Oh My Ego

The Glittering Cave of Awareness

At some point in our seemingly privileged lives (on count of access and physical ease), maybe after an eye-opening breakup, a career burnout, the grand fallout with a parent or just classic life lifing, we stumble—gracefully or not—into the glittering cave of awareness. Whether this is through the therapist that finally hit the spot, an overachieving meditation retreat or maybe just a Youtube video that finally got you in contact with your inner child… Somehow our neuroplasticity breaks open for this grand virtue.

The Spiral of Seeing

Suddenly, our brains are flooded with The Language (amplified by the algorithm and the affirming friend groups).
We really start to see our patterns and we learn the names for them along with what appears to be logical solutions.

People pleaser? I need to set boundaries - preferably the ones that don't upset anyone
Anxiously attached? I should quit the avoidant boyfriend
Conflict-avoider? Avoid the avoiding
Perfectionist? Lower your standards (perfectly)
Codependent? Learn to "detach with love"… whatever that means.

And then the spiral begins. We start seeing our patterns everywhere. Not just in relationships—but in our breakfast choices, our DMs, our posture, our Google Calendar. And instead of feeling liberated, we start to feel... obsessive and sometimes critical.

This phase of our lives is oh so powerful
and yet so maddening -
you start to see your patterns in everything and wonder why you are oh so terrible,
It's saddening.

Somehow, the very awareness that was meant to free us starts to feel like a trap. What was the point? I feel even crazier now than when I started.

The Ego Strikes Back

In my case, it became a strange kind of ego plot twist: once I saw the ego, the ego saw that I've seen it—and now it wants a starring role in my awakening. Suddenly, even my most "sincere" thoughts start to shimmer with suspicion. Was that genuine compassion… or was I trying to look enlightened? Was that surrender… or performance? The act of noticing becomes layered with gripping…whipping. And the ego, clever as ever, shapeshifts into the one who is trying to transcend the ego. The one who knows better now. The one who is really, really aware of how unaware they are. Even more "advanced" how unaware everyone else is.

The Illusion of Equanimity

I recently retreated into one of my classically overachieving silent retreats—re-immersing myself deeply in the wisdom of the Buddha's teachings. And there it was again, the gentle refrain:
"Awareness and equanimity—they are like two wings of a bird. Both must be strong for a graceful flight."
One sees; the other chills.
Awareness is the flashlight. Equanimity is the open palm holding it.
But what does equanimity even mean?

It's one of those words that sounds wise, serene, enlightened. But when I really sit with it, I notice it can become a slippery slope—something the ego can easily latch onto and distort.

Sometimes, equanimity gets mistaken for emotional repression. Or for some stoic ideal of suffering without flinching—like the guy in David Foster Wallace's Good Old Neon, who sits through unbearable pain in meditation just to impress his teacher. I see echoes of that in myself—equanimity on the outside, internal chaos on the inside. All the effort goes into appearing balanced. But does true equanimity actually require effort? Or is that tension a sign we've missed the point?

And then, on the other side of the coin, there's the version I've witnessed in others—maybe the anxious doer, the over-responsible mind. For them, equanimity might feel like doing nothing. Like disengaging. Like giving up control. And that can be terrifying. If action is how you survive, then stillness feels like a threat.

Both archetypes are subtle distortions. One overperforms stillness; the other resists it. And both reveal how easy it is to confuse equanimity with control.

Rewriting the Practice

I started to think of ways to update the teachings in a way that works for myself…
What then? Kindness and Compassion? And when we try to bring in "kindness," things get even stickier. Because kindness isn't always neutral for us.

"Kindness", "patience" might feel loaded. Confusing. Charged with old meanings of judgement, morality and even punishment.

Maybe we were taught that kindness meant erasing ourselves.
Or that being kind meant being nice—agreeable, silent, small, palatable.
Or maybe kindness was something dangled: a reward for good behavior, never unconditional.

So when someone says "just be kind to yourself," we don't always know how. Or if we're being honest—we don't always want to.

And then the ego slips back in, dressed up as the inner critic of our attempts at compassion.

Was that kind? Are you being gentle enough? Shouldn't you be further along by now?

So we're back in the loop.

Do not despair. It's not a hopeless article…

Softness as a Path

I think I found a word that works for my practice - softness and tenderness. Before my most recent course I decided on softness and tenderness. I chose to layer my awareness with grace, notice, to notice with tenderness and sweetness. Like a loving parent watching their child wobble across the room, I choose to see myself, to see my flaws boldly and give myself a kiss on the forehead each time - I love you, Kem-kem. For some, this word might trigger something else, which is where I open this up to you.

Because awareness is only half the story. The other half is how we hold what we see.
And you get to choose how. Maybe equanimity isn't the absence of reaction—but the presence of love in how we respond.

So—what about you? If awareness is your flashlight, what quality do you want to hold it with?

Oh my ego. Still here. Still trying. But softer now.

And maybe that's all awareness really asks of us—
to see ourselves, to hold what we see tenderly,
and to keep walking, even wobbling, with love.

If you have been stuck in this and need some love, try out a sample session with me.