We usually assume our suffering is telling us that something is wrong with life. More often, it is telling us that something within us is ready to be understood.

Suffering is the belief that life shouldn’t be as it is. Having expectations that life should be easier, happier, or more exciting invites suffering because life inevitably falls short of those expectations. Likewise, believing that I shouldn’t have to put up with these annoying thoughts and feelings creates another layer of suffering. They drag me down and make me miserable. I just want them to go away and leave me alone.

Pain is an inevitable part of being human. Disappointment, grief, illness, conflict, and loss happen to everyone. Suffering begins when the mind argues with reality.

“That shouldn’t have happened.”

“They shouldn’t be like this.”

“I shouldn’t feel this way.”

“I should be further along.”

The struggle isn’t with life. It’s with the belief that life should be different.

If suffering feels so painful, why does it exist at all?

Perhaps suffering isn’t something to eliminate, but something to understand. Rather than being an enemy, it may be one of our greatest teachers.

Suffering Inspires Growth

Contentment rarely motivates change. Most of us begin looking inward only after something stops working.

A relationship breaks down. Anxiety becomes overwhelming. The same conflict keeps repeating. Life becomes uncomfortable enough that we become willing to examine ourselves.

Without suffering, many of us would never begin the journey of self-discovery. Suffering signals that there is an opportunity to grow beyond our current way of seeing ourselves and the world.

Suffering Reveals Our Attachments

Every time we suffer, we can ask a simple question:

What am I needing life to be that it isn’t?

The answer reveals attachments. What are my expectations? What am I avoiding moment?

Perhaps we need control. Certainty. Approval. Success. Security. Love. Or more mundane things like traffic moving better, weather to be nicer, lines to move faster, and so on.

The suffering isn’t caused by the event alone. It is intensified by our insistence that life conform to the way we believe it should be.

Our attachments are often invisible until life refuses to satisfy them. Suffering shines a light on them.

Suffering Reveals Our Hidden History

Strong reactions are rarely about only the present moment.

The intensity often points toward something unfinished. An old wound. A belief about ourselves. A protective strategy that once kept us safe but no longer serves us.

Suffering signals that something beneath the surface has been activated. Instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?” we can ask, “What is this reaction trying to show/tell me?”

Our reactions become guides, revealing aspects of ourselves that have remained unconscious.

Suffering Deepens Relationships

Many of our greatest struggles arise from wanting another person to be different.

We want them to be more attentive, more affectionate, less critical, more ambitious, more emotionally available. We fall in love with who we believe they could become and quietly resist who they actually are.

Suffering invites us to see them as they are rather than as we wish they were.

Eventually every relationship arrives at three choices.

1. Accept that this is who they are and choose to stay.

2. Accept that this is who they are and choose to leave.

3. Continue resisting reality and suffer.

The third choice is surprisingly common.

Acceptance doesn’t mean approving of every behaviour, nor does it mean abandoning healthy boundaries. It simply means seeing reality clearly before deciding how to respond.

Only then can love become an invitation rather than a demand.

Suffering Invites Freedom

Perhaps the deepest purpose of suffering is that it eventually exhausts us.

We grow tired of blaming. Tired of trying to control everything. Tired of arguing with reality.

Eventually the question changes.

Instead of asking, “How do I make life different?” we begin asking, “What within me is creating this suffering?”

That question marks the beginning of freedom.

Suffering Ends When We Listen

A signal is not meant to last forever.

A smoke alarm isn’t trying to annoy us. It’s trying to get our attention. Once we’ve understood the message and responded appropriately, the alarm no longer needs to sound.

Psychological suffering often works the same way. We keep trying to silence the alarm by changing other people, controlling our circumstances, distracting ourselves, or waiting for life to become different. But the signal continues because we haven’t yet understood what it’s pointing toward.

When we become curious instead of resistant, suffering begins to fulfill its purpose. We stop asking, “How do I make this feeling go away?” and begin asking, “What is this feeling trying to show me?”

Rather than trying to escape suffering, we learn to listen to it. We discover the attachment, the belief, the old wound, or the unconscious pattern it is revealing. We accept what we find, integrate what we have learned, and choose how to respond.

Once the message has been received, the signal no longer needs to keep sounding.

Life will continue to unfold in ways we don’t expect or prefer. Pain will still arise. But suffering no longer has to be an enemy. It becomes a guide, leading us toward greater awareness, deeper relationships, and a more peaceful way of living.

In the previous article, I described the experience of driving behind someone on a winding country road. The driver ahead slowed on every curve and accelerated on every straightaway. As a result, the driver behind was unable to travel at the speed he wanted and never found an opportunity to pass.

From this event arose feelings and a story.

The feelings were frustration and anger.

The story was that the driver ahead was doing it deliberately.

The cause of these feelings was then projected onto the other driver, who was experienced as incompetent and disrespectful.

In response, the driver fumed and cursed the driver ahead. Later, he reinforced his convictions by telling others about the encounter. Their agreement confirmed his belief that the other driver was the problem, ensuring that the suffering arising from the original event continued and deepened with each retelling.

The Wheel

The next four spokes of the Wheel of Regret are Event, Feel, Project, and React. I covered Event in the previous article. I will now focus on the remaining three spokes. Although they represent distinct aspects of the wheel, they unfold so quickly that they are experienced as a single process.

For this reason, they are presented together in this article. Separating them into individual articles would suggest a sequence that rarely exists in lived experience. In reality, feelings and stories arise, their cause is projected, and a reaction follows almost simultaneously.

The purpose of this article is to slow this process down. By examining each spoke individually, we can better understand how the Wheel of Suffering gathers momentum and why the cycle so easily perpetuates itself.

Feel

As described in the previous article, events automatically give rise to feelings and stories. The purpose of the Feel spoke is to understand how those feelings and stories become our immediate experience of ‘Truth.’

When feelings and stories arise, we do not recognize them as an inner experience. Instead, we experience them as the Truth about what happened. The feeling gives the story emotional certainty, and the story gives the feeling meaning. Together they create a compelling experience that feels self-evident. We do not think we have a story. We think we know what happened.

The feelings and story are true for the archetype, or part, that has responded to the event. They accurately reflect how that part experiences the situation. Because we are identified with that part, we experience its perspective as our own. There is little or no awareness that another perspective is possible.

Truth is not something we reason ourselves into. It is something we experience. Reason can support, challenge, or refine what we believe, but it cannot create the direct experience of truth. In the context of lived experience, truth is experiential.

The Wheel of Suffering does not turn because feelings arise or because the mind creates stories. It turns because the feelings and story are experienced as ‘Truth’. Once that happens, everything that follows seems reasonable, even inevitable.

Project

Once the feelings and story are experienced as ‘Truth’, the mind naturally concludes that there is a problem. It then begins searching for its cause.

The source of the problem may be another person, ourselves, our circumstances, or events from our past. For example, we may conclude, “My spouse is the problem,” “I’m the problem,” “This job is the problem,” or “My childhood is the problem.” Whatever is identified becomes the explanation for why we feel the way we do.

Although the object changes, the process remains the same. The mind locates the source of the problem outside the immediate experience itself. It does not experience itself as creating an explanation. It experiences itself as discovering the cause of its suffering.

Once the source of the problem has been identified, the wheel naturally moves to the next spoke: React.

React

Having identified the source of the problem, the mind naturally responds. The purpose of the reaction is to reduce suffering by changing, avoiding, controlling, or escaping what has been identified as its cause.

If another person is seen as the problem, we may criticize, argue, withdraw, or try to change them. If we see ourselves as the problem, we may criticize ourselves, feel shame, or try to fix ourselves. If our circumstances are seen as the problem, we may try to escape or change them. If our past is seen as the problem, we may repeatedly revisit it in the hope of finding relief.

Whatever form the reaction takes, it is a logical response based on the projection. If the explanation is accepted as ‘True’, the reaction follows naturally and is never questioned. In acting on that explanation, the Wheel of Regret completes one cycle and prepares to begin another.

The Wheel in Action

The Wheel of Regret is not something that happens only during major life events. It turns quickly and quietly throughout the day, usually without our awareness.

You send a message to a friend and don’t receive a reply. Feelings arise. A story quickly follows: “They’re ignoring me.” The source of the problem is projected onto your friend, and you begin replaying the conversation in your mind or drafting another message.

A colleague walks past without saying hello. You experience hurt or irritation. The story becomes, “They’re upset with me.” The colleague is now the source of the problem, and the rest of the day is coloured by that interpretation.

You make a mistake during a presentation at work. Embarrassment arises. The story becomes, “I’m so incompetent.” This time the projection is inward. You become the source of the problem, and the rest of the presentation is overshadowed by self-criticism and doubt.

Although the situations differ, the process is remarkably similar. Feelings and stories arise, they are experienced as ‘Truth’, the source of the problem is identified, and a reaction naturally follows. Once you begin to recognize this pattern, you may be surprised by how often the wheel turns throughout the day.

Summary

The purpose of this article is not to criticize, judge, or eliminate this process. The Wheel of Regret describes an ordinary human experience. It is how the mind naturally responds when an event gives rise to feelings and a story.

Most of the time, we are unaware that the wheel is turning. The feelings and story are experienced as truth. The source of the problem seems obvious. Our reactions seem like the natural and reasonable response. The process is so immediate that we rarely recognize it as a process at all.

The goal of these articles is to make the wheel visible. By slowing it down and examining each spoke, we can begin to recognize the pattern as it unfolds. We can see how feelings become a lived truth, how the mind identifies the source of the problem, and how that understanding gives rise to reaction.

Making the wheel visible does not change it. It does not mean the feelings disappear, the story becomes false, or the reaction is somehow wrong. It simply allows us to recognize what is happening.

Every process has consequences. The purpose of making the wheel visible is not to label those consequences as good or bad, but to understand how they arise. When we can see the process clearly, we can also see where it leads.

We were presenting this material at a workshop. There was a couple attending and, after introducing the Wheel of Regret, he said, I don’t think that applies to me. His wife laughed and said, “What about when you are driving the back roads and the car in front drives slowly around the curves and speeds up on the straight stretches so that you can’t pass.” As she spoke I could see his blood pressure rising as she described the situation. When done he agreed that would, indeed, be a time when he believed that life as it was unfolding, should not unfold in that way.

Events Happen

Every turn of the Wheel of Regret begins with an event.

Something happens.

A partner nags. A chore is left undone. More money is spent than we think should have been. A criticism is offered. A conversation we wanted never happens. A child refuses to listen. A friend doesn’t return a text message. A driver cuts us off in traffic. Our team loses a game. It rained on the day we planned to be outside. A stranger makes an insulting remark. A poor connection interrupts an important phone call.

Some events are minor inconveniences. Others may alter the course of a life. Yet the Wheel of Regret does not require extraordinary events. It feeds quite happily on ordinary life.

Events are simply occurrences. They are the raw facts of life unfolding moment by moment.

Yet events do not remain simple facts for very long.

Almost immediately, feelings arise. A sense of disappointment, frustration, anger, fear, embarrassment, sadness, or excitement may appear. Alongside these feelings, a story begins to form. Explanations emerge. Conclusions are drawn. Meaning is assigned.

This process is automatic. We do not consciously choose the feelings that appear, nor do we deliberately construct the story through which the event is understood. Both arise as natural consequences of our conditioning, expectations, beliefs, and past experiences.

Before we have had time to think about what happened, the event has already begun to take on meaning.

Events Are Rarely Experienced Directly

Most people believe they are responding to events. In reality, they are usually responding to what they believe the event means.

A delayed text message becomes rejection.

A disagreement becomes disrespect.

A mistake becomes a failure.

A criticism becomes proof that one is unworthy.

The event itself lasts only a moment. Almost immediately it is interpreted, categorized, and woven into an existing understanding of the world. Without realizing it, attention shifts away from the Event and is now focused on the feelings and story.

The event becomes secondary. The interpretation becomes primary.

The Hidden Assumption

Beneath these interpretations lies an assumption so common that it often goes unnoticed.

This should not have happened.

Life has deviated from expectation.

Reality has failed to conform to my preference.

The world has unfolded incorrectly.

This assumption appears in countless forms:

• They should not have treated me that way.

• I should not have made that mistake.

• My life should be further along by now.

• The economy should be better.

• My children should behave differently.

• My partner should understand me.

• My body should not be aging.

• This loss should not have occurred.

• I should be different than I am.

The details vary, but the structure remains the same. The Event is compared against what reality should be, according to me.

The Event Becomes Evidence

The event is no longer simply an event.

It becomes evidence.

Evidence that life is unfair.

Evidence that people cannot be trusted.

Evidence that the world is dangerous.

Evidence that others are selfish.

Evidence that we have been wronged.

Or just as often:

Evidence that we are not good enough.

Evidence that we have failed.

Evidence that we are unworthy.

Evidence that we should have known better.

Evidence that we are unlovable.

Evidence that we are the problem.

Notice how quickly this transformation occurs. A single event can be used to reinforce a story that has been carried for years or even decades.

A rejection confirms inadequacy.

A criticism confirms shame.

A betrayal confirms distrust.

A mistake confirms failure.

A setback confirms victimhood.

The event is recruited into service of an existing narrative.

Rather than seeing what happened, we see what the event appears to prove.

Why Events Matter

The Event spoke is important because every turn of the Wheel begins here.

Not because events are inherently problematic, but because they provide the raw material from which the rest of the cycle emerges.

An event occurs.

The event is interpreted through existing beliefs and expectations.

