be great tools to push ourselves further.

“I’m resilient.”

“I’m creative.”

“I’m driven.”

It can also become a prison we’ve built for ourselves.

“I’m stuck.”

“I’m a victim.”

“I’m lazy.”

Our identity becomes something we use to deny ourselves the opportunity of change. Too often when we create an identity, we also treat it as fixed. Instead of being a phase, something we’ve been living, it becomes something we are.

The paradox is that trying to change can also become an identity

The ego is giving us the seeds of change, saying we can change. When we’re “doing the work”, and learning about ourselves, it’s important to remember that it’s all happening through a filter.

The ego has carefully curated an identity, a “safe” definition of who we are. So it shows us the versions of ourselves, the past, the stories, that confirm who we are. Not who we can be.

Shadow Journaling, shadow work, is about recovering the parts of our self that the ego has been hiding, in plain sight, to construct the stories we use to identify ourselves. The problem is, a lot of this involves real change. The kind of change the ego will resist.

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Resistance is a powerful block. Mostly because it never shows up as resistance. It can show up as another identity, carefully layered to keep us where we are.

We become “shadow workers”, we’ve “done the work”. We start to identify as someone who seeks integration rather than truth.

Yet the result stays the same. We don’t actually change.

This is in many ways the definition of spiritual bypassing. And I don’t think any tool for growth is exempt from this trap.

I do believe Shadow Journaling can deeply help with changing our perspective of ourselves. By changing how we see ourselves, we realise we contain so much more than we ever thought.

Too many times we look outside ourselves for something to complete us. A new modality to save us. A new guru to give us the truth. When deep down, what we need is to embrace ourselves. To go inwards.

Instead of searching for answers in the past, perhaps its time to examine our limitations in the present. To look at what we are doing to avoid facing what’s behind the curtain.

I know I’ve been terrified of who I might be, so I’ve kept myself small. And I know I still do. Through at least owning that, there’s a chance I can take steps to let myself grow.

Just because I constructed an identity of smallness, of victimhood, doesn’t mean I have to be this. I have just as much “proof” of change as of identity. What I can do now is allow myself the compassion to say “that was then, this is now, I did what I did with the knowledge I had”.

Even if it doesn’t feel like it, we can do things differently. We can show up without the masks, and face the world more honestly.

When we embrace the parts of who we are that we rejected, we fundamentally change not only how we see ourselves, but how we show up. How we speak, how we act.

That breakthrough brings discomfort.

That discomfort is having to face up to the realisation that our stuckness is a prison we created in order to feel safe, to feel vindicated for the way the world sees us, treats us.

The discomfort of seeing the door is open, and for so many years we didn’t want to acknowledge we were free to go.

There are no shortcuts. It means being vulnerable, ready to be hurt, and more often than not, realising the pain we feared was only the fear of growth.

You don’t need to search for the key to unlock the door of your prison.

It’s open.

I started reading another book about shadow work and I accidentally triggered myself.

It’s funny this Shadow stuff.

Once you see it you really can’t unsee it. And at the same time it still can creep up on you and give you a shock.

In the last 2 weeks or so I’ve at least some moments of surprise.

Most recently I started reading Debbie Ford’s book The Dark Side of the Light Chasers. I’ve previously read The Secret of The Shadow, which is a solid piece of work to do.

The thing about Shadow work is that once you’ve got the grasp of what it is, the rest of the time the work means doing the work. Not reading another book.

A lot of what Ford writes is stuff I’ve already read in different forms. From Jung, from Johnson, even from Ford herself. But sometimes it’s about the little bits that take it a step further.

One of the themes I explore a lot in my teaching is honesty. In particular honesty with ourselves. It has to start here, and quite frequently it’s missing. In The Dark Side of the Light Chasers, Ford really pulls no punches when she describes her own work, her own honesty in how she describes herself.

I like to say I’m open with most my flaws, and I am. But there are parts of my Shadow I’m happy to explore on my own, in my private space, and then I’ll share the results rather than the details. Here Ford goes in and exposes it all. And it’s fantastically uncomfortable.

For me, it really made me confront my own honesty. In a beautifully synchronistic moment, I was recently sent an email that felt completely out of line, and was definitely something that not just informed, it affected me.

In some moments of exploration around it, I realised one of the triggers in the email was a sense of dishonesty. I felt the sender was dishonest in the way certain things were described, excused even. And then I was caught in it. My own lack of honesty suddenly shone bright.

I could see it everywhere. Not in the sense of lying to people’s faces, but seeing how I might avoid certain topics to avoid having to say things out loud, or I might shift the tone a little, leverage the Shadow to keep things hidden.

One of the core elements of Shadow work is coming to terms with who we are, and embrace that.

One of the core elements of Shadow Journaling, is to take that embrace, and see what we can change in the way we do things.

Honesty, I like to tell my students, is not about closing doors. It’s about opening them. Because honesty gives others the opportunity to give you something they never could before.

