Society has an odd infatuation for fixating on optimizing desirable qualities. These qualities may differ person by person, yet the thesis remains similar: expansion through means of economic, social, and cultural capital are recognized as a universal truth. However, does this obsession with the allure of wealth and being likeable truly rid of us of the evil seed, meticulously waiting to be activated, within each and every one of us?

I’d first like to consider the lack of overlap in these positions and one’s moral standing. Being a politician, simply doesn’t make one a good person. Neither does work in any other field or profession. Following an ideology, such as one’s religion, in itself has no power over the “objective goodness” of our soul. An assumption we must continue to hold in this discussion moving forward: Being “bad” entails harmful behavior towards others and yourself.

The more I describe these labels, the more it appears how arbitrary in practice. Does it truly matter if one measures themselves as “good” by the rules of a script, their loved ones, or their own assessment? No matter how much inner work one may do, in nature humans are imperfect creatures. We lie, we gossip, we steal, we lust, we anger. Even the most saintly of people are still a prisoner of their gut feelings and the impurest of temptations. One may even debate if God is truly GOOD if such paralyzing darkness continues to exist in the world. How can a kind, loving God stand-by during times of famine, war, discrimination and allow for the existence of such horrifying circumstance that some dare to justify as His Plan?

In the Bhagavad Gita, a Hindu text, Arjuna is entering war devastated on his reflection of the evils he must face on the battlefield and within himself. Krishna (God) reveals to him a vision of both the light and dark aspects of His divine self. God teaches that we must accept that we are inherently a neutral vessel with duality programmed to our core. No amount of “healing” will rid us of the “human condition”. On Earth and even in divine form, God faces these very struggles we are unable to escape either. Krishna teaches that we must not hyper-moralize specific parts of ourselves and repress others, the duality of self must be recognized or else the repressed parts will control our life.

This emphasizes that as an image of God, our creator, we are creators too. No creator wields the reigns of destiny in their own hands. Nobody has control over our suffering, other people’s suffering, and worldly happenings. Good things happen because they happen. Bad things happen because they happen. Without one another both cease to exist too, since there is no way to measure one idea against another. There is no greater meaning as to why they happen other than the fact they do whether it is due to circumstance, hard work, ambition, or simply luck.

The personified experience of “heaven” and “hell” exists on our time on Earth and on our time past living on Earth. The experience we live is based on the choices we make given the hand we are dealt. A good or bad hand doesn’t negate from one’s responsibility to acknowledge the darkness they hold in playing the Game of Life. The framework of morality as a code of conduct, created by imperfect beings itself, is not a universal truth. Very few certainties actually can be proven regarding morals other than the facts we exist and one day we may not. There is no weighing scale to measure how “good” or how “bad” we are. On a more philosophical level, one may even debate if they are the only conscious being, since there is no way for another to prove their level of existence, since we may only exist holding our own.

Rene Descartes, a 17th century French philosopher states, “I think, therefore I am.” Acceptance of our cognitive duality is apart of who each person is. Flaws are just as much of who we are as our strengths. Through recognizing and loving all aspects of yourself, you conquer the art of existence. The goal is to simply “be” and not let one part overtake the other.

The best object example to describe this is a beach ball. A beach ball symbolizes the parts of yourself that you feel like aren’t allowed to exist. An example for this concept may be boundaries. Your boundaries may not have been respected in adolescence causing you to grow up becoming a people pleaser and abandoning yourself in inter-personal relationships. One may choose to suppress their acknowledgement of these traits, leading to a similar effect as shoving a beach ball under water. Once this part is triggered through external circumstances, the ball explodes out of the water. One isn’t simply reacting to the current trigger, they are acting out years of past experience, which may have reaffirmed or grown this shadow. Similarly, avoiding looking at a test score or bank account doesn’t mean that these quantifiers don’t exist. The more we focus on avoidance, the more of a scene our flaws will make when they “need to come up for air”.

What often reveals these repressed thoughts are our judgement of other people. They reveal an archetype within us that we are deeply uncomfortable unearthing or accepting as apart of who we are. Often, a part of ourselves deeply wants the reality or experience of how the other person may carry themselves in one way or another.

The issue with repression is that denial does not eliminate these impulses, fears, or desires. It simply forces them underground where they continue shaping behavior unconsciously. The more aggressively one attempts to distance themselves from certain traits, the more emotionally charged those traits become. In many ways, healing is not the pursuit of purity, but the willingness to acknowledge the parts of ourselves we were taught made us unlovable.

Shadow work attempts to confront this tension directly. Rather than framing the self as something to “fix,” it asks what happens when a person stops fleeing from the aspects of themselves they fear most.