The interpretation generates feelings.

The feelings and stories are projected outward.

Reactions follow.

The Wheel turns.

Seeing the Event

Understanding the Event spoke is not about changing.

Nor is it about fixing ourselves. The belief that we should be different than we are is itself part of the Wheel.

The goal is not to eliminate the process. The goal is to make it visible, to make it conscious.

Events happen. Feelings arise. Stories emerge. This occurs automatically and outside of conscious choice.

The Event spoke invites us to look more closely at the moment where the Wheel begins. Not to judge what we find, not to replace one story with another, but simply to see the process more clearly.

In the next article, we will explore the Feel spoke and the role that feelings and stories play in keeping the Wheel in motion.

Most people know regret.

Regret over words spoken in anger. Regret over opportunities missed. Regret over relationships damaged or lost. Regret over choices that, in hindsight, seem obviously wrong.

Yet regret is rarely about a single event. More often, it is the result of a pattern.

Something happens. Feelings arise. A story forms about what happened and what it means. The story feels true. We project that truth onto others, onto the world, or onto ourselves. We react accordingly. The consequences of those reactions create new events, and eventually new regrets.

This process forms what I call the Wheel of Regret.

At first glance, regret appears to be about the past. In reality, it is often a process unfolding in the present. Old events may start the wheel turning, but feelings, interpretations, projections, and reactions keep it in motion long after the original event has passed.

The purpose of this article is not to eliminate regret or convince anyone to think differently. It is simply to make the wheel visible. Once seen, it becomes possible to recognize the patterns through which suffering perpetuates itself and regret repeatedly emerges.

The wheel itself is simple:

Event → Feel → Project → React

The sections that follow explore what it is like to live within this cycle and some of the common consequences that arise when the wheel turns unnoticed. Future articles will examine each spoke of the wheel in greater detail.

Living in Regret

For many people, the Wheel of Regret is not an occasional experience. It is the environment in which they live.

Life is experienced as uncertain, unpredictable, and potentially threatening. The world does not feel safe. As a result, much of one’s attention becomes focused on managing, controlling, avoiding, fixing, or protecting against what might happen next.

This way of living is largely reactive. Events trigger feelings. Feelings trigger stories. Those stories feel true and are projected onto other people, situations, or ourselves. Reactions follow naturally from these projections.

Rather than meeting each moment freshly, life is experienced through the lens of accumulated conditioning. In many spiritual traditions these conditioned patterns are known as samskaras: impressions left by previous experiences that shape how reality is perceived and interpreted.

Over time, these patterns become familiar. The stories, fears, assumptions, and reactions that arise are rarely questioned because they have been repeated so often. What is conditioned comes to feel natural. What is learned comes to feel personal.

Living in regret is therefore about far more than regretting the past. It is a way of relating to life itself. The wheel turns continuously, shaping how events are experienced, interpreted, and responded to.

Signs of Living in Regret

The Wheel of Regret often operates unnoticed because its assumptions feel self-evident. The stories it generates appear reasonable, and the reactions they produce feel justified.

Although the details differ from person to person, certain themes appear again and again:

• My life would be better if they would stop doing that.

• My life would be better if they would start doing this.

• My life would be better if the government would only...

• I would be happy if my sports team won.

• I would be happy if my political party gained power.

• I would be happy if I had more money.

• I would be happy if I had a bigger house.

• I would be happy if I had children.

• I would be happy if I didn’t have children.

• I would be better off if I hadn’t made that decision.

• I would be better off if only I could stop doing this.

• Why can’t they see how much harm they are causing?

• Why can’t they learn to drive properly?

• Why can’t they learn to think properly?

• Why can’t they move faster?

• Why can’t they be more considerate?

• I will finally be safe if I dedicate myself to this religion.

• I will finally be safe if I follow this teacher.

• I will finally be safe if I commit myself to this cause.

• I will finally be safe if I find the right self-help system.

These thoughts appear different on the surface, but they share a common structure. Happiness, peace, fulfillment, or safety are placed somewhere outside the present moment. They depend on other people changing, circumstances improving, the past being different, or the future unfolding according to plan.

Once these assumptions become visible, the wheel becomes easier to recognize.

Consequences of Living in Regret

Living in regret comes at a cost.

The cost is not always obvious because the Wheel of Regret often feels productive. The mind is busy analyzing, planning, correcting, defending, improving, and preparing. There is a sense that progress is being made.

Yet much of this activity occurs within the confines of the wheel itself.

One of the most significant consequences is stagnation. Although circumstances may change, the underlying patterns remain remarkably consistent. New situations evoke familiar feelings. Familiar feelings generate familiar stories. Familiar stories produce familiar reactions. The scenery changes, but the experience remains largely the same.

Relationships often become strained as projections are mistaken for reality. Others are blamed for our unhappiness, recruited into our search for safety, or expected to validate the stories we tell ourselves. Interactions become less about understanding what is actually happening and more about defending what we already believe to be true.

Life can also become increasingly centered around control. Attention is devoted to managing outcomes, avoiding discomfort, preventing mistakes, and protecting against uncertainty. The present moment is experienced less as something to be lived and more as something to be managed.

Over time, spontaneity begins to diminish. Curiosity gives way to certainty. Openness gives way to defensiveness. The world is no longer encountered directly but through the filter of established stories and conditioned expectations.

Perhaps the greatest consequence is that genuine growth becomes difficult. Growth requires the possibility that our stories may be incomplete, our assumptions may be mistaken, and our habitual reactions may no longer serve us. The Wheel of Regret continuously reinforces the opposite conclusion. It insists that the problem lies elsewhere: in other people, in circumstances, in the past, or in the future.

As long as the wheel remains unseen, it continues to generate the very conditions that keep it turning.

Summary

The Wheel of Regret is not a theory to believe. It is a pattern to observe.

The purpose of this article has not been to judge regret, eliminate it, or replace it with something better. Regret is simply one of the many signals that the wheel has completed another turn.

By making the wheel visible, it becomes possible to recognize its operation in everyday life. An event occurs. Feelings arise. A story takes shape. The story feels true. It is projected onto the world and acted upon. The resulting consequences become the next event.

Most of this happens automatically. Few people consciously choose the stories they believe or the reactions that follow. The wheel turns because it has always turned.

Seeing the wheel does not stop it. Awareness alone is not a magic solution. Yet seeing it is an important first step. A pattern cannot be understood while it remains invisible.

For many people, life is spent within this cycle without ever recognizing its existence. The same frustrations repeat. The same conflicts emerge. The same regrets return in different forms.

The Wheel of Regret offers a way of understanding why.

The articles that follow will explore each spoke of the wheel in greater depth, beginning with the events that set the cycle in motion and the stories that arise in their wake.

Act & Accept

In the prior spoke of the Wheel, you made a plan. It is now time to enact that plan.

This is where the work leaves the realm of thought and becomes real. Up to this point, everything can remain conceptual. Here, it becomes a lived experience.

Acting requires courage. Not because the plan is unclear, but because we cannot control how it is going to be received. Doubt may still be present. Discomfort may still be present. There may be hesitation, resistance, or a sense of not being fully ready.

Act anyway.

You have checked to make sure your plan is coming from a calm, compassionate and value based place, not a reactive feeling based place. There is no attempt to manage or control the other person’s response. The action is taken because you believe it is the right thing to do, not because it will produce a particular outcome.

Once the action has been taken, it is allowed to stand on its own. There is no need to immediately explain, further, seek reassurance, or adjust the message in order to get a better response. The action has been taken. Space is left for the person or life to respond.

Consequences

If there are consequences, they are met without resistance. There is no argument with the outcome, no internal rewriting of what should have happened, and no escalation in an attempt to regain control.

What is important to understand about consequences is that I am 100% responsible for my actions and 0% responsible for how those actions are received or interpreted by the other. My actions pass through their history, their filters, and their Samskaras. I have no control over that.

This does not mean I am free from responsibility. I remain responsible for speaking and acting as cleanly and compassionate as possible. I remain responsible for avoiding unnecessary harm, manipulation, blame, or emotional leakage. But I am not responsible for whether the other feels hurt, angry, rejected, relieved, or grateful. Those reactions belong to them.

Accepting this means recognizing that I cannot manage the feelings of others.

When my daughter was younger, she was in a relationship that she knew was doomed. When I asked why she did not end it, she said she did not want to hurt his feelings. The result was that she stayed much longer than she wanted to, which made the eventual breakup more painful for both of them.

Trying to avoid consequences often creates larger consequences later.

The Retreat Incident

For many years, I told myself a very specific story about who I was. I believed I was kind. I believed I was sensitive. That belief wasn’t just descriptive, it was protective. It was how I made sense of myself. I couldn’t see the ways I was also sharp, dismissive, or insensitive. Those qualities simply didn’t fit the image I needed to maintain.

While attending a personal growth retreat, something happened that cracked that image. I don’t remember exactly what I did. What I remember is the moment someone turned toward me and said that my behavior had been very insensitive.

Almost instantly, I felt anger.

I had completed the prior spokes of the Wheel. It was now time to act on my plan.

By the time I returned to the retreat, the internal reaction had settled somewhat, but not completely. There was still tension in the body and a residual defensiveness that hadn’t fully dissolved.

I acted anyway.

I apologized for leaving. The apology was direct and without explanation. I did not attempt to justify why I left or to soften it with context. It was simply acknowledged.

In sharing, I stayed within what had been planned. I spoke to the fact that I was beginning to see aspects of myself that I had not previously recognized, including a capacity for insensitivity. I did not expand beyond that. There was no need to detail what I had seen or to process it publicly.

There was also no attempt to revisit or challenge the original feedback. From where I stood, it was accurate. It did not require defense, clarification, or correction.

Once the action was taken, there was nothing further to add.

There were consequences. A shift in how I was seen, both by others and by myself. The image I had been holding no longer fit in the same way. That was not resisted.

I made no attempt to return to the previous identity of being kind and sensitive. I did not collapse into self-judgment. Seeing insensitivity clearly did not require turning it into a problem to solve. It was simply part of what was true.

In acting and then not interfering, something became clearer. The issue was not the comment that had been made. It was my internal structures that had prevented it from being seen earlier. The action did not resolve the structures, but merely exposed them.

From there, the wheel continued.

Closing

The plan is carried into action, and through that action, reality is revealed. What emerges is not managed or interfered with, but allowed to stand as it is. From there, the process continues, informed by what has now been seen.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

Nothing could be further from the truth. True acceptance is not the absence of response; it is the foundation for a conscious one. Even choosing to do nothing is no longer avoidance. It becomes an active, deliberate choice.

For that reason, the Wheel doesn’t end at Integrate & Accept. The next spoke is Plan: the intentional design of a response to what has occurred.

What is essential here is timing. A plan cannot be formed in the midst of reactivity. As long as the system is entangled in emotional charge, any plan will be shaped by that charge, often leading to short-sighted or harmful outcomes. Only once the first four spokes have been completed does planning become clear, grounded, and aligned.

Plan

Planning, in this context, is not reactive problem-solving. It is the deliberate consideration of what comes next, grounded in clarity rather than urgency.

Options are explored consciously, without the pressure to resolve or escape the situation. There is no rush to act and no expectation that the plan must immediately relieve discomfort. This creates space to actually see what is available, rather than grasping at what feels easiest.

From here, planning becomes an expression of values. The question shifts from “What will make me feel better?” to “What is aligned with how I want to live and who I choose to be?” This often leads to different choices than those driven by emotional relief.

Finally, a grounded plan takes into account both self and other. It recognizes that every action has consequences, and it moves forward with an awareness of those impacts. This is not about self-sacrifice or people-pleasing, but about acting with integrity in a shared reality.

Outcome Based Planning

Once a range of options has been considered, the next step is to anchor the plan in a clearly defined outcome. What is it that I am actually trying to create here?

Without this clarity, planning can easily default to short-term emotional relief. Actions may feel justified in the moment, but they often move in a direction that contradicts what is truly desired.

For example, if the desired outcome is a loving and close relationship with the other person, then a plan that involves yelling, criticism, or withdrawal is misaligned. While those responses may temporarily discharge frustration, they do not move the relationship toward closeness. In fact, they tend to reinforce the very distance one is trying to resolve.

Outcome-based planning introduces a simple but powerful filter: does this action move me toward or away from what I say I want?

This does not guarantee ease or immediate results. At times, the actions that align with the desired outcome may feel less satisfying in the moment. But they are coherent. They build in a direction that can be sustained.

The Apology

In many cases, the plan will include an apology. This is not improvised ‘in the moment’. It is considered and shaped as part of the planning process.

The apology is specific in its scope. It is not about the entire event. It is about what I did while I was still in the midst of strong feelings.

An apology is not needed for what was outside my control. I do not apologize for another person’s actions, for circumstances, or for how events unfolded beyond my agency. The focus remains on my behaviour.

There is also no need to review or retell the event. The other person is already aware of what happened. Recounting it often reintroduces interpretation, history, and bias, which can quickly reopen conflict. The apology is not a negotiation of whose version is correct.

For that reason, the language of the apology matters. It stays with “I.” It does not shift into “you,” even subtly, and it avoids embedding a version of the event.

For example:
“I raised my voice and spoke harshly. I regret that.”

Not:
“I’m sorry you felt hurt when I raised my voice.”

Or:
“I interrupted and dismissed what was being said.”

Not:
“I’m sorry you didn’t feel heard.”

Or:
“I became defensive.”

