Conversations with My Ego

Chapter Two: Conversations with My Ego

Let me tell you something real. I didn't know I had an ego until mine started talking back like it had bills to pay. No, seriously I used to think it was just me being moody or overthinking, but nah, my ego had a voice, a tone, an attitude. And sometimes? That sucker sounded just like me on my worst day. Slick, defensive, and way too clever for its own good.

There was this one morning I remember it plain as day. I was brushing my teeth, just vibing with the silence, and suddenly this voice in my head goes, "Why even try today? You know you're gonna mess it up like last time." I spat out the toothpaste like it had insulted my grandma. That was the first time I looked at my own reflection and said, "You got a lotta nerve, bruh." But it wasn’t some demon or outside force it was just the bruised part of me that had gotten used to failure, wore disappointment like a winter coat, and clung to fear like a childhood blanket.

Now, let me be real with you it took a long time before I stopped fighting that voice and started listening. Not agreeing, but listening. Because my ego? It’s not the enemy. It's that scrappy little version of me that’s still licking old wounds and flinching at shadows that ain’t even there anymore. It's the voice of the kid who didn’t get picked, the teen who loved and got left, the grown man still trying to prove something to people who stopped watching years ago.

My grandmother bless her soul she used to say, "Baby, the parts of you that still hurt don’t need a beating, they need a bandage." Lord, I didn’t understand what she meant for years. I thought growth meant tough love, bootstraps, and bulldozing over my flaws. But her wisdom kept tugging at me like a loose thread in a favorite sweater. One day, after another emotional crash and burn, it clicked. I can’t shame myself into healing. That voice in my head didn’t need a critic it needed a companion.

I remember sitting on my porch one muggy evening, just watching the sky shift colors like it was showing off. And I started talking out loud not in a crazy way, more like when you're on the phone with someone who knows you better than you know yourself. I said, "Okay, Ego, what’s really going on?" And just like that, I heard it: "I’m tired of pretending I’m okay when I’m not. I’m scared they’ll find out I don’t feel enough. I miss who we used to be."

Whew. That hit me in my chest like Sunday morning gospel. I realized then that I’d been treating my ego like an opponent when it’s really just the bruised version of me that’s still trying to survive. You know that version the one that double-checks compliments to see if they’re fake. The one that replays mistakes like they’re your favorite sad song. The one that wears pride like armor because underneath it all is a scared little boy just trying to not fall apart.

So now? Now I don’t argue with my ego. I pull up a seat, pour some tea, and say, “Let’s talk.” We have real conversations. Sometimes they get loud, sometimes I cry, but most times there’s healing. My higher self doesn’t show up to fight anymore. It shows up to hug. To remind that ego-self, “You’re safe now. You don’t have to carry all that pain alone. We’ve got help. We’ve got heart.”

I’ve learned to laugh at myself too. You have to. Like, I’ll catch myself getting petty over something small, and I just shake my head like, “Look at us still growing, still petty, but at least we know better now.” Growth ain’t always pretty, and healing isn’t a straight line. Sometimes it's a circle that spins you dizzy. But if you stick with it if you hold space for yourself even when you're a mess you’ll find out you’re a whole lot stronger than you gave yourself credit for.

And look I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out. I still have moments where I want to disappear under the covers and pretend the world don’t exist. But now, instead of beating myself up for those moments, I lean into them. I let myself be human. I talk to that inner child and let him know he’s not alone anymore. I remind him that just because we stumbled doesn’t mean we’re stuck.

So if you’re out there wrestling with your ego trying to prove, defend, survive I get it. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to fight anymore. Maybe you can sit with it. Maybe you can listen. Maybe you can say, “I hear you. I see you. Let’s heal together.”

Because at the end of the day, your ego ain’t your enemy. It’s the scared part of you still hoping for compassion. And your higher self? That’s the version of you that chooses love especially when it's hardest to give.

My grandmother used to say, “A whisper to your wounds will do more than a scream to your scars.” And Lord, wasn’t she right. I’m learning to whisper now. To listen. To love myself back to wholeness.

And if you feel like nobody else gets it trust me, I do. I’ve been there. I’m still there some days. But I’m walking, limping, dancing my way through. And you will too.

One breath. One conversation. One heartbeat at a time.