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Practice One: Waking Up Principles of Self-Awareness

“What lies before us and what lies behind us are small matters, compared to what lies within us.” —Henry S. Haskins, “Meditations on Wall Street”

IS IT TIME TO TWEAK THE RECIPE?

I like to have a recipe. I can make anything with a recipe. I’m not afraid to try exotic dishes or difficult techniques, as long as they are spelled out. I could follow the instructions of an old-world Italian lady and make fabulous gnocchi, but I would beg her to write down the steps so that I could make it on my own later.

Recipe following is how I’ve lived much of my life. “Combine 1 college education with 1 caring and successful husband. Add 3 children and stir.” This turned out well for the presentation part, but flopped in the end.

Who knew ingredients could evolve? Who knew we’d eventually feel limited by a recipe?

Ultimately, winging it became necessary; a random combination of internal and external mixing led to a completely different, but richer, end product.

SHARING RECIPES

In the beginning, my husband and I even had recipes to follow and share with our children. We had access to oodles of child-rearing books and we ate them up. We deferred to Consumer Reports for the correct stroller, crib, monitor, etc. We controlled and extolled proper procedures for all aspects of feeding, sleeping, pooping, learning, and disciplining. If by some miracle there wasn’t a book on the subject we needed, we looked to our family, friends, and neighbors to provide examples and instructions. This was all fine and dandy, until the first time we were confronted with a child who didn’t fit the textbook description. Who knew recipes could go rogue?

“If we expect our children to always grow smoothly and steadily and happily, then…we’re going to worry a lot more than if we are comfortable with the fact that human growth is full of slides backward as well as leaps forward, and is sure to include times of withdrawal, opposition, and anger, just as it encompasses tears as well as laughter.” —Fred Rogers

VAPID BETTY CROCKER

Sometimes as a meticulous recipe follower, I’d forget to taste the food at the end of production. I was so sure the recipe was foolproof, I assumed the food would be delicious or as good as the last time I made it. This was a mistake. We need to periodically taste and tweak our creations.

Ten years and three children into my marriage, this textbook homemaker was one depressed tuna casserole. I needed zing, pizzazz, brightness of flavor. I was making sloppy joes like a robot. They were consistently tasty, but I was bland. My heart was heavy. So, there I was with a house full of people counting on me to be Betty Crocker, and I couldn’t even be me—because I didn’t know what I was made of.

WHAT AM I? MASHED POTATOES?

What if I was just a follower or tasteless mashed potatoes? I was unsure how and if I wanted to look inward within myself. I did know that I couldn’t bear to make one more uninspired hot dish. I could not let myself become stale living at sous chef status. I was simmering away to nothing in a very un-Martha Stewart way (unless Martha snaps at her kids, feels mediocre, and cries in the shower).

So, I timidly stepped outside my own kitchen and experienced the full flavor of someone else’s sloppy joes. I smelled the aroma of coq au vin and noted its essence. I gathered enough spicy ingredients (in my case, fitness training, guitar lessons, writing) to ensure my own depth of flavor. I made renegade chef friends: either people who had been burned and learned, or had always made up their own concoctions (or both!). They gave me the freedom to wreck a few meals. Dared me to fail or completely kick a recipe up a notch. Wham!

WINGING IT

It turns out that I’m capable of winging it, even if I prefer not to. I have imagination and, what’s more, I can teach others to make their own gnocchi. I’ll even write it down for them, but it’s better if they just give it a whirl themselves. It doesn’t matter if the cake doesn’t rise or the soup is salty. Trial and error is the risk-taking/transformative part, the part where our lives and hearts rise above the container. Where internal goes external, with a dash of creativity.

As for my kids, we still confer with friends and family regarding their upbringing because it is fun, and because they often reassure us that there is no such thing as a foolproof child manual. We try to let the kids develop their own flavors. I know they need help and guidelines, but I also know they need to taste what life has to offer, beyond the laminated recipe card. I want them to know there are recipes out there, but that it’s perfectly wild and delicious to sample a lot before choosing a menu. They need permission to experiment and mess up. They need encouragement to be who they are without a recipe. They need to know what they are made of.

I first wrote what you’ve just read above as an essay years ago when my marriage was coming to a close, but my self-awareness was blossoming. It shows the first step toward independence: waking up. If you are “making sloppy joes like a robot” or raising your children just like your neighbors raise theirs, you may be sleepwalking. You may be completely unconscious regarding who you are. I was.

