The Dark Thoughts We Pretend We Don’t Have
And Why Owning Them Makes Us Whole
Today, I want to talk about that voice in your head—the one that whispers, "They don’t deserve that," when your friend lands the promotion you wanted, or "I hope they fail," when your ex posts about their new relationship.
That voice we pretend doesn’t exist because good people don’t think like that.
Remember that time you found yourself hate-scrolling through your ex’s Instagram at 3 AM or "accidentally" forgot to invite that one colleague to happy hour? Yeah, that voice. The one that keeps a running tab of every slight, dreams up perfect takedowns you’ll never deliver, and occasionally wants to push someone into oncoming traffic. (Metaphorically, of course.)
Carl Jung—think of him as the OG therapist who spent his life figuring out why we’re all so weird—called it our Shadow Self. I prefer to think of it as our internal evil twin: the part of us that knows exactly where to push, what to say to hurt someone, and how to get what we want at others’ expense.
"Be careful when you fight monsters," Nietzsche warned, "lest you become one."
He wasn’t talking about actual monsters—though honestly, that’s solid advice too. He meant the monsters within us. The parts we’re so desperate to deny that we end up acting them out anyway, usually at the worst possible moments and in front of the perfect audience.
Think about the most "together" person you know—the one constantly posting about gratitude and personal growth, who seems to float through life on a cloud of enlightened serenity. Want to bet they have their highlight reel of petty thoughts they’d rather forget?
The other day, I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw it—my friend living what looked like my old life in Vail, all fresh powder and impromptu decisions.
You know the shot: carving through untouched snow at 11 AM because they could. Their caption read, “Decided last night to fly out! When the powder calls... 🏔️❄️” while I was coordinating a military-grade operation to get my twins to their different activities.
You know that feeling, right? When your thumb hovers over the like button while your brain runs wild?
How can they just... decide things?
They’re out there having these main-character moments while I’m trying to figure out how to be in two places at once.
Instead of doing what I usually do—quickly dropping a "Living the dream! 🙌" comment—I just sat with it.
The nostalgia for my spontaneous days.
The weird mix of satisfaction and suffocation that comes with parenthood.
The embarrassing thought that maybe, just maybe, they’re doing life right, and I’m doing it... differently.
And you know what? Letting myself feel wistful about my pre-twins life didn’t make me a bad parent. The parenting gods didn’t punish me for it. I just sat there, missing my old freedom while knowing I wouldn’t trade my chaos for all the powder days in Colorado, at least not then.
"Until you make the unconscious conscious," Jung said, "it will direct your life, and you will call it fate."
Or, in less fancy terms: if you don’t face your shit, your shit will face you—usually in public. Because timing is everything, right?
So, how do we work with our darkness without letting it control us? Without letting our petty instincts run wild but also without pretending they don’t exist?
Start small.
Next time you feel that flash of judgment, that surge of jealousy, that moment of wanting to watch someone fall—notice it.
Don’t judge it.
Don’t try to fix it.
Just watch it like you’d watch a slightly unhinged relative at Christmas: with fascination and a healthy distance.
Last week, I caught myself in one of these moments. A friend—one without kids—posted about their "exhausting" day of spa treatments and shopping.
Before I could stop myself, I’d composed three responses about what actual exhaustion looks like when you’re raising twins. But instead of being mature (aka passive-aggressive) about it, I just let myself marinate in the pettiness.
I felt the full force of my judgment.
Acknowledged my ridiculous desire to send them a photo diary of my day, annotated with timestamps.
And then? I let it pass.
The funny thing about these “bad” emotions is they move through you faster when you stop fighting them. It’s like my kids’ tantrums—the more I try to shut them down, the longer they last. The moment I sit down next to them and say, "Yeah, it sucks that you can’t have ice cream for breakfast," the storm passes quicker.
And our Shadow? It works the same way.
Here’s the thing about shadows: we all have them.
Every single person you know—yes, even that Instagram influencer who posts daily gratitude reels—has moments of pettiness, jealousy, and wishing their high school bully gets mildly inconvenienced in public.
The difference isn’t in having these thoughts. It’s in what we do with them.
Integration isn’t about becoming more peaceful—it’s about becoming more honest.
It’s about admitting that the same darkness that occasionally makes you want to trip your enemies (come on, we’ve all thought about it) also gives you:
The drive to protect your kids.
The passion to fight for what matters.
The wisdom to know when something isn’t right.
Want to take this shadow work for a test drive? Try telling the truth next time someone asks how you’re doing.
Maybe not the whole truth (we’re exploring our Shadow, not trying to get uninvited from future parties), but a glimpse.
Instead of "Living my best life!" try:
"You know what? I spent twenty minutes this morning feeling irrationally angry at my friend's perfect vacation photos. Then I made peace with it."
Watch what happens.
The honest ones will lean in, recognition flickering in their eyes. Others will back away slowly—which is also helpful information.
Because, ultimately, this isn’t just about accepting our darkness—it’s about creating space for others to do the same. It’s about building a world where we can tell our friends, "I had the pettiest thought today," and have them respond with, "Only one? Amateur hour. Let me tell you about my morning..."
I want my kids to have that kind of authenticity—not the endless pressure to be good but the freedom to be whole.
Because at the end of the day, they don’t need a perfect dad—they need an authentic one.
Someone who can show them that having dark thoughts doesn’t make you a bad person. Being human isn’t about avoiding the shadows but learning to dance with them.
Because coming to terms with our darkness doesn’t make us darker—it makes us deeper.
And that’s where the real conversations begin.
Book Recommendation: Owning Your Own Shadow: Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche by Robert A. Johnson
If you’re intrigued by the idea of the Shadow Self, Owning Your Own Shadow is a must-read. Johnson, a Jungian analyst, masterfully unpacks the hidden aspects of our psyche—the parts we suppress, reject, or project onto others—and explains why embracing them is essential.
Unlike dense academic texts, this book is concise, engaging, and deeply insightful. It offers practical ways to integrate your shadow without being consumed. Robert weaves together psychology, mythology, and real-life examples, making complex ideas relatable and transformative.
If you’ve ever wondered why you react so strongly to certain people, sometimes sabotage your own happiness, or how to become more whole rather than just “good,” this book answers.