Honesty will keep coming up. The question is, how will I face it?

Taking one’s own medicine is the worst.

Keep writing,
Oliver

A lot of people use Shadow work to prove to themselves they are fundamentally “bad”.

The truth is, deep and honest work with the Shadow will reveal something far more painful: you’re full of capacity for greatness, and now you have no excuse left to hide.

The Shadow gets a bad rap. We have a tendency to apply negative values to darkness, that which we cannot see or understand. It’s the place where nightmares live, the monster under the bed. Whatever we imagine as scary, we put into the Shadow.

When it comes down to how we develop our personal Shadow, whether something is “good” or “bad” is not taken into consideration. When our ego is in self-protection mode, it doesn’t care about qualitative issues: if it’s somehow risky, reject it and hide it.

When you were told to stop drawing and start doing your maths homework, or someone laughed at you for dancing freely, or your laughter was considered too loud, that all went into hiding.

The Shadow contains everything that was considered not acceptable by society, whether that be friends or family. Now this is in general a good thing. This is how we end up in a society where it’s generally frowned upon to behave like an asshole. We have certain unspoken guidelines which make it a smoother world to live in.

It’s just that the filtering process was a little too strict, and there’s a difference between what’s acceptable in the sense of being harmful to others, and acceptable in the sense that it breaks with what we want to believe in.

One of the most obvious ways we can start to explore our Shadow is through projections. It’s how we show our hidden self:

My regular journaling is without prompts, because I treat everything that affects me as a sign I’m not the Buddha. It means when I’m frustrated with someone for asking things from me, I check in.

“Am I secretly jealous because I have a tendency to give up?”. If I’m particularly in awe of someone I ask “is it because this person is taller than me, or are they just more relaxed in who they are?”.

When it comes to our hidden gold, hero-worshipping is a great place to start. Who do you admire, look up to? What is it in them you either wish to have, or have but don’t recognise and accept?

For me the hero-worship is usually triggered by someone just being happy in everyday life. It reminds me, painfully, that this is also something I’m capable of when I drop my victim-mentality. I can also recognise that today is actually quite good, but only when I stop wallowing in my own shit.

Or from the other perspective, do you get angry with those who display greater confidence than you? Or who are willing to ask for more, ready to take anything they can get, rather than display “modesty”?

When I see confidence in my Shadow, the projection is calling them arrogant, and quite frequently I’ll judge them for self-belief that’s “unwarranted”. This is where I can learn the most about myself, and realise that perhaps I should be less worried about what people believe, and trust my own knowledge and experience. I know I can be humble in my experience, but humble doesn’t always mean “hide”.

A curious part of the Shadow is how much resistance we have to our positive sides. How often have you received a criticism and taken it to heart, as if what was said was complete truth?

On the other hand, how often have you taken a compliment and NOT treated it as truth, rather than brush it off (“oh I had so much help”, “I was just lucky”, “oh this old thing, I got it on sale”)?

Our ability to “see” ourselves is what will help us change (which is why the first step in Shadow Journaling is Reveal).

The reason we often reject our positive is brutal: if you accept your brilliance, your shine, your capacity for greatness… your excuses are no longer valid.

The identity we build around projecting our capacity on others is holding us back. “If only I had her confidence, then I would…”, “if only I was as easy going with people as him…”.

When we believe in these statements, it puts the responsibility outside ourselves. We don’t “have” what they do, so there’s no need for us to climb to those levels. We’re already falling short, so why bother reaching?

If you accept you also have the capacity to do what you admire in others, there’s nothing left but to do it. Suddenly all our reasons to keep ourselves safe are gone.

To quote my favourite Robert A. Johnson: “It is as if we fear that heaven might come too soon”

So why don’t we just “do it”? Because our egos are built like a house of cards. Once we start making change, we nudge the table, and it might all come crumbling down.

The carefully constructed persona we show to the world, the self-deprecating version who complains over a coffee-chat, suddenly has to show up differently.

It’s painful to change, because it reveals all those years of stagnation. Saying to yourself today that “yes, I am capable of XYZ”, means also admitting that “I could have done this before, and I didn’t, therefore I’m a failure”. And this is where we need to step in and be kind.

You couldn’t do it before. You didn’t have the awareness before. You didn’t have capacity to accept yourself before.

This new you is coming from a new observation, new awareness, new acceptance. Your years of holding yourself back have given you a different view of who you are, and you weren’t ready for this before. You are ready now.

I’m not talking about a false sense of “new me”, but a quiet realisation that perhaps those compliments over the years weren’t all lies.

That perhaps when you’re looking in awe at someone’s capacity, that’s a result of their self-acceptance, and you’re on that same journey too.

Once you start to accept your capacity for greatness, you’re in “trouble”:

Your old identity of limitation will slowly crack and fall away, and the new version of yourself will have room to grow.

