A recent partner told me: “You’re very steady, but sometimes I don’t feel chased.”
Another said: “I feel safe, but not always met emotionally in the moment.”
And one more: “You lead well—but sometimes I want you to follow my chaos.”
The feedback has been consistent enough that I can no longer dismiss it as “someone else’s issue.” The truth is harder to swallow: my greatest strength is also my deepest edge.
The warrior in me creates safety, consistency, and reliability. I keep my word and show up consistently. Instead of acting out, I name what I’m feeling. When things get uncomfortable, I don’t disappear.
But the same discipline that holds me together can also become control disguised as maturity.
This is the warrior’s shadow. And this week, we’re walking into it together.
When the Warrior Becomes the Tyrant
In Jungian psychology, every archetype has a shadow—the distorted expression that emerges when we over-identify with one aspect of ourselves.
The warrior’s shadow is the sadist—not in the sense of overt cruelty, but control justified by righteousness. It’s the energy that says “I know what’s right” and leaves no room for dialogue. This emotional certainty invalidates another person’s lived experience. Such decisiveness in leadership often moves others out of the way instead of meeting them where they are.
I’ve crossed that line.
Not into abuse. But into domination at the nervous-system level.
I’ve been:
- Emotionally decisive before relationally synchronized
- Too quick to move into “clarity mode” instead of staying with ambiguity
- Leading with integrity logic instead of relational tenderness
From my perspective, I was being honest and clean. From hers, it felt like being dismissed.
That’s warrior energy without enough lover energy present.
The Father Wound
My father was present but emotionally unavailable. Structurally there. Relationally distant.
He modeled:
- Responsibility without warmth
- Provision without attunement
- Strength without emotional literacy
The masculinity I inherited said:
- Men endure silently
- Feelings are private, not relational
- Duty comes before desire
- Authority is proven through self-control
I rejected most of it consciously. But the nervous system doesn’t unlearn through conviction alone. The pattern lives in my body: show up, hold it together, don’t need too much.
And so I became the man who keeps his agreements, who regulates under pressure, who doesn’t collapse—but also the man who sometimes forgets to let himself be wanted instead of just relied upon.
How Rigidity Shows Up in Relationship
Rigidity for me isn’t about rules. It’s about reduced curiosity.
It shows up when:
- I decide internally what “makes sense” and stop checking in
- I prioritize efficiency over attunement
- I become overly attached to my timing, my clarity, my process
- I unconsciously expect a partner to “keep up” with my level of self-work
A current relational dynamic is asking me to:
- Hold firmness without withdrawal
- Stay open without over-functioning
- Lead without deciding for the other person
It’s stretching me—and exposing where old strategies no longer work.
The War I Didn’t Know I Was Fighting
Jung’s work taught me this: sometimes we’re at war when we should be at peace.
I’ve been at war with:
- Being misunderstood
- Perception that doesn’t match my intention
- Timelines not aligning
- Needing others to see me accurately
That’s an internal war masquerading as external integrity.
The warrior thinks: If I can just explain it clearly enough, control the variables, stay consistent—they’ll understand.
But that’s not intimacy. That’s strategy.
The Over-Correction
Here’s the part that twists the knife: I became emotionally available, deeply intentional, and reflective about my impact because of my father wound. I refused the “men don’t need help” myth. I rejected stoic provider masculinity.
But in rejecting one extreme, I sometimes land in another.
I over-function and lead too much. I schedule connection time, check-ins, and intentional presence—believing spontaneity requires excess capacity. However, I don’t always leave enough room for it.
My kids see a father who is emotionally present, reflective, and deeply engaged. But do they see me unsure? Do they see me follow someone else’s lead? Do they see joy that isn’t scheduled?
That’s the question I’m sitting with.
Fierce Compassion: The Practice
So how do I work with this? How do I hold the warrior without becoming rigid? How do I stay grounded without controlling?
Fierce compassion is my practice.
Fierce compassion is:
- Staying present while setting boundaries
- Naming truth without collapsing connection
- Acting cleanly even when it disappoints
- Holding another’s humanity without rescuing or controlling
My Embodied Practice:
1. Pause before action
Ask: Am I acting to relieve my discomfort or to serve truth?
2. Drop attention into the belly
If the belly is tight → I wait.
If it’s warm and steady → I act.
3. Speak impact, not just intention
“This may land as ___—and I want to know how it does.”
4. Leave room for response
Fierce compassion always includes space.
If there’s no space, it’s not compassion—it’s enforcement.
Integration Under Intimacy
Last week, I wrote about integration as my intention for 2026. Here’s what I’m learning:
Integration isn’t just about bringing all my parts into alignment. It’s about bringing them into intimacy.
My warrior is strong. My lover is growing.
The work now is not more power—it’s softening without collapsing. Leading without dominating. Being decisive without being closed.
That’s the edge I’m walking. And it’s not comfortable.
Tantric Teaching: Shiva and Shakti
In Tantra, we speak of Shiva (consciousness, structure, direction) and Shakti (energy, flow, chaos). Both are necessary. Both are divine.
The warrior embodies Shiva: clarity, discipline, containment.
But without Shakti—without receptivity, fluidity, and surrender—Shiva becomes rigid. Stone.
The invitation isn’t to abandon the warrior. It’s to marry him to the lover.
Let discipline be infused with devotion. Let structure serve connection, rather than control it. Allow my clarity to hold space for another’s chaos without trying to fix it.
That’s the medicine I’m working with right now.
This Week’s Practice: The Softening
This practice is simple but challenging for those of us who live in warrior energy:
- Sit in meditation for 10 minutes
- Notice where your body is holding tension (jaw, belly, shoulders)
- Instead of “fixing” it, breathe into it and say internally:
“It’s safe to soften. I don’t have to hold this.” - Let yourself be held by the earth beneath you
- Notice the impulse to “do something” and practice not doing
This isn’t weakness. This is the warrior learning to rest.
Reflection Questions
- Where in your life does your strength become rigidity?
- What would it mean to lead with curiosity instead of certainty?
- Who in your life needs you to soften, and what stops you?
- What war are you fighting that isn’t yours to win?
With humility and fierce tenderness,
Shiva J
P.S. — This work—learning to integrate the warrior and the lover, the fierce and the tender—is some of the hardest and most important work we do in our community. If you’re tired of performing strength and ready to build real power, you belong here.
