Recently, an old friend shared with me that he had been reflecting on what personal growth actually means. “Where does something develop from, and in which direction? How much can people really change? Is there an unchangeable core to a person, or is everything up for negotiation? Change surely cannot be an end in itself. Away from suffering?”
He continued by telling me that he had just been with a group of people he had not seen in many years. Yet, whatever life had put them through, their attitudes and fundamental character traits were still clearly identifiable.
I thought that this was a really interesting observation. How much can people really change? Is it true that “a leopard never changes its spots”? And if people can indeed change and grow, why do so few actually do so? What are the ingredients needed for lasting transformation?
Mystical texts such as the Bible or Hindu and Buddhist scriptures are full of remarkable transformations. There is Saul, who became the Apostle Paul (though he seemingly remained a misogynist, so the transformation cannot have been entirely complete); there is Jetsun Milarepa, a vengeful sorcerer and murderer who transformed into one of Tibet’s most revered yogis and spiritual poets after meeting his guru, Marpa. And in India, there are countless stories of even the worst criminals changing through their association with a sadhu, a holy man or woman.
More recently, here in the UK, there is the example of Bishop Mick Fleming, once a violent drug dealer and debt collector, who experienced a spontaneous and profound transformation after a vision and a subsequent breakdown forced him to confront his painful childhood trauma. Today, he leads the Church on the Street ministry in Burnley, helping countless people in need.
Examples such as these show us that even the most dramatic transformations are possible when there is a moment of clarity. But does it always have to be through divine intervention? I think not. More often, people change their ways after a serious illness, the death of someone close, a divorce, or when they finally realise that the way they have been living hurts and pushes other people away.
My own experience confirms this. In my case, it was a brief but dramatic relationship in my early thirties that ripped away many of the defences I had built around myself and forced me to confront childhood trauma I had repressed for much of my life. That was the beginning of a transformation that continues to this day, one that has gradually become more joyful and light rather than painful and heavy.
But back to my friend’s reflections. I responded that, to me, growth is essentially about evolution, and therefore change is, to some extent, an end in itself. The way I understand it, there is an unchangeable core within each of us: our pure essence. Over the course of our lives, however, this core can become covered up and obscured through conditioning, life experiences, and psychological and emotional wounding such as abuse or loss. And therefore, the construct we call personality is perhaps only a collection of adaptations that no longer align with who we really are. They are protective mechanisms, developed for good reasons, but they also cover up something essential.
And what do they cover up, apart from our pure essence? Very often, it is shame – the belief that we are not good or lovable enough because someone or something early on made us feel that way. It is painful memories, such as in the case of Bishop Mick. It is cultural conditioning. It can be so many things.
We therefore construct a false self that covers up precisely that which we don’t want to face or acknowledge within ourselves. Over time, this becomes a massive blind spot. We overcompensate with externals such as money, status, achievements, and so on, all to avoid feeling this painful inadequacy. Often, we are not even aware that we are doing it, because a blind spot is precisely that: blind.
It frequently seems as though many people are content to remain within their character constructs, playing the victim of other people or circumstances. But I don’t actually think that’s the case. My point is reflected in the growing number of mental health crises, burnouts, suicides, addictions, and endless distractions. These are generally forms of numbing, compensatory mechanisms designed to make the unbearable somehow bearable. And what is unbearable? The knowledge, often buried far beneath our conscious awareness, that our true nature longs to live an entirely different life.
But here is the difficult question: If we are not even aware that we are imprisoned, then how can we become free?
I think the first step is to develop the ability to receive constructive feedback from others. Very often, other people see our blind spots far more clearly than we see them ourselves. If, however, we become defensive and shut down whenever a friend or colleague points something out to us, there is little chance for growth. As the Persian poet Rumi wrote: “Don’t look for new ways to flee across the chessboard. Listen to hear checkmate spoken directly to you.”
Over the course of my life, I have learned to receive feedback, and even criticism, as a great gift. Once I can see something, I can transform it and become freer once again.
The second, and this naturally follows from the first, is to develop some self-awareness. We need to become able to look at ourselves clearly, and we need to learn to withstand what we see, even when it is not flattering. Even when it brings up shame, regret, anger, discomfort, and all the other dark emotions. We need to stop running away from our reflection in the mirror, even if, at first, we see a monster.
What has personally helped me a lot is going on regular silent meditation retreats. I remember one in particular, in 2016, on the Big Island of Hawai’i. I was alone on a beautiful piece of land, doing my spiritual practices in silence for ten days. The overarching theme that emerged during this retreat was how I had hurt other people through my behaviour, even when it had been unconscious. Memory after memory surfaced, many of them excruciatingly uncomfortable. But I made myself sit with them and feel them without any distraction whatsoever. After those ten days, I emerged renewed, more humble, clearer, and more reflective. I even made amends.
And that, attaining self-awareness and the ability to see ourselves clearly, is, to me, one of the greatest gifts of spiritual and therapeutic practices. They weaken our ego defences and bring us back to our true nature. And when we are connected with our essence rather than our false self, we naturally suffer less.
So, can people really change? Yes, absolutely. But in most cases, there has to be a catalyst. Sometimes, that catalyst arrives in the form of a person who challenges, or even dismantles, our defences by seeing through them. At other times, it may come through a divinely inspired change of heart, as in the case of Bishop Mick or Milarepa.
For many of us, though, growth does not simply arrive by itself. It is a matter of choice. We have to actively want to grow and realign with our true selves. And this work requires time, commitment, and effort because it is uncomfortable, inconvenient, and disruptive. But the rewards – a return to our essence and our hearts – far outweigh the cost.
You might be interested in reading a related post called “The Issues Are In The Tissues” on my blog Nachiketa’s Quest
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