FITTING IN BUT LOSING OUT

The Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung spent the first nine years of his life as an only child. He lived primarily in his imagination, and blissfully engaged in hours of solitary play. When he started school, he found he could not remain connected with his beloved inner world. In order to fit in, he adapted to his new school companions—and in doing so, he felt that he lost an important part of himself.

Many introverts can relate to Jung’s story. In order to fit in, we abandon the sweet sense of home found in our thoughts and feelings and move along with the current of our culture and social circles. Often this means making ourselves into something we are not, including rowdy playmates, perpetually industrious parents, and vapid Betty Crockers.

THE COMPETITIVE MERITOCRACY

We all (introverts and extroverts alike) let the hum and busy-ness of external life lull us into a complacent stupor. In fact, New York Times columnist David Brooks says in his book, The Road to Character, if you’ve lived in the last sixty or seventy years, you’ve been living in a competitive meritocracy. This means that you’ve lived with a lot of competition and pressure regarding individual achievement. Doing well in school, getting into the right college, finding a great job, and moving toward success have been focuses for you. Comparing yourself to others has been the primary gauge for determining whether you are “doing it right.”

Brooks uses the term “résumé virtues” to denote the skills that we bring to the job market and those that contribute to external success. Internal virtues, such as kindness, faithfulness, bravery, and honesty, are what Brooks calls “eulogy virtues”—these are the qualities people remember us for after we’re gone. Just like the personality traits of introversion and extroversion, we all have résumé and eulogy virtues, but one is usually more pronounced than the other.

The education system (as well as society in general) orients itself around résumé virtues. It’s a lot easier to articulate and plan career goals and skills than it is to describe and execute a plan for profound moral character.

With all our time, energy, and attention focused on external achievement, we have less time, energy, and attention to put toward our inner realm. It’s easier to keep on following the recipe and be an achievement automaton than it is to pause and reflect on what we are doing and who we are.

Because our inner world is so neglected and the inner world is the introvert’s happy place, the introvert suffers. It’s difficult to go against the current, without the electricity of our inner world to energize us.

Conflict is stimulating too. It’s easier to maintain harmony by complacently agreeing than it is to find the vocabulary and energy to speak to the contrary of cultural norms.

Carl Jung said personality or wholeness is an achievement earned (not given) in the second half of life. The first half of life is spent emancipating ourselves from our parents, finding a spouse, creating a family, and becoming an effective contributor. Jung’s theories about the first half of life line up with the meritocracy ideals. After we’ve satisfied these ideals, we look inward. We develop our psychological selves by noticing tensions within us. We pull opposite traits into closer balance: for example, if we are more introverted, we might strengthen our extroverted skills. We bring the unconscious into the conscious. Jung called this process individuation, and we will discuss it further in Practice Three.

In my own life, I’ve followed the pattern or recipe Jung described. As a suburban, stay-at-home mom, I fell into the trance of the ultra-achiever. I kept myself and our three children so busy there was no time to think. My outwardly successful husband led the show. He attended a highly accredited MBA program. He had a high-paying salary as a portfolio manager at a hedge fund. He was doing it right according to the meritocracy and society at large. We were perfect citizens—buying cars and homes and saving for our kids’ college funds and our retirement.

I did not take the time to question our lifestyle or to look inward until I was thirty-seven years old. Perched on the ledge between the first and second halves of my life, my eyes fluttered open and self-awareness slipped in.

TENSION

The first feeling that interrupted my sleep was a low-grade tension. The year my children were six, four, and two, I found myself at the doctor’s office sitting in a vulnerably thin examination gown, asking for something to give me energy, boost physical desire, and stave off depression. The doctor wrote a prescription for Prozac, an antidepressant.

At that point in my life, I had a part-time nanny, personal trainer, housecleaners, and virtually no budget restrictions. There were no reasons why I should not be able to design and juggle magnificent schedules, or to have profoundly happy children, a well decorated home, and a blissful demeanor. And yet I found myself being short with the kids, emotionally overwrought, and just plain sad. I had no drive. I tuned out some of the noise and requests of me in order to get through the day. I vacillated between extreme sensitivity and dull malaise.

There was tension between the roles I played and the real me. I did not know it at the time, but I was living the perfect life for an extroverted commercial success. The life of the competitive external achiever (a successful individual, according to the meritocracy) did not sit well with my internal temperament. My husband and I had engineered a world where I had no time alone, few generative conversations, and a constant outpouring of energy. Many people would say that’s the life of a parent. I agree. The point I hope to make is that my situation caused enough dissonance within me to make me seek relief.

