Don’t Kill Your Ego Too Quickly

Jul 31
13 min read

What happens when trying to become humble turns into losing the part of you that could still try

We like to talk about ego as if it is always the villain.

Someone has a big ego. Someone needs to be humbled. Someone thinks too highly of themselves. Someone needs to learn that the world does not revolve around them. And to be fair, we have all met this person.

The one who cannot be wrong.

The one who turns feedback into a hostage situation.

The one who needs to be the smartest person in the room, even when the room is very tired.

The one who says they are “just confident,” when what they really mean is, “Please keep admiring me or I may collapse.”

That kind of ego is not confidence. It is insecurity wearing louder clothes.

But I think there is another side to this conversation that we do not talk about enough. Sometimes, when people try to kill off their ego, they accidentally kill off the part of themselves that could still attempt life.

And that is where the whole “ego death” conversation becomes a little bit tricky.

These days, we hear a lot about killing the ego. Dissolving the ego. Detaching from the ego. Not identifying with the self. Not being ruled by pride. Not being attached to outcomes. Practising Stoicism. Becoming calm, detached, unbothered, above it all.

Very elegant.

Also very easy to misunderstand.

Because yes, some people need less ego. Some people need to learn that feedback is not an assassination attempt. Some people need to stop confusing arrogance with confidence, defensiveness with self-respect, and being loud with being right. Some people do need to discover that they are not the main character in every room.

But some people do not need less self.

Some people already have very little self to stand on.

For them, “kill your ego” does not lead to wisdom. It leads to disappearance. They hear “do not be ruled by ego” and translate it into “do not want anything.” They hear “detach from the self” and translate it into “become nobody.” They hear “do not cling to your story” and translate it into “my story does not matter.” They hear “let go of pride” and translate it into “I have no right to take up space.”

That is not enlightenment.

That is self-erasure with better branding.

The client who became too humble to live

I once worked with a client who used to criticise himself harshly for having a big ego.

Looking back, he felt ashamed of the person he had been. He said he used to think too highly of himself. He believed he could do things. He pushed forward. He tried new paths. He took risks. He kept going even when the odds were not good. Sometimes he tried almost to the point of crashing.

And yes, to be clear, there were probably parts of that younger self that needed refining. Maybe he was too forceful. Maybe he was too driven by proving. Maybe he confused achievement with worth. Maybe he did not know when to stop. Maybe his confidence had too much performance in it, too much pressure, too much need to show the world that he was not small.

But there was also something alive in him then.

He dared.

He moved.

He tried.

He could tolerate the possibility of looking foolish because some part of him still believed that life was worth entering.

Years later, that part of him had quietened almost completely. He had become much more humble, at least according to him. But sitting with him, I did not experience it as humility. It felt closer to collapse.

He was no longer bragging. No longer forcing his way through life. No longer trying to impress anyone. No longer pushing himself toward big dreams that might crush him. But he was also no longer doing very much at all. He stayed at home most of the time. He avoided the world. He did not try new things. He did not put himself forward. He did not want to risk failure, judgement, disappointment, or rejection.

He had shut down the ego.

Unfortunately, the confidence had gone with it.

This was the part that stayed with me. I did not want to bring back his old ego exactly as it was. That would not have helped. He did not need to return to a version of himself that survived by proving, pushing, and crashing. But I also did not want him to confuse healing with becoming harmless, hidden, and afraid.

Sometimes the old ego was not the whole problem.

Sometimes the old ego was a very clumsy container for something precious.

A wish to live.

A wish to try.

A wish to enter the world.

A wish to believe, even slightly, “Maybe I can.”

Ego is not confidence

Ego and confidence can look similar from the outside because both can produce action. A person with ego may apply for the role, start the business, speak up in the room, take the stage, chase the opportunity, ask someone out, launch the project, or walk into a space as if they belong there before anyone has given them permission.

A confident person may do the same.

The difference is not always in the behaviour. The difference is in what the behaviour is protecting.

Ego often says, “I need to prove I am special.”

Confidence says, “I am willing to try.”

Ego says, “If I fail, I am nothing.”

Confidence says, “If I fail, I can learn, recover, and try again.”

Ego needs the outcome to confirm the self. Confidence allows the self to remain intact even when the outcome is disappointing.

This is why ego can look bold but feel fragile. It may push a person into action, but it often does so with a threat underneath: succeed, or be exposed. Win, or feel worthless. Impress them, or disappear. Be admired, or collapse into shame.

Confidence has a different quality. It is less dramatic. It does not need as much theatre. It does not require the person to be superior, special, chosen, exceptional, untouchable, or constantly admired.

Real confidence is not:

“I am better than everyone.”

It is closer to:

“I can meet what happens.”

That is a very different thing.

The three traps: false confidence, low self-esteem, and real confidence

I think the distinction can be put quite simply.

False confidence says:

“I am special, so I cannot fail.”

