by Anna Laskowska | Jan 27, 2026
The domain of human emotionality is vast and largely unexplored, much like the immensity of the ocean. This is what I discovered while diving deep into the hadal zone of suffering. The deeper I went, the more these hidden, unresolved fragments began to appear—often when I least expected them. It is precisely in those moments, while we are distracted by the physical aspects of life unfolding around us, that what truly affects us, lies beneath the surface, within us.
Some of that murky, previously unrecognized inner content tends to emerge from the sediments during—or after—long, deeply binding relationships.
How is it that someone who once felt like the one, the love of our life, can hurt us through betrayal and eventually leave? Where is the logic in that?
Through my own exploration, I began to notice that very often we enter relationships not because of genuine connection, but because of a convincing imitation of it—a series of illusions that closely resemble love, yet never truly are.
From what I have observed, we tend to be far more equipped for suffering than for intimacy. We may be capable of performing loving actions, yet as we move through life, we frequently carry vast amounts of unresolved inner layers—burdens we remain mostly unaware of as we move through relationships.
Another observation is this: when distress becomes activated, we are often left completely in the dark—unsure how to meet what has been stirred, or how to remain present as it rises.
Yet suffering itself can become a remarkable and valuable resource—if only we knew how to stay with it. We are deeply unfamiliar with how to be with our inner tension in a way that allows it to release. This sphere of existence, as I mentioned at the very beginning, feels frightening and unknown to us, and very few people are truly able to dive into the dark depths of their own inner world.
I recall vividly being immersed in the most excruciating psychological and physical rupture of my life. I was struck by how this ache spread into every crevice of my existence, disabling me and erasing any memory of what it felt like to live without the vast darkness pulling me under. It exposed a depth of suffering I could not even begin to put into words.
The intensity of what came into view made distraction impossible. There was no other option but to learn how to stay with what was being activated—and released—from within me.
In most cases, our first instinct is to neglect our hurt and run away from it. For many of us, though, it is only through necessity and persistent practice that we begin to learn how to stay present with the weight of what we are feeling.
When someone appears to be the cause of our misery, they are often only the crucial activator of what was already buried within us. That underlying wound may take on a particular face. It may come from an almost-relationship that never fully took shape, a bond that lasted only briefly, or a long-stretched marriage that ended abruptly. No matter the form, what was awakened was an avalanche of grief.
Whatever that experience is, it cannot be covered, replaced by another person, or escaped through distraction. It must be fully met and felt for its movement to complete—otherwise, it risks circling back endlessly, never truly healed. One of the clearest indications that this process has resolved is the quieting of the incessant thoughts once tied to its activator.
What often appears to be grief over a specific person is, in fact, something far more ancient and primordial than we tend to realize.
What I came to understand is that healing does not require us to escape from the depths. It asks us to remain there long enough for suffering to stop shaping and expressing itself through our relationships—so that the pressure can finally ease.
When the pain is fully met, it no longer calls us back through old memories, faces, or names. Bonds do not dissolve through forgetting or even instant forgiveness, but through completion.
And one day—without any active effort to fight, manage, or outrun those currents—something shifts. The ocean grows quiet. We are no longer drowning. We are no longer being pulled downward by the weight of unresolved suffering.
What once felt overwhelming settles. And in that stillness, life becomes possible again—without the burden we carried for so long.
by Anna Laskowska | Jan 12, 2026
I believe this will be one of the most important articles I write—one that contains essential information for anyone immersed in the dark night of the soul, or for those working with me on processing suffering and wounds. Here, I aim to describe the architecture of a wound: how it is constructed, how it protects itself, and what one might expect while dismantling it.
I wish that every awakening human being had this structure engraved within themselves. If only it were that simple—if healing depended solely on memorizing a framework. But it does not. This process does not rely on memorization; it relies on awareness. And awareness is precisely what becomes compromised once a person enters an emotional storm.
When overwhelm sets in, resistance emerges. It attempts to divert us from clarity and from direct contact with what is actually happening internally. This is why healing is never as simple as “knowing better,” even when the structure itself is intellectually understood.
It is within this context that wounds reveal their inner mechanics. Usually, when we are deeply entangled in a pattern, it unfolds in the following way: imagine that within you there is an energetic core. This core has its own protective intelligence (and within it, there are often multiple smaller, interconnected energetic patterns rather than a single, uniform structure). Thoughts are intrinsically connected to it, and the core generates thoughts associated with suffering—this is simply how the system operates.
What I will describe here is an exaggerated profile based on more difficult cases. The intensity and expression of this process vary from person to person, depending on their level of awareness. Still, internally, the same mechanism plays out in everyone—the difference lies in degree. I describe it in an amplified way for the sake of clarity.
Any thought that arises from suffering usually has a defense structure in place as it enters conscious awareness. A thought carrying negative energy often passes through a kind of internal security checkpoint, where it becomes encased in a reinforced protective shell whose sole function is to prevent that energy from being exposed. In the process of healing, before reaching the core of negative energy, this protective structure must first be broken down.
At this point, it is important to clarify the role of thought itself. Not all thought forms are ego-based, and I want to make this very clear. Some individuals in spiritual communities claim to live a thought-free life, as if that were the ultimate goal of enlightenment. What I am convinced of, at this stage of my journey—after surviving an excruciating dark night of the soul—is that we are not meant to eliminate thought altogether. We are meant to free ourselves from intrusive and insistent thoughts that are painful in nature and that keep us bound to destructive dynamics.
