From Self-Deception to Self-Mastery: The Courage to Lead Oneself

This morning 26th June 2025, I closed my eyes and felt something shift.

After months of writing, rewriting, and listening to the quiet whispers between the lines, I knew: the arc had closed. The book is complete. And so is this final chapter — one that returns, not to theory or perfection, but to what feels raw, real, and necessary.

Here is where I choose to end: with a truth I’ve lived, stumbled through, and finally come to understand.

The first self-deception is this:
To believe we are only bodies, and that our purpose is to chase comfort, avoid pain, and die without consequence.

This quiet belief — embedded in consumer culture, numbing habits, and even some wellness circles — reduces life to pleasure and ignores the soul.

But I have not come this far to stop at pleasure.
I have come to awaken.
To remember.
To lead myself toward wholeness.

And leadership, I’ve learned, begins not out there — but in here.

The Mirror of Self-Deception

One of the greatest teachings on this came from a small book called Leadership and Self-Deception by the Arbinger Institute. It says:

“The biggest problem in our relationships is not what we do, but how we see.”

The moment we stop seeing others as people — as souls with stories and needs like ours — we go into what Arbinger calls “the box.” We betray our inner knowing, then justify it with blame, silence, or false narratives.

How often do we drift through life like that infant who blames the furniture for falling?
We don’t see our part in the mess.
And when we don’t see clearly, every solution we invent only deepens the distortion.

Wanting Peace While Avoiding the War at Home

As I write this, I am also holding a tender ache. There is tension between my son and his father. A silence I cannot fix.

And I recognize another dangerous deception:
To pray for peace in the world while ignoring the war within our own family.

How often do we bypass the hard conversations, the honest reckonings, the unspoken grief?
Even in spiritual circles, this is common — a love for the cosmos paired with fear of our own living room.

But truth has a frequency. And if we refuse it at home, we will not find it in the world.

The Circle as Teacher

Just last night, I led a storytelling circle where we spoke aloud this powerful affirmation:
“I accept that I hold the Golden Keys to my Heaven on Earth.”
The words sparked something in each of us. The circle transformed.

I found myself speaking of all that has shaped me:

• Outwitting the Devil by Napoleon Hill, which called me out of drifting.

• The Gene Keys, which reframed my shadows as keys to my soul gifts.

• My first book, My Bumpy Ride to Inner Peace, and why I wrote it.

• My current work-in-progress, The Listening Grandmama, and what I now know:
  That deep listening is a medicine we’ve forgotten.
  That presence without performance can heal generations.

A young woman turned to me at the end and asked, “As a grandmother turning 80, what advice would you give to someone like me?”

I paused. And replied:
“Stay curious. Keep asking questions. And stay open for the answers.”

Teaching Without Preaching

I used to resist the label of “teacher.” I didn’t want to preach.
But now I see: teaching is not about telling others what to do.
It’s about living your truth aloud — and inviting others into their own.

The First Field of Mastery

Self-mastery doesn’t begin with grand gestures.
It begins when you stop betraying yourself in the dark.
When you stop blaming others for what only you can shift.
When you speak gently and truthfully, even when it’s hard.

It’s not about controlling others or bypassing pain.
It’s about staying present to what is real, and choosing love anyway.

A Parting Gift from the Field

Yesterday, my Airbnb guest Marcel left a message that touched me deeply:

“We met because of the energy of the universe and the configuration of our minds. I am very grateful that our meeting was one of knowledge, love, and care.”

I replied:

“I believe our meeting will bring both our passions — yours, the Amazon, and mine, storytelling and deep listening — to a new level.”

And so I end with this:

Teaching is not always formal.
Healing doesn’t always wear robes.
Sometimes it looks like a conversation over coffee.
Sometimes it’s a story told from the heart.
Sometimes it’s a chapter you were brave enough to rewrite.

This is the path I now walk —
quietly, imperfectly, and with an open heart.

And I invite you to walk it, too.