Low self-esteem says:

“I am nothing, so I should not try.”

Real confidence says:

“I may fail, but I can still participate.”

That last line matters.

Because many people only know two modes. Inflate or disappear. Become impressive, exceptional, and untouchable, or become small, apologetic, invisible, and easy to ignore. Either they must be the best person in the room, or they feel they have no right to be in the room at all.

But confidence lives somewhere else.

It lives in the middle.

I am not above everyone.

I am not beneath everyone.

I am here.

False confidence is usually built on performance. It needs applause, status, comparison, admiration, achievement, attention, control, or some kind of evidence that the person is winning. It is not always loud, although it often is. Sometimes it can be polished, charming, intellectual, productive, spiritual, successful, or annoyingly calm in a way that makes you suspect there is a TED Talk trapped inside them.

But underneath it, there is often a nervous question:

Am I enough yet?

This is why false confidence does not rest very well. It has to keep proving. It has to keep winning. It has to keep being seen in the right way. It struggles with feedback because feedback feels like humiliation. It struggles with failure because failure feels like identity collapse. It struggles with other people’s success because another person’s light feels like its own darkness.

But low self-esteem is not the cure for ego.

Low self-esteem simply creates a different prison. Instead of needing to be impressive, the person becomes afraid to be visible. Instead of fighting to be admired, they avoid situations where they might be judged. Instead of saying, “I must be special,” they say, “Who am I to try?”

This can look modest from the outside. The person does not brag. They do not take up space. They do not make big claims. They do not appear arrogant.

But internally, something has gone missing.

They no longer believe they have anything worth offering.

That is not humility.

That is fear in a cardigan.

ACT does not ask us to become nobody

This is where Acceptance and Commitment Therapy gives us a much better way to think about the self.

ACT does ask us to watch out for ego, but not in the simplistic “destroy yourself and become a floating spiritual mist” kind of way. It asks us to notice when we become fused with the conceptualised self.

The conceptualised self is the story we carry about who we are.

Sometimes the story is grandiose: “I am exceptional. I must be admired. I cannot fail.”

Sometimes the story is ashamed: “I am useless. I am behind. I am broken. I always ruin things.”

Sometimes the story is polished: “I am the strong one. I am the capable one. I am the helper. I am the one who does not need anything.”

Sometimes the story is defeated: “I am the kind of person who cannot cope. I cannot change. I cannot go out. I cannot try anymore.”

ACT does not say that having a story is bad. We are human. Our minds make stories. That is what minds do. They connect the past to the present. They create meaning. They help us remember who we are, what matters, what we have survived, what we value, and where we might be going.

Some stories are useful.

“I am someone who cares about my work.”

“I am a decent psychologist.”

“I am a person who tries to be kind.”

“I have survived difficult things before.”

“I can learn slowly.”

“I do not have to be perfect to begin.”

These are still stories. They are not absolute truths carved into the side of a mountain by a committee of very wise goats. But they may be helpful stories. They may organise us toward values, responsibility, courage, tenderness, and action.

The problem is not that we have stories about ourselves.

The problem is when the story becomes a cage.

When “I am successful” becomes “I must never fail.”

When “I am strong” becomes “I must never need help.”

When “I am kind” becomes “I must never disappoint anyone.”

When “I am humble” becomes “I must never take up space.”

When “I am not my ego” becomes “I should become no one.”

That is not psychological flexibility.

That is just another rigid self-concept wearing nicer clothes.

Healthy ego is not arrogance

We need some form of ego.

Not the inflated kind. Not the brittle kind. Not the kind that enters every room needing a small parade. But a healthy ego. A basic sense of self. A functional “I” that can say, “I am here. I have something to offer. I can try. I can affect the world. I can be seen without needing to dominate.”

A healthy ego is what allows a person to say, “I am a decent psychologist. I think I can help you with what you are going through. Come speak to me.”

That is not arrogance. That is responsible self-trust.

Of course, if the person says, “I am the greatest psychologist alive and nobody understands the human soul except me,” then yes, please sit down. Have some water. Perhaps journal privately.

But the opposite is not healthy either.

The opposite might sound like, “I am no one. Don’t bother. Maybe I can help, maybe I cannot. I am not sure. Please do not expect anything from me. I do not want to take up space.”

That may sound humble to some people.

It is not confidence.

It is fear trying to look morally evolved.

A more grounded version might sound like this: “I do not know everything, but I have trained, I care, I can think with you, and I am willing to try.”

That is real confidence.

Not inflated, noterased, but grounded.

It knows its limits, but it does not use its limits as an excuse to disappear. It knows it can fail, but it does not treat failure as a final verdict on the self. It can receive feedback without turning into either a courtroom or a funeral. It can take responsibility without turning every mistake into proof of defectiveness.

That is a healthy ego.

Not “I am better than you.”

Not “I am nothing.”

Just:

“I can stand here and try.”