These intrusive thoughts are defended by ego structures operating through various defense mechanisms. They are not random; they are structured, patterned, and highly strategic. The ego functions as a protective organizer, employing a range of defenses to prevent exposure of what lies beneath. Below is a non-exhaustive list of commonly recognized ego defense mechanisms.
Ego defense mechanisms
- Denial — refusing to accept reality or facts
- Repression — unconsciously pushing painful thoughts or feelings out of awareness
- Suppression — consciously choosing not to think about something distressing
- Projection — attributing one’s own unacceptable feelings or traits to others
- Rationalization — creating logical explanations to justify uncomfortable behavior or feelings
- Intellectualization — avoiding emotional distress by focusing on facts or logic
- Displacement — redirecting emotions from a threatening target to a safer one
- Reaction formation — behaving in a way opposite to one’s true feelings
- Regression — reverting to behaviors from an earlier developmental stage
- Compartmentalization — separating conflicting thoughts, feelings, or emotions to avoid inner conflict
- Dissociation — disconnecting from thoughts, feelings, or reality under stress
- Avoidance — steering clear of situations, thoughts, or emotions that cause discomfort
- Sublimation — channeling difficult impulses into constructive or creative activities
- Humor — using wit to cope with discomfort without denying reality
- Anticipation — preparing emotionally for future challenges
- Altruism — dealing with stress by helping others
As unconscious material draws closer to awareness, these defenses often intensify. Usually, right before confronting any destructive pattern or energetic core, an individual may resort to verbal tactics or elaborate explanations in order to avoid exposure. The ones I have most commonly encountered in my experience are projection, scapegoating, blame, shaming, externalization, splitting, and moralization. In more severe cases, these defenses appear as an explosive and aggressive constellation, emerging just before one reaches the core of negative energy that needs to be dismantled.
This escalation typically occurs when someone is deeply unconscious and their access to emotions is strained. People often arrive at this point after enduring a great deal of hurt, without having any idea how to process negative emotions. In my opinion, many people struggle with genuine healing precisely because this dimension of our existence is largely ignored and therefore neglected. I myself could hardly believe this when I first became aware of it.
Because conscious access to emotions—due to a lack of understanding and adequate tools—is blocked, negativity becomes internalized. Over time, this can lead to existential depression, anxiety, or other chronic conditions.
The reason is simple: there is no release for the negative energies circulating within one’s being. What often accompanies these defense mechanisms is anger. Once confrontation takes place, a very violent outburst of anger may arise and, depending on the individual, may then transform into resentment—along with other intense emotional states such as sadness, hopelessness, blame, and humiliation, as reflected in David Hawkins’ scale of consciousness.
From what I have experienced, every single wound follows the same architecture. This is how they are constructed. For further clarification, I would compare these energetic cores to living entities—something that wants to survive. This is precisely why they develop such a protective shell.
Each energetic pattern is powerful, as it has the capacity to create a reality that is not benign. It always produces suffering in one form or another. As briefly and clearly as possible, I have described here what I consistently observed while going through the process of dismantling these energies.
Finally, I want to emphasize that these are not illusory concepts. Each energetic pattern creates a distinct paradigm in this world and can be clearly identified and named. That, however, is a subject for another post.
by Anna Laskowska | Jan 11, 2026
In this context, I use the word grace to describe cultivated behaviors and attitudes—the ways we learn to act, respond, and present ourselves in the world.
When I was younger, I believed that collecting certain attitudes and replicating noble behaviors would be enough to create a happy life. I thought that if I imitated specific reactions and kept my surroundings neat and organized, it would somehow propel me forward into the life I dreamed of.
There was nothing inherently wrong with the way I was trying to live. I valued order, organization, and what I understood as good attitudes and proper behavior. Yet even as I did my best to uphold them, my inner world grew increasingly turbulent, and outside circumstances began to arise that disrupted, stalled, or undermined what I was working to maintain.
Very soon, situations were no longer just external events; they became highly charged emotional experiences that shook me to my core. What also became evident was that these intense emotional surges interfered with my cognitive functioning and, at times, seemed to take over my life in very strange ways.
At first, it was difficult to manage the expectations of everyday, physical life while simultaneously trying to navigate something so powerful and deeply painful. It felt as though I had been abruptly awakened into an emotional realm I did not understand. Those years were hard to manage. At the time, I did not know how to help myself, so I carried everything inside me as best as I could, waiting for the violent sensations to subside—only for them to resurface again and again. In hindsight, it is now very clear to me what was truly happening.
In the past, whenever I felt overly stimulated, it was mostly just me, alone, trying to make sense of life as a whole. Today, I understand why certain stretches of time were preparing me for a prolonged period of facing intense, emotionally charged sensations that occupied my entire body. I spent years in arduous labor, confronting energetic patterns that disrupted the refined behaviors and attitudes I was so determined to uphold.
I eventually realized that building a good, peaceful, and meaningful life had to be done from the inside out. Although approaching it intellectually—forming concepts and trying to live by them—was not a mistake, it was never sufficient on its own. Still, it was a necessary step.
As I went deeper into inner work, it became clear that graceful actions alone were not enough; they needed to be infused with inner presence, so that a life can rest on and be sustained by a stable foundation.
