What Happens When You Stop Fixing Yourself and Start Listening Instead

I used to be a terrible procrastinator who couldn't get started on projects until the deadline loomed dangerously close. I tried everything—planners, productivity systems, accountability partners, even bribing myself. Nothing worked. I'd still find myself in the final hours before a deadline, heart racing, fingers flying, cranking out what needed to be done.

All the while, a relentless inner critic would narrate my apparent failure: "Why can't you just start earlier like normal people? What's wrong with you? You're going to crash and burn one of these days."

Then, several years back, I took the Kolbe Index, which measures our instinctive ways of taking action. My results showed I'm a 9 on Quickstart. In other words, I'm wired to wait and then race the clock. That's not a weakness—it's a superpower!

I’m still a procrastinator, but that simple shift in perspective from weakness to superpower changed everything for me. The energy I'd been using to fight against myself was now channeled into creativity. I'd been rejecting a fundamental aspect of how I'm designed to work in this world. Once I embraced it instead, everything shifted.

The Parts We Push Away

We all do this. We take certain qualities within ourselves and label them as unacceptable. Maybe it's the part that needs deep solitude in a world that celebrates constant connection. Maybe it's the sensitivity that feels emotions intensely in a culture that values stoicism. Maybe it's the wildness that wants to create when the pressure is on, rather than planning everything out neatly in advance.

Whatever those rejected parts are, they don't disappear when we disown them. They go underground. They operate outside our awareness, often sabotaging the very goals we're trying to achieve. All while draining our energy through the constant effort of pushing them away.

This inner war is exhausting. And unnecessary.

Many of the high-performance entrepreneurs I work with struggle with this same pattern. One client felt deep shame about taking risks that others labeled "too big." When a big risk didn't pay off, he'd wrestle with crushing self-doubt. People around him reinforced the idea that something was wrong with his approach. His body would contract, his breath would shallow—all the physiological signs of a nervous system in protection mode.

What I pointed out was simple: This is who you are! This risk-taking nature is precisely why you've created so much value in the world and achieved remarkable success. Yes, when you take big risks, the fall is further if things don't work out. But when they do, the gains are immeasurable.

This level of risk isn't for everyone, nor should it be. Different people are wired to work in different ways. For him, though, it's natural—even necessary. He has the remarkable resilience to absorb setbacks, learn from them, and create something even better. Now, without the shame of being a risk-taker, he moves with more confidence and clarity, embracing this core aspect of his nature rather than fighting it.

The Shadow's Hidden Medicine

What if the qualities we reject often hold essential wisdom and strength? What if the very aspects of ourselves we've been taught to hide or fix are actually keys to our most authentic expression?

I think of the forest behind my home. The decaying matter on the forest floor—what appears to be death and breakdown—is precisely what nourishes new growth. Nothing is wasted. Everything serves the whole.

Our inner landscapes work the same way. The parts we label as weaknesses often contain hidden gifts. Our sensitivity might enable deeper empathy. Our intensity might fuel our greatest creations. Our need for solitude might protect our most original thinking.

We're so quick to clean everything up, to get rid of what's ugly or awkward. We want things neat and tidy, even when we're falling apart inside. We don't trust decay. We forget that decay feeds the soil.

The shadow isn't only about negative qualities, either. Sometimes we reject positive aspects of ourselves because they weren't safe to express in our families or communities. Maybe your boldness was labeled as arrogance. Maybe your joy was dismissed as frivolity. Maybe your intuition was dismissed as irrational.

When we reconcile with these disowned parts, we don't just reduce suffering—we reclaim energy and capacity that's been locked away. We become more whole.

The Body Never Lies

I notice it first in the body—a tightness in the throat, a knot in the stomach when someone displays a quality we've rejected in ourselves. That flash of judgment that feels disproportionate to the situation. "Why can't he just make a decision already?" or "Her constant optimism is so irritating."

These reactions are gold. They're signposts pointing directly to our own disowned parts. The body knows before the mind catches up.

Carl Jung said that what irks us in others might be carrying a shadow message for us. The qualities that trigger us most intensely are usually aspects of ourselves we've tried to bury or deny. Our judgment is a spotlight, highlighting exactly what needs attention and integration.

One entrepreneur I work with couldn't stand "indecisive people." He prided himself on making quick decisions and moving fast. Yet he found himself increasingly stuck when facing complex strategic choices for his growing business. As we explored his frustration with others' indecisiveness, he recognized that he'd rejected his own contemplative nature in his drive to be the decisive leader.

His decision-making improved when he began to make space for reflection, even short periods of stepping back from action. His irritation with others' deliberative processes diminished because he was no longer at war with that quality within himself.

The Cost of Rejection

Think about how much energy it takes to constantly push away parts of yourself.

I see this with the high-achieving entrepreneurs I work with. They're exhausted not just from their demanding businesses, but from the constant vigilance required to maintain their carefully constructed identities. Always needing to appear confident when they feel uncertain. Always needing to seem in control when they feel overwhelmed. And it’s not just entrepreneurs. Take a look around.

As a teenager, I played this ridiculous game at summer camp. Two teams in a lake, wrestling with a greased watermelon. The goal was to get it to the opposite shore, but the strategy always involved trying to push it underwater, out of sight from the other team. We'd duck down, arms wrapped around that impossible-to-grip melon, desperately trying to keep it hidden. But no matter how strong you were, that watermelon would eventually slip free, shooting up with surprising force, often bonking someone in the chin before being frantically grabbed by the opposing team.

That's what happens with the parts of ourselves we try to submerge. No matter how much energy we expend keeping them hidden, they're going to surface—often at the most inconvenient moments and in ways we can't control.

What these leaders don't realize is that vulnerability—that quality they work so hard to hide—might be the very thing that would deepen their leadership and connection with others. Their questions might spark more meaningful innovation than their answers. Their visible humanity might inspire more trust than their polished perfection.

The Journey of Integration

So, how do we begin to reclaim these disowned parts?

It starts with curiosity rather than judgment. When we notice ourselves having a strong reaction to something, we can get curious. "What's being triggered here? What part of myself am I seeing reflected that I've tried to push away?"

Sometimes, it helps to personify these qualities. I'll ask clients to imagine having a conversation with their procrastination, risk-aversion, or people-pleasing parts. "If this part could speak, what would it say? What is it trying to accomplish or protect?"

This approach often reveals surprising wisdom. The procrastinating part might be protecting creative flow. The risk-averse part might be trying to prevent repeating a painful past experience. The people-pleasing part might be ensuring connection and belonging.

When we approach these disowned qualities with curiosity instead of condemnation, they begin to transform. Not by disappearing, but by unburdening and finding their right place and proportion in our whole being.

The Freedom of Wholeness

The entrepreneurs I work with are discovering that the qualities they've rejected might be exactly what they need for their next evolution.

My risk-taking client still takes big swings that make others nervous. But without the weight of shame, he's more discerning about which risks to take. He's more resilient when they don't pan out. And when they do succeed, his innovations create ripples that benefit many.

There's a profound freedom in this reconciliation with our shadows. Not the freedom of escaping parts of ourselves, but the freedom of embracing all of who we are. The freedom of having all our energy available rather than tied up in internal conflict. The freedom to show up authentically rather than partially.

The forest doesn't reject the decay that feeds new growth. The sky doesn't banish the clouds that bring rain. The night doesn't fight the darkness that reveals the stars.

What if we, too, could welcome all of ourselves? What if the very qualities we've been rejecting hold gifts we've been seeking? What if wholeness isn't about fixing or removing parts of ourselves, but about allowing all parts to find their rightful place?

This isn't easy work. It asks us to question deeply held beliefs about who we should be and requires courage to face what we've kept in shadow. But on the other side of this reconciliation is a more spacious way of being—one where we waste less energy fighting ourselves and have more capacity for what truly matters.

So I'll ask you: What part of yourself have you been rejecting that might hold wisdom you need? What would change if you approached that disowned quality with curiosity rather than condemnation? What might emerge if you allowed all of yourself—messy, complicated, contradictory—to have a seat at the table? Not to run the meeting, mind you, but to be heard, to contribute their perspective. There's a spaciousness that comes when we can listen to all our parts while remaining grounded in our deeper wisdom.

The parts of yourself you've been taught to reject might hold exactly what you need for your next level of development. They might contain the missing elements not only for your own growth, but for the innovation and leadership our world desperately needs.