IDENTIFY the shadow.

Shadow WORK = owning and savoring your nasty.

+ Find your shadow archetypes

- Poor archetype because you are ashamed of being poor

- Are you a pervert? A predator? Mentally ill? A bitch? What do you fight so much in your head and in effect deny about yourself aggressively or panic when thinking about

*Try the name-calling test (picture someone cancelling you online for the worst qualities of yourself in “cancel culture” setting)

-what would I hate to be accused of doing/believing/saying

-what past memories and ways of beings are creating the shame you carry today?

+ Act out your archetypes theatrically

-Ugly, fat, bitch, slutty, take up too much space

-LOVE the “bad” person, don’t force yourself to reframe it

-I am ugly and I LOVE THAT. I LOVE these parts of myself that I never allowed myself to love

-I love being a bitch. I love yelling. I love being dramatic.

-These parts of me exist and I will never be perfect. Making you accept yourself perfectly. Accept yourself and FEEL better this way.

Only rules are

1.) Safe for you

2.) Safe for others involved

-discovering a part of yourself that loves yelling at other people doesn’t make that okay, find another outlet like yelling in an isolated forest, write a character who is an abusive yeller and relish in the creation of that character because you are expressing that part of you because whether you deny it or not it DOES exist

Let these attributes come out and release them.

Love controlling people: be a puppet master or start a theatrical company

Fear of being ugly: How can you make yourself as ugly as possible in a context that feels safe for you

Do a photoshoot as a bearded lady

Fear of being a pervert: Act out a sexually deviant role-play consensually with another person

The belief that no one will accept these “deviant” parts of yourself is damaging because people who accept and love these parts of yourself exist.

Allow yourself to feel the sensations of what you are suppressing, including the pleasure of the sensation. Enjoy the feeling of these emotions coming up. Your unconscious is asking yourself to love the expression of these “bad” experiences

-> let yourself literally “get off” to these archetypes and savor the nastiness of disempowerment

GO SLOWLY so that you don’t trigger yourself in this self-exploration of the archetypes

Focus less on the narrative of “Oh im such a dirty person” focus more on the sensation of acceptance and how YOU FEEL without attaching words to the experience

Sensations aren’t loaded, more focus on how the experience makes you FEEL

Specific example: Say you notice people as ugly

1.) notice the trigger

2.) name the archetype (fear of being ugly and being perceived as ugly)

3.) if you can’t beat it, join it

-matches the viral conception of if a crazy guy walks up to me in the subway at night, I’ll act even crazier and scare them

ACCEPTANCE of this is apart of who you are

4.) act it out (draw zits, wear a beard) -> be ballsy and show friends, go to a store, show a healthy partner and ask them to write a scene where they play it out

5.) notice sensations and reel it back in as needed because the goal is to remain regulated through the whole process

Expectations: avoidance and immense fear will show up, yet the goal is to honor these parts and feel amazing for these parts existing. Letting go of repression reignites creative parts of yourself because there’s less weight on yourself from releasing these into the world

Praying for all the silence the world may offer,

Consistently pushing visitors to the doormat,

Similarly the push of milk fills my breasts,

Sitting in the silence of my scariest lifetimes.

A king’s absence, scornful, in his beloved’s innocent curiosity,

knights consuming each remaining hotel room,

all entities abandon filthy baggage for her to tame alone.

Confusing attention for intention—

Attention wrongfully treated similar to a chore,

Existing as a mindful practicality

Like tipping a waitress after a hearty meal.

Forgetting how to exist

without the pull of eyes

A quiet ache of validation—

The author offering remains anonymous

Longingly a mime of paternal affection.

Five have reached forth,

But their hands reach hotel rooms,

Crowded and filthy chambers full of caged birds.

It’s not them, it’s I—

the aftermath of eighteen years losing

my chirp

Before ever learned to fly outside the chambers of self-deprivation.

Taking a step forward,

only to stumble three steps back,

feeling lost in a father-daughter dance Unknowing of the steps,

leading others astray,

Accidentally playing parts not signed up for.

Living on the centre of theatrical theatre presented on stage,

I possess standards—

A partner may not open doors they possess no key for,

Shoving fingers up the gaping hole

Aching to sing alongside the gospel.

Facing each implanted thought

Forged in the Devil’s workshops,

Aspiring to seize wrestling with nonexistent flames,

Fighting urges not mine to battle

Woven into my armor,

Like shadows of darkness lingering

Even when the light aims to kill.

A growing belly faces endless hunger

Bounded amidst its own nest,

Too flawed to bear one’s chicks.

However, continues collecting sticks.

