6 Shadow and Ego Work

My dad passed away when I was eleven years old. The last thing he said to me was, “Daddy will always be there for you.” I still remember our last hug and watching him wave goodbye at the airport. He died three weeks later.

Years later, my therapist helped me appreciate that in the months after he passed, I was in denial. His death had been sudden and unexpected, and as a child I had a hard time believing he was gone. I didn’t go to the funeral, so I had nothing to hold on to as closure. My therapist explained that I was still that little girl waiting for her dad to reappear. She helped me see how that trauma showed up in my life, even during something as trivial as a date. It was heavy.

Ah, there you are, repetitive compulsion. My therapist showed me how I was reenacting the pain of losing my dad and wondering whether he would ever come back home. I wanted the man I was dating to show up in the way that my dad didn’t. My dad couldn’t all those years ago, and whichever man I was dating at the time reenacted that. While I didn’t consciously understand my father’s unexpected death as abandonment, my inner little girl felt it that way and my ego was determined to create a different ending to the story. With every new man, I gave my inner little girl hope that my dad—played by this person—would show up.

The highs and lows I experienced after my father’s passing were also present in my dating life. I dated men who would bait me, ghost me, and then love-bomb me. The cycle mimicked the coupling of my childhood grief with my fantasy that my dad could soon return from a long trip.

My therapist said, “It was never about him,” the man I was dating at the time. “This is about your dad.”

That’s when I met my attachment wounds and trauma responses, live and in color. I fawned amid this new man’s empty apologies, holding back my own anxiety, sadness, and rage about how I was being treated—and, if I am honest, how I was allowing myself to be treated. I was paralyzed, waiting in the same way I waited for my dad to come through the door in the weeks and months after his death.

In this cycle, my inner child would spend days mourning the relationship with my dad all over again … and again … and again … and again. The trauma of losing him was deep. My heart had to break open so that my unconscious mind could understand what was actually happening. I chose and entertained this person because he mirrored my childhood patterns. His avoidance and eventual abandonment reminded me of the days and months leading up to my father’s death, and while painful, it was familiar. I repeated the pattern over and over again, hoping for a different outcome that would never come.

These revelations forced me to take a deeper look at how I got here. My adult relationships didn’t map onto my childhood experiences exactly, but there were commonalities that revealed greater truths about myself. To start with, I am the child of an affair. My father was still married to my sister’s mother when he met my mother. One might expect that he wasn’t around much, but it was quite the contrary. He was very present—we had a very close relationship. Yet lurking in the background was the knowledge that I was a secret. I also often worried I was unwanted by my mother. She was nineteen years old when she gave birth to me, and my arrival created deep rifts between her and her father. My father was two years younger than my grandfather and twenty years older than my mother.

Still, my father was a consistent emotional presence and financial provider to me and my mother even though he was still with his wife. But my mother would grow to resent his relationship with me.

He was there for me in ways her own father wasn’t. My grandfather was intermittently absent from my mother’s life due to his job as a cruise ship captain. So you can imagine what it feels like to watch your child get everything you desperately wanted from your own father. Her resentment of me ran deep, and I could feel it. My father acted as a buffer and my savior from her mood swings and tantrums, especially when they weren’t getting along. But when he died, everything changed, and I was alone.

His death created deep abandonment and father wounds that I have fought long and hard to heal. Yet my conscious self was in denial of this. After all, he died unexpectedly and didn’t leave me intentionally, right? However, his death meant I had to face the relationship with my mother head-on.

I lived with my father and aunts for a few years before his death because my mother was away at college. I would see her in the summer and on holidays, but otherwise I spent all my time with my dad. When he became ill, I moved to be with my mother, whom I hadn’t lived with for a few years.

Suddenly, I was subject to her mood swings. I had to learn to fawn and people-please in order to sidestep her unpredictable wrath. It didn’t matter if I was getting straight A’s and doing all that a child is supposed to do in order to be “good” (hello, perfectionism). If her mood soured, anyone in the vicinity risked being a target. I’d go on to suffer verbal, physical, and emotional abuse as she too struggled with the loss of my father and the responsibility of having to parent me full-time. I was marinating in survival mode and struggling to manage complex traumas at just eleven years old. This is where my anxious attachment patterns became firmly established.