The question now is only this: what will you do differently?

Keep writing,
Oliver

Shadow work has almost taken on a cult-like status. At least if you’re in my echo chamber. My local bookshop told me they’ve had more requests than ever for books by Carl Jung.

All good, I say.

As long as there’s awareness in the work.

Because here’s the irony: the ego is very, very good at tricking us into believing we’re doing the work, when we’re actually just levelling up our avoidance. And nothing accelerates that trick faster than doing your Shadow work in public.

The “look at me, how aware I am of my Shadow” post. The podcast confession that’s really a performance. The workshop share that’s been rehearsed so many times it’s lost all its charge.

I’m not judging this. I’ve done it. But I have to be honest about what was happening.

The First Moment Should Be Yours

The process of creating Shadow Journaling came from a simple realisation: the work doesn’t have to be public.

Which obviously goes against the whole culture of sharing, selling, and performing our growth for an audience.

But think about what happens when you first face a difficult truth about yourself in front of other people. You’re already managing their reaction before you’ve even processed your own. You’re editing. You’re framing. You’re making it digestible.

That’s not Shadow work. That’s storytelling.

What Shadow Journaling offers is something different: a private, intimate meeting with your Shadow, before you have to share anything with anyone.

And this matters, because many of the things we discover about ourselves are genuinely shameful. Not shameful in the “I should be ashamed” sense, but shameful in the “this doesn’t fit the person I think I am” sense.

Someone whose identity is built on being generous might have to sit with parts of themselves that are egotistical and greedy.

Someone who’s left-leaning politically might have to face their own privilege, or come to terms with reactions coming from fear rather than the values they publicly hold.

Someone on the right might have to confront their jealousy of people who seem to live with less fear.

These aren’t comfortable discoveries. And the first moment of acknowledgment should come to you alone.

You deserve the chance to look at it. To sit with it. To make adjustments. Or simply to see yourself in a different light, before you tell anyone.

Not Everything Needs to Be Shared

This is also why I see Shadow Journaling as a powerful precursor to coaching and therapy. By facing these parts alone first, you might get more out of the sessions when you do talk to someone. And it might also be what makes it clear that therapy is needed.

But here’s what most people don’t consider: not all of your discoveries need to be shared at all. It’s perfectly fine to have deep insights into your inner life without ever telling a soul.

Your experience of growth will impact the world regardless.

Robert A. Johnson says this perfectly in his book Owning Your Own Shadow:

“Any repair of our fractured world must start with individuals who have the insight and courage to own their own shadow.”

Knowing you carry a paradox of emotions leads to deeper self-awareness and more empathy. Including, hopefully, empathy toward yourself.

Because the trap here is obvious. You discover something uncomfortable about yourself, and instead of integrating it, you use it as another stick to beat yourself with.

In a culture that still carries deep Judeo-Christian conditioning, where the existence of a thought itself can trigger guilt, this is a real risk. “Knowing” that thoughts themselves are sinful, is enough to make the most grounded person neurotic.

But once you can accept that thinking something does not mean acting on it, you can extend a kindness to yourself that many of us have been missing for years.

The Part You’re Really Hiding

And here’s where it gets interesting.

One of the biggest misconceptions about Shadow work is that it’s all heavy. All darkness. All confronting the worst parts of yourself.

Robert A. Johnson (him again) pointed out something that changed my understanding completely: most people hide their best selves deeper than their worst.

We find it easier to tell people how awful we might be. We’re far more reluctant to own our brilliance. We brush off compliments and absorb criticism like sponges.

There’s a resistance to being fully in our power. And maybe that’s because stepping into it takes away every excuse. It removes the victimhood, the misery, the stories we’ve been telling ourselves about why we can’t change.

There is nothing more terrifying, and nothing more empowering, than finding out that you, and only you, can change your life.

Keep writing,
Oliver

As many aspiring artists did, I read Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. It was like someone was speaking directly to me, giving me permission to just do, to create.

I cannot remember how many of the weekly tasks I actually did (a student of mine did it over 12 months because of how much work there was), but I do remember picking up on Morning Pages.

At the time I was journaling and writing my own introspective fiction, but Morning Pages gave me something I probably needed at the time.

What I needed was structure. Living creatively often involves a lot of chaos, ideas flying around, guilt for not producing enough, mixed in with judgements of whether or not it would be worth doing, or if I would be able to create it in the first place.

Julie told me how to journal.

If the teacher appears when we need one, in this case it felt right. Looking back, I also see how it held me back.

Morning Pages has structure, but only in how: three pages, first thing in the morning, don’t read it.

Cameron herself even says Morning Pages vs journaling is that in journaling typically “you set a topic”.

Having now learnt personally with Kathleen Adams, author of Journal To The Self (and about 12-14 other books on journaling), I can see how that’s a limitation on what journaling can be, and very often is.