But I subconsciously knew that the doctor could not fix my problems (dependent paradigm). I had to work on them myself. I’d effectively contributed, as Jung said, and now it was time to look inward.

I did not fill the prescription.

SOLITUDE

My love affair with solitude began. Instinctively, I searched for time and space to be alone. I had a desperate need to regain energy. Socializing with the neighbors and dinners with my husband’s coworkers did not recharge me. Only in solitude could I breathe. In solitude thoughts were heard, daydreams flowed, clarity arose, ideas came together. I came together.

The problem was that when I spent time alone, I was not spending time with my family. Good mothers don’t spend time away from their families. They live to be with their children. It was hard to explain to my husband why I would rather read for two hours by myself than be with him.

“I had told people of my intention to be alone for a time. At once I realized they looked upon this declaration as a rejection of them and their company. I felt apologetic, even ashamed, that I would have wanted such a curious thing as solitude, and then sorry that I had made a point of announcing my desire for it.” —Doris Grumbach, Fifty Days of Solitude

It seemed other people loved the constant hits of interaction through social media, emails, texts, phone calls, and in-person meetings. Everybody wanted to keep in touch all the time. My former in-laws called frequently for short conversations. Quite often the calls felt like interruptions to any rare moments of concentration I had.

Why was it so vital for me to be left alone? What was wrong with me? For a long time, I could not articulate what my soul needed.

Slowly, with intentional observance, I began to notice that if I did not take time for myself, my presence became muddled. My thoughts gridlocked and my demeanor was zombie-like. I came across as there but not there. That was not good enough.

Many people come alive in relationships. The more the better. I was driven by relationships, but found myself inspired and transcendent in solitude.

Eventually, I stumbled upon Marti Olsen Laney’s classic introvert guide, The Introvert Advantage. I took the included assessment to find out if I had introverted traits such as:

 • When I need a rest, I prefer time alone or with one or two close people rather than a group

 • When I work on projects, I like to have larger, uninterrupted time periods rather than smaller chunks

 • I can zone out if too much is going on

 • I don’t like to interrupt others; I don’t like to be interrupted

 • I can become grouchy if I am around people or activities too long

 • I often dread returning phone calls

 • I am creative/imaginative

 • I form lasting relationships

 • I usually need to think before I respond or speak

I answered yes to the majority of them. What a revelation! I had to know more. I read anything I could find on introversion in 2008, before Susan Cain had popularized the topic by writing her book, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking.

Dr. Laurie Helgoe, in her book, Introvert Power, shares her husband’s experience of dealing with her introversion and need for space. He likened it to a light being removed or a projector stopping during a feature film. I tried to keep that in mind when requesting time to myself.

I learned that introverts need space to live as their true selves. We unfold like old road maps—creases released and possibilities endless—when immersed in open-ended time. Extroverts need hits of attention and interaction to stay energized. Different methods of rejuvenating, neither better nor worse.

I found a place to rest in the words of famous loners like Henry David Thoreau and Charles Bukowski. It had been so long since I felt that kind of belonging. Like a parent’s lap or a lover’s embrace, the acknowledgement that cravings for solitude were not selfish or bad enveloped me in warm acceptance. It was like sitting late at night at the kitchen table with my dearest friends.

“Now, more than ever, we need our solitude. Being alone gives us the power to regulate and adjust our lives. It can teach us fortitude and the ability to satisfy our own needs. A restorer of energy, the stillness of alone experiences provides us with much-needed rest. It brings forth our longing to explore, our curiosity about the unknown, our will to be an individual, our hopes for freedom. Alone time is fuel for life.” —Dr. Ester Buchholz

It seemed the general belief in Western culture was that if you were not interacting in a relationship you hardly existed. Others shaped and proved our existence. They talked to us and touched us, therefore we existed.

I learned that introverts dig deep into their inner worlds to find existential confirmation. When in solitude, we are in tune with our inner voice and our personal values become clearer. There is no one to refute them. Too much external stimulation and interaction, and our inner voice is muffled.

I feel connected to others even when I am alone. I have time to miss them or wonder about their feelings. A desire grows to love and engage with them.

My wish is for solitude to be an encouraged and accepted state. Those who crave it should not be ashamed or misjudged as selfish. Many of our greatest inventions and works of art were born out of solitude. The benefits of making space for reflection are endless, but below are a few of the key ones:

 • More self-awareness, a chance to hear our inner voice

 • Less anxiety due to a removal of the perceived gap between what we are and what we should be

 • More interpersonal understanding

 • More intuitive decision-making

 • Appreciation of beauty

 • Creation of art

 • Thoughtful actions and reactions

Like Thoreau, Bukowski, and so many other writers and artists, I found solitude to be a fertile space for curiosity and ideas to bubble up and form associations where once there were none. Creativity thrives in solitude. While running on a trail, driving by myself, or dreaming lazily in the shower, sweet memories and random facts joined to become solutions to everyday dilemmas or epiphanies to be shared in my newest endeavor, at the time, space2live, a blog about introverts and relationships.

SLOWING DOWN/PRESENCE

The tag line for space2live was: Pay attention. Reflect. Evolve. Back in the days of running errands, carpooling, and constant busy-ness, I had to fight to stay awake and not get lost in the details of doing and doing. I’d had a taste of personal and creative awareness, and I wanted to learn more. I longed to slow down.

“Willing is doing something you know already, something you have been told by somebody else; there is no new imaginative understanding in it. And presently your soul gets frightfully sterile and dry because you are so quick, snappy, and efficient about doing one thing after another that you have not time for your own ideas to come in and develop and gently shine.“ —Brenda Ueland, If You Want to Write: A Book About Art, Independence and Spirit

The frenetic doing of modern life drained me. All of my energy went outward toward external tasks, but I was filled up by deep concentration and a new awareness of beauty.

Writing for space2live subconsciously forced me to become a steadfast observer. I wanted the details of the senses to fill my writing with flavor and imagery. There was a new appreciation for nuances and ironies. In order to catch those, I had to pay attention. It’s hard to quickly pay attention. Presence and awareness take time.

While on vacation in the Dominican Republic, my family and I took a tour off the grounds of the resort. While riding in our tour Jeep, we passed two Dominican women sitting in a doorway of a rusted tin shack. They were talking and smiling. They waved at us as our noisy Jeep drove by. A woman on the tour made the comment that Dominicans seem to take the time to enjoy life. Another woman quickly piped up, “Not me. I get anxious if I have too much time on my hands. My mind just doesn’t stop running.” It struck me as interesting that the poor Dominicans seemed to be more content than the privileged tourists. I wrote about it in a post for space2live using sensory detail.

Staying present eases the grip of anxiety, in that it keeps our minds from wandering to a future where negative “What if…” scenarios play out. Worrying about what has not happened yet is counterproductive and stimulates the primitive and reactive part of our brain. Presence gives us a feeling of control because there is certainty in now. We can see, feel, hear, and taste what is happening now. The future is uncertain—a guessing game.

For help staying present, I began to meditate and made a daily practice of it. I would spend ten glorious minutes sitting on my closet floor each day (a mom takes her privacy wherever she can find it), noticing my breathing and keeping my brain from thinking about what to make for dinner or if the kids’ vaccines were up to date. I’ve never had such a calm state of presence as I did when I would meditate regularly. Scientific research backs up my findings. A 2012 study done at Stanford University found that meditation practice was associated with decreases in negative emotion and social anxiety symptom severity, and used fMRI tests to show that the brains of meditators experienced measurable increases in attention-related parietal cortex neural responses (activity the more evolved part of the brain) when implementing attention regulation of negative self-beliefs.

THOSE WHO ALLOW YOU TO BE YOU

One day, years ago, I found myself sitting in the waiting area of the music school my son attended for guitar lessons. The school’s owner had come out and greeted me with a kind, gentle voice and then left. Within the quiet following his departure, I listened to musical notes drifting in from nearby classrooms. I smelled candles burning, their fragrance mixing with my slow, easy breathing. I noticed my frenetic spirit, rested. Personal ideas and dreams began to seep into my consciousness. I realized it had been a long time since I felt that at home and in tune with myself (outside of meditation and solitude). I imagined being a part of an artistic world of musicians, writers, creators. A world that seemed so magical, meaningful, and—for me—out of reach. I had never been especially musically gifted or artistic.

I considered taking lessons myself, but I was afraid to step outside of my safe routines. How would that kind of me time affect my family? Was it selfish to consider playing guitar? I kept thinking about the lessons but was hesitant to sign up. I sent an email to the music school’s owner saying as much. He responded with, “Why do you feel guilty about taking time for yourself? I feel it’s the best thing in the world to fill yourself up, and then it spills onto everyone else.”

I started lessons. The decision changed my life.

