Distortion Upon Distortion

I heard this quote recently and immediately opened my voice notes app to save it:

“When we're in denial, we'll produce all sorts of cleverness to hide that we're in denial, and when we've chosen a path of denial and lying, we won't be honest with ourselves, therefore we can't be honest with others, therefore we can't see others, because we can't even see ourselves. This is all distortion upon distortion.”

It landed because I know this. I’ve lived this. And even though I’ve come a long way, it made me pause and ask—am I still in denial about anything now?

Looking back, I see whole chapters of my life where I was deep in distortion and had no clue. I’ve had unhealthy habits that swung to extremes. First obsessive control over diet and exercise, then the pendulum swung hard the other way. I became a heavy drinker and used THC constantly, numbing what I didn’t have the tools to face. At the time, I told myself I was fine. I looked fine. I functioned. But now I can see that wasn’t wellness—that was avoidance with a pretty filter.

I’ve been in friendships where I was the giver, the fixer, the one who held space while the other person drained it. Some of those friendships were just bad influences, built on gossip, partying, or shared wounds rather than real connection. And then there were the relationships—ones I chose because they were easy to fall into. Comfortable distractions. Some were rooted in manipulation and control that I couldn’t see clearly until I was already entangled. Crawling out of them took time, and the exit was never graceful.

But in those moments, I didn’t think I was off course. I thought I was living. Evolving. Doing what everyone else was doing. That’s the thing about distortion, it doesn’t always feel chaotic. Sometimes it feels like normal. It makes you clever at hiding from the truth, even from yourself.

And then one day, you see it. And the only response is a quiet cringe.

Not from shame, but from clarity. I used to feel embarrassed when I looked back at old versions of myself. The details of consumerism I used to share on social media ( blame being a yelper in the early 2000s). The things I believed. The way I showed up in relationships. It made me uncomfortable. But now I see that discomfort as a signal that I’ve grown. You can’t cringe at something you haven’t outgrown. That awkward feeling means your perspective has sharpened. That you have more insight now than you did then.

The past eight months of my life have unraveled me in the best way. I’ve been in a season of deep spiritual awakening. I no longer feel like the person I was a year ago, and I don’t want to be. And still, I know I haven’t “arrived.” I’ll probably look back on this season one day and notice distortions I can’t see yet. But I’m okay with that. Growth isn’t about getting it perfect, it’s about staying in honest inquiry.

Right now, I have more autonomy than I’ve ever had. I’m single. I run my own business. I create my schedule, my rituals, my rhythms. There’s no one to perform for. And that freedom is a gift, but also a responsibility. It means checking in with myself regularly: Am I still operating from fear in this area? Am I making choices based on truth, or just comfort? Where am I justifying something because it’s easier than change?

If we’re not honest with ourselves, we can’t be honest with others. And if we can’t be honest with others, we don’t actually see them—we just see projections. I know I’ve misjudged people in the past because I was still wearing masks. I’ve also been misjudged by people who couldn’t see me clearly because they hadn’t yet seen themselves.

So now, when I meet someone who seems disconnected, performative, or even manipulative, I pause before judging. I remember: I’ve been there. Maybe in a different flavor, but I know what it’s like to be inside distortion and think you’re just living life. It doesn’t make their behavior okay, but it gives me context. It keeps me compassionate. I can still hold boundaries—but I don’t have to hold resentment.

I don’t want to live in distortion anymore. I want to keep seeing clearly, even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it means letting go of things that once felt like part of me. I’d rather be honest than be liked. I’d rather look back and cringe than look back and realize I stayed asleep.

This is what growth looks like. Clarity. Humility. Ongoing inquiry.

Cringe is part of it. It's not a problem, it's a milestone.