In fact, Morning Pages can easily be called “intuitive writing”, a journaling technique taught by Tristine Rainer in The New Diary (published in 1978).

The structure I was longing for, and got, was, however not the structure I needed. I longed for a way to predictably go into myself and learn something. A way to explore and to navigate, rather than float along and see what might come up.

Going into the depth is not for the faint hearted. It involves a willingness to face ourselves, and not just the pretty self we like to show others.

By using a combination of techniques like sentence stems, character sketches, dialogue writing, future perspectives, I suddenly found I had a way to go into the dark, and to write my way back into the light.

I found I had created a universal map for how to explore the self without getting lost. The map populated itself with way points and territory as I was travelling. And it led me to finding myself again and again.

It’s easy to bash on Julia Cameron just because she’s become so big. It’s unfair because I’m sure she had no intention from the outset that Morning Pages should become, for so many people, the starting point on their journey in journaling.

Yet at the same time, one of the most frequent phrases I hear in my workshops is “oh wow, I didn’t know you could do this in journaling”. And very often from those who only do Morning Pages.

If that’s you, I hope you see this as an invitation to go deeper, to explore with more intention and curiosity.

Keep writing,

Oliver

Ps.: If you want a free Shadow Journaling starter kit, check this out.

I remember seeing someone do a bit of a personal development “show”. To prove a point about self-esteem, someone in the audience, with brownish hair, was asked: “If someone said they hated your pink hair, how would you feel?”

To which the person clearly said they wouldn’t care. The point being that if someone is reacting emotionally to something that’s clearly not true about you, you won’t react or take it in.

The idea here is that everything you receive of input, whether in words or sensations or thoughts, can either inform you, or affect you.

In this case, of course we are informed that someone is possibly colour blind, or just looking for a fight.

However fun this kind of example might be, it also misses the point.

When we DO get angry or emotional, i.e. affected, by what is said or communicated, it’s not because of glaringly obvious things like that.

It’s because a part of us believes what is said contains a grain of truth. And a truth we are rejecting.

To take a different phrase that often seems to trigger people:

“You’re behaving just like your mother.”

The only people who react (being affected), are the ones who are rejecting their parents in one way or another. The parts they have been hiding and denying are suddenly seen, instead of their mask.

This is a terrifying experience. It opens up a vulnerability that’s truly painful. We’re living our lives with our complete trust in our masks, and the belief that our rejected self, our Shadow, is quietly keeping to itself in the cellar.

The Shadow never stays quiet forever. It will be seen and heard. The problem is, it’s mostly visible to those around us.

This is the essence of Shadow Journaling. To become aware of the Shadow, to bring it into the light, but in private.

Let’s say the rejected part of your parent is how they were a perfectionist and criticising everything and everyone. You’ve spent your life trying to be different. Being openminded, ready to accept what comes your way. Being nice.

And it works. It works for a while. It’s just that sometimes you don’t notice the little slips. Perhaps a remark, a side note in a conversation. Or trying to “help” when someone is cooking or cleaning. “Let me show you how to do this … ‘better’…”.

Most of the time these little Shadow moments are innocuous. They don’t mean you’re like your parent. They mean there are aspects to you that’s like that. And the difference is huge.

One example I use with myself is my self-proclaimed generosity. I am generous. I give to people in need on the street. I’ll share what I have with you.

And sometimes I can be a greedy bastard. It sometimes shows up as feeling into my pocket when I’m about to give a homeless person some coins. Trying to make sure I don’t grab the “big” coins. As if giving away a €2 coin will break my budget.

Or I’ll be annoyed when someone takes the last meatball, and I was eying it up. If the same person had asked the table if anyone wants it, I’d let them have it. Still I manage to have that experience of greed.

The solution is surprisingly simple. The first thing is awareness. We need to become aware of these moments of Shadow appearing in our lives. From that we can actually do something about it.

What then to do?

We need to be honest, and we need to accept that this actually exists within us. The critical point here that I keep repeating (again and again), is that taking ownership of a trait or behaviour, does not give it the power to take over.

On the contrary, it becomes seen, and it’s easier for us to say (quietly to ourselves), “I see that sometimes I behave like my mother/father, but most of the time I don’t. And now that I see it, I can stop myself, unless it’s actually helpful.”

I want to put the blame (at least part of it) on the self-help/personal development/spiritual bypassing crowd for this mess.

Someone asked me in a workshop if “writing down those parts of us doesn’t just manifest it and make it real?”. No. No it doesn’t.

What makes it real is giving energy to it by trying to keep it hidden:

By fighting these parts we have inside, hoping we will win the battle against the unconscious, we inadvertently make them stronger and bigger.

In the end, this is about whole-ness. About healing. To achieve this, we need to start the process of self-acceptance. Of being willing to say “I containg this, but this is not all of me”.