My story is far from unique. Many children experience these challenges growing up in one form or another; we even expect them to be resilient, because we were forced to be. Hello, intergenerational trauma! Older generations normalize their own trauma as a rite of passage, and describe it as something that makes you stronger. So, the children suffering in these situations experience their first taste of invalidation, which they then go on to normalize in their adult relationships.

Here we are, years later, running back to an emotionally unavailable ex who says our needs aren’t valid and refuses to meet them. Their good looks aren’t what keep you there. What keeps you there is a complex process where you’re fighting a battle within yourself on multiple fronts: emotional, biological, and spiritual.

Let’s take a deep breath together as we embark on this next chapter. You know, when I realized I had encoded my father’s death as abandonment, it was like flipping on a light switch in a dark room. Going back into my history and connecting the dots with my current relationships was a roller coaster of emotions, but a necessary one. Sometimes our hearts carry unresolved trauma we’re not even fully aware of, but it still shows up in how we relate to others and ourselves. In the following chapter, and across the entirety of Part 2, we’ll be exploring this, starting with concepts like attachment, ego defenses, and how our past traumas might manifest in ways we don’t immediately recognize, like my own tendencies to lean into denial and become a people-pleaser.

We covered a lot of ground in Part 1 and shed light on the difficult truths about toxic relationships. In the previous section, we started with how being in hermit mode and the heart sabbatical can help us begin to unpack our Pandora’s box. But what happens once you’ve opened the box? Where does that leave us now? Well, you’ve done the first crucial part: you’ve recognized and healed from your past toxic relationship. It’s like closing one chapter of a book. And as you turn the page, we’re about to begin another equally, if not more, important chapter: the deep work.

Over the next few months, I’ll be your guide as we trace back to the very roots of where these patterns originated. Think of it as a journey of self-discovery. It’s not about pointing fingers or placing blame, but rather about understanding how we’ve been molded by our experiences. We’re going to look back and understand why we react the way we do in relationships, whether they’re platonic, professional, familial, or romantic.

This won’t be a quick-fix process, and it’s essential to manage our expectations. Real growth and understanding take time. With patience, introspection, and a genuine commitment to change, we can reshape our relational patterns and move toward a life filled with healthier and more fulfilling connections. So, as we step into this new chapter, I want you to remember one thing: you’re not alone in this. Together, we’ll unpack the complexities of our past to build a brighter, more authentic future. Join me as we navigate these intricate paths, understanding and healing as we go.

Embarking on the journey of addressing our ego and shadow aspects is a critical step in healing after relational trauma—or quite simply as a function of learning how to show up as an emotionally healthy human being. Whether it be with a romantic partner, family member, or friend, navigating relationships can leave us feeling drained and overwhelmed. With the right tools and approach, we can overcome these challenges and emerge stronger and more resilient. By delving into self-awareness and gaining a deeper understanding of our emotions, we develop greater emotional maturity and intelligence, ultimately learning how to build loving and safe connections with others. These skills are invaluable for navigating life after a toxic relationship and creating healthier relationships in the future. We’re unlearning the past and building toward a more connected future with the people we love.

We went over ego and shadow work briefly in Part 1, but here we will delve deeper into both topics and look at the importance of these practices in the aftermath of a toxic relationship. Ego and shadow work are two components in the process of understanding the parts of ourselves that make up our personality, both conscious and unconscious. We all have an ego (conscious) side and a shadow (unconscious) side.

WHAT IS EGO WORK?

The ego consists of all the aspects of ourselves we are consciously aware of—our opinions, beliefs, and desires—while the shadow contains those aspects that are hidden from us—our fears, shame, and repressed emotions.

There are many ways the ego can show up in relationships. Some common examples include:

Need for Control: One partner may feel the need to control the relationship, making decisions for both partners and micromanaging every aspect of their lives together.

Defensiveness: The ego may make one partner become defensive when criticized or confronted, leading to arguments or a breakdown in communication.

Jealousy: Jealousy is a common manifestation of the ego in relationships, where one partner may feel threatened by the attention or affection given to the other.

Inflated Sense of Self: One partner may have an inflated sense of self, leading them to believe they are always right, or that their needs and opinions are more important than their partner’s.

Rigidity: The ego may make one partner rigid in their beliefs and attitudes, leading them to resist change and growth in the relationship.