Over the next few years, the music school provided a sacred place for my true spirit to reveal itself. My courage grew within the safe discussions that took place during my guitar lessons. The first lesson, Mike, my teacher told me of his love of the 1970s television show, Little House on the Prairie. I thought that was a fairly vulnerable admission for a man. I found his honesty refreshing and inspiring. I credit Mike for making lessons more than perfect scales and pristine playing. Each lesson was about learning and exploring the world as well as music. We read books together and analyzed spirituality, relationships, writers, and creativity in between guitar playing. Mike had a calm, safe presence. We became friends. He listened without judgment if I spoke of my worries about falling short in my roles as wife and mother.

I still got nervous each time I played guitar with Mike observing me (a characteristic of those with Social Anxiety Disorder), but I also experienced deep satisfaction when we played together and I made it through a whole section (mistakes included). I was in a creative setting where it was OK to just be. I didn’t have to be perfect. I could play just for the pleasure of the sound, the experience, and the companionship.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO WRITE RIGHT

Buoyed by the positive experience of guitar lessons, I looked into another artistic endeavor. A friend mentioned a literary center in my area. She said it was a hangout and teaching center for writers of all levels. I checked out the website and found the course list inviting and non-intimidating.

I chose “Intuitive Writing” as one of my first forays into the world of writing. Again, the format was loose and informal. The teacher, Roxanne, wrote the mantra “Follow your energy!” at the top of the syllabus. Roxanne (a psychoanalyst) made up the intuitive writing label with the idea that we should write without censorship, without lifting the pen from the paper, and without judgment. Our thoughts should flow from our hearts, down our arms, and onto the paper. This, plus the sharing of our writing, would be healing and inspiring. Roxanne gave us prompts such as “What I really want to say is…,” and then we would write off-the-cuff for twenty minutes or so. We always had a choice regarding how much, if any, of our piece we read out loud. Roxanne’s gentle nature and absolute assurance there was no wrong way to write in her class quieted our inner critics. We could be vulnerable with our words. The class experienced joy and connection, with no fear of failure.

At the end of the intuitive writing class, Roxanne invited me to join a small private writing group that served as an extension of the intuitive class. She led the private group as well. I eagerly accepted the invitation.

I remember sitting around a kitchen table with my new writing group, feeling the intoxicating freedom of mutual vulnerability. We were all in various stages of learning and healing. We were looking for a place where we could remove our masks of false bravado. We were looking for acceptance and permission to make mistakes. In that place I wanted to share. I couldn’t stop myself from sharing what had been locked down forever.

I had moved from a world where mistakes were pointed out and “right” was better than “kind,” to a space where support was palpable and stories resonated. Head nodding abounded. My spirit soared. It was easy to dream and feel grateful in that space. I wanted to spread that feeling, that spaciousness—but felt stunted in my regular world.

DESPAIR: ANOTHER CHANNEL TO SELF-AWARENESS

My day-to-day family life required all of us to have our acts together. No slipping, no falling short, no showing weakness. We were McMansion-deep in the meritocracy. I don’t believe anyone in my house felt safe enough to be vulnerable. There was always someone watching and waiting to exploit our soft spots. Fear was in the ether of our home. We kept breathing it in and spewing it out. We couldn’t get it out of our pores. The need to achieve and keep pace with the families in our community and socioeconomic level kept us all running, burying our true selves in the pursuit.

As author Jonathon Fields says, “Self-awareness comes with an evil twin, self-judgment, which, for many, tips into fear, censorship and self-loathing with stunning efficiency.”

Even though I was thriving in personal endeavors, subconsciously and consciously, I felt inadequate as a wife and mother. I didn’t love my husband enough. I didn’t sacrifice for my kids enough. I wasn’t a doer naturally. Now that I knew I was an introvert, I was extra aware I wasn’t quick on my feet with answers, decisions, and action steps. I didn’t have an advanced degree. I didn’t have a job making money.

To make up for all of those inadequacies I tried to be my family and community’s version of perfect. I went against my introverted and sensitive nature. I emulated neighbors, friends and members of our community in order to receive validation.

I was so unhappy at home. I bled energy and authenticity there.

My husband would come home from work and sit in the car, dreading entering the house and dealing with the unhappiness inside. I tensed up the second I heard the garage door go up. That meant it was time to put on my competent and confident mask. Time to act like I did not spend a miserable day dealing with child meltdowns and tedious attempts to keep the house in perfect condition. Time to do my best to appear loving toward my husband, who felt like the kingpin to my misery—the reason I had to live in high gear. I did not want to fail in my duties.