In some funny way, we need to take advice from Micheal Corleone in the Godfather II:

I don’t mean this in the sense that our Shadow is our enemy. Rather that when we are able to become closer to the “darkness” (ie. what we cannot see), we are much more capable of being informed rather than affected.

When you’ve been through the process of accepting your moments of micro-managing, of being critical to yourself or others, you become invincible (at least in that area).

Someone telling you “you’re just like your mother” can now be met with “yes, sometimes parts of her shine through, but thankfully I’m not like that all the time”. This is usually more helpful than rage and fury.

If nothing else, it will at least leave you with fewer surprises when the Shadow appears, and it can open up to moments of a wry smile of recognition, rather than a fear of being exposed.

Keep writing,

Oliver

I want to keep my Substack free for all, and I don’t see a paid version of the articles at any point. If you feel the desire to support, I’m quite frequently buying pens.

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I’m 47 and I’ve been journaling since I was a teenager. In one form or another, writing was a way for me to get out of my head.

It was only about 10-11 years ago I realised how much I’d been lying to myself, however. Not in some malicious sense, like making myself completely delusional. Just a lil bit delusional.

Things like believing I was ok, everything is fine. I’m good, thanks. No, don’t worry, I don’t need any help.

You know the kind.

The thing about truths is, your brain really couldn’t give a flying fuck about it. Your brain is about protection and self-preservation. It means it’s happy for you to live a life of ignorance as long as there no boats being rocked.

Your past will be shaped to fit whatever story is currently favourite, and your future options will neatly be put into the forms that will keep you steady. No crazy ideas, thank you very much. We’re nice and comfortable as we are.

Your ego is trying to keep things as safe and nice and smooth as possible. It knows the kind of shit-show it might have to face if you start digging. If you start looking at how you actually feel, what you actually want, then the comfortable life of the ego goes down the drain.

The comfort of the ego is more important than the growth of the self. Because the ego cannot remain static when you grow.

It has built a house of cards, and looking for growth is the equivalent of a younger sibling approaching the table with pure intent.

Which brings us back to honesty.

Being honest with ourselves is quite frequently a painful process. It involves having to look at where we are, what we’re doing, who we’re spending time with, and then accepting that “yes, this is the result of who I have been up to now”.

That means you can start changing it, or keep living with the realisation that this might not be exactly what you dreamt about in your teens, twenties, or even last year.

For me, the most brutal part of this was the realisation of my own victimhood. I spent so much time looking at the world from the lens of being owed something.

I was avoiding confrontation, conflict, being seen. My identity around being a victim made me hide.

Being a victim exempted me from personal responsibility.

It gave me implicit permission to be passive, and to feel all bad things were the fault of others. It made me start projects and discard them just as quickly, because if they didn’t feel absolutely perfect, I “knew” it would be rejected. Because that’s where I was in my mind.

Once I realised this pattern it was hard to avoid seeing it. It popped up in so many places. And it became something I could work on. I was able to take responsibility for it.

At first it was just through realising that this was my emotional pattern. I could say “yes, I’m behaving like a victim now”. The hardest part was letting go of it, because it was so comfortable.

Underneath the story here was the belief that someone was supposed to come save me. Here’s the insiduous part of that: when I was hoping someone would come save me, it made it impossible for me to tell people I was doing well.

Nobody comes to save anyone who’s doing well. In the end, it meant I kept a story, internally and externally, of how “bad” it was. Even though it wasn’t.

But I needed to cling to that in order to be recued. Nobody is coming to save me. Or you.

When I started sharing to people I was doing well, that I’m good, that I’ve got exciting projects going on, something strange happened.

The number of random strangers that came up to me to offer help was exactly the same as before. None. But I felt better. I was telling a story that was much more real, and it created a positive spiral.

I had more energy, I was more wiling to take responsibility for my own actions. And guess what? Strangely enough, I was able to do more.

Being honest was a core part of this change. And trust me when I say admitting and accepting the amount of victimhood I’d been living was uncomfortable. It did not happen overnight.

It was a steady process of using powerful journaling techniques with deliberate intention. I worked hard on my self-esteem, and put in the ink-miles to make it work.

And the great irony of it all? Once the ego could see I gave up my past identity of “victim”, and took on a temporary coat of “survivor”, it suddenly had so much more power to do good.

The ego isn’t evil. It’s just scared.

Being honest with myself allowed me to change how I showed up, and the Ego is a powerful ally when the masks drop and I show up as a more authentic version of myself.

Let’s dive in and make this more practical…

Do you recognise any of these scenarios when you write?

➽ You write what comes easy to mind, not what’s behind the first words.

➽ You focus on the problem, not your part in it.

➽ You tell yourself a version that feels safe, avoiding the elements that are “risky”.

This is normal.

Your journal is a mirror of how deep you’re willing to go. The question is, do you want to go a step or two further and explore more?

➽ The anger that’s just beneath the surface.

➽ The fears you’ve pushed aside.

➽ The shame you pretend isn’t there.

To do that, you need three tools: curiosity, honesty, and kindness.

Don’t allow the first words to limit you. Be the annoying child in your journal: keep asking questions.

➽ What am I not writing down?

➽ Where does my story feel too neat, too rehearsed?

➽ What am I blaming on others that I might need to own?

The way to growth happens through a couple of processes:

➽ We first need to see there is more to the story than meets the eye (or page).

➽ Then we need to accept responsibility for what we’re in, and be honest with ourselves about it.

➽ Finally, we can start the process of changing our behaviour.

This is the essence of what I want to share: the freedom you can experience when you get in touch with your honest and authentic self releases so much energy.

Keep writing,

Oliver

If you want to find out more about Shadow Journaling and work I do, check out my website, or join my free community.

I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion I’m not good at being consistent. As a teenager I did some kind of aptitude test, and one of the jobs they said would suit me was magazine journalism.

Looking back I can see how a job that never really repeats itself makes sense.

Recently I did another kind of test, where one of my weak points was “maintenance”. No surprises there then.

However, I also know that consistency beats creative bursts of energy. It’s the classic story of the tortoise and the hare. Despite seeing myself as a fast learner, seems this one flew past me.

This particular issue showed up with full force recently. I’ve just refound my love of ceramics. As usual I was scrolling on Instagram, looking for inspiration. Instead, I found comparison. I started looking at the ease they worked with. The grace in creation. And I knew I wasn’t there.

I was comparing my current self (not having worked with clay for over a decade), with those who have a decade or more of **consistent** effort and daily practice.

This is absurd, and a recipe for failure. Yet there I was.

I’m curious to the point its a pathology. If I feel I’m reacting to something, I love to figure out what the hell it is.

I needed to find out what was going on, and dear reader, you will be shocked to find out I journaled about it.

I started with exploring my future self from the perspective of having worked consistently for three years on ceramics. Where would I be?

With that level of work and dedication, I knew I would be in a good place with it, but the fear was the repetition.

The fear that I’d lose interest once I didn’t see fast results.

The fear I’d not be able to keep up a proper practice.

So what does a Shadow Journaler do? I decided to ask my Inner Wisdom. It’s usually a good place for answers, although I don’t often like them.

This is how it went down (edited to make it possible to understand without being inside my head):

Oliver:

I don’t know who to speak to about this, but I’m tired of not being able to be consistent.

Inner Wisdom:

You want to know why, or how to deal with it?

O:

Both, I guess. I feel it’s the one thing that’s holding me back now.

IW:

That’s possibly true. But not sure. What’s sure is that it has a major impact. You’re impatient. You like to say you’re process-oriented, and in some things you are.

But a lot of the time you’re outcome-driven. That causes you to not stick with things. You’re naturally good at learning, so you feel you should be able to be great, to master something quickly. And because you have an acute visual sense, you know the results are some way away and you feel you’re not getting the resuls fast enough. Mastery comes from repetition. And you do not like repetition. At all.

So, put all that together, it’s quite complicated. And because you’re aware, you’re also judgmental of your own internal state. So all in all, quite complex.

O:

Fucking hell. OK then. What the fuck do I do about that then?

IW:

[Note to reader: mentally I was connecting consistency in general to the acute specifics of needing to be “better” at social media, hence the following jump.]

It’s all about the story you tell, and the habits you create. You can rewrite the story of daily social media presence into an experiment on what kind of visuals work. On what kind of visuals you like. All this is something to play with. You can take it as a challenge.

There’s virtually an unlimited amount here. All you need is to test formats. Test ideas. You know you’re not going to suddenly find the thing that clicks. You’ve seen enough “traffic” to realise it doesn’t all convert. So by actually telling the story and then seeing how it’s all about actual personal impact rather than your own vanity metrics, it becomes easier to work with.

O:

Yeah, that all makes sense. All I need to do now is find a way to get all of this out of my head.

IW:

Don’t think too much. You’re always looking for the best solution. Just choose any for now. Post-its on the wall is enough to start with.

O:

I like that. OK, I’ll crack on. I’ll do some ceramics, walk the dog, and see where I end up with it all.

What’s amazing about this kind of work is the way it can become clear WHAT to do, rather than a constant search for WHY.

I’ve spent decades searching for the answer. The ANSWER. The one thing that would make it clear to me why I am the way I am.

Sometimes it would look like digging into the car accident, or my sense of survivor’s guilt, or my guilt for not warning my dad. My sense of abandonment (which was seeded to me by a therapist) and my feeling of victimhood are also regular topics.

Over decades of introspection I’ve come to realise that my truth as a teenager versus my truth in my twenties versus my truth now at 47, are all different.

That answer I was desperate to find doesn’t exist, or at least it keeps changing.

I’m not advocating that people don’t explore their traumas. I think it’s wise to confront ourselves and look with honesty and compassion at what has happened.