Not:
“When you became angry, I became defensive.”

The difference is simple but significant. One takes ownership. The other redirects attention or reintroduces the story of the event.

An apology is also given without expectation. It is not an exchange, and it is not contingent on the other person offering one in return. The moment an apology is used to invite or demand reciprocity, it loses its integrity.

Finally, an apology closes the event. Once it is made, the event is not brought up again. It is not used later as reference, leverage, or evidence. The apology is a completion, not a placeholder for future argument.

How many times do you apologize? Ideally, once. In some cases, if the other person remains unsettled, a second apology may be appropriate. Beyond that, repeating it no longer adds value.

If the other continues to seek more, the response is simple. The apology has been given. It is then up to the other to accept it or not.

Sharing

As part of the plan, consideration is given to what will be shared from the discoveries made in the earlier spokes of the Wheel. Insight does not automatically require expression. What is shared, and how it is shared, is a choice.

Sharing can feel vulnerable and raw. That does not make it inherently appropriate. The capacity of the other person and the level of safety in the interaction matter. Not every insight needs to be spoken in every context.

There is also a balance to be found. Oversharing can shift the focus entirely onto my internal experience, losing sight of the relational context. Undersharing can leave the other person confused or dissatisfied, with no sense of what has changed or been understood.

The aim is not full disclosure or complete restraint, but proportion. Enough is shared to reflect ownership and clarity, without making the interaction about processing my internal world.

As with the apology, the language remains grounded in “I.” It does not move into explanation that subtly assigns cause or responsibility to the other.

For example:

“I learned that I have a part that reacts strongly to perceived criticism. Even simple comments can trigger that reaction.”

This communicates insight and ownership without retelling the event or placing responsibility outside.

The Retreat Incident

For many years, I told myself a very specific story about who I was. I believed I was kind. I believed I was sensitive. That belief wasn’t just descriptive, it was protective. It was how I made sense of myself. I couldn’t see the ways I was also sharp, dismissive, or insensitive. Those qualities simply didn’t fit the image I needed to maintain.

While attending a personal growth retreat, something happened that cracked that image. I don’t remember exactly what I did. What I remember is the moment someone turned toward me and said that my behavior had been very insensitive.

Almost instantly, I felt anger.

How does this play out now that I have completed the first four spokes of the Wheel: Event, Feel & Accept, Discover, and Integrate & Accept?

My first consideration is to look at any actions taken while I was in the midst of strong feelings. In this case, I left the retreat for several hours.

My plan includes an apology for leaving.

In terms of sharing, although the setting supported personal disclosure, I chose to be measured. I discovered an angry, insensitive asshole. I saw this not as self-judgment, but as fact. A fact I was still working to fully accept. I planned to share that I was developing new insights and was beginning to see my own insensitivity, without going further into detail.

After completing the earlier spokes, I did not feel the need to address the original comments. From this perspective, I could see that they were accurate and did not require a response.

Closing

Planning is where responsibility becomes visible. It is where insight is tested against action.

Without this step, even deep awareness can collapse back into familiar patterns. With it, response becomes deliberate. Aligned. Coherent.

The question is no longer what happened or how it felt, but what I choose to do next.

From here, there is only one step left: act, and accept whatever follows.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

This article continues my series on the Radical Acceptance Wheel.

Here, I focus on the Integrate & Accept spoke of the Wheel using the work of Michael Singer from his book Living Untethered. It follows directly from the prior article, which explored the Discover spoke through this same lens.

Review

In the previous article, I described discovering the Samskaras that had been triggered. These Samskaras appeared as stories about how I was misunderstood and mistreated, along with pressure and tension in my body.

There was no attempt to analyze what parts of me were active or why these patterns had formed. The focus was simply awareness of what was present: the stories arising in the mind and the sensations arising in the body. Both the emotional reactions and the physical sensations could be observed without trying to explain or change them.

Integration

Of all of the various models described in these articles, this is both the simplest and most difficult to integrate. It is simple because all you have to do is feel the emotional and physical feelings without trying to deflect, suppress, or express. It is difficult because staying with the emotional and physical feelings without trying to deflect, suppress, or express goes against everything we have been taught.

Let’s back up a bit. The heart is a wondrous thing. It plays a symphony of feelings from the most subtle to the highest and lowest extremes. Furthermore, these can change in an instant. You can be angry and depressed and suddenly laugh at a cat video. You can be joyous and at ease and suddenly be devastated by bad news.

The problem is that it is very difficult to be fully present in the extremes of feelings. Extreme terror, grief, rage are difficult states to sit in without deflecting, suppressing or expressing. Extreme love can feel threatening due to the vulnerability of that state. Extreme joy can be deadened by fears that it will leave. Many of us grew up with parents who told us we were too much so we learned to dampen our feelings.

This is why sitting with the feelings generated by the Samskaras is so difficult. That’s why we will tend towards deflection, suppression, or expression.

Deflection

Deflection is the attempt to avoid the feeling altogether. When a disturbance begins to arise in the heart, the mind quickly moves away from it. It distracts itself with thinking, planning, analyzing, blaming, scrolling, talking, or doing something else entirely. The goal is simple: do not feel this.

Michael Singer often points out that the mind becomes incredibly creative in this process. It will justify the distraction, convince you that the issue must be solved immediately, or send your attention somewhere else entirely. Instead of allowing the energy to pass through the heart, attention is pulled outward into the world or upward into the mind.

From Singer’s perspective, the disturbance is simply energy moving through the system. If it is allowed to pass, it will move through and dissolve. Deflection interrupts this process. The energy remains stored, and the Samskara stays in place, waiting for another moment to be triggered.

Suppression

Suppression is different from deflection. In suppression, you do feel the disturbance, but you try to push it down. Instead of allowing the energy to rise and pass through, you contract around it. You tighten the body, harden the heart, and attempt to hold the feeling in place so it cannot move.

Singer describes this as closing the heart. When the heart closes, the natural flow of energy is blocked. The disturbance becomes trapped inside the system. Over time, these stored disturbances accumulate and form the Samskaras that shape our reactions to life.

This is why certain situations repeatedly trigger strong reactions. The external event is not the real cause of the intensity. It simply presses against stored energy that was never allowed to pass through when it first arose.

Expression

Expression is often misunderstood as healthy release, but in Singer’s framework it is another way of avoiding the deeper process of letting the energy pass through. When we express the disturbance outwardly, through anger, tears, blame, complaining, or emotional discharge, we temporarily relieve the pressure, but the underlying Samskara remains.

Instead of dissolving the disturbance within, the energy is pushed outward into the environment. This can create temporary relief, but it does not free the heart. The same pattern will arise again the next time the Samskara is stimulated.

Singer’s teaching is that true freedom comes from neither suppressing nor expressing the disturbance, but from relaxing and allowing the energy to pass through the heart. When the heart remains open and the disturbance is fully experienced without resistance, the stored energy dissolves and the Samskara releases. Over time, the system becomes lighter, more open, and increasingly free.

Example

The incident at the retreat, described earlier, occurred early in my journey, long before I was familiar with Michael Singer’s work. In this section, I describe what I could have done had I had that understanding at the time.

Almost instantly, I felt anger arise.

If I had understood Singer’s work at the time, the next step would not have been to analyze the interaction further or determine whether the comment was accurate. Integration begins by shifting attention away from the external situation and toward the disturbance that has been activated within.

The anger itself would not be the problem. The disturbance in the chest, the tightening, the surge of defensive energy, these are simply movements of energy triggered by the Samskara that has been activated. From Singer’s perspective, the only real question at this point is whether the heart will remain open or closed around the disturbance.

The natural impulse would have been to close my heart, which is what I did at the time.

Closing happened in several ways. I deflected by moving my attention back into the conversation and constructing arguments to defend myself. I suppressed the feeling by tightening internally and trying to push the disturbance back down so that it would not show. I expressed it by pushing the energy outward through irritation, explanation, or subtle retaliation.

All three responses share the same structure. Instead of allowing the disturbance to pass through, the system contracts around it.

Singer describes integration as the opposite movement. Rather than closing, I could have relaxed and allowed the energy to move through the heart. The disturbance would have been not resisted, analyzed, or discharged outward. It would have simply been experienced.

In that moment at the retreat, integration would have meant remaining present with the sensations that had already made themselves known. The heat in the chest. The tightness. The surge of defensive energy. Instead of following the story forming in the mind, attention would stay with the energy itself.

Singer often describes this as allowing the wave to pass through. The disturbance has already been triggered. The energy is already moving. The only real choice is whether to close around it or allow it to pass.

If the heart remains open, the energy moves through the system and eventually dissipates. The Samskara that was pressed begins to release some of the stored energy it has been holding. Nothing needs to be done to make this happen. The system naturally processes what it is allowed to experience fully.

This does not mean the sensation immediately disappears. It could be moments, hours, or even a few days as it ebbs and flows. In fact, remaining open often means allowing the disturbance to intensify for a period of time. The energy that has been stored may surge as it finally finds space to move. The practice is simply to remain relaxed and present as that movement unfolds.

Over time, something subtle but important begins to change. The disturbance that once felt overwhelming starts to lose its solidity. The boulder that life collided with begins to erode. Each time the energy is allowed to pass through rather than being suppressed, deflected, or expressed, a small portion of the stored Samskara dissolves.

Integration is not dramatic. It is quiet and internal. Life presses against what has been stored inside, the disturbance arises, and the heart remains open long enough for the energy to pass.

Nothing has been solved in the outer world yet. The conversation at the retreat may still need to be addressed. But internally something important has already occurred. The energy from the event has been released rather than resisted.

That releasing is the work of integration.

Closing

Integration, in Singer’s sense, is not about resolving the situation or reaching a better interpretation of what happened. It is about how the disturbance that was activated inside is handled. When life presses against a stored Samskara, energy begins to move through the system. The usual responses are to deflect it through distraction, suppress it through inner contraction, or express it outwardly in reaction. Integration takes a different path. Instead of closing around the disturbance, the heart remains open and the energy is allowed to pass through.

Each time this happens, a small portion of the stored impression releases. The inner structure that once required the world to conform to a particular self-image begins to soften. Over time, the boulders that life repeatedly collides with lose their solidity. What once triggered strong reactions becomes simply another movement passing through the system.

In this way, integration is not something we achieve in a single moment. It is a gradual process of allowing the disturbances of life to move through us rather than being stored within us. As this process unfolds, the system becomes lighter, more open, and less dependent on the world confirming who we believe ourselves to be.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

This article is the next in my series on the Radical Acceptance Wheel.

This is the third pair of articles focusing on navigating the following two steps of the Wheel: Discover and Integrate & Accept. I will begin with the same event described in an earlier article through the Event and Feel & Accept spokes, and then move through it using the lens of Michael Singer’s work in his book Living Untethered.

Event and Feel & Accept

For many years, I told myself a very specific story about who I was. I believed I was kind. I believed I was sensitive. That belief wasn’t just descriptive, it was protective. It was how I made sense of myself. I couldn’t see the ways I was also sharp, dismissive, or insensitive. Those qualities simply didn’t fit the image I needed to maintain.

While attending a personal growth retreat, something happened that cracked that image. I don’t remember exactly what I did. What I remember is the moment someone turned toward me and said that my behavior had been very insensitive.

Almost instantly, I felt anger.

Process versus Allowing Approaches of Radical Acceptance

Across contemporary inner work, two broad orientations emerge when meeting difficult experiences: Processing and Allowing. Processing turns toward the psyche with curiosity, seeking to identify what is arising and understand how it came to be. Allowing sets analysis aside and emphasizes direct presence and non-resistance. Both aim at freedom from suffering, but they differ in what they believe sustains it.

In Processing, psychological material is treated as meaningful and in need of engagement. Healing unfolds through recognition, understanding, and integration. In Allowing, suffering is sustained not by lack of insight but by resistance itself. Freedom comes through openness and release rather than explanation.

The Archetypal approach, based on Carl Jung’s work, focuses primarily on “what.” What aspects of yourself are present? What inner experiences are being resisted? Why these aspects exist is a secondary concern. The emphasis is on acknowledging and accepting all of who you are, exactly as you are, without requiring explanation or resolution.

In contrast, Internal Family Systems (IFS), developed by Richard Schwartz, focuses on “why.” The process begins by identifying a Protector and then exploring how that Protector came to be. From there, attention turns toward the Wounded Parts it protects. Understanding why these parts exist, and the history that shaped them, is seen as the doorway to healing, unburdening, and release.

Michael Singer’s approach, articulated most clearly in Living Untethered, largely sidesteps both “what” and “why.” Rather than identifying parts or seeking understanding, the focus is on remaining present with whatever arises, including sensations, emotions, and thoughts, without categorizing, analyzing, or explaining them. The invitation is simply to stay open and curious, allowing experience to move through awareness without interference or inner negotiation.

Michael Singer

In Living Untethered, Michael A. Singer describes the human inner world as shaped by Samskaras, the accumulated impressions left behind by past experiences. Each emotionally charged event leaves a residue in the nervous system. Over time these residues are stored within the unconscious mind, ready to be reactivated when life presents a similar stimulus. Singer emphasizes that Samskaras are not problems to be solved or healed through understanding.

As these Samskaras accumulate, the mind constructs an internal model of how the world should be. This model is built from past experiences, preferences, fears, and expectations. It defines what should happen, how people should behave, and what feelings should or should not arise. Singer points out that this inner model is out of sync with reality. Life unfolds according to its own laws, while the mind insists that events conform to its stored blueprint. The resulting tension between reality and expectation becomes the primary source of inner suffering.

Singer often describes this tension using the metaphor of overlays and boulders. The overlays are the mental interpretations laid on top of raw experience, while the boulders are the dense, unresolved Samskaras that block the natural flow of energy. When life presses against these boulders, discomfort arises. Rather than seeing this discomfort as a signal to analyze or fix something, Singer reframes it as an opportunity. The pain is not evidence of a problem in life, but evidence of resistance within. The work, then, is not to rearrange the world or reinterpret the experience, but to relax the resistance and allow the energy to move.

At the heart of Singer’s teaching is the recognition of an ongoing inner conflict between the mind’s model and life itself. The mind continually argues with what is happening, while life continues on regardless. Singer invites the reader to notice this conflict directly and to question the assumption that the mind’s preferences should be obeyed. Freedom, in his view, comes from stepping out of this internal struggle and allowing life to unfold without inner interference.

Singer widens this perspective by placing the present moment in a vast cosmic context. He reminds the reader that the universe has been unfolding for approximately 13.8 billion years to arrive at this precise configuration of matter, energy, and consciousness. From this vantage point, the demand that the present moment conform to personal preference appears profoundly silly. This shift in scale is not meant to diminish human experience, but to soften the grip of the inner model and make surrender more natural. What is asked is simple, though not easy: to let life be exactly as it is, and to remain open as it moves through us.

The Discover Spoke Within Michael Singer’s Model

Viewed through Michael Singer’s work, the Discover spoke is not about understanding personal history or identifying inner parts, but about recognizing the structure of inner resistance as it is operating right now. What is discovered is not meaning, origin, or purpose, but the fact of opposition itself. Something in the system is tightening against life as it presents itself.

From this perspective, discovery occurs the moment one notices the collision between the mind’s internal model and lived reality. Life unfolds according to its own momentum, while the mind holds a quiet insistence that things should be different. Discovering this mismatch does not require analysis or correction. It simply requires awareness of the inner “no” that arises when reality fails to conform to expectation.

Singer’s language of Samskaras helps clarify what is being discovered. When a situation triggers discomfort, what becomes visible is the presence of stored energetic impressions that have not yet completed their movement. The feeling itself is not the focus. What is discovered is that an old imprint has been activated and is now pressing for attention. No attempt is made at this stage to resolve, release, or transcend it. The discovery is the recognition that the reaction is arising from within, not being caused by the external event.

Similarly, Singer’s metaphors of overlays and boulders point to what can be discovered without engaging in change. Overlays reveal themselves as the mental interpretations layered onto raw experience, while boulders show up as areas of contraction and pressure within the inner landscape. Discovering them does not mean removing them. It means seeing clearly that perception is being filtered and that energy is being blocked.

In this way, the Discover spoke, informed by Singer’s work, is about bringing resistance into conscious awareness. The task is not to do anything with what is found, but to recognize that the struggle exists. This recognition lays the groundwork for later integration, but it does not yet ask for letting go. Discovery ends with seeing, not with surrender.

The Retreat Incident

The incident at the retreat, described earlier, occurred early in my journey, long before I was familiar with Michael Singer’s work. In this section, I describe what I could have done had I had that understanding at the time.

Almost instantly, I felt anger arise.

Not a dramatic outburst, but a sharp inner contraction. Something in me pushed back hard against what had just been said. From Singer’s perspective, this moment is not yet about change or insight. It is the moment of discovery. The first thing that can be seen is that life has just collided with an internal model.

I had a clear inner model of who I was. I was kind. I was sensitive. That model had been quietly shaping how I understood myself and how I expected others to experience me. When the comment landed, it did not merely describe my behavior. It threatened the integrity of that model. What became discoverable in that instant was not whether the comment was fair or unfair, but the fact that my system reacted as though something essential were under attack.

Staying with the moment, Singer would invite attention to what was happening internally rather than to the content of the accusation. Anger was present. Tightness was present. A strong impulse to defend, explain, or push back arose. None of this needed interpretation. What could be discovered was that an old Samskara had been activated. A stored impression, linked to how I needed to see myself, had been pressed, and energy was now moving in response.

At this stage, discovery also includes noticing the overlay forming almost immediately. The mind began to assemble a story about being misunderstood, about the other person being unfair, about the context not being taken into account. From Singer’s view, this mental activity is not wrong, but it is revealing. It shows the mind working to restore the threatened self-image. The overlay is not yet something to remove. It is simply something that can be seen.

Beneath the overlay, the boulder made itself known through sensation. There was pressure in the chest, heat, and a sense of constriction. Life was pushing against something solid inside. Discovering this does not require deciding what to do with it. It only requires recognizing that the discomfort is arising from resistance within, not from the words that were spoken.

In this way, the Discover spoke ends not with clarity or resolution, but with honesty. Something in me did not want this moment to be happening. Something in me needed the world to confirm a particular image of who I was. Seeing that inner conflict clearly is the completion of discovery. What comes next belongs to integration and acceptance, not yet to action or release.

Closing

Across these approaches, the Discover spoke takes on very different shapes, yet each points toward the same essential function: bringing what is operating beneath the surface into conscious awareness.

Radical Acceptance emphasizes discovering what is present. It invites an honest acknowledgment of thoughts, feelings, and traits that have been pushed away or denied. Internal Family Systems shifts the focus toward discovering why these inner dynamics exist, tracing present reactions back to the protectors and wounds that shaped them. Michael Singer’s work, particularly as expressed in Living Untethered, offers a third orientation. It directs attention away from both content and explanation and toward the simple recognition of resistance itself.

Through Singer’s lens, discovery is not about understanding the self more accurately, nor about repairing what feels broken. It is about seeing, in real time, the tension between the mind’s internal model of how life should unfold and the way life is actually unfolding. Samskaras, overlays, and boulders are not problems to be solved at this stage. They are signals that something within is pushing against reality.

When this resistance is clearly seen, discovery is complete. Nothing has been released yet. Nothing has been integrated. No new story has replaced the old one. What has changed is awareness. The inner struggle that was previously unconscious has been brought into view. That clarity creates the conditions for integration and acceptance, which belong to the next spoke of the wheel.

In this way, Discover is not a step toward fixing the self, but a step toward seeing the self’s patterns honestly. From Singer’s perspective, that seeing is already a profound shift, even before any letting go occurs.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

This article continues my series on the Radical Acceptance Wheel.

Here, I focus on the Integrate & Accept spoke of the Wheel using the Internal Family Systems (IFS) model. It follows directly from the prior article, which explored the Discover spoke through this same lens.

Review

In the previous article, I discovered a Part that I called, Angry Teen. I also asked other Parts that had feelings toward the Angry Teen to step aside so that I could be present for the Angry Teen from the Conductor.

Integration

In the IFS model, the Integration spoke is about getting to know a Protector Part and, with permission, the Wounded Part, often called an exile, that the Protector is trying to keep safe.

Protectors

There are lots of questions you could ask, but the main thing is to really get to know the Part you are working with. What is its role? How does it believe it is helping? When did it learn to do this? How old does it feel? How old does it think I am? What is it afraid would happen if it stopped doing its job?

Sometimes one Part is in conflict with another. A common example is addiction. The Part that pushes toward using is often at odds with a judging or critical Part that condemns the behavior. When this happens, it is important to spend time with both Parts. Often, you will find that they actually want the same thing but are going about it in very different ways. In this example, both Parts may be trying to protect me from deeper emotional pain. The Using Part tries to keep me away from the pain altogether, while the Judging Part keeps my attention locked onto the behavior, which also prevents me from touching what lies underneath.

Whether you are working with a single Protector or with two Protectors in conflict, the intensity of Protectors only really softens when the underlying Wounded Part is healed. This usually takes time. Protectors will only allow access to the Wounded Part when they feel safe enough. In IFS, no work happens with a Wounded Part until the Protector or Protectors give permission. This matters. Moving too quickly toward a Wounded Part without that consent can feel intrusive or even violating to Protectors.

Getting to the point where a Protector trusts enough to allow access to the Wounded Part may take time. When there has been a significant loss of trust in me, a Protector may take weeks or even months before that trust is established.

Wounded

Once permission has been given to work with a Wounded Part, the approach is different from working with a Protector. Rather than an inquiry-based approach, it becomes more about listening and honoring. Care needs to be taken to make sure the Wounded Part feels safe and truly heard. Just as important, I need to remain in the Conductor. I am listening to both the story and the feelings that go with it, while staying calm, curious, and compassionate.

At times, I may need to negotiate with the Wounded Part, asking it not to overwhelm me with emotion so that I can stay present and available.

When the Wounded Part feels heard, I can ask what it needs. Often, it is stuck in a memory and needs either reparenting or removal. Reparenting means walking with the Wounded Part through the difficult experience, offering support, care, and encouragement. Removal involves entering the memory and gently taking the Wounded Part out of it, bringing it into the present and into a place of safety. It is important not to assume what that safe place should be. Instead, ask the Wounded Part where it would feel safe and take it there.

Remember that in the inner world, any space can be created. The Wounded Part might choose a forest, a specific room in a particular building, a spaceship traveling through the stars, or a snug place held close to your heart. The specific form does not matter. What matters is that it feels safe. All of this is available simply by intending it to be so.

Unburdening the Wounded

Once the Wounded Part feels safe, and this often takes time, you can ask whether it would like to unburden. This is an invitation, not a requirement. Some Wounded Parts need more time simply being seen and accompanied before they are ready to let anything go.

The burden may take many forms. It could be a memory, an image, a belief, a heavy sensation in the body, or emotions such as fear, anger, shame, or sadness. Before moving into unburdening, take time to fully witness what the Wounded has been carrying. Let it show you what happened, how it felt, and what it had to take on in order to survive. Stay present with both the story and the feelings, offering understanding, compassion, and validation.

When the Wounded Part feels fully heard, you can ask what it needs now. Often, it is still caught in a moment from the past and needs help coming out of that experience. This may involve reparenting, removal, or some combination of the two. Reparenting means staying with the Wounded Part through the difficult experience, offering the care, protection, and encouragement that were missing at the time. Removal involves helping the Wounded Part leave the past and come fully into the present, no longer trapped in the original situation.

Once the Wounded Part is no longer embedded in the past and feels supported in the present, you can ask whether it is ready to release the burden it has been carrying.

At this point, it can be helpful to check back in with any Protector Parts involved. Let them know what is happening and invite them to witness or observe the unburdening if they would like. This often helps Protectors relax, as they can see that the Wounded Part is no longer alone and that the process is being handled with care.

If the Wounded is ready to unburden, invite it to choose how it would like to do this. Some Wounded Parts prefer to work with the elements, blowing the burden away with air, washing it away with water, burying it in the earth, or burning it in fire. Others choose more personal or imaginative methods. The specific form does not matter. What matters is that the process feels right and complete to the Wounded Part.

After the unburdening, take time to notice what has changed. Ask the Wounded Part how it feels now and what it would like to do next. It may want to rest, play, connect, or take on a new role. Often, the Part naturally returns to its original purpose, the role it had before it was Wounded, now free from the weight of the past.

Unburdening the Protector

The Protector Part also took on a distorted role in its effort to keep me and my Wounded Parts safe. Now that the Wounded Part has been unburdened, I can return to the Protector and ask whether it, too, would like to unburden.

Sometimes the answer will be no. This often means the Protector is still guarding other Wounded Parts that have not yet been healed. If the answer is yes, the same unburdening process used with the Wounded Part can be followed.

Once unburdened, the Protector is no longer driven by the past and can relax back into its original role, offering protection without the weight it once carried.

Example

As written above, in the previous article I found the Angry Teen and relaxed into my Conductor. Here’s how I might handle this.

Conductor: I notice you’re here. The Angry Teen energy is strong right now. I want you to know I’m not trying to get rid of you. I just want to understand you.

Angry Teen Part: Of course I’m here. Someone has to be. If I don’t stay sharp, you get walked all over.

Conductor: That sounds important. What is your job?

Angry Teen Part: I keep people away. I make sure no one gets close enough to mess with us again. I make sure you don’t look weak.

Conductor: Thank you for that. When did you learn you had to do this?

Angry Teen Part: High school. That’s when it became obvious. If you don’t push back, you disappear.

Conductor: How old do you feel?

Angry Teen Part: Sixteen. Maybe seventeen.

Conductor: And how old do you think I am now?

Angry Teen Part: You say you’re an adult, but honestly? Sometimes you still feel like you don’t know where you belong.

Conductor: That makes sense. What are you afraid would happen if you weren’t here doing this job?

Angry Teen Part: You’d feel that again. That awful, empty feeling. Like there’s no place for you. Like everyone else got the rulebook and you didn’t.

Conductor: I hear that you’re protecting me from something painful. Is there a Part you’re trying to keep safe?

Angry Teen Part: Yes. And I don’t trust you with it yet.

Conductor: That’s okay. I’m not asking you to step aside. I just want to be with you. What would help you feel safer right now?

Angry Teen Part: Don’t rush. And don’t try to fix it.

Conductor: Agreed. I’ll stay slow, and I won’t force anything.

(A pause.)

Angry Teen Part: There’s another one. Younger. Quieter. They don’t belong anywhere.

Conductor: Would you be willing to let me meet that Part, just to listen, while you stay close?

Angry Teen Part: I’ll watch. If it gets too much, I’m stepping back in.

Conductor: Thank you. I appreciate that.

Conductor: Hello. I’m here with you. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.

Wounded Part: I never fit in. I tried everything. Different clothes, different groups. Nothing worked.

Conductor: That sounds incredibly lonely. Share with me what it was like.

Wounded Part: Lunchrooms. Hallways. Everyone had somewhere to sit except me. Even when I was with people, I didn’t belong.

Conductor: I’m really glad you’re showing me this. I’m here with you now. You’re not alone in it anymore.

(The Wounded Part feels heavy, sad.)

Conductor: I notice how intense this feels. Would it help if you shared this more slowly, so I can stay fully present with you?

Wounded Part: Okay. I don’t want to overwhelm you.

Conductor: Thank you. What did you have to take on back then to survive?

Wounded Part: I decided something was wrong with me. That I didn’t deserve a place.

Conductor: That’s a painful burden to carry. No wonder the Angry Teen stepped in.

(Checking inward.)

Conductor: Angry Teen, are you okay watching this?

Angry Teen Part: I don’t like it, but… I can see you’re not abandoning them. I’ll stay.

Conductor: Thank you.

Conductor: Wounded one, what do you need right now?

Wounded Part: I don’t want to be stuck there anymore.

Conductor: Would you like help coming out of that time and into the present?

Wounded Part: Yes.

Conductor: I’m with you. Let’s leave that hallway behind. Where would you like to go where you feel safe?

Wounded Part: Somewhere quiet. A room with a window. Warm light.

Conductor: Let’s go there together.

(A settling.)

Conductor: Now that you’re here and safe, would you like to release what you’ve been carrying?

Wounded Part: Yes. I’m tired of holding it.

Conductor: How would you like to do that?

Wounded Part: Fire. I want to burn the belief that I don’t belong.

Conductor: I’m here. Go ahead.

(The burden is released.)

Conductor: What do you notice now?

Wounded Part: I feel lighter. Curious. Like I actually want to connect.

Conductor: What would you like to do next?

Wounded Part: I want to belong. Not by changing myself, but by being myself.

Conductor: That feels right.

Conductor: Angry Teen, can you see what’s changed?

Angry Teen Part: Yeah. They don’t feel as fragile anymore.

Conductor: Would you like to let go of anything you’ve been carrying?

Angry Teen Part: I don’t need all this anger now. I just want to protect boundaries, not attack everyone.

Conductor: That sounds like your original role.

Angry Teen Part: Yeah. I can do that.

Conductor: Thank you. I’m glad you’re here.

In this dialogue, the Conductor first builds a relationship with the Angry Teen Part, recognizing it as a Protector whose role is to keep others at a distance in order to prevent the pain of exclusion and not belonging. By approaching the Protector with curiosity and respect, trust is established, allowing access to a Wounded Part that carries the loneliness and shame of struggling to find a place in high school. The Wounded Part is witnessed and supported, helped out of the past, and invited to unburden the belief that it does not belong. As the Wounded Part releases this burden and reconnects with its original capacity for connection, the Protector is able to relax and return to a more balanced role, shifting from attack to healthy boundary-setting. The process illustrates how healing occurs not by eliminating Parts, but by listening to them, restoring trust, and allowing each Part to return to its original function within the system.

Closing

In this spoke of the Radical Acceptance Wheel, healing is not driven by effort or self-improvement, but by integration and acceptance. Protectors and Wounded Parts are not obstacles to overcome, but aspects of experience to be welcomed and understood. By accepting Parts exactly as they are, and integrating them back into the system through listening, witnessing, and unburdening, the inner world begins to reorganize on its own. What once showed up as reactivity or protection shaped by the past softens into clarity and choice in the present. Integration does not mean the Parts disappear, but that they are included, respected, and no longer carrying burdens they were never meant to hold.

In the next article, I will return to the Discover spoke and explore how the same event can be approached using Michael Singer’s model, from his book Living Untethered, offering a different path through the Discover and Integrate & Accept spokes of the Wheel.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

This article is the next in my series on the Radical Acceptance Wheel.

This is the second pair of articles focusing on navigating the following two steps of the Wheel: Discover and Integrate & Accept. I will begin with the same event described in an earlier article through the Event and Feel & Accept spokes, and then move through it using the lens of Internal Family Systems (IFS).

Event and Feel & Accept

For many years, I told myself a very specific story about who I was. I believed I was kind. I believed I was sensitive. That belief wasn’t just descriptive, it was protective. It was how I made sense of myself. I couldn’t see the ways I was also sharp, dismissive, or insensitive. Those qualities simply didn’t fit the image I needed to maintain.

While attending a personal growth retreat, something happened that cracked that image. I don’t remember exactly what I did. What I remember is the moment someone turned toward me and said that my behavior had been very insensitive.

Almost instantly, I felt anger.

Internal Family Systems (IFS)

IFS is a model developed by Richard Schwartz. This is a brief overview of the model. For those wishing to explore it more deeply, many books, training courses, and videos are available. To begin that journey, start here.

IFS understands the psyche not as a single, unified identity but as an internal system composed of many Parts. Each Part holds its own perspective, beliefs, emotions, and strategies shaped by lived experience. These Parts are not inherently dysfunctional. They are adaptive expressions that developed in response to the demands of life. However, no single Part represents the totality of who you are. Beneath and beyond the Parts is what Schwartz calls the Self, what Radical Acceptance refers to as the Conductor.

The Conductor is not another Part, but the was organizing presence that emerges as Parts relax and step back from dominance. It is commonly described through the eight C’s and five P’s: Compassion, Creativity, Curiosity, Confidence, Courage, Calm, Connectedness, Clarity, Presence, Persistence, Perspective, Playfulness, and Patience. In Radical Acceptance, we understand the Conductor as the Divine within, not as a belief system, but as a direct experiential quality of awareness characterized by openness, steadiness, and relational capacity. The Conductor is always present, though often obscured by protective activity within the system. To be blended is when the Conductor is obscured by protective activity.

Like an orchestra conductor, this inner presence does not silence the instruments but listens carefully, allowing each to play its role while guiding the whole toward coherence and harmony.

Within IFS, Parts are often broadly understood as protectors and exiles. (Radical Acceptance calls exiles wounded parts.) The wounded carry emotional burdens connected to painful or overwhelming experiences. Protectors organize thoughts, emotions, and behaviors to prevent these wounds from being reactivated or exposed. While the strategies of the protectors may sometimes create difficulty, their underlying intention is protective. From the perspective of Radical Acceptance, healing occurs as the Conductor develops a relationship with each Part, including the wounded and their protectors, allowing the system to reorganize around awareness rather than reactivity.

What is key to remember is that all Parts are trying to help. Schwartz makes this very clear in his book, No Bad Parts.

The Discover Spoke Within the IFS Model

The Discover spoke, within the IFS model, refers to the steps used to identify the Parts that have been activated, including both protectors and wounded.

Step 1: Pause and Disidentify

The first step is to pause, take a breath, and gently turn attention inward. At this stage, the focus is on recognizing that the difficulty is not the external event itself, but the reaction of the Parts to the event. This shift begins the process of disidentifying from the internal experience.

Rather than saying, “I am angry,” we learn to say, “There is a Part that is angry.” Rather than “That person is terrible,” we notice, “There is an angry Part that believes that person is terrible.” This subtle change in language creates space between awareness and the Part, allowing the Conductor to begin observing rather than reacting.

Step 2: Getting to Know the Activated Part

Once an activated Part has been identified, begin to get to know it. In most cases, the Part that is most present in awareness will be a protector. Approach this step with curiosity rather than analysis, allowing information to arise naturally.

You might explore questions such as:

• Is there a mental image of this Part? If you do not experience mental images, are there thoughts, words, or impressions that seem to describe it?

• Where in, or around, the body do you experience this Part?

• How does the Part seem to feel or present itself right now?

There is no need to force answers. Simply notice what becomes available.

Step 3: Relating to the Part

If the Part can be experienced as an internal “someone,” then relate to it as such. Silently bid it welcome and recognize that it is attempting to help in some way, even if its strategies feel unhelpful or familiar.

Allow the Part to share its story. Listen without interrupting, correcting, or trying to change anything. Acknowledge the feelings it carries and the role it believes it is playing.

Step 4: Unblending into the Conductor

The aim of this step is to move from being blended with the Part into the Conductor state. To do this, ask inwardly, “How do I feel toward this Part?”

If the response includes curiosity, calm, and compassion, the Conductor is present. If the response includes irritation, fear, judgment, urgency, or dismissal, another Part is active.

When another Part is identified, relate to it in the same way. Acknowledge it, listen briefly, and then ask whether it would be willing to step aside so you can return your attention to the original Part. In many cases, the Part will be willing once it feels seen.

If the Part is not willing to step aside, gently shift your attention to it. Let the original Part know that you will return, and then begin again at Step 1 with this newly activated Part.

The Retreat Incident

The incident at the retreat, described earlier, occurred early in my journey, long before I was familiar with IFS. In this section, I describe what I could have done had I had that understanding at the time.

Almost instantly, I felt anger arise.

Pausing, I take a breath and recognize that it is not I who am angry, but that there is a Part that is angry. I also notice that this Part is directed toward the others at the retreat, believing they were insensitive and uncaring.

Turning my attention inward, I see an image of an angry teenager throwing rocks at windows. I experience him as a tightening in my chest, and I notice that my hands are clenched into fists.

I turn toward the angry teen and silently welcome him. He looks startled, as though he is unused to being addressed, perhaps accustomed to being ignored. I ask what is making him so angry. He tells me that he feels trapped in a prison, surrounded by walls of expectation, and that he wants out. I listen and acknowledge how difficult that must be. He responds emphatically, “Damn right it is.”

Once again, I check inward and ask how I feel toward this angry teen. I notice the presence of judgment, a sense that it is bad or unacceptable to feel angry. I recognize this as another Part. I turn toward the judgmental Part, welcome it, and ask if it would be willing to step aside so I can continue getting to know the angry teen. At first there is resistance, but after I reassure it that it can remain nearby and intervene if needed, it agrees.

I repeat this process with a few other Parts that emerge, one reacting strongly to the injustice of the prison, and another feeling sadness for the angry teen.

At this point, I notice that I am feeling calm, curious, and compassionate. I recognize that I am now in the Conductor and ready to move on to the Integrate & Accept spoke.

Closing

What stands out to me, looking back, is that nothing in this process required insight, correction, or resolution. No Part needed to be convinced it was wrong, and no feeling needed to disappear. The work of the Discover spoke was simply to notice what was present, to relate rather than react, and to allow the Conductor to emerge naturally as Parts felt seen.

Only once that internal relationship was established could the work move into Integrate & Accept. Without discovery, integration becomes overwhelming. Without acceptance, discovery becomes intellectual. Together, they form a sequence that allows painful experience to be met without force, bypassing neither emotion nor wisdom.

This is the essence of Radical Acceptance. Not changing what arises, but changing our relationship to what arises. When we stop interfering with the inner flow, the system begins to reorganize on its own, guided not by effort or control, but by presence.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

This article continues my series on the Radical Acceptance Wheel.

Here, I focus on the Integrate & Accept spoke of the Wheel using the Freud/Jungian-informed Radical Acceptance model. It follows directly from the prior article, which explored the Discover spoke through this same lens. The Integrate & Accept spoke will be revisited in later articles as I apply other models.

Review

In the previous article, I discovered that I could be insensitive, and that discovery cut deeply into my sense of self. I did not want to be insensitive. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be right.

Making this discovery was difficult and initially generated intense anger. As I worked with the anger and applied the tools described earlier, it became clear that beneath the anger was fear. More specifically, it was the fear that being seen as insensitive would lead to rejection, and ultimately, abandonment. I was afraid that if this aspect of me were visible, people would not accept me and would leave.

Integration

Within the Radical Acceptance model, integration involves saying yes to aspects of ourselves that have been rejected and pushed into the unconscious. These parts are not integrated by understanding them intellectually, but by allowing them to exist without resistance.

Acceptance can be thought of as existing on a scale from –5 to +5. At –5, the rejected part is seen and met with a strong wish that it were not there. At +5, the rejected part is seen and strongly loved or idealized. Both positions remain reactive. Zero is the place of acceptance. Here, the part is seen clearly, without hatred and without love. It is simply acknowledged as present. It exists as a fact.

This middle position is not indifference. It is honesty without distortion. It is the willingness to allow what is true to be true, without needing to fix it, justify it, or push it away.

What emerges from this kind of integration is a fundamentally different relationship to the self.

Self-Esteem versus Grounded Self

One of the central problems in much of the self-help world is its emphasis on self-esteem. Self-esteem is based on how I evaluate myself. When I see aspects of myself as good, I experience positive self-esteem. When I see aspects of myself as bad, I experience negative self-esteem. In either case, my sense of personal value depends on what I am seeing in myself at any given moment.

Because of this, self-esteem is inherently unstable. Seeing myself as positive or negative shapes how I feel, how I act, and how I move through the world. My internal state rises and falls with my self-assessment.

Acceptance operates differently. Acceptance is the ability to see without judgement. From this perspective, neither positive nor negative self-esteem is the same as self-acceptance. Self-acceptance involves seeing all aspects of myself as neutral. They are not evidence of worth or unworthiness. They are simply facts.

From this vantage point, I am far less vulnerable to the constant swings of self-esteem, as well as to the praise and criticism of others. Life is no longer lived in reaction to evaluation, but from the middle position of steadiness and contentment.

This is what I call the Grounded Self.

From this place, being seen as sensitive or insensitive no longer threatens my existence or my worth. More importantly, it allows me to see clearly where in my life I am sensitive and where I am insensitive. This is true for all aspects of the self. I am disciplined in some areas and undisciplined in others; hardworking and lazy; kind and cruel; and so on. From this vantage point, I can also see where sensitivity is useful and where insensitivity is the better choice.

Closing

In this article, I followed the Integrate & Accept spoke of the Radical Acceptance Wheel using a Freud/Jungian-informed Radical Acceptance lens. Beginning with the discovery that I could be insensitive, I traced how anger gave way to fear, and how that fear was rooted in a threatened sense of worth and belonging. Integration did not come from correcting this trait or reframing it positively, but from allowing it to exist without resistance.

Through acceptance, the need to defend a particular self-image softened. What emerged was not higher self-esteem, but a more stable and grounded relationship to the self. From this middle position, traits are no longer evidence for or against worth. They are simply facts to be seen and worked with.

This is the function of Integrate & Accept. It does not erase difficult discoveries, nor does it elevate them. It allows them. From that allowance, a grounded self can emerge, one that is less reactive, more discerning, and more capable of meeting life as it is.

In the next article, I will return to the Discover spoke and explore how the same event can be approached using the Internal Family Systems model, offering a different path through the Discover and Integrate & Accept spokes of the Wheel.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

This article is the next in my series on the Radical Acceptance Wheel.

The next set of articles will focus on navigating the following two steps of the Wheel: Discover and Integrate & Accept. Rather than presenting a single prescribed method, I will explore multiple paths through these steps using different psychotherapeutic models. My hope is that, by seeing how different frameworks can be used within the same Wheel, readers will feel free to adapt the approach that feels most natural or accessible to them.

I will begin with the same event described in my previous article, and then move through it using three different lenses:

• Freud/Jungian-informed Radical Acceptance

• Internal Family Systems (IFS)

• Michael Singer’s model

Before proceeding, an important clarification: I am not attempting a strict, academic, or historically faithful presentation of Freud or Jung. I am not working from formal training in these traditions, nor am I concerned with adhering precisely to their original language or theoretical boundaries. Instead, I am engaging these models pragmatically, using them as living frameworks to support discovery and integration within the Radical Acceptance Wheel.

My intention is not doctrinal accuracy, but usefulness. What follows is an applied, experiential translation of these models, shaped by clinical work, lived experience, and the practical demands of helping people meet what is actually present.

Freud/Jungian/Radical Acceptance

For many years, I told myself a very specific story about who I was. I believed I was kind. I believed I was sensitive. That belief wasn’t just descriptive, it was protective. It was how I made sense of myself. I couldn’t see the ways I was also sharp, dismissive, or insensitive. Those qualities simply didn’t fit the image I needed to maintain.

While attending a personal growth retreat, something happened that cracked that image. I don’t remember exactly what I did. What I remember is the moment someone turned toward me and said that my behavior had been very insensitive.

Almost instantly, I felt anger.

In my previous article, I explored the deeper feelings that lay beneath that anger. In this article, I will intentionally stop at anger itself. This is often a more accessible entry point for people who are just beginning the work of personal growth. Before we can discover what lies underneath, we must first be willing to notice what arises on the surface, without defending against it or explaining it away.

The Tools

Here are a couple of tools to help with the Discover spoke.

Projection

The tool I have found most useful at this stage, especially when anger is the initial feeling, is projection.

Projection suggests that anger directed at another person often arises when a disowned or rejected aspect of ourselves is perceived in someone else. In this sense, the intensity of the reaction is less about the other person and more about what has been pushed out of awareness within us.

For example, if I feel strong anger toward someone for lying, I may be reacting to my own relationship with dishonesty. The “liar” I see outside mirrors something I do not want to see or acknowledge in myself.

This dynamic is not limited to anger. For some people whose default or more comfortable feeling is sadness, tears can serve a similar function. The sadness may signal a rejection of an aspect of themselves, expressed inwardly rather than outwardly.

What is important to understand is that what is being rejected is similar to the external behavior, never identical. Returning to the example of lying: my lies will not look the same as another person’s lies. They may lie about what they did or did not do. I may lie on a tax return, or minimize the truth when a police officer asks how fast I was driving.

In these cases, I am likely to frame my behavior as “little white lies” or as something “everyone does.” By doing so, I let myself off the hook. I preserve the image of myself as honest, while directing my anger toward others who lie more obviously or in ways I judge as worse.

To return to my experience at the retreat, I was angry at being told that I was insensitive. In my own mind, I was convinced that the person who spoke had been insensitive, failing to be caring and gentle toward me.

After some time had passed and the intensity of the anger had softened, I was able to step back and look more honestly at what had occurred. I could see that I, too, had been insensitive. Not through a lack of care or gentleness, but through being dismissive and judgmental toward the other person.

More importantly, instead of being open to my underlying fears, instead of tending to the vulnerable part of me that felt exposed, I reacted with anger. That anger was directed both outward, toward the person who spoke, and inward, toward my own shame and fear.

Projection and the Discover Spoke

By beginning with the assumption that my anger is a form of projection, I am invited to turn inward and look for the ways I am similar to the person who triggered me. This is not a gentle or abstract exercise. It requires brutal honesty and a willingness to see what I have previously kept hidden from myself.

Used this way, projection often leads directly into the Discover phase of the Wheel. What is discovered is rarely comfortable. The insights that arise can be painful, disorienting, and deeply threatening to the identity we have worked hard to protect.

In the weekend intensives I facilitate, I have often named similarities between an external event and an internal reality a participant is avoiding. This has frequently been met with anger, and in rare cases, with people walking out of the room. I did the same thing years ago when I walked out of a workshop after being told I was insensitive.

We hide aspects of ourselves because we believe that to be that person makes us bad, unacceptable, or unlovable. To acknowledge, “This too is me,” can feel like a crushing blow to the self-image we depend on to feel safe and worthy. And yet, without this discovery, genuine integration and acceptance remain out of reach.

Attachment

Another tool that can be used with any feeling is Attachment, a model we developed while running our addiction recovery center. Rather than asking, “How am I like the other?” it looks at what we are attached to and how those attachments shape our reactions to events.

To work with attachment, we use a series of questions that guide discovery. The process begins with the earlier spokes of the Wheel, Event and Feel & Accept, which are covered in previous articles. From there, the inquiry deepens.

The next question is: What were your expectations?
This invites you to look back at what you assumed or hoped would happen before the event occurred. Events tend to trigger intense feelings when they fail to align with expectations. Helpful prompts here include:

• What did I want to happen?
  
  

• What do I feel should have happened?
  
  

Take time with these questions. Expectations are often subtle and rarely stated explicitly, even to ourselves.

Next comes a critical step: What actually happened?
Life rarely unfolds according to plan. As the old joke goes, “How do you make God laugh? Tell Him your plans.” When answering this question, it is essential to stay with observable facts rather than interpretations or judgments.

For example:

• “My lazy partner expects me to do all the dishes while they sit on their ass” is an opinion.
  
  

• “My partner was sitting on the couch, as usual, while I was doing the dishes” still contains interpretation.
  
  

• “My partner was sitting on the couch while I was doing the dishes” is closer to the facts.
  
  

Finally, at least at this stage, the inquiry turns to: What is the belief you are attached to?
This question reveals the gap between how life is and how you believe it should be. Honesty is crucial here. In the example above, the underlying belief might be that a partner should know what you need without being asked. Even if you did ask and they refused, there is often a deeper attachment related to fairness, reciprocity, or shared responsibility.

In the situation at the retreat, I expected others to affirm my sensitivity, or at least not to label me as insensitive. What actually happened was that someone named something I said as insensitive. The gap between my expectations and what occurred revealed an underlying belief that I am sensitive and caring at all times. It was this unrealistic belief, rather than the comment itself, that gave rise to my anger.

Exploring attachment is not about proving that the other person is wrong or forcing change. It is about learning how your unconscious beliefs shape your experience. This understanding is explained further in the next spoke of the Wheel: Integrate & Accept, which I will address in the next article.

Attachment and the Discover Spoke

Beliefs are ideas we use to protect ourselves from being fully present and fully open to life. They act as filters between us and experience, quietly shaping how we interpret events and how we respond to them.

Discovering a belief beneath our reactions opens new internal landscapes. In the earlier example, the belief that I am always sensitive and caring points to deeper forces influencing my behavior. Underneath it may be feelings of unworthiness, or a fear that without this image I might be unlovable.

This is the heart of the Discover spoke. We are not trying to correct the belief or decide whether it is reasonable. We are simply bringing it into awareness. What was previously invisible becomes visible, and in that visibility, new choices and new possibilities begin to emerge.

Closing

Using these tools, I discovered that I can be insensitive, particularly in my tendencies to be dismissive and judgmental. I also uncovered a strong need to be seen as sensitive, and beneath both, a fear of abandonment.

In the next article, I will turn to what comes after discovery: how to work with what has been revealed through the Integrate & Accept spoke of the Wheel.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

While attending a personal growth retreat, something happened that cracked that image. I don’t remember exactly what I did. What I remember is the moment someone turned toward me and said that my behavior had been very insensitive.

Almost instantly, I felt anger.

I don’t express anger loudly. I don’t yell or confront. I disappear. I withdraw. After that exchange, I left the retreat and didn’t return for several hours. Outwardly, I was calm and contained. Inwardly, I was anything but. My internal dialogue was tight, judgmental, and self-justifying. I was certain I was right.

Anger was my way of avoiding the deeper feeling raised by the event.

The more vulnerable feeling never arrived in consciousness. It was intercepted. It was replaced by anger. Not because anger was truer, but because it was safer. Familiar. Structured. Anger gave me a sense of solidity and moral footing at the exact moment I felt destabilized.

This wasn’t a strategy I consciously chose. It was a well-worn reflex. A learned response that had protected me before, long before this moment. Anger organized my inner world and spared me from sitting in something softer, shakier, and far less defended.

Introduction

And that’s exactly what the Radical Acceptance Wheel asks us to notice: the feelings we habitually avoid, the ways we protect ourselves without realizing it, and the small but crucial step of allowing those feelings to fully arrive. This article, the fourth in my series on the Radical Acceptance Wheel, explores that difficult space: learning to feel and accept what is actually present.

There are many ways we avoid feeling the deeper emotions that an event can stir. In my own experience, I’ve noticed a few patterns:

• Feeling a “safer” feeling, like I did in the retreat when anger replaced the vulnerable feeling underneath.
  
  

• Emoting instead of feeling, expressing something outwardly while skipping the inner experience.
  
  

• Thinking about the event, trying to make sense of it or endlessly replaying it rather than letting it land in the body.
  
  

Over the course of this article, I’ll explore these strategies more deeply, showing how they work, why we fall into them, and how we can begin to move past them toward real acceptance. Lastly, I will speak about shame.

Feeling a Safer Feeling

I touched on this process in the opening story. Sometimes we feel a “safe” emotion instead of the actual, deeper feeling. Looking back at the moment I was told I was insensitive, I can see that the feeling beneath anger was fear, the fear that exposing my insensitivity would make others hate me, abandon me, leave me alone. That fear was the real, raw feeling I needed to meet, the one I had to allow myself to fully feel if I wanted to accept what was happening inside me.

If you notice yourself feeling a strong emotion in response to a difficult event, pause for a moment. That emotion might feel safe. It could be anger, sadness, fear, anxiety, or even melancholy. Often it is protecting you from something deeper that is harder to sit with. Gently ask yourself, what might this emotion be shielding me from feeling? Try to sense the underlying feeling, even if it is uncomfortable, and allow it to be present without trying to fix it or push it away. Simply noticing it is the first step toward Radical Acceptance.

Emoting Instead of Feeling

In much of the self-help world, the words feeling and emotion are often used interchangeably. In Radical Acceptance, I find it useful to distinguish them.

A feeling is an inner experience, the energy moving through your body and psyche. An emotion is how that feeling shows up outwardly. For example, yelling can be an emotional expression of anger, sobbing instead of feeling grief, making myself smaller instead of feeling fear, or lying in bed instead of feeling melancholy.

Emoting can keep us from being fully present with a feeling. It directs energy outward rather than staying with what is happening inside.

In my retreat example, I emoted my anger by leaving and mentally blaming the person who confronted me. Even though the blaming existed only in thoughts, those thoughts were still directed outward. This is another way we avoid the deeper inner world of feelings.

If you notice yourself expressing emotions outwardly through words, actions, or internal blaming, pause for a moment. Ask yourself, what am I feeling beneath this expression? Try to sense the raw feeling inside your body and mind, without judging it or trying to change it. Let your attention linger on the feeling itself before it gets translated into action or thought. Simply noticing the difference between feeling and emoting is a powerful step toward Radical Acceptance.

Thinking About the Event

In the retreat example, I moved into feeling and emoting. But sometimes I notice that thinking is what gets triggered. For someone like me, a thinker type, charged thinking can take over and prevent access to the underlying feeling.

Charged thinking often includes patterns such as:

• Replaying the event over and over in your mind
  
  

• Imagining what you could or should have said
  
  

• Planning a response to the event
  
  

• Justifying your own actions
  
  

• Blaming others for what happened
  
  

When I catch myself in these patterns, it signals that there is a deeper feeling underneath that my mind is trying to avoid. The thoughts often feel urgent, compelling, or convincing, but they are a way of bypassing the raw emotional experience.

If you notice yourself caught in replaying, planning, justifying, or blaming, pause and gently ask, what am I feeling beneath these thoughts? Try to notice the sensation of the feeling in your body without trying to solve, fix, or explain it. Observing the feeling behind the thinking is a small but powerful step toward Radical Acceptance.

Shame

No discussion of feelings is complete without talking about shame. Shame is not really a feeling. It acts as an emotional blackmailer. It whispers, “If others see this in you, they will judge you, reject you, leave you.” Shame has power as long as the part of you that feels unacceptable remains hidden. It is like someone holding a compromising picture over you. The threat of exposure gives them control. Only when the picture is revealed and faced does the blackmailer lose its grip.

Honoring shame changes it. When we allow ourselves to feel it without judgment, shame shifts from a state of self-hatred into a guide. It points to parts of ourselves we have not accepted and to the deeper feelings that lie beneath it. Paying attention to shame can be difficult, but it is often the clearest pathway to understanding and accepting the emotions we habitually avoid.

Summary

Over my years of working with people and their feelings, I have noticed one common pattern: most of us avoid the deeper feeling that an event actually raises. Instead, we rely on various strategies to bypass it.

The challenge of this spoke in the Radical Acceptance Wheel is to pause, notice our habitual responses, and allow the underlying feeling to come into awareness. There is no need to fix it, analyze it, or act on it. Simply noticing and letting it be is enough.

When you find yourself in this space, try taking a few slow breaths and bringing gentle attention to the sensations in your body. Allow the feeling to move through you without judgment. Over time, this practice strengthens your ability to feel what is present and respond with greater clarity and acceptance.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

This idea is often met with resistance. For many people, it feels disconnected from lived experience, especially when the events in question involve harm, injustice, or abuse. In this article, I want to slow this idea down and explore what it does and does not mean.

Before going further, I want to be clear about the scope of this article. The perspective offered here is not intended as an early response to harm or trauma. In the aftermath of abuse or injustice, what is needed first is safety, recognition, and validation. Pain must be named, boundaries reasserted, and responsibility clearly located with those who caused harm. Only once a person is sufficiently resourced does it become possible to turn toward inner responses and meaning. What follows is not an attempt to bypass injury or diminish its impact, but a later-stage reflection on how individuals relate to events once these conditions have been established.

This article is part of a series on the Radical Acceptance Wheel. In this piece, I will clarify what I mean by neutrality. I will begin with systemic racism, where this premise understandably provokes the strongest reaction, before widening the lens to consider events that feel personal.

Systemic Racism

A client once asked me what I thought about systemic racism. I responded that oppression has been present throughout human history. We see it in ancient forms such as slavery, and in modern forms such as oppressive economic systems and systemic racism.

That response, however, is only half complete.

The other half is this: I find all oppression dehumanizing and unacceptable. Naming oppression as universal does not excuse it. If anything, it highlights how deeply entrenched and persistent it is.

At the same time, I hold the view that all events, including instances of systemic racism, are impersonal and neutral. This can sound contradictory, so let me explain what I mean.

Imagine a situation in which a person of color is abused by someone in a position of power: a police officer, a teacher, a landlord, a judge, or a server in a restaurant. To the person receiving the abuse, the experience is intensely personal. It strikes at dignity, safety, and identity.

To the person abusing their power, however, the act is impersonal. The treatment is not shaped by the individuality of the person in front of them, but by a category. Any person of the same skin color, racial origin, or perceived identity would receive the same treatment. This impersonality does not reduce responsibility or harm; it describes the mechanism by which systemic oppression operates.

When I describe events as neutral, I do not mean harmless, insignificant, or emotionally inert. Experiences of systemic racism evoke strong emotional responses: anger, grief, resentment, despair, exhaustion, and more. These responses are not wrong or pathological; they are human. They are also variable. Some people feel rage. Others feel grief. Some feel resentment or bitterness. Some feel defeat or numbness. Others feel a complex mixture that shifts over time.

This variability is the point. If the same type of event gives rise to different emotional responses across different people, and even within the same person at different times, then the feeling cannot be said to be dictated by the event. The event is real and harmful. The emotional response emerges from the interaction between the event and the individual’s internal world.

To restate: an injustice has been done to you, and you have feelings about that injustice. The question isn’t why did that happen, but rather why did I feel what I felt, as opposed to other feelings I might have felt? What does this response reveal about who I am, what I carry unconsciously, and how I meet events?

The injustice happened, and we have no ability to undo events. But we can turn toward the feelings it evokes, not to justify what occurred, but to understand ourselves more deeply.

Events that Feel Personal

Imagine you are in a relationship and you have clearly set a boundary. Perhaps the boundary is that your partner not swear at you. Things go well for a time, and then during a fight your partner calls you a fucking asshole or bitch. This feels like a personal attack, a personal event directed at you. Surely this event is neither impersonal nor neutral.

I would disagree.

The words spoken by your partner arise from their unconscious, from their history, wounds, and unresolved patterns. Although the words are spoken in a conflict with you, they are shaped by people and events that predate the current moment. In this sense, the behavior is impersonal. This does not excuse the boundary violation or remove responsibility. It describes where the behavior comes from.

Are the words neutral? Yes, in the sense that the feelings they evoke arise from your own unconscious, your history, and your patterns of meaning making. It is also likely that you have responded to these words differently over time. The first time you heard them, you may have felt shock. Later, anger. Later still, disappointment or withdrawal.

Because the emotional response changes over time, the feeling cannot be attributed to the event itself. The event is neutral. What changes is which layers of personal history, memory, and meaning are activated in response to it. The same words can touch different places in us at different times, producing different feelings, even though the event itself remains unchanged.

Closing

To see events as impersonal and neutral is not to deny harm, excuse injustice, or suppress feeling. It is to shift where inquiry is directed. The event has already occurred. What remains alive is how we meet it internally.

This spoke of the Wheel invites a different kind of attention. Not toward what happened, but toward how meaning, memory, and identity are shaped in response. In that turning, healing, growth, and self-empowerment can become possible.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

This small moment captures something essential about Mindfulness. Mindfulness is not about blame, self-correction, or forcing better behavior. It is about “accurate awareness”. When awareness is present, we naturally respond differently. When it is absent, we collide with reality, sometimes literally. The injury was not caused by the car or by some personal flaw, but by a lack of attention to what was actually happening in the moment.

Summary

This is the second article in our series on Radical Acceptance, as developed and taught by myself, Christopher Oliphant, and my wife, Ronna Smithrim. The purpose of this series is to introduce the Wheel, the central tool in our approach to Radical Acceptance. Before turning to the Wheel itself, it is essential to first understand Mindfulness. Without some degree of Mindfulness, no healing can take place, whether that healing is emotional, relational, or embodied. If we cannot notice what is happening, we cannot meet it with acceptance.

What is Mindfulness?

Mindfulness is the practice of paying attention to what is happening right now, on purpose and without judgment. It means noticing your thoughts, emotions, body sensations, and surroundings as they arise, rather than getting lost in stories about the past or worries about the future. At its core, Mindfulness is about Presence. It is the difference between living on autopilot and actually being in contact with your life as it unfolds.

Mindfulness does not require clearing the mind or feeling calm. Thoughts will still appear, emotions will still surge, and discomfort may still be present. The practice is in how you relate to these experiences. Instead of immediately reacting, suppressing, or analyzing, Mindfulness invites you to observe with curiosity and honesty. This creates a small but meaningful pause, a space where choice becomes possible.

Over time, Mindfulness helps reveal patterns that normally operate beneath awareness. You may begin to notice how certain thoughts trigger tension in the body, how emotions rise and fall on their own, or how quickly you move away from discomfort. This seeing is not about fixing yourself, but about understanding yourself more clearly. With clarity often comes compassion, both for your own struggles and for the struggles of others.

Ultimately, Mindfulness is a way of relating to life rather than a technique to achieve a particular state. It supports greater freedom by allowing experience to be exactly as it is, while loosening the grip of habitual reactions. In this sense, Mindfulness is not an escape from reality. It is an intimate meeting with it.

Why is Mindfulness Difficult?

Mindfulness is difficult because it asks us to stay with our experience rather than escape it. Much of daily life is organized around avoiding discomfort, whether through distraction, busyness, analysis, or numbing. When we slow down and pay attention, we often encounter restlessness, fear, grief, or irritation that we have learned to move away from automatically. Mindfulness removes these familiar escape routes, which can feel unsettling or even threatening.

Another reason Mindfulness is challenging is that the mind is conditioned to wander, judge, and control. We are trained to think our way through problems, to fix what feels wrong, and to measure ourselves against ideals. Mindfulness asks for a different posture, one of allowing rather than managing. This can feel passive or unproductive, especially in cultures that value constant improvement and certainty. Letting things be does not come naturally to a mind that believes it must stay in charge.

Mindfulness also exposes inner contradictions. We may want peace but resist the vulnerability that peace requires. We may value awareness yet recoil when we see aspects of ourselves we would rather deny. As attention deepens, defenses soften, and this can bring uncomfortable truths into view. The difficulty is not a failure of the practice but evidence that something real is being touched.

Finally, Mindfulness is difficult because it cannot be mastered in the usual sense. There is no final achievement, no permanent state to secure. Each moment asks again for presence, honesty, and patience. The practice is simple but not easy, and its difficulty lies precisely in its demand for ongoing, lived engagement with reality as it is.

Mindfulness and Radical Acceptance

Radical Acceptance asks you to accept all of who you are. Without Mindfulness, however, there is no real awareness of who you are in the first place. For this reason, Mindfulness must come before any deeper exploration of Radical Acceptance. We cannot accept what we cannot see.

I have written elsewhere about the shift required for genuine personal and spiritual growth. That shift is a movement away from an outward, blame-based focus and toward an inward, non-judgemental one. When our attention is directed outward, searching for what is wrong with others or circumstances, we may feel justified, but we also become stuck.

Outward, blame-based work consistently leads to two problems. First, success depends on the other person changing. This leaves you powerless, as you have no control over their willingness or capacity to do so. Second, you do not grow. Even if the other person engages in meaningful inner work, your own personal and spiritual development remains stalled because your attention is not on yourself.

Shifting to an inward, non-judgemental focus reverses this dynamic. Because the work is internal, you are no longer dependent on anyone else in order to change. Growth becomes possible, and in fact unavoidable, because the only way forward is through increased awareness and responsibility for your own inner life. This is why the non-judgemental aspect is essential. Listening to and believing the Critical Judge, especially when it turns inward and assigns blame, does not produce lasting change. Criticism may create short-term resolve, but it rarely leads to transformation. More often, it reinforces the very patterns we are trying to heal.

Conclusion

Before moving into the Wheel, it is worth pausing here. Mindfulness is not something to master or perform well. It is simply the capacity to notice what is already happening, internally and externally, without immediately reacting or assigning blame. Without this capacity, any attempt at Radical Acceptance becomes conceptual rather than lived.

For now, the invitation is simple. Notice when you are present and when you are not. Notice when attention turns outward in blame and when it turns inward with curiosity. Nothing needs to change yet. Awareness comes first.

Next Article

In the next article, I will introduce the first spoke of the Radical Acceptance Wheel. We will explore what it means to view life events as neutral and impersonal, even when those events have caused real harm. This is not an easy stance, and it often brings up strong resistance.

Seeing events as neutral and impersonal does not deny their impact, nor does it minimize suffering. Harm still harms, especially when it is experienced at a young age, or when it is systemic in nature, such as racism or homophobia. The question is not whether damage occurred, but how we relate to what happened once it has occurred. This distinction will be central as we begin working with the Wheel.

A Note on Authorship

ChatGPT wrote the 2 sections entitled “What is Mindfulness?” and “Why is Mindfulness Difficult?” I wrote the rest of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

Instead of acting on that impulse, I noticed what was arising within me and chose to use the event as an opportunity for growth. Only after doing that inner work did I speak with my wife. Rather than criticising her, I shared what I had experienced and what I had learned. This deepened our relationship instead of causing the harm that criticism would have brought.

In this series of articles, I aim to articulate my current thinking on personal and spiritual growth. This first piece offers some basic orientation and an overview of what will follow.

About Me

I don’t come to this work through formal credentials. I come through years of reading, experimentation, practice, and careful attention to what actually changes how I live.

My psychological work has included Internal Family Systems (IFS), Jungian psychology, Gestalt, Psychosynthesis, Enneagrams, Primal Therapy, and related approaches. Along the way, I have also been influenced by writers such as Michael Singer, author of The Untethered Soul.

Spiritually, I have studied and practiced within Christianity, Hinduism, Native Spirituality, Buddhism, and other traditions. Here too, my interest has been experiential—opening the door to direct spiritual insight rather than adopting belief systems alone.

Radical Acceptance

In 2004, Tara Brach published Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life With the Heart of a Buddha. Around the same time, my wife and I were independently developing a practice we called Radical Acceptance. We were not aware of Tara Brach’s work until 2010, while we were writing our own book. Because her work was published first, we ultimately titled ours Accepting the Radical: You Cannot Be Fixed.

While our work shares philosophical ground with Tara Brach’s approach and with Buddhism more broadly, it was developed independently and emerged from our reading and lived practice.

The cornerstone of our approach is the Wheel.

The Wheel

Summary

The Wheel has six spokes: Event, Feel and Accept, Discover, Integrate and Accept, Plan, and Act and Accept. Together, these spokes describe a living process of personal and spiritual growth: one that unfolds through experience and repeats over time, rather than moving in a straight line.

Event

The Wheel begins with Event. The basic teaching here is that events themselves are neutral. By this, I do not mean that events fail to trigger feelings or that they lack impact. Rather, neutrality points to the fact that different people can have very different emotional responses to the same event, and that even the same person may respond differently to the same event at different times, depending on what is happening internally.

Naming events as neutral is not a denial of harm or injustice; it is a way of locating emotional suffering in our relationship to what happens rather than in the event alone.

Feel and Accept

Events generate feelings. Unfortunately, many of us are not in direct contact with what we feel. There are several common ways we avoid feelings: suppressing them, thinking about them instead of feeling them, or expressing a more comfortable feeling in place of the one that lies beneath. For example, irritation may be easier to feel than grief, or confusion easier than fear.

This step invites us to turn toward the deeper feeling, the one we habitually avoid, and to meet it with acceptance.

Discover

Turning toward the deeper feeling often brings up past memories and associations. Using various models and tools, we can explore these feelings to gain insight into our patterns, our responses, and the experiences that have shaped us. These discoveries might reveal recurring fears, long-held beliefs, or habitual reactions, helping us understand ourselves more clearly.

Integrate and Accept

Once we’ve made a discovery, the next step is to integrate it into conscious awareness, bringing what was unconscious into the light of consciousness. Different models approach integration in different ways, but the goal is the same: to use these insights to support personal and spiritual growth.

Integration might involve accepting a part of ourselves that we have previously repressed or judged as bad. Or it might mean releasing a memory or belief that has been unconsciously guiding our responses to events.

Plan

Acceptance is not about becoming a doormat. When faced with an external event, we still need to choose how to respond. Sometimes the best response is to do nothing, but even that is a conscious choice, made instead of reacting automatically or unconsciously to the event.

Act and Accept

After making a discovery, integrating it, and forming a plan, it is time to move forward. This might involve an external action, an internal shift, or simply carrying the new insight with you as you continue through life.

Mindfulness

All healing work begins with mindfulness, and the Wheel is no exception. If we are unaware of what is happening within, we cannot begin meaningful inner work. Mindfulness can take many forms: journaling, recording dreams, meditation, or simply noticing the ever-shifting movement of energies within.

For most of us, mindfulness does not appear spontaneously; it requires deliberate practice. At first, this might mean scheduling time each day to be mindful. Over time, mindfulness can shift from a discipline into a natural way of living, though this transformation takes patience and persistence.

Moving Forward From Here

My plan is to write a series of articles, each one exploring a spoke of the Wheel in depth. Over the coming posts, we’ll look at how these steps can be applied in everyday life, and how practicing the Wheel can transform the way we relate to our feelings, our choices, and the world around us.

Looking back to that moment with my wife’s joke, I can see how each step of the Wheel played a role: noticing my feelings, exploring them, integrating what I discovered, planning my response, acting with awareness, and carrying mindfulness throughout. This is what Radical Acceptance looks like in practice. In the articles to come, I’ll explore each spoke in detail, so you can begin to see how the Wheel might support your own growth and relationships.

A Note on Authorship

I wrote all of the material in this article and then ran it past ChatGPT to help clarify the language and polish the grammar. I’ve never been a strong writer; I struggle to express ideas in ways that are accessible and relatable. And I have lived experience and insights that I want to share. Using this tool allows me to convey my thoughts more clearly without losing the essence of what I’m trying to convey. I plan to continue using this approach in future articles.

Finding and becoming comfortable with this middle place leads to much less suffering, drama and pointless effort. Let’s take a closer look at this place. It is a place where there are no feelings. Feelings will come and go, but when the trigger for the feeling is gone, or when we have reconciled ourselves to the event, we can return to the middle. True it does lack the adrenaline rush of being caught up in feelings. For me, that’s one of the main reasons for being comfortable there.

Going back to the feeling binaries, let’s have another look. Happy/sad. We have many words to describe the range of this feeling continuum. On the happy side, there is ecstatically happy through glad or assumed. On the sad side, there is broken hearted through to a little blue. In the middle, there is content.

For anger it ranges from rage to irritation and on the power side from manipulating through to controlling. In the middle is a place that doesn’t have a name. It is the place of being quietly assertive. It is the place of a confident, inner power: not needing anyone to be different from who they are and yet still firm in your own boundaries.

Fear ranges from blind terror to concern, while excitement ranges from dizzying to mild anticipation. In the middle is being open hearted. I define open hearted as being open to whatever life brings. It means knowing I can deal with unpleasant events and I am open to being fully present in pleasant events.

Shame and pride are not usually thought of as a feeling binary, but they are. Shame is the feeling associated with the experience of seeing myself as bad while pride is the feeling associated with the experience of seeing myself as good. These too have ranges with shame extending from deep and profound through to mild embarrassment. Pride ranges from hubris and narcissism through to a desire to share an accomplishment. The middle place is the place of self-acceptance: where my strengths and weaknesses are seen as facts, neither good nor bad, just facts.

Scarcity and abundance are often seen as physical states, but are, in fact, feelings. This pair is often associated with financial wealth, but it extends to many other areas of life. I can feel a scarcity of security or an abundance amidst a group of loving friends. Anyone can find themselves on this continuum regardless of financial status. These too extend to ranges, but our culture does not have words to describe the range. The place in the middle I call, enough. It is the place where I am okay with what I have: I do not feel the need for more nor do I see my state as having more than I need.

Many see this middle place as a problem. It’s boring. It’s no fun. It’s living like a robot. But that assumes a stagnant life, always sitting in the middle. I see it as a rich and full life. From the middle my feelings can swing either way, depending on what is going on outside of me. And when the event is done, I return to the middle.

Mara is portrayed as brilliant and scheming. He has power, but not unlimited power. He has the ability to influence people’s thoughts and feelings, but not turn them into puppets. They must allow him into their inner world and then choose to act on his suggestions.

Having failed to prevent the Buddha from becoming enlightened, and failed to prevent the Buddha from teaching others about it, Mara had to change strategies. His new strategy was to make the Buddhist teachings ineffective: to stop the teachings from being used by many to attain liberation. In this blog, I am suggesting that his strategy has been brilliant and extremely successful.

The Buddha lived roughly 2,500 years ago and for the first 500 years, all Buddhist teachings were strictly oral. After the 500 years there was a drought and monks were dying. To prevent the teachings from being lost, a council was formed and the official teachings were written down and preserved.

That gave Mara 500 years to influence and alter the oral teachings and the stories about the life of the Buddha. If you were Mara, what would you do? Many would suggest trying to make the Buddha a teacher not worth following. However, Mara realized that strategy would not work. He knew that those who were teaching these oral traditions had a great love for the Buddha and his teachings. Trying to influence them against that love would be very difficult. Besides, he had a better idea: a better use for the teachings.

Instead Mara worked with the love these teachers felt for the Buddha and his teachings. He encouraged them to make small changes to make the Buddha more than who he was: to make the Buddha more god-like and less human. Working slowly, he introduced a slight exaggeration on his austerities, a slight increase in his enlightened powers, or a lessening of his humanity. Mara could work with the many of the teachers to slowly and surely cause the teachings to drift more and more in that direction.

But, you might ask, how does that work against the Buddhist teachings? Surely more people would follow this more impressive being. And that is true. Buddhism has grown over the centuries to have a huge following. What, then, is the problem?

The problem is that as the Buddha’s mythology grew, it became increasingly difficult for anyone to attain enlightenment. Liberation became a feat of such super-human proportions that no mere human could achieve it. And in those rare cases where someone did attain, few others would believe it to be a legitimate enlightenment because it did not live up to the god-like enlightenment of the mythological Buddha.

The reality is that we have no idea what enlightenment looked like as lived by the Buddha. There are stories that have crept through that do show a more human side, but those are overwhelmed by the other, grander stories.

This has successfully transformed the teachings from tools for liberation into a religion. There are now millions following the religion of Buddhism with almost no one attaining enlightenment. Particularly interesting is that people are now being bound to the rites and rituals of the religion of Buddhism. Being bound to dogma is one of the fetters the Buddha spoke against. Mara has brilliantly turned the teachings from a doctrine of liberation into a religion of bondage

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Preparation

In the Easter story, the Last Supper is the time of preparation. In the story Jesus, talks of the coming betrayal and crucifixion. He is preparing the disciples for the upcoming changes. In our life, this may be a time when beliefs are challenged by life or by other people in our life.

Betrayal

The time of betrayal is when the non-working part of our psyche is clearly identified. We feel hurt and usually angry. It is the point of no return. In the Easter story this is the end of the Last Supper when Jesus identifies Judas will turn Him in, that the disciples will scatter and that Peter will betray Him by denying Jesus. While Judas’ kiss is usually called the betrayal, by that time Jesus knew it was coming and had resigned Himself to it.

Turmoil

This is the time of the Garden. Jesus knows what is asked of Him but He is not yet surrendered to His death. This is the hardest part of the dark night of the soul. For many this period may last days, months and even years. There is a lot of depression. You know that you have to give up a part of yourself, but that part has served you well, often for a long time. It is not easy to give up a coping mechanism that helped you survive through a painful childhood.

Resignation

Turmoil ends when we stop fighting. We acknowledge, at a profound level, that we have to let go and let that part die. This is tied to the fifth chakra because it is the moment when we say, “Not my will but Thy will be done.” At this moment we the darkness eases, there is a light visible – if not yet within reach.

Judgement

This part of the Easter story is described in great detail. Jesus is brought before the chief priests, Pilate, Herod and returned to Pilate. He does not try to defend Himself and suffers their hatred and beatings without complaint. The parallel in our life is the period of time between letting go and the actual death. Our ego tries to get us to return, to hang on to the pattern. At the same time life offers us plenty of opportunities to see the uselessness of the trying to hang on. If we have truly resigned to the death then we suffer this quietly because we know that the death must occur. If we are not strong in our conviction we will protest life’s unfairness and some even take back the pattern. This further entrenches the pattern making it harder to give up.

Death

If we hang tough through judgement, eventually death happens. We will never be able to look at life in the same way. We are permanently altered. But this is not the end of the dark night of the soul. There are still two more stages to occur.

Chaos

This is the time when the Easter story says that Jesus went to hell and that is often how it feels. We no longer have the pattern to protect us from life – it is dead – but we do not yet have a new way of coping. There is nothing left but to struggle through the chaos.

Resurrection

This is the glorious moment we have been work towards. In the case of Jesus, it was sudden and dramatic. For many it is a slow and gradual process out of the darkness. One day you wake up and realize that the darkness is gone. The old pattern is gone and you are now open to life in ways that are richer and fuller.

This was a very brief description of the stages of the Dark Night of the Soul. The length of time to move through all of the stages depends upon the attachment to the aspect or pattern. 

Possible outline:

• Why most people think they want transformation but really want comfort.

• How resistance shows up (shock → defensiveness → reluctant acceptance — just like your workshops).

• What real inner work feels like from the inside.

• A call to readers to take one uncomfortable step this week.

There, full disclosure. The rest of what I write will come from me.

What most of my clients want is to make their life easier. Nothing wrong with that. It isn’t “bad” to want a life that works better. Not everyone wants radical life transformation. Just living with less stress, less conflict, fewer dramas, is enough.

However, even that basic desire is met with resistance from within. To attain these desires one needs to make a couple of profound shifts in the way life is approached. The first shift is to switch from an outward focus to an inward one. The second shift is to shift from seeing others as the problem to seeing our reaction to what others do as the problem.

Here is some more detail.

By outward focus versus inward focus, I mean measuring what I do and how I do it by imagining what others would think. “If I do that, what will _____ think.” “If I do this ______ will be pleased.” You can fill in the blanks with family, friends, bosses, strangers on the street, a former or current teacher.

Here is an example from my life. When I was in my mid twenties and my marriage was failing, I imagined that by becoming an evangelical, bible thumping Christian, Paul, a leader from a Christian youth group I once belonged to, would be proud of me. I hadn’t seen Paul in years. When I did run into him a few years later, he was not impressed with my fundamentalism. Still trying to please him, I abandoned my fundamentalist ways and started therapy. In doing so I shifted my external reference from Paul to my new therapist. It was some time, and a lot of work later before I was able to see what I wanted and to balance that with the wants and needs of others. (If truth be told, that is a destination that is never fully reached. All I can really say is that I am closer to that destination than I was in my earlier life.)

The second shift is more difficult, not that the first shift is easy. Michael Singer, in his book “The Untethered Soul”, writes about how we store unpleasant events in our psyche, where they influence how we see the world. Our mind then imagines how the world “should” be so that it will not re-trigger these stored events. When life happens that doesn’t conform to my “shoulds”, the tendency is to see the event as the problem. The second shift is to see that hanging on to the stored event is the problem and to work with that rather than blaming the event for the feelings of discomfort. (That doesn’t mean becoming a doormat. Once you have dealt with your internal, stored events, the external event may still need addressing.)

Here is an example. My wife can get frustrated when working with technology. When frustrated she might vocalize her frustration. Based on how annoyance and frustration were not expressed in my family of origin, how when it was expressed it caused fights and breakdowns, I feel stress when she expresses her frustration. For years I looked externally for a solution to my stress. Looking inward means seeing the problem as being my reaction, not my wife’s frustration. I have learned to work with the feelings that arise within my psyche, instead of hoping that my wife will change.

There you have it. A title and outline suggested by ChatGPT and an article that mostly ignores both.