The externally generated tension that pushed me to seek relief from the doctor in the form of an antidepressant now sat squarely in my chest, reminding me of all my responsibilities and where I fell short. As I struggled to sleep each night, tightness in my chest accompanied a flashing reel of responsibilities to be handled the next day.

I was now aware of my weaknesses as well as my joys, but the weaknesses dominated my everyday living, while the moments of true satisfaction only existed when I was free from my household.

CHARACTER OVER COMPETITION

In The Road to Character, author David Brooks says that all the people of great character in his book, including such notables as Dwight D. Eisenhower, George Marshall, and Viktor Frankl, had one pattern in common: “They all had to go down to go up. When they were in a crucible moment, they suddenly had a greater ability to see their own nature. They had to humble themselves in self-awareness if they had any hope of rising up transformed.” Brooks states that in the “valley of humility,” they learned to quiet the self and only in quieting the self could they see the world clearly.

While following the recipe spelled out in the language of the competitive meritocracy, we have little self-awareness. We are asleep. While experiencing moments of quiet in solitude and nurturing relationships, self-awareness arises. We begin to wake up.

As we open our eyes, self-judgment surfaces. We see or feel like we’ve missed out on something grand. We’ve assembled all of our external roles and rewards, but feel anxious. If we choose wrong, we could be cast out of our primary social circles for violating the norms. It’s not easy to know what to do when we’ve followed others for so long.

We’ve never developed the inner fortitude to be able to handle popular disapproval. As an introvert, it hurts when we wake up to realize we are not the personality type our culture admires. It stings to know this, and yet it is in this time of humility that we start our transformation. We build resiliency and self-respect.

While following the recipe for self-respect, we do not look to give ourselves a competitive edge over others. We look to be better than we used to be. We confront our weaknesses. We develop our eulogy virtues. We strive to be dependable in times of stress, and morally upstanding in times of temptation. Self-respect is earned by inner triumphs, not external ones. Inner triumphs feel like home to an introvert.

CHALLENGES OF WAKING UP

One challenge of waking up is escaping the lull of résumé virtues and other people’s recipes for life. We may seem independent, but our personal worth and integrity still reside in other’s value systems. We lack the vocabulary to describe and execute our inner desires and eulogy virtues. Résumé virtues are always going to be a part of our makeup. They push us to explore and build external success. The problem is that we fall asleep striving to achieve and compare ourselves to others. We don’t create strong inner realms that fortify us against disapproval. If we don’t consistently reflect and analyze our behavior and decisions, we are bound to make the same mistakes over and over, including (unsuccessfully) dating the same kind of people and (unhappily) working the same kind of job. Eventually, tension and anxiety tell some of us we are missing out on personal growth, significance, and meaning.

Tension, solitude, paying attention, and positive relationships wake us up.

Action steps for waking up:

1 1. Notice the places where you feel a tension or dissonance in your life. Do you tense up when a significant person in your life enters the room? Does Sunday night bring about a feeling of dread because you have to go to work the next morning? Are you tired of spending every Friday night at home watching TV? Does it sound intriguing to get out and meet a few more people?

2 2. Engage in and protect your solitude. See time alone as vital to your well-being, just like sleep or exercise. Explain to your children and partners that solitude is self-preservation for you, not rejection of them.

3 3. While in solitude or in a group, use a prompt such as “The last time I was really angry…” to start ten to twenty minutes of uncensored writing. Do not stop writing the whole time. Do not edit. Let the subconscious become conscious. Share with others if you feel comfortable.

4 4. Pay attention. At night as you lie in bed, picture a scene from the day and describe it in writing or in your head, including details from all five senses.

5 5. Notice where you feel energized or at home. Who, if anyone, is with you? List your relationships that feel most nurturing and nonjudgmental. Spend more time with them. Try new things with these safe people. People we love and admire positively influence our behavior and character.

Another challenge of waking up or self-awareness is the self-judgment that comes along with it. Once we are aware of our traits and flaws, we realize others are aware of them too. While in this “valley of humility,” our ego quiets. We focus on victories over our weaknesses rather than on victories over others. In confronting our shortcomings, we build self-respect.

Action steps for ameliorating self-judgment:

1 1. Foster self-respect. Put yourself in a humbling situation like taking guitar lessons without any prior experience or skill. Let yourself make mistakes and survive.

2 2. On your day off, instead of watching Netflix all day, offer to help someone and come through for them.

3 3. Collaborate with someone you generally compete with at school or work.