Last year, I had a number of interactions that made me reflect deeply on the concept of emotional maturity: what it is, and why it seems to be so rare in a world that appears more reactive than ever. A brief glance at modern politics often feels like watching the inner children of powerful men in suits engage in territorial playground fights.
“This is mine, and I will not give it to you,” even if thousands of people lose their lives because of it.
“I am stronger than you are.” It often feels like a global version of little boys shouting “My dad is stronger than your dad” in a sandbox, except these are grown adults with access to armies, nuclear weapons, and immense political power.
Disturbingly, this behaviour is often admired. Perhaps this goes some way to explaining populism and the growing appeal of political parties that offer simplistic answers to complex problems. Why else would millions of people be drawn to leaders who display dominance, impulsivity, blame-shifting, grandiosity, and emotional reactivity on a near-daily basis?
I have noticed this tendency not only in politics, but also in far more ordinary personal and professional settings, particularly when mistakes are made. Last year, I moved into a new apartment and, within the first two weeks, the management company gave out my keys to contractors twice without my knowledge or consent. Although the company apologised after I lodged a formal complaint, the apology was accompanied by deflection, justification, and resistance to my request for a lock change. It was only after I researched the law and quoted it back to them that they relented.
What struck me was not the original mistake, but the apparent inability to simply acknowledge it fully, take responsibility, and make amends without defensiveness.
And that is what I have been reflecting on: why is it so difficult for so many of us to own our mistakes? Why do we so often justify them, defend ourselves, distract from them, or avoid the issue altogether? Why are we willing to damage good relationships rather than simply say: “I was wrong”?
I think that, as so often, the answer lies in unconscious conditioning. Some of it is personal, and some of it is collective. In Germany, for example, where I was born, I often feel that this defensiveness is cultural. Imagine starting (and losing) two world wars and carrying the historical weight of the Holocaust. That can create a profound collective guilt complex, one that can unconsciously condition an entire nation to respond to criticism with: “It wasn’t me.”
In Sicily, where my father is from, the defensiveness is different again. Pride and the concept of la bella figura (looking good in the eyes of others) play a major role in a culture that is often looked down upon and ridiculed by the rest of Italy. It seems to me that an island invaded and colonised repeatedly over centuries may naturally develop a stronger instinct to defend itself, not only physically, but emotionally too.
Then, of course, there is personal conditioning, too. If your parents or teachers punished you harshly for every perceived mistake, it may become much harder to admit fault later in life. Likewise, if vulnerability was repeatedly met with ridicule, humiliation, or rejection, defensiveness can become a survival strategy.
But sometimes, it is also simply a matter of entitlement. Some of the more difficult interactions I had lately were with men in positions of power. If somebody identifies strongly with status, authority, or professional prestige, it may genuinely not occur to them that they should apologise, reflect, or admit that another person was right, as in the case with the letting agents.
The more power people accumulate, the easier it can become to justify their own behaviour, deflect criticism, and surround themselves with environments in which accountability rarely exists. Apologising then may begin to feel less like maturity and more like humiliation.
The truth, however, is that authentic relationships become extremely difficult when emotional maturity is absent. Why? Because without it, we can so easily make a mess of our relationships. We interact from a mask rather than from our authentic selves. Every time we justify or deflect from a mistake we have made, the other person loses trust in us. Every time we avoid a difficult conversation, shut down emotionally, or distract ourselves instead of engaging honestly, we risk losing the people we care about. Instead of closeness, we create distance. And with that distance comes loneliness.
The question is: do we have the courage to look honestly at ourselves and the many ways we defend ourselves, not only from others, but also from ourselves? Because the tragic thing is that, very often, we lie to ourselves as well. Whenever the quiet voice of conscience tries to tell us that we were in the wrong, we tend to silence it with internal justifications, numbing, and distraction. In doing so, we do not even give ourselves the space to truly reflect.
And unfortunately, a society that values productivity above almost everything else often rewards this behaviour. People are expected to function, not reflect. Women are encouraged to be easy-going, pleasant, and nurturing; men, in turn, are expected to be productive, strong, successful, and emotionally contained.
But is this really the kind of society we want to live in?
I would say no.
Conversely, imagine a society in which children are taught from an early age how to:
- regulate difficult emotions without avoidance or aggression
- communicate honestly under stress
- tolerate vulnerability
- repair relational ruptures
- hold conflicting truths
- take accountability without collapsing into shame
How different might our relationships, politics, workplaces, and inner lives look then?
This is one of the reasons why I am currently studying restorative practice. At its core, it teaches people how to relate more authentically and compassionately, whilst still maintaining healthy boundaries. It also encourages the capacity to hold complexity and nuance, the understanding that two seemingly contradictory things can be true at the same time.
People often crave simplicity: good or bad, right or wrong, victim or villain. But human relationships are rarely that straightforward. Especially in love, truth is often layered, contradictory, and emotionally complex. And we can only begin to navigate that complexity through honest and sensitive communication.
And I would say that most of us still have a great deal of inner growing to do. Emotional maturity is often assumed to come automatically with age, education, status, spirituality, or professional success, when in reality it is a very specific inner capacity that many people never consciously cultivate.
Why? Because our society does not take it seriously enough. Because it is often “easier” to stay quiet and function. To avoid discomfort. To not make a fuss.
But the consequences are everywhere. Globally: wars, poverty, racism, polarisation. Personally: divorces, ruptured relationships, loneliness, misunderstandings, emotional disconnection.
So how do we start? As usual, with ourselves. Simply becoming aware of where we may still need to grow is already a step in the right direction. The desire for healthier, deeper, and more authentic relationships can be a powerful motivator. So can finding the courage to admit when we were wrong and witnessing how positively others often respond when we apologise without defensiveness or justification. And even recognising where we still lack that courage is a victory in itself.
Ultimately, I feel that it is about honesty. Being able to look at ourselves without flinching and seeing the beautiful, flawed, amazing, imperfect human being that we are. When we accept ourselves as we are, we can begin to grow without shame.
That is the complexity of holding a paradox: loving ourselves as we are, whilst also being willing to free ourselves from the conditioning that obscures our essence.
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