I don’t believe in trauma-autopsies, hoping that the corpse of the past somehow will reveal a clear path to a glorious future.

The dialogue I had with my Inner Wisdom was about understanding how I can rewrite my own version of maintenance. How I can turn it into something like an experiment (thanks to Matt at LWS for talking about this at the Barcelona Journaling Festival!). How I can reframe the idea of maintenance into a narrative that matches how I gravitate?

I’ve tried willpower; I usually lose. Until I find a way to convince myself there’s a better way, I’ll naturally adapt to my baseline of fear of repetition, boredom, and in all honesty, feeling trapped.

There are a multitude of layers here, and what I’ve written here is just one version. I could easily write another where the key point for avoiding maintenance is desire for absolute freedom.

They are both true, but none of those stories are the answer.

It’s what you do with it, what you make of change in your life, that matters.

This is the essence of my process:

Reveal: My issue with consistency is about fear of repetition (right now at least).

Reclaim: I can own that, and stop trying to use willpower to fight it.

Rewrite: I am deciding that my maintenance, my routines, can be hacked to create change, variation, and allow me to move forwards. With freedom.

What is your challenge? Drop me a comment below!

Leave a comment

Keep writing,

Oliver

I set myself the target of writing one Substack post per week. It felt like a doable ask.

Then I hit a moment of feeling utterly empty. Not just empty, but also not sure where the tap was to fill my cup.

I’ve been reluctant to dig out more old pieces (I’ve already some to the archive), so I wanted to find a way to dig into the words.

As I’m writing this, it’s Tuesday evening. I’ve got another 22 hours before I’m supposed to hit publish on tomorrow’s post. As I’m writing, I don’t know where this text will go.

The idea of writer’s block is interesting. On the one hand I feel it, and on the other, I believe it’s just fear of starting. Fear of going into the parts we’re so good at avoiding.

I stole that idea from my friend and mentor Gloria Kempton, who introduced me to Shadow Writing just about 10 years ago.

Her course is still what I look back at as the light that made it possible for me to explore myself more deeply, and it has been a major influence on what is now Shadow Journaling.

The writer’s block holding me back from writing now was fear of failure, fear of not being good enough.

The inner critic is kicking in big time as I’m typing (“who the fuck wants to read about your boring bullshit about writing”, “just find something you’ve written before and let it go”), and I’m still here. If you’re reading this, I won.

What’s fascinating when you start observing this is how insiduous that voice is. It’s not even pretending to be nice, it’s just there.

It’s a voice with the confidence of privilege, somehow knowing more than you, and at the same time fearing you’ll do it anyway.

This is how the Shadow shows up a lot of the time. It’s not some huge scry monster or bad memories or trauma.

Often it’s just a shitty little voice that stops you from singing out loud even though you know the words by heart.

Stopping you from getting onto the dancefloor even though your foot is following the beat

Stopping you from writing the next line of poetry even though the first line inspired you for more.

The only voice I have to counter it with is the one that says “it doesn’t matter, you’re not doing it for anyone but yourself”. Then I remember that if nobody likes it, it’s doesn’t matter. I’ve just started Substack, so the other posts get about 3 or 4. I can live with that disappointment.

I’m not sure this is something I should keep sticking with as my “positive voice”, but it’ll do for now.

The reason I’m sticking with it, is because as I’m writing, I’m also realising that this process I’m going through probably isn’t unique. Maybe this voice is something others deal with, and then they stop.

Don’t stop. Stopping doesn’t teach you anything other than being disappointed in yourself for not doing.

In the beginning of this I wrote I wanted to write one post a week. What I didn’t say (but clearly implied to myself), was that I want to write one awesome fucking piece of work every week.

And that’s a hell of a lot of pressure when you’re dealing with voices in your head that don’t support you at all times.

Don’t get me wrong - I think those voices can be truly helpful at times. They keep us from walking out on the street naked, they help us keep our mouths shut (sometimes), and they generally make for a smoother interaction in our community.

But they are also cockblocking the work we want to do. And that’s not good.

This piece of writing will not go down as one of my masterpieces, and I’m ok with that. Because right now, the most important part is the fact that I’m doing the work. I’m showing up.

If nobody reads it, I showed up for myself.

The mission I have for the next quarter is just that.

I’ll do my best to show up, even when it’s hard, even when I don’t like it. And I’ll push through and write something that if nothing else, at the time of writing, it made sense for me.

Keep writing (even when it’s fucking uncomfortable),

Oliver

Connect with me in the Alchemy Through Words community.

I journal almost daily, with most days being quite dull, to be honest.

My internal life is quite frequently about what I’m avoiding doing, organising my shit like walking the dog and writing for Substack.

Every now and again, however, something comes up.

What follows is close to what I wrote in my journal on Monday 5 January, with some edits/cuts made so it makes sense for others (and so I come across as someone who journals more literary than I actually do):

It’s Monday morning, feeling I didn’t sleep enough, or that I’m tired of being at service and not really getting much back.

Feeling taken for granted. That my needs are not important.

But here’s the thing: my needs are not clearly communicated.

Because underneath all of this, I don’t feel I’ll be able to have my needs met, so why tell anyone and remind myself of what I want (and won’t get).

I feel I can’t say my needs out loud until everyone else has theirs met already. There’s this feeling that in the order of needs being met, someone will have to go last. Not through malice or lack of care. Through sheer order of events. Someone will alway get served last at the dinner table.

In my mind, having your needs met last is painful, and I don’t want others to suffer this pain. In my mind, my pain threshold is higher, so I’ll sacrifice myself and go last. Without telling anyone of course. [Note to self: is this self-sacrifice, or lack of self-esteem?]

The problem with this logic is that it makes so much sense it’s impossible to argue with (on a surface level). It’s also fucking awful, because it leaves me feeling a low level of resentment for being of service, and guilty when I actually do take time to meet my own needs (because now someone else is last).

One of the things that’s needed is the acknowledgement of what my needs are. Without knowing them, it’s hard to even start the process of meeting them.

The problem is, when you’re used to letting your own needs live in the gutter, it’s no wonder they feel dirty and festering. They have been seen as unnecessary, unneeded. Unwanted even.

As a man, I get fed the additional layer of just “toughen up” and deal with it. The ironic “other” side of toxic masculinity is that despite the drive for dominance and control, the underlying needs (love, care, being seen) are not allowed out, so resentment and anger are the only ones we get.

Despite how much I’m aware of all this, I still see in myself the “societal” message that as a man I should go last when it comes to having my needs met. Women and children first, and if there’s another seat in the lifeboat, go for it.

As much as I’ve been around strong, independent women, I’m curious how many disagree with both the statement and the sentiment above. [Note to reader: Feel free to comment! No judgement, just curious.]

Which brings it back to the fact that someone has to go last. And that’s me. So why would I even concern myself with what my needs are?

The problem with this logic is that it treats it as a zero-sum game. That if I get my needs met, someone else will either have to lose out, or miss their spot in the life boat. That’s not the case.

The big shift has to come from me. First by deciding that I will find out what my needs are, and then having them met. [Note to self: Why the constant passive voice?]

Yet that process is tough. After so many years of not seeing needs as something “for me”, how do we start? How do I go about creating a list (mental or written) of what I feel my needs are?

So often they come out as “a new car” or a “new house”, when in fact it’s more basic: feeling loved, feeling my future is safe. Feeling seen, and that my existence is both valued and appreciated.

I guess with so many other things, all this is about practice. Learning first to identify them, then to accept they can be met, and finally to be able to tell someone, including myself.

The great irony in all this is that in many cases, just being able to vocalise, whether in conversation or in writing (journaling!), has immense value.

For me at least, the biggest pain is often in the resentment. The pushing down of my own desires, my own needs. It only leads to me hating myself for not even allowing myself to say I need it.

Somehow we believe the unspoken, unseen, unacknowledged needs will stay quiet. It doesn’t. It shows up in all manner of insidious ways.

I remember a moment with my mum many years ago. We’d had a long and heavy conversation, and in her frustration she asked me what do I want from her. All I wanted was a hug.

The entry ended here, with the following PS:

P.S.

After writing all this, and feeling I’m really onto something interesting, there’s a part of me still that’s going “don’t be a pussy”. “Stop thinking anyone cares about you and your needs.”

I’m wondering if that’s coming from the idea that my needs must be fulfilled by others. That’s maybe my fear.

If I’m reliant on others to have my needs met, I’m feeling at a disadvantage, and I need to “trade”. “I’ll fulfil yours first, if you fulfil mine after.”

Unspoken agreements like this rarely work well. So in the end, the result is the status quo.

The only way out is through change. A change of perception of value of my own needs, a realisation that we are not at the same level at the same time.

I might be overflowing at times and can make others feel good, while when I need my cup filled, others are full. The only way to get to this point is through honesty with the self, and crucially, honesty with others.

End of entry. Not end of thinking.

The lesson here is quite clear, although the path forwards is not easy. It involves a lot of curiosity of self: What ARE my needs? Is it just to be seen and validated?

There needs to be a lot of honesty: Am I just an addict to external validation? How many layers of judgement can I find here? Am I willing to communicate this, even unfinished thoughts, to others?

And finally kindness: How can I start the process of self-care, even if it’s not perfect, even if it doesn’t “fix” all the shit that’s layered up over the years?

In the end, the darkness lifts just by writing all this out, and it opens doors to easing the pain going forwards. Vocalising what I need sounds easy, but it can’t happen without first acknowledging I have them, and that requires deep self-acceptance.

The journey begins within.

The continuation of the journey, however, is outside.

Keep writing,

Oliver

Connect with me in my free Skool community.