Season of Self: The Shadow Knows — Embracing What We’ve Suppressed
Witnessing Our Hidden Selves as a Path to Healing
The Shadow Isn’t Something to Fear
Shadow work often gets misunderstood as something dark, painful, and best left untouched. But in truth, our shadow isn’t our enemy—it’s a part of us that needs to be seen. Supremacy culture wants us to hide these parts of ourselves, to label them as shameful or “too much,” and to bury them in hopes they’ll disappear. But they don’t. What we suppress always finds a way to resurface—sometimes as fear, sometimes as anger, and sometimes as self-doubt.
Shadow work isn’t about fixing ourselves—it’s about witnessing the parts of us that need understanding, not rejection. When we turn toward our shadow with curiosity and compassion, we invite healing. We allow ourselves to be whole.
Meeting My Shadow at the Kitchen Sink
It wasn’t a major event that triggered me—just a simple moment of overwhelm. I was standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing dishes while the sound of my kids arguing in the background made my shoulders tense. My chest felt tight, and the familiar thought crept in: You’re failing.
This wasn’t the first time I’d heard that voice. It had been with me for as long as I could remember, whispering that no matter how much I did, it would never be enough. Usually, I’d push it down and power through. But this time, something inside me said: Stop.
I put down the dish, turned off the water, and stood right there gripping the sink as if to anchor myself, I closed my eyes breathed, and got curious. “What do you need from me right now?” I asked the voice, not with anger or dismissal, but with genuine curiosity.
Memories flooded back—times I had tried so hard to be perfect, to meet everyone’s expectations, to prove I was worthy. You know the sort of co-dependency that riddles our childhood to prove we were worth bringing into this world. Tears filled my eyes as I realized this wasn’t a voice of failure—it was a voice of fear. Scared that I made all the wrong choices, scared that I can’t raise my kids on my own, scared that they will also end up not speaking with me, fear of so many unrealized possibilities, but fear nevertheless, all in a moment at my kitchen sink.
I realized it was the part of me that had learned to equate love with perfection, that had absorbed the idea that mistakes meant rejection. That there was no room for failure, or for my own humanity for that matter.
In that moment, I didn’t push the voice away. I listened. I acknowledged its pain. I didn’t see my shadow as something to be fixed. I saw it as something to be held.
When the Shadow Speaks, Listen
Now I have been doing this work for quite some time, though I did not have words or a name for it. I remember my very first psych 101 class and learning about grandfathers of psychology and various theories and coming up to Carl Jung (I was about 19) and was a bit fascinated. I was the kid that had a subscription to psychology today since I was 15 LOL, the human mind and behavior always fascinated me. As I look back now over my life I see how I was always trying to make sense of my environment, the people in it, and their actions and as I went deeper into that shadow I realized it was in order to control my environment as my childhood environment was so far OUT of my control. (THAT was a huge awakening) It was later on in life that I learned the language shadow work and I went further into the work both for myself and leading others. I recall my first IFS (Internal Family Systems) training a few years back and I was like HMMMM, I've been doing parts work my whole damn life. my very dear friend Nikki affirmed that with a simple, “uhhh yeah, I told you the lol”
In this work I’ve learned that our shadow doesn’t appear randomly—it shows up when we’re on the brink of growth. The moments when we feel like we’re “regressing” or falling apart are often the moments when our shadow is asking to be heard. It’s why we feel triggered or activated when we’re already overwhelmed or why old fears resurface just as we’re about to step into something new.
Supremacy culture doesn’t want us to pause and listen because it thrives on constant forward motion. But listening to our shadow is an act of resistance. It’s how we reclaim our stories and rewrite the narratives that have kept us small.
I want to emphasize this: when your shadow speaks, it’s not a sign of weakness or failure—it’s a sign that you’re on the edge of something meaningful. The question is, will you listen?
Understanding the Roots of Shame, Guilt, and Fear in Supremacy Culture
Supremacy culture plants seeds of shame, guilt, and fear within us, teaching us that we’re only worthy when we’re flawless, productive, and obedient. These aren’t random emotions—they’re conditioned responses meant to keep us from questioning the systems that harm us. For marginalized communities, these responses aren’t just internal—they’re reinforced by systemic oppression that polices our existence. Let’s break down some of the common roots and explore how they manifest differently across identities:
Shame:
We’re taught to hide our imperfections and feel ashamed when we can’t meet impossible standards. This shame often shows up as self-silencing, avoiding vulnerability, and perfectionism.For Black women and femmes, shame is often tied to being “too much” or “not enough.” The pressure to embody strength, resilience, and grace—while being denied rest or softness—creates a cycle where vulnerability feels dangerous.
For white men, shame is often embedded in failing to meet the ideals of traditional masculinity: dominance, control, and emotional stoicism. The result is often suppressed emotions, defensiveness, or internalized failure.
For queer and trans individuals, shame is deeply rooted in societal rejection of their identities. Messages that their existence is “wrong” or “unnatural” lead to self-erasure and internalized oppression.
Guilt:
We’re conditioned to believe that prioritizing ourselves is selfish, leading to constant overextension. This guilt keeps us in cycles of overwork and emotional depletion.For disabled people, guilt often stems from feeling like a “burden” or needing accommodations to navigate an ableist world. Supremacy culture demands that they prove their worth through productivity, often ignoring the toll this takes on their health.
For immigrants and first-generation individuals, guilt often manifests as pressure to live up to the sacrifices of their families, leading to overachievement and burnout. The weight of “not wasting opportunities” can result in neglecting personal needs.
For mothers and caregivers, guilt is weaponized through societal expectations that they must “do it all” without asking for help. The guilt of “not being enough” drives cycles of self-sacrifice and neglect of personal well-being.
Fear:
We learn to fear conflict, failure, and rejection, making us suppress our authentic selves. But fear isn’t inherently bad—it’s often a sign of transformation waiting on the other side.For Black and brown communities, fear often stems from navigating a world that criminalizes and punishes them disproportionately. The fear of being seen as “angry,” “lazy,” or “dangerous” forces many to overperform, code-switch, and suppress their true selves.
For survivors of trauma, fear is a conditioned response to protect themselves from further harm. Supremacy culture doesn’t create safe spaces for healing, often reinforcing cycles of hypervigilance and self-blame.
For women and femmes, fear of conflict is deeply tied to patriarchal conditioning that punishes assertiveness. Speaking up risks being labeled as “difficult” or “emotional,” making many suppress their needs to avoid confrontation.