We are walking collections of choices we never made. A lifetime of conditioned likes, dislikes, and aversions, all layered on top of us like sediment—until we believe those layers are who we are. But how much of it is truth? And how much of it is ego, whispering its agenda in our ear?
I used to think I hated cottage cheese. Not just a mild distaste, but the kind of disgust that turns your stomach at the mere thought. If someone asked me, I’d say with certainty: I hate cottage cheese. No hesitation, no room for debate. And yet, when I searched my memory, I couldn’t recall a single time I had actually tasted it. Not once.
So where did that certainty come from?
I traced it back, peeling away the layers. And I found the moment. A person from my past—someone whose words had cut me, whose presence had left wounds I never knew I carried—had been eating cottage cheese when they said something that buried itself in my soul. My mind, in its desperate attempt to protect me, had made the connection. Hurt came with cottage cheese. Pain came with that smell, that texture, that moment.
And just like that, I avoided it. Year after year, meal after meal, without ever realizing that my rejection wasn’t about food—it was about survival.
That’s how identity works. That’s how the ego builds walls, brick by unnoticed brick, until we are trapped inside a house we never meant to live in. We walk through life certain of our tastes, our aversions, our fears, never realizing how many of them were shaped by moments we barely remember.
But here’s the truth: I love cottage cheese. I do now, anyway. When I finally tasted it—without the layer of old wounds, without the subconscious resistance—I found something I had been missing for years. And the realization motivated me.
How much else have I rejected without ever giving it a chance? How many doors have I bolted shut because of ghosts from my past? How many times have I let my ego dictate my reality, mistaking its protection for truth?
This is not just about food. It never was.
It’s about the countless ways we allow the past to shape the present without our permission. It’s about recognizing that our identity—our so-called truth—is often nothing more than a series of unchecked assumptions, built on a foundation of old pain.
So ask yourself: What do you believe about yourself that isn’t true?
Because the ego doesn’t just protect—it imprisons. It convinces you that your walls are freedom, that your limitations are choices. But they aren’t. They are leftovers from a past version of you that was just trying to survive.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to open the door.