One of the most common ways I work with clients on the role their ego plays in their relationships is unpacking their defense mechanisms. Many of us have experienced codependent, traumatic, or toxic relationships at some point in our lives. While it’s easy to blame the other person for the hurt we’ve endured, it’s important to understand that our own defense mechanisms—the ways we protect ourselves from further harm—can play an equally important role in these relationships. Defense mechanisms are an active part of our ego, since they are conscious decisions we make. Let’s explore how defense mechanisms show up in response to codependency, relational trauma, and toxic relationships.

What Are Defense Mechanisms?

Defense mechanisms are psychological tactics that our mind uses to cope with difficult emotions or situations. They can be either intentional or automatic, and can vary from healthy methods, like expressing one’s feelings, to unhealthy ones, such as denying reality. Defense mechanisms serve two main purposes: they provide a barrier against potentially harmful or unpleasant experiences, and they allow us to process and understand our circumstances in a way that lessens ongoing fear or anxiety.

We utilize defense mechanisms in a number of different types of unhealthy relationship dynamics. In response to relational trauma, these mechanisms can provide a temporary sense of safety and stability, though they can also lead to longer-term problems if not addressed. In other codependent relationships, defense mechanisms are frequently employed to cope with the challenges and difficulties inherent to these types of connections.

While defense mechanisms can provide a sense of safety and control in the short term, they can also prevent us from processing and resolving relational trauma. It is important for those who have experienced relational trauma to seek support from a therapist or support group in order to address and heal from these experiences in a healthy and productive manner. By being aware of our defense mechanisms and their effects, we can work toward using more adaptive coping methods for better mental and emotional health.

In toxic relationships, one person might use tactics like gaslighting or emotional blackmailing to gain the upper hand. On the receiving end of these behaviors, it’s common for us to lean on defense mechanisms. Recognizing these defense mechanisms is key because it can be the first step in understanding the dynamics at play and making the choice to seek a healthier path. The following are a few of the most common defense mechanisms used in toxic relationships, along with examples.

Splitting

Splitting is like looking at the world through glasses that only show two colors: all good or all bad. Sometimes, when people are still on their journey of understanding themselves and their emotions, they might see things this way. Imagine feeling so swamped by emotions that it’s easier to categorize things as simply right or wrong, good or bad. It’s like turning the volume up on a song—everything becomes more intense. That’s when this black-and-white thinking sneaks in, leading to what we call “splitting.” This allows a person to ignore any of their partner’s flaws and only focus on the positive aspects of the relationship. In extreme cases, splitting can lead someone to stay in an abusive relationship because they refuse to accept that their partner has a dark side. Splitting makes it easier for a toxic partner to do whatever they want without consequences, as their victim continues to believe that things will improve if they just stay in the relationship long enough.

This defense mechanism is often used by people who are in emotionally volatile relationships. By mentally separating themselves from their partner’s negative behaviors or words, they can better cope with the stress and uncertainty of the situation. In other words, they focus on the positive aspects of the relationship, ignoring or downplaying the more toxic side. This allows them to maintain some semblance of control over their lives and remain optimistic about their future, despite any turmoil they may be facing.

While psychological splitting can give someone a sense of security, it can also be damaging if it goes unchecked. By denying the negative aspects of their relationship, they are essentially enabling their partner’s bad behavior and prolonging their suffering. Moreover, this type of thinking can lead someone into an unhealthy cycle where they constantly need reassurance from their partner that everything will be alright—only to discover that nothing has changed when they eventually receive that assurance.

It’s important to recognize psychological splitting early on if you want to avoid becoming ensnared in a toxic relationship. Here are some signs that you may be experiencing psychological splitting:

You find yourself feeling “all or nothing” about your partner—either loving them unconditionally or despising them with equal intensity.

You feel constantly anxious when interacting with your partner.

You are unable to engage in meaningful conversations without feeling overwhelmed.

You have difficulty understanding why your partner does certain things.

Your mood fluctuates wildly between positive and negative states without warning.

Idealizing

Idealizing is a defense mechanism that involves perceiving a toxic partner in an overly positive light. This can involve ignoring or downplaying negative behaviors, such as abuse or manipulation, and instead focusing on the perceived positive qualities of the partner. Idealizing can lead someone to view their partner as perfect or ideal, even in the face of evidence that suggests otherwise.

As a result, the person may remain in a toxic relationship, even when there are clear warning signs, because they have an unrealistic view of their partner and believe that everything is okay. This type of defense mechanism can be destructive, as it can prevent someone from recognizing and addressing the negative aspects of the relationship. It can also lead to a cycle of abuse and harm.

Here are a few examples of idealizing in toxic relationships: