The War With Yourself is Killing You. And You Can't Win."
I paused before stepping into the office. I took a deep inhale. Then exhaled all my self-compassion.
I walked to the couch and sat down at the end closest to the window. I squirmed as I adjusted the pillows, trying to find a position comfortable enough to get through the session.
My hand fixed on the armrest. I rubbed and scratched at the grey fabric.
“So, how was your week?” she started. “I’m a piece of shit. I hate my body. I hate my face. I don’t like the way I act and the things I think. I’m broken.”
She wasn’t fazed. She’d heard it before and it wouldn’t be the last time.
“Ok, where do you want to start?”
I paused.
“I want to vanquish them all. All the thoughts, insecurities, and pain. I don’t want to feel any of it. I want to heal it. All the parts of me that are broken. I want to sew them up into a tapestry of resilience, endurance, and ‘I-do-not-give-a-f*ck’”
The battle had begun. Me versus the parts I hated.
I knew, to heal, I needed to remove those parts and only then find the healing I was desperately looking for.
Anything less was failure.
So, I continued to increase the standards I held for myself.
There was no letting myself off the hook. No letting myself slide.
It was all or nothing. Perfection or brokenness.
If I did let up, then I felt like I was hurting the people around me.
I was flawed. I made mistakes. I was angry, cruel, mean, stubborn, and annoying.
It all had to go, otherwise why would they stick around? There would be nothing to love.
As Ariana laid on the hospital bed—dying—I saw the only good part of me fading away. She was the only reason I had worth, value, or anything to love.
So when she died, I had nothing. I was nothing.
I woke up each day preparing for the war.
I was exhausted before I took my first step out of bed.
It was maddening. I was breaking. Struggling to keep going.
Then, the world started opening up again after COVID and I saw a mens retreat announced.
I knew the leader and out of desperation for change, I signed up.
I didn’t know what to expect. But it didn’t matter anymore.
I showed up a few months later to a converted barn on the outskirts of Austin. For the next four days I lived with twenty other men.
And in those four days, my anger softened, just enough to let my grief spill out on the floor. Then the unexpected happened—they showed me love and compassion.
They opened up space for me to be exposed with no judgement. They held me and supported me.
It was just enough for me to realize that I was able to be loved and cared for, despite the sh*t in my head.
As you demean yourself daily, wishing for things to change, recognize that isn’t healing. Healing isn’t removal. It’s acceptance of what you wish wasn’t there.
So, what does removal actually cost?
The Hidden Cost of Removal
At the barn in Austin, I was confronted with what I was most afraid of—my anger.
When I think of anger, I get images of men physically harming others. Emotionally intimidating their kids and partners. As well as making the world feel unsafe for everyone around them.
I told myself that would never be me and that meant pretending my anger didn’t exist.
But while I had my face soaked in a stranger’s shirt, the most intense, primal, and guttural sound ripped through me.
I screamed until my throat gave out.
I clenched every muscle in my body.
I cried, swore, growled, and yelled.
What happened next changed all my beliefs about anger.
The group of men gathered around me. They held me. They weren’t afraid. They were broken with me.
I realized anger—and all other emotions—serve their purpose in our lives. I couldn’t let the few who pervert their emotions into harm, create prejudice in my heart.
My anger wasn’t dangerous. It was a natural part of my grief. And ignoring it, meant sacrificing healing.
So, what are you ignoring? What parts are you afraid to let out?
Is it worth the sacrifice?
What would you actually lose if the part you hate disappeared tomorrow?
Acceptance
“That word you keep using, I do not think it means what you think it means.” — Inigo Montoya
Ariana abandoned me and I carried my anger with shame.
I could not accept it, because if I did, it felt like giving up on a better version of myself.
That I would have to learn to “like” that part of me and wasn’t allowed to change it.
I didn’t understand that acceptance was acknowledgement and understanding.
I needed to admit the part existed and give it my attention. And in some cases be grateful for it.
Over time we pick up coping mechanisms that serve to protect us. Those mechanisms linger and stay around for longer than is necessary.
When we recognize them and see that they are no longer serving us, we can gently toss them away.
Because, at the end of the day, you’re not trying to arrive at a version of yourself with no fear, pain, or anger.
That person doesn’t exist.
And if they did, they would be boring as hell.
Life is lived in the wholeness of our human experience.
Light creates shadows.
When you’re whole, all parts are present and have a seat at the table.
F*ck Perfection
A friend said to me, “It’s beautiful that you were able to have experienced the love that you and Ariana shared. Some people never get to. But, also, how lucky for Ariana to have had that love in the short time she was here.”
My wife died. I can’t change that and my friend is right, we are both lucky to have had each other.
I’ve found peace with my situation.
I no longer live as a victim of circumstance. I have power over my story.
Ariana dying was extrinsic.
A singular event.
The pain that occurred was what changed inside me in response to the event.
And that meant, if it was IN me, then I had the power to change it.
As I move along my journey with grief, I find my world opening to possibilities I never imagined.
The depth of love I feel now is rich and complex. The connection to my children, friends, and family are deeper.
And it’s all because of the work I did to change my relationship to grief.
Healing is harder than war, I know.
War is familiar.
The hatred is easy.
Acceptance requires you to lay down your weapons. It opens you up to rejection and hurt.
But understand, the war is killing you. And the parts you’re fighting, they are you.
You cannot win.
So stop trying to remove what you hate. Start trying to understand why it’s there.
Healing is not about becoming less. It’s about becoming whole.
With love,
- CJ
This shift from war to wholeness took me years to figure out.
I spent many thousands on therapy, read every grief book, joined communities, and made every mistake trying to rebuild my identity after Ariana died.
I’m distilling all of that into a 12-week workshop for a small-group of grievers ready to stop fighting themselves and start rebuilding who they are now.
It’s not about “moving on.” It’s about learning to carry your loss while creating space for meaning, joy, and a future that feels real.
If you’re interested, join the waitlist here. I’ll send details and early access when spots open.
P.S. If you’re not ready for a workshop but want to start this work on your own, I made a free guide called Recovering Your Identity After Loss. Get it here.
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