How The Two-Year Old Me Is Wiser Than the Thirty-Five Year Old Me

I was at a men's weekend retreat recently.   The whole program was designed around “finding your shadow.“

What is one's shadow?   It's the darkest parts of us, the most depraved, undesirable characteristics that we all embody.   The shadow is the part that wishes you could go machine gun all those guys who pound on buckets with drumsticks after Cubs games.

Honestly though, is anyone impressed with this?   The fact that forty seven inner city youth within one square block who are no older than thirteen are beating on a Sherman Williams bucket leads me to believe it's not that hard.   I wouldn't even care except it's super loud and totally dumb.   Want to impress me?   Strap those buckets to your feet and jump around like those guys from Stomp.   Just kidding, that's awful, too.

Back to the shadow.   So my shadow wants all these at–risk youth to be murdered by my own hand, when I walk by them just trying to get to the bar to buy an O'Doul's.   Yes, I drink those.   Don't judge.

This rageful thought lasts all of three milliseconds, because:

1. I'm not a murderer and…
2. I have shame about this thought even entering my mind.

I immediately judge myself as “disturbed” or “bad” for thinking this, and I disown it.   Also, I usually try to balance it with a “nice” thought like, “Hey, they're making money, working hard, and entertaining others – good for them!”

I feel better about myself and I effectively squash that disgusting part of myself.

Except that's crazy unhealthy.

Anybody who took basic psychology in trade school knows that when you repress and disown parts of yourself, those parts end up coming out anyway, except usually unexpected and sideways.

All of a sudden you're screaming at your wife for burning the pot roast.

Is there such a thing as pot roast?   There must be.

So, what's the solution?   Engage in every disgusting, immoral thought that enters your mind?

Actually, yes.

Have the thought, and acknowledge that you had it.   Respect that dark side of yourself.   Then, of course, make sure your actions line up with your morality.

Running over and assaulting the neighbor while she's gardening will land you two years in county, and the judge won't care even if she did snub you at last year's neighborhood ice cream social.

Here's the funny thing though – by allowing and honoring those dark parts of ourselves we are way less likely to engage in dark behavior.

Carl Jung said about the shadow:

…It contains the denied parts of the self.   Since the self contains these aspects, they surface in one way or another.

So this past weekend I took an emotional journey into this dark recess where my shadow resides. I had to own some really shameful thoughts and behavior.

And, the majority of my shadow, I found, was all the self–criticism and hatred I have toward myself.   When I have a terrible thought about someone else, it's usually just a smokescreen for something dreadful I think about myself.

To be honest and acknowledge my shadow meant I had to meet and own the side of me that hates me.

Pretty heavy poop, no?

My father last week, while visiting, brought up a photo of me at two years old.

As I was looking at this photograph, I realized this two year old D.J. had none of the self–loathing and criticism that I have as an adult. That two year old me simply loves me as I am. I know this because you can see it radiating through the image.   Plus, every two year old is like this.   Just ask any mother.

I spent many minutes staring at this photo and I out of nowhere I started to weep.   I realized that this two year old D.J. is kinder to himself than I am.   And the more I looked at it the more I knew this to be true.

And then I saw the younger me embrace and hold the adult me, telling me that I'm too hard on myself and other loving and comforting things.   It was amazing that this younger self could hold me and comfort me, in a way that I'm not capable of doing.

Then I really started to cry.

It was incredibly sad to realize as an adult I had become vicious to myself.   But that is my truth.   And even thought I wish it weren't true, I must honor it.

I believe I am not alone, and most of us deal with this very issue.   We expect certain things from ourselves, unfair and unattainable levels of excellence, and when we don't achieve them, we tell ourselves we're being lazy or stupid.   Except, since perfection is not the human condition, it's clearly a spiraling process of shame.

And here was the youngest me, a two year old, who in some ways was much wiser.   He didn't know about shame yet, he didn't expect himself to be perfect.   And it is that part of me that I need to remember as I go through adult life.

I am in the process of framing this photo to put on my nightstand, so that I can remind me that I am capable of deeply loving myself.

And that it's okay to be imperfect.