Chapter 1: The Importance of Uncomfortable Truths

Sometimes, we believe that what we truly need is encouragement, yet what we really seek is validation for our actions, a way to avoid accountability.

Photo by Denys Nevozhai on Unsplash

Looking back, it’s often those uncomfortable truths that offer the most significant lessons. They seem to appear repeatedly, drawing us in like a magnet—manifesting through people, songs, or even pamphlets. It’s not the affirmations we crave; rather, it’s the truths we tend to dismiss, those subtle irritations that unsettle our ego.

Our ego resists being wrong. It shuns listening and refuses to agree with certain thoughts or individuals, failing to realize that acceptance doesn't define us. We assign meaning to these interactions, which can shape our identity.

Two years ago, I found myself cringing at my roommate's advice on job searching. His methods—LinkedIn, networking, and coffee chats—made sense, yet I dismissed them as inauthentic. I viewed networking as a facade, distinct from my nature. But just because it felt foreign to me didn’t diminish the value of his insights.

In my quest to find a job, I stuck to what felt comfortable, relying on familiar behaviors that I had labeled. I compartmentalized my identities, allowing me to switch between them as needed. Interestingly, I find that when I am in certain contexts, specific parts of me emerge, just like how my British accent surfaces when I land in London.

The last encounter I had with her left me running away, not out of fear, but perhaps a mix of anger and a desire for self-preservation. I felt a surge of power, a refusal to be manipulated. Something was undeniably off in the energy that night—was it directed at me, or was it external? I would never know.

After a tumultuous night, anxiety consumed me, and I felt as if I were losing control, prompting me to wonder if this was what ego death felt like. It was a stark contrast to the serene merging with the universe I had previously experienced.

But I possess an innate ability to rebound. I can plummet to the depths and then rise again, as if nothing had occurred. “They can never take my spirit,” I proclaim, even as I fight back tears and dance in my apartment, pretending I haven’t just spent an hour crying.

Who are "they"? Perhaps this notion is just my ego’s protective mechanism, an essential function that demands rebirth after its demise. Without that fierce identification within me, I would still be on the floor, lost in sorrow.

All I longed for was a comforting embrace. When I returned to see her, I sensed that my presence triggered something within her. Did she think, “How dare I show up after running away?” Yet, does she have the right to feel disrespected? After all, she is a spiritual guide—shouldn't she be free from ego?

I’m uncertain what exactly provoked her reaction. My friend later suggested it was a reflection of my own "mother wound," and sent me a six-minute audio note on the topic. It's been nearly a year, and I still haven't listened to it, but its existence lingers in my mind.

I vehemently disagreed with my friend, convinced she misunderstood my situation. This illustrates the complexity of perspectives; there are often multiple truths coexisting. For those of us grappling with undiagnosed BPD, this is a journey of self-discovery.

In returning, I thought I was fulfilling plans made two months prior, but I was actually escaping from something else—ironically, returning to a place I had previously fled.

She didn’t offer a warm greeting, nor did she embrace me. Her only notable question was, “Have you found a job yet?” It felt like a direct hit. My own mother would never pose such a question, and it triggered feelings of inadequacy. I assumed she intentionally pressed my buttons, leading me to ponder how inappropriate her behavior was, questioning her leadership.

Yet, despite my grievances, she conveyed a crucial message—one urging me to examine that facet of my life. At the time, it seemed unbearable, as if I were trapped in a fog I couldn't escape.

In hindsight, these were invaluable messages from the universe, delivered through people and experiences I initially resisted. I welcomed the affirmations that aligned with my preconceived notions, but shunned those challenging my self-perception.

Ironically, the job I so desperately sought was secured through LinkedIn and networking—methods I initially dismissed. This role provided the stability I was chasing through spiritual retreats.

We often perceive events as random, but in reality, they are intricately woven together.

Photo by navigatinglight via Instagram

We are destined to arrive where we need to be. Yet, sometimes we resist progress, hesitating to step onto the train of life, waiting for it to conform to our expectations. Ultimately, we discover that life doesn’t operate on our terms.

Consider the story of the preacher trapped in a flood, who, despite being offered help, insisted he would be saved by divine intervention. Even as his situation worsened, he turned away from the help offered until he ultimately drowned. Upon reaching heaven, he questioned God about his fate. God's response? "What did you expect? I sent you two boats and a helicopter."

This first video, "The Message You Don't Want to Hear," explores the importance of accepting uncomfortable truths and the lessons they bring.

The second video, "God's Not Done With You," reminds us that life continues to unfold, and there is always hope for renewal and growth.