Facing the Parts of Myself I’d Rather Not Admit Exist

What I learned about my Shadow, so figured I'd share that shit

There’s a part of me that didn’t suddenly show up in midlife.

It’s been there the whole time, I just got better at ignoring it.

Kevin and I call it the dark side, or what Carl Jung called the shadow. And for a long time, I heard that phrase and assumed it meant something bad. Something dangerous. Something shameful.

That’s not quite right…

The shadow isn’t evil. It’s unacceptable.

Unacceptable to my family.

Unacceptable to my culture.

Unacceptable to the version of myself I learned I had to become in order to survive.

So, like any good man, I pushed it down. Just like our fathers before us.

And now, in midlife, it’s surfacing and it’s really loud lol.

But the shadow isn’t what I’m afraid of, it’s what I wasn’t allowed to be.

One of the biggest misunderstandings I had was assuming my shadow was only about destructive behavior… addiction, anger, lust, aggression.

Well, sometimes it is, but just as often, it’s about life. You know…

Joy that didn’t fit the mold.

My intensity that made others uncomfortable (if you know me you know this one lol).

Curiosity that didn’t align with expectations.

Grief that no one knew how to hold (want to make people squirm? Have a man show sadness publicly).

Something that’s become clear to me is how often what we call “dark” is simply what wasn’t approved.

I’ve seen this play out even in simple, ordinary ways. Comfort in my body. Enjoying movement. Expression. Presence. Doing something that feels alive instead of productive.

It doesn’t take much for people to label that. Interpret it. Question it.

Why?

Because comfort in myself is threatening to people who never learned how to be.

Sometimes the shadow isn’t dark. It’s just unapproved.

And here’s the thing, just because I suppress something doesn’t mean it disappears.

It waits… that shit is just chiilin and hanging out inside me haha

One of the most powerful moments for me recently came from watching my son after the final performance of Footloose.

Four months of work on this play. Learning lines and had some late nights. Built tons of Friendships. And had found true purpose in this experience and work.

And when it ended, he cried.

Not privately. Not quietly. He hugged people. Thanked them. Grieved openly. This dude was heavy breathing sobbing (not joking lol)

And I watched the room tighten.

Other kids didn’t know what to do. Parents looked wildly uncomfortable.

A teacher even joked that someone should tell him to “buck up.” And I thought, “I wonder how much she was required to suppress her own humanity growing up?”

That moment told me everything.

We still don’t know what to do with male sadness.

So boys learn all this shit early:

Don’t feel that. Move on. Be strong.

But here’s the truth I’ve come to understand…

If sadness doesn’t move through us, it doesn’t leave. It hardens.

For me? It turned into irritability. Distance. Anger that feels justified. Addiction.

What I suppress early shows up later, not as emotion, but as behavior.

And even when I’ve “done the work,” the shadow still lives close by.

One of the most humbling realizations for me is that awareness doesn’t eliminate the shadow. What I know means jack squat.

It just makes me responsible for it.

Doesn’t matter if life is going well, I’ve grown and evolved, hell, even when I “know better.”

I’m still one decision away from violating my own integrity. Which is one of my top core values!

That’s the shadow.

Not the mistake, the capacity.

The willingness to cross a line when I’m tired, distracted, or out of alignment.

What matters isn’t pretending that capacity doesn’t exist, it’s fucking owning it.

It’s facing it. Learning from it. Putting guardrails in place.

My integrity isn’t built by perfection. I’ve tried guys, believe me.

It’s built by consciousness.

And I always thought consciousness was to elevate and then I started doing Jungian work only to realize that it’s actually a journey inward to my soul.

And then Integration became the goal, NOT elimination. Here’s an example of what I mean…

For a long time, I used humor as armor.

If I could make light of something, I didn’t have to feel it.

If I could get a laugh, the pain didn’t fully land.

That worked for a long time… until it didn’t.

Then I swung the other direction. I got super serious. My mother and wife called me rigid.

The same thing happened with my addictive personality.

Left unconscious, it nearly destroyed my life, yet Integrated, it became one of my greatest strengths.

I have hyper focus abilities. Insane drive. Unmatched Intensity. And dogged commitment and consistency to something I’m “all-in” on.

The work isn’t about killing parts of myself, it’s about assigning them the right role.

The traits that almost ruined me are often the same traits that, once integrated, make me effective, grounded, and capable of real leadership. They showcase my humanity.

So why does this matter so much in midlife?

Midlife is when I discovered the soul stops cooperating with denial.

Integrity is in direct connection with the soul.

The roles I played no longer satisfied me, the coping strategies that once worked stop working.

The shadow stops whispering and starts demanding attention. Mine was screaming at me!

And here’s the uncomfortable but empowering truth I’ve had to accept:

No one is coming to save me.

But that also means I’m not powerless.

I can sit with discomfort. Ask better questions. Notice my triggers. Examine my judgments. Pay attention to patterns.

The shadow isn’t here to destroy me.

It’s here to make me honest.

And honesty, in the second half of life, has been the doorway to freedom for Kevin and myself. As different as we are, we definitely align on that.

If I’m feeling, as we say in the recovery world, restless, irritable, and discontent, I no longer assume something is wrong with me.

I assume something in me wants to be acknowledged.

That’s not weakness.

That’s the beginning of becoming whole.

It was only last year after 16 years of deep intrinsic work that I felt completely and usefully whole. Totally “filled up.”

And then in a matter of months I felt the deepest emptiness I have ever felt (Jung talks at length in his work about this exact experience).

And in both instances I sat with it. Stared at it. And asked myself like I always do in my contemplation:

• What is this teaching me about myself?

• What is this teaching me about the world?

• What is this teaching me about life?

Most importantly… Who is asking the question?

As always, thanks for reading. If you feel compelled, share your thoughts by leaving a comment, send me a message, or even share this with a friend.

Kevin and I appreciate all of you for the support!

Let’s just keep the conversation going between men. It’s important.

Cheers,

Joe