Outside the press against skin,

Hear the sound of wind chimes and birds,

Building a nest to be a home for rest

Nurturing our souls to hints of spring and sunshine

It snowed overnight, and I woke up around 6:45am for my Calculus recitation. On the way there, I fell on my hand once and it hurt for approximately 2 hours after that. After the recitation, I headed to the library to study for a bit. On the way there, I also fell really hard. Then, at the library, as I headed to the basement for a study spot, I almost fell on the stairs. After that, I went to the cafe for some food. I got cantaloupe and a spinach croissant. I DROPPED the fruit somehow and it spread all over the floor. My snow boots unironically have a super horrendous grip, as you may probably gather from this recollection of events.

I was already having a shitty day from the moment I woke up, to be completely honest. That last night I had lost one of my AirPods after a long day. Before that, I had taken a test that I did not do as well as I had hoped I would. The weather for the past few days has been dreary and I struggled from immense emotional burnout from juggling my mental health with academic priorities for the past week. I was running on a grand total of 5 hours of sleep, which for me is totally abnormal. I need 8 hours to function.

After everything that occurred in the past 24 hours, I couldn’t help myself from feeling like a careless klutz. I’ve invested so much time and energy into forming better organization habits and taking care of myself, yet most of it doesn’t seem to make any difference in my actual habits. The smallest mistakes make me question my whole identity and I feel so bad about the person that I am from something as small as losing an AirPod. The object is not the cause of my sadness rather it is the principle that my hard work towards becoming more attentive of my surroundings isn’t paying off. I feel undeserving due to my shortcomings at times.

I KNOW it’s common for everyone to have those days where it feels like everything goes wrong in every way and it genuinely does feel like the universe is out to get you. I’ve been told countless times to get through to the next day.

“Once you make it to the weekend, you’ll feel so much better.”

First of all, when has more time to think ever made me feel better about myself or anything I have gone through? I feel like I have done more than my fair share of introspection and self-improvement.

Every time I feel like I gain a healthier outlook on life or becomes less harsh on myself/my perception of other people, I get royally FUCKED over in unimaginable ways that make me desire an emotionless state of mind without any attachments. Being a feelings person puts me at a natural disadvantage in a world full of nonchalant “go-getters” preaching for self-efficiency in today’s hustle culture.

It’s also so humbling to admit to most people how much I struggle with these things because it feels like everyone else is in on this secret rhythm of How To Be Normal, and I’m just scurrying along to the melody of a song I cannot even hear.

By family and friends, I am often told that I am an “introspective soul” with “remarkable emotional intelligence”. However, this feels like another way for others to mock my childlike sensitivity.

I feel as though in their head they’re actually thinking, “ Grow up and stop giving others so much importance. It’s an every-man-for-himself world and you’re the weak prey in an apex predator’s terrain. In this world, you must change or it will change you.”

Almost every interaction I have with my peers in college feels like a performance for me to prove my adequacy amongst others my own age.

The checklist to “fit-in” goes somewhere along these lines:

1.) I have to be funny (yet not too out of pocket) or else I’m a bore to be around.

2.) I have to quiet down my presence or else I’m too self absorbed and shallow.

3.) I have to gossip more or else they’ll think I have a “holier than thou” attitude.

4.) I cannot appear to be too eager to GIVE to others or else my good-mannered loyalty will definitely be taken for granted and maliciously used against me

5.) Last yet certainly not least, when most people as how I am, the answer is always “Good, how are you?”No matter how MISERABLE I feel I cannot expose my true feelings without burdening the other person with an awkward check-in conversation I can tell they don’t truly care for.

The less I draw from my own identity the more it seems others approve of the superficial version of who they believe I am. I don’t even recognize who I really am, sometimes.

Why must I quiet down who I am to adhere to social norms? It’s not fair to be told that I am the one who should change when selfish people don’t even spend a moment reflecting on their actions, which have caused tangible harm in others’ lives.

I don’t want the hardness of this world to take away my childlike joy for loving my friends and family. No one deserves to feel flawed for intently and wholeheartedly loving their support system. Yet, why do I keep ruminating on these thoughts?

Right now, I should be studying, but I feel so stuck in my head on WHY I feel this way after putting in so much work to be a more deserving person. I have struggled with these problems for so long that I don’t remember there being a time where living day-to-day has come easy to me.

I feel like I go through each day holding my breath and treading lightly waiting for someone to snap at me or for something to go wrong in unimaginable ways. I know other people’s bullshit doesn’t define me, yet it’s so hard to actually believe that when these problems have been occurring time and time again, like a horrible pattern I can always foresee in any circumstance.

I always tell myself no emotion, good or bad, is everlasting.

Yet, I wish I could take away my past traumas and give myself a hug and a fresh pair of eyes that aren’t as harsh and critical of the countless ways I’m forced to survive.

Despite all of the emotional blowouts and times where I have felt like I am “too much” to handle, I logically know that my struggles do not define who I am.

At the end of the day, I did not choose to fight these demons in my mind every time I make the smallest mistakes, so why should I dwell in my mind over these negative beliefs that my loved ones don’t seem to hold against me in the slightest. Even on my worst days, I feel like I matter just as much to those who matter so much to me. Why should anyone else’s input matter? Even in a perfect world, I wouldn’t be able to please every single person around me.

I’m at my limit for today.

Yet, I know that I AM WHO I AM.

One day it’ll be enough for others, and most importantly myself.

Toxicity is my defense—
My reaction to abandonment
Is starvation and molding armor,
Fiercer with every loss.

I watch parties from behind gated walls,
Soulless faces flirting and teasing on the other side.
Through their electric eyes,
I see a mirror reflecting fleeting lovers,
Each pursuit hollows louder than the last.

Foolish to think I could be the one
For an ambitious man so full of light.
And yet—
The way he wouldn’t let go of my hands,
The way we locked eyes and danced
Past midnight—
It consumed me.

I wanted to shatter the glass chessboard for him,
Engrave our names on the moon for all to see.
But he thought I was ashamed of our magnetic bond.
He grew bitter as my fears consumed me—
The fear of loving,
The fear of losing.

Now, I shove my feelings into a glove,
Hold his hand with a barrier between us.
His heart wanders,
Picking up a long-forgotten paintbrush.
He erases the portrait of us
And draws a life without me.

Each scar becomes a story,
Each wound another critique.
This body, my body,
Exists only for exploitation.
Eyes hastily stitched shut
Are torn open in blind rage.

Disobedience is sin in the manor,
And bats feast on every sliver
Of my vanishing self.

Her gentle feet tease the tightrope,
Legs strained, threads fraying beneath her weight.
The thin line stretches tighter with each step—
A balance between delusion and fleeting happiness.
She stumbles, consumed by a restless mind,
Focusing on everything and nothing at once.

The beam she clutches is her only ally,
Though it whispers reasons to fall.
The tightrope becomes a suicide mission,
A battle against the greatest enemy: herself.

I ration myself out, my personality in small doses,
Yet my cup of dread overflows,
Damaging anyone who dares to glow near me.
I cannot let others walk in my shoes—
This cycle will only break
When I finally drop out for the fools.

Endlessly giving with nothing in return,
Will I ever be more than an orphanage to one,
A home to return to rather than flee?
Each day I survive reminds me of my invisibility.
What if the change everyone speaks of never comes?
What if I am every bad thing that ever happened to me?

No poetic bow can tie my horrors neatly.
Each fiber of me craves to be known and loved,
But you, with your victim’s mask,
Cannot escape the harm you've unleashed.
I survived you—
And that will forever be my greatest act of rebellion.

Day and night,
We chip away at our mother,
Killing the backbone of our existence.
Would a "God-fearing" man defy nature’s order,
Spreading hatred among his neighbors?

Each mistake teaches us a lesson,
But how much ignorance must we endure
Before our own demise?

Is Mother Earth the manifestation of every woman's fate?
These questions burden my mind,
As I watch my sisters disappear—
Names devolve past the girls who once played hide and seek in the woods.
Now they are just His Wife.

Comfort is a fleeting expense,
While passionate fables and dynamic storytelling linger.
Fruit falls at the sight of an agoraphobic ring,
Peeling the bark of sisterhood.

Why do haunting whispers pull me back,
To retrace old childhood memories?
A mournful echo through the dark forest
Voices a universal cycle repeating.

I pray for the strength of the divine feminine,
For the wisdom to rise,
As the earth calls out to me,
To remember the power of the bond between sisters.

In another life:
My eyes cease to glaze over
when others strip my soul bare.
In my past life, every word I spoke
was caged by the fear of silence.
But in this life, I shine,
the main character of my favorite story.
I will wrap my loved ones in starlight—
they deserve the moon,
deserve more than I can give.
Validation feels like a warm blanket
I ache to hold forever.

In another life:
I fear no abandonment in daylight,
no shame in showing my face.
In the dark, it’s easy to love
the idea of presence,
the illusion of permanence.
But when the sun rises,
our hearts fall asleep,
and our minds awaken to reason.
Sweet sentiments dissolve,
stuffed deep in the pockets
of restless thoughts.
How can I trust a shadow,
one I only meet when I lay lost?