The goal is not ego death. It is ego maturity.

There is a kind of ego that needs to soften. Definitely.

The ego that cannot apologise. The ego that cannot listen. The ego that confuses being corrected with being humiliated. The ego that treats other people’s success as a personal insult. The ego that needs to be special because being ordinary feels unbearable. The ego that keeps turning life into a performance, every room into a ranking system, and every mistake into a threat.

That ego needs work.

Possibly a lot of work.

Possibly before it starts another podcast.

But there is also a collapsed ego that needs care.

The ego that says, “I am nobody.” The ego that says, “I should not want too much.” The ego that says, “Who am I to try?” The ego that says, “Better stay hidden.” The ego that says, “If I never attempt anything, I never have to find out whether I am disappointing.”

That ego does not need more killing.

It needs rebuilding.

Or perhaps more accurately, it needs maturing.

An immature ego says, “I must be better than others to be safe.”

A collapsed ego says, “I must become nothing to be safe.”

A mature ego says, “I can be myself without needing to be above or beneath anyone.”

That is the balance.

We do not need to worship the ego. That usually ends badly and sometimes results in a LinkedIn post about discipline. But we also do not need to murder it and call that healing. We need to develop a relationship with self that is light enough to question, strong enough to act, and kind enough to fail without disappearing.

What was your ego trying to protect?

Instead of asking, “How do I get rid of my ego?” we might ask a better question.

What was my ego trying to protect?

For some people, ego protects shame. For others, it protects fear, loneliness, humiliation, invisibility, helplessness, rejection, or the memory of being looked down on. Ego may have developed because a person once felt small and needed some way to stand up again. It may have been clumsy. It may have caused problems. It may have made the person defensive, competitive, overconfident, or unable to tolerate failure.

But it may also have kept them moving.

That was the important part with my client. His old ego was not something we needed to glorify. It had costs. It pushed too hard. It crashed. It made some things more painful than they needed to be.

But inside that ego was also an energy that said, “Try.”

There was a life-force there.

There was a part of him that had not yet surrendered his right to participate.

So the work was not to bring back the old ego.

The work was to rescue the confidence trapped inside it.

To separate the proving from the trying. To separate superiority from self-trust. To separate performance from participation. To separate “I must be special” from “I am allowed to begin.”

That distinction matters because many people punish the part of themselves that once carried them forward. They look back at their ambition, intensity, pride, fantasy, hunger, or desire and feel ashamed. They think, “I was so arrogant.”

Maybe they were, a little.

But maybe they were also trying to survive the feeling of being small.

The answer is not to become small again.

The answer is to become honest.

Confidence without performance

Real confidence is not the belief that everything will work out.

That is optimism, and depending on the plan, possibly mild delusion.

Real confidence is the belief that you can stay with yourself through what happens. You can try and be awkward. You can learn and be slow. You can fail and recover. You can be seen and survive not being admired. You can want something without making that desire proof that you are arrogant. You can make a mistake without turning it into your entire personality.

This kind of confidence is quieter, but it is much more durable.

It does not need you to be exceptional before you begin. It does not need you to be certain before you move. It does not need you to have the perfect identity, perfect plan, perfect readiness, perfect emotional state, or perfect healing timeline.

It lets you say:

“I do not know if this will work, but I can try.”
“I am not the best, but I can learn.”
“I am scared, but I can participate.”
“I have something to offer, even if I am still growing.”
“I can be humble without disappearing.”

This is the kind of confidence many people need. Not the loud motivational kind. Not the “believe in yourself and the universe will deliver” kind.

Please.

We have suffered enough.

I mean the ordinary, grounded confidence that lets a person leave the house, apply for the thing, make the call, attend the class, start again, ask for help, offer their work, speak in the room, or risk being seen.

Not because they are guaranteed to succeed.

Because their worth is no longer on trial every time they try.

A better way to hold the self

Maybe the goal is not to have no ego.

Maybe the goal is to hold the self more lightly.

Lightly enough that we can question our stories.

Strongly enough that we can still act.

Kindly enough that failure does not make us disappear.

That, to me, is the more useful path. Not ego inflation. Not ego death. Ego flexibility. Ego maturity. A self that can say, “This is who I think I am right now, but I am not trapped inside this story forever.” A self that can say, “I have strengths, and I also have limits.” A self that can say, “I want to do something meaningful with my life, and that does not make me arrogant.” A self that can say, “I do not have to be extraordinary to begin.”

For my client, the work was slow. It was not about giving him a motivational speech and sending him back into the world with a notebook and a dangerously high caffeine intake. It was about helping him find a steadier way to move. To build confidence that was not dependent on proving. To recover the part of him that could try, without returning to the part that needed to crash.

Because sometimes healing is not becoming smaller.

Sometimes healing is learning to take up space without needing to conquer the room.

Sometimes it is being able to say, with no grand performance attached: