Before I discovered the part of me that watches, I lived through my ego. Entirely. Unfiltered, unaware, and frankly, unkind.
You could say I was an asshole—and you wouldn’t be wrong. I judged people for how they looked. I mocked them for how they spoke. I dismissed others without thinking, and I hurt people I barely knew. Some still think of me as a low-level life form, and honestly, I get it.
To this day, I don’t know why some people stayed. Maybe something in them calmed the storm in me, or maybe they saw something I couldn’t yet see. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for them. Deeply.
Then life shifted in a way I couldn’t have predicted. I changed jobs, moved cities. And the people in that new city? They didn’t respond well to me. It wasn’t just different—it was jarring. A full-on culture shock. The resistance I met was unexpected, constant, and unsettling. After a year of it, I considered going back to my old job. The door was open. My old team wanted me back. But something inside me—quiet, persistent—told me to stay. To stop. To reflect.
That’s when the soul-searching began.
Not because I wanted to grow.
But because I had nowhere else to hide.
Someone handed me a book on self-realization. I didn’t expect much. But something in it cracked something open. It wasn’t the book, exactly—it was me, at that moment, finally ready to see. The words just gave me permission.
I gave that same book to a friend. They said it was useless. Pointless. Boring. That confused me. How could something that shook me to the core leave someone else untouched? That’s when I realized: the material doesn’t matter if you’re not ready to be moved. The book didn’t change me—I did. But it gave me a way in.
That’s when I first noticed the part of me that watches.
The part that doesn’t react. The part that isn’t interested in judgment, praise, comparison, or status. The part that simply sees. Quietly. Honestly.
This changed everything.
It transformed how I saw my relationships. I used to walk into every connection asking, What can I get? Now I began to ask, What can I give? I started to realize that not everyone is meant to give back in equal measure. And that’s okay. Sometimes you’re the one who gives. Sometimes your only “reward” is the quiet ripple of karma, the subtle joy of contributing without needing anything in return.
Because my relationship—ultimately—is with the Divine. And the Divine gives in ways that people can’t.
As I aligned more with this witnessing presence, I also began to hear the ego more clearly. And wow—it’s loud. It wants to be seen. It wants to be right. It wants to win. And when ego meets ego, things go sideways fast.
But when I live from the part that watches, things shift. There’s space. Breath. Grace.
It’s not easy. I still have to watch the ego daily—especially when it comes dressed as anger, boredom, resentment, or control. I rely on meditation, spiritual practice, and moments of stillness to keep that awareness alive. Not because I want to be “enlightened.” But because I want to stay clear.
Looking back, that job—the one I almost ran from—was the beginning of everything. The discomfort it caused forced me to see the world through the eyes of the people I used to mistreat. And that was the gift. That was the awakening.
I’m not enlightened. I’m not finished. But I practice. And it gets easier—not because life changes, but because I’ve shifted how I meet life.
Now I meditate not because I have to, but because it feels like home.
And that part of me that watches?
It’s still here.
Quiet.
Present.
Waiting to be chosen again.