When I stopped fighting myself: A meditation on self-acceptance.

And then it all came crashing down! After my blissful Christmas period, the past couple of weeks have been challenging. I’ve been unwell with a strange virus that left me dizzy and deeply lethargic, while my children were away on holidays. In that quiet, slowed-down space, familiar emotional patterns surfaced—self-judgment, frustration, and the desire for things to be different.

This morning, during my meditation practice, I met two powerful parts of myself. What unfolded became an unexpected lesson in self-compassion, inner parts work, and the gentle integration that can happen when we stop trying to fix ourselves.

One part was the so-called lazy, entitled part. She appeared as a vision—like a languid cherub/nymph reclining on a lounger, feeding herself grapes. She had a soft, full belly and generous legs, completely at ease. I could feel that she was utterly determined not to move.

The other part was antsy, bossy, and furious. She buzzed around the lounger, arms flailing with anger, frustration, disgust, and contempt.

“How can you just lie there?” she demanded.

“Who gave you permission to be this lazy?”

“Get off your big, fat arse and do something—now!”

“No,” replied Miss Entitled.

This refusal completely enraged Miss Controlling, who prides herself on being right and productive and morally superior. I could feel the intensity of the standoff in my body. Then a thought popped in: What am I going to do about this?

After some time, I recognised the pattern. This was a familiar loop—wanting things to be different, and not loving myself as I am in the present moment.

And then, something softened.

Toward the end of my meditation, new images arose. Miss Controlling began blowing raspberries on Miss Entitled’s chunky belly. There was laughter. There was playfulness. I saw myself stroking the cherub’s soft, chubby face. We were rolling around together, hugging and laughing.

Joy returned. Calm returned.

Both parts seemed to lose their grip on me—not because one won, but because neither needed to.

This is how it often works for me. This is how I seem to integrate the “icky,” uncomfortable, stuck places inside. I can’t force it. For most of the last two weeks, I’ve simply had to feel the discomfort without being able to do anything about it. The process only completes when it’s ready to complete.

What does matter is making space for these inner processes to happen.

That’s one of the reasons a daily practice—whether meditation, somatic movement, or quiet reflection—can be so important. It creates the conditions for compassion, integration, and unexpected joy to emerge in their own time.