My Ex Was Evil—and He Was Me:

How My Breakup Led to Powerful Shadow Work

For the last six months, I’ve had recurring dreams about my most recent ex, who broke up with me out of the blue after returning from a three-week surf trip to Indonesia. Shortly after his return, he announced, “I’ve gone off my meds, and now that I don’t want to do drugs (he had been a coke addict before we met) or take psychiatric medication anymore, I need to be alone.” Just days earlier, we’d been looking at apartments together and planning an intimate Thanksgiving trip to Mexico. I was utterly shocked by his sudden change of plans.

Since then, I’ve repeatedly dreamt about the breakup, almost nightly tormented by this person who deeply hurt me. Each dream varies slightly, yet his cruel and bizarre actions remain consistent—such as deliberately buying a pack of cigarettes and chain-smoking during the breakup (even though he didn’t smoke), purely to upset me. Or the surreal moment when, as I was attempting to calm myself with a bath before driving the hour-and-a-half journey home, he suddenly barged into the bathroom, crying, and climbed into the bath with me. For a moment, I felt hopeful, believing perhaps he regretted breaking up—only for him to confess that he was crying because although he wouldn’t miss me, he would deeply miss my dog, whom he described as “the only thing he’s ever loved.”

I’ve recorded the dreams connected to that day, as well as earlier instances of his disturbing behavior, sensing they demanded witnessing. After the most recent dream, I simply wrote, “He is evil.”

I wanted to understand why I kept reliving this trauma in my sleep. Then, a crucial realization struck me: my subconscious persisted because it was urgently trying to show me something I’d missed. In these dreams, my ex symbolizes hidden aspects of myself. The selfish, angry, destructive, superior, yet powerful figure he embodies represents my own untapped potential, demanding to break through the surface. It wants me to grow.

This doesn’t diminish the reality of the pain he inflicted, but the dreams know I already understand that. Instead, they’re guiding me into authentic shadow work—far beyond simply accepting imperfections. By suppressing my darker traits, I’ve lost touch with their strength. Only by openly acknowledging and integrating these hidden aspects can I positively channel them into my life.

If you know me, you might protest, “No, you’re the opposite of those qualities.” And you’d also be right. I am generous, calm, creative, humble, and vulnerable.

Yet for the first time, I’m genuinely grasping the yin and yang of my inner being. To fully bloom, I must embrace what it means to be wholly human, acknowledging both darkness and light. Only then can I transcend victimhood and connect with the powerful perpetrator within.

Like the dark goddess Kali—a Hindu deity symbolizing destruction and transformation—I can sever patterns I no longer want and forge new paths. I can wield her sword and shield, protecting myself from needless pain.

Accepting all aspects of my inner self—the beautiful and the ugly—creates genuine peace. From this place, neurosis loosens its grip. I move forward knowing life will oscillate between comfort and struggle, yet I can trust my internal landscape is exactly as it should be. No aggressive pruning needed—just conscious nurturing and embracing all that exists within.

Before this realization, I thought I’d engaged in shadow work, but I’d never fully owned these buried parts of myself. They were inaccessible because I’d been taught to suppress darkness, causing it to erupt unpredictably, like a volcano, only surfacing explosively within intimate relationships.

But something has shifted.

I’m no longer attached to being the innocent victim. I’m an adult now, and recognizing myself as a powerful perpetrator restores my agency—returning the tools of cultivation firmly to my hands.