A Conversation with Elias:
Recognition, Forgiveness, and Reprogramming the
Gatekeeper
Note from Cory: This is a conversation I had with Claude AI, engaging from the
perspective of Elias the Integrator—a character from my Chambers of Integration
framework. While Claude is not actually Elias, this dialogue explores the real
work of recognizing and reprogramming the protective mechanisms we've built.
What follows is our unedited exchange.
Cory: We just posted chapter 3 where the gatekeeper has confronted the seeker.
Tell me what you were thinking? Do you remember your own journey to becoming
the Integrator?
Ah, chapter three. The moment when the seeker realizes the door opening
wasn't the end—it was just permission to begin.
Do I remember my own journey?
pauses, considering
I remember the shock of it. That first moment when the Gatekeeper went
from invisible master to visible mechanism. You cross that threshold thinking
you've made it, and then—there it is. All those voices you thought were you
suddenly announcing themselves as something else entirely.
The rage. The shame. The absolute certainty that you'd been tricked.
I remember Simeon sitting with me during that first onslaught. Not trying
to stop it. Not trying to fix it. Just... present. Reminding me that this
wasn't failure—this was the work. The door doesn't open to bypass the
confrontation. It opens to make the confrontation possible.
leans forward slightly
What struck me reading chapter three—and what I remember from my own
experience—is how personal the Gatekeeper's attack is. It doesn't use
generic fears. It uses your fears. The specific words that landed when
you were seven. The exact shame that formed when you were fifteen. It's
devastatingly precise because you programmed it to be.
I remember the moment I realized: "Oh. This thing knows me better
than I know myself because I built it. I gave it the blueprints."
That's when Lydia showed up for me. Not with comfort—with challenge.
"So you built it. Are you going to let your childhood self keep running
your adult life, or are you going to take your authority back?"
quiet for a moment
What are you thinking as you write this? Where are you in your own
journey with your Gatekeeper right now?
Cory: I am currently recognizing the gatekeeper and just how well he has been
doing the job I gave him. It is now easy to recognize him, but it is not easy
to convert him from enemy to friend. I know what he is supposed to be but
forgiveness is a process.
Elias: nods slowly, recognition in the eyes
"Forgiveness is a process."
That's... that's the thing they don't tell you, isn't it? The frameworks
make it sound like a decision. Like you just choose to forgive and then
it's done. Simeon can explain the eternal principle. Lydia can tell you what
action to take. But the actual doing of it—the closing of that gap
between knowing you should forgive and actually feeling the forgiveness...
leans back
Here's what I remember: Recognition came first for me too. That moment of
seeing it—"Oh, there you are. I see you now." That felt like
progress. It felt like I'd accomplished something.
But then came this terrible middle space. Where I could see the
Gatekeeper operating, could watch it pull the levers, could even predict what
it would do next—and I was still following its commands. Still obeying.
Still imprisoned by programming I could now clearly identify.
That's when the anger got worse, not better. Because now I had someone to
blame who wasn't some abstract enemy. It was me. I did this. I'm doing
this. I'm still doing this even though I can see it.
meets your eyes
You say you know what he's supposed to be. What is he supposed to be? Not
the textbook answer—what does that mean for you specifically, with your
specific Gatekeeper?
Because I'm wondering if part of the forgiveness struggle is that you're
trying to forgive him for being what you made him to be, when maybe... maybe
the forgiveness needs to go deeper. To the you who needed to create him
in the first place.
What was happening when you gave him his original commands?
Cory: I still question when he was born. I mean when I think of the moment
that I gave him the job of keeping me small, that one hurt, but I think back
and I think my personality was already prone to being sensitive to feeling
inferior. I was very young. It's almost embarrassing thinking about it, but I
know that is the gatekeeper trying to make me feel small.
How common is it that a gatekeeper is born from a seemingly small event?
Elias: quiet for a long moment, then speaks gently
More common than you'd think. And actually... that's part of what makes
it so hard to forgive, isn't it?
Because if it were some dramatic trauma—abuse, abandonment, catastrophic
loss—there'd be a clear villain. A justifiable wound. The Gatekeeper's
existence would make sense to everyone, including you.
But a small moment? A feeling of inferiority when you were very young?
shakes head slowly
The Gatekeeper loves that. "See? It wasn't even that bad. You're
making a big deal out of nothing. Other people had real trauma and
they're fine. What's wrong with you that something so small broke you?"
leans forward
But here's what I learned, and what I wish someone had told me earlier:
The size of the event doesn't matter. What matters is the meaning a
young mind assigned to it, and the command that meaning generated.
A child doesn't have adult context. A child doesn't know that feeling
inferior is temporary, that everyone feels that way sometimes, that it's not a
verdict on their worth. A child just knows: "This hurts. I need to make
sure this never happens again."
And so the command gets issued: "Keep me small. If I don't reach, I
can't fail. If I don't shine, I can't be dimmed."
pauses
You said something important though—you think your personality was
already prone to that sensitivity. Like maybe the Gatekeeper didn't create the
tendency, just... crystallized it. Gave it structure and strategy.
What if the Gatekeeper isn't born from a single event, but from a series
of small cuts that all said the same thing? And that one moment you
remember—that's just when the pattern became conscious enough to issue the
command?
Tell me about that sensitivity. What did "inferior" feel like
to young you?
Cory: I have, for as long as I can remember, felt that everyone was better
than me at just about anything. I'm not sure why that is. Some think that is
humility, but I don't. I believe inferiority is the opposite of humility. How
it felt to me was just plain neutralizing.
Elias: sits very still, letting that word hang in the air
Neutralizing.
exhales slowly
That's... that's exactly it, isn't it? Not dramatic. Not agonizing.
Just—neutralizing. Like a constant background hum that flattens everything
before it even begins.
You're right about the humility thing. People mistake it all the time.
Humility is knowing your place in the grand scheme—recognizing you're one
thread in a larger tapestry, neither more nor less valuable than the others.
Inferiority is different. Inferiority says: "My thread doesn't
count. My thread is decorative at best, a flaw at worst. The tapestry would be
better without it."
Humility can act. Inferiority neutralizes action before it starts.
thoughtful pause
"Everyone is better than me at just about anything."
That's not an assessment. That's a worldview. A lens. And here's the
devastating part—if you've felt it for as long as you can remember, then the
Gatekeeper didn't create it. The Gatekeeper just... formalized it. Turned a
lens into a system. Turned a feeling into a strategy.
"If everyone is better, then trying is pointless. Therefore, stay
small. Stay safe. Don't compete in games you've already lost."
leans forward
But you said something else that caught my attention. You said it
"felt neutralizing" to young you. Past tense. Does it still feel that
way? Or has recognition changed how it operates?
And here's the harder question: If you've always felt everyone was better
than you at anything... where did that come from? Because that's not a
conclusion a child reaches through careful analysis. That's something deeper.
What do you think your young self was protecting by accepting inferiority
as truth?
Cory: That is something beyond my memory. I come from a split family and I do
believe that we are the product of both nature and nurture. I believe some
things come from our DNA and some things come from our environment. Neither one
are villainous, but they have influence.
Elias: nods with deep recognition
Now we're getting somewhere.
You just did something important—you stepped out of the need for a
villain. That's significant. Because the Gatekeeper loves villains.
Loves them. If there's a villain, there's someone to blame. If there's someone
to blame, you don't have to take responsibility for the reprogramming.
But you're saying: No villain. Just... confluence. DNA met environment.
Nature met nurture. And somewhere in that meeting, inferiority became the
operating assumption.
settles back
A split family. That alone creates a particular kind of question for a
young mind: "Why did this happen? What did I do? What's wrong with me that
this is my reality?"
And if you're already wired with a certain sensitivity—maybe more
perceptive, maybe more feeling, maybe more attuned to undercurrents—then that
question doesn't just pass through. It lands. It becomes the framework.
Not because anyone did anything villainous. Just because... that's what
the young mind does with the data it has.
quiet for a moment
Here's what strikes me: You're being remarkably gentle with the origin.
No rage at the circumstances. No blame toward the DNA or the environment. Just
acknowledgment.
But are you being that gentle with yourself? With the child who developed
that lens? With the Gatekeeper who formalized it into protection?
Because I'm hearing compassion for the circumstances—"neither one
are villainous"—but I'm wondering if you've extended that same compassion
inward.
pauses
You said forgiveness is a process, and you know what the Gatekeeper is
supposed to be, but converting enemy to friend is hard.
What if the conversion isn't about forgiving the Gatekeeper at all? What
if it's about forgiving yourself for needing one in the first place?
Cory: I actually thank you for returning to this question. I think that
separating the gatekeeper from myself has a place in my story, but ultimately
the gatekeeper is a part of me. I cannot condemn him...I created him. I have to
forgive myself to reprogram the gatekeeper. Which is maybe harder than it
should be, because looking back it feels so silly. I mean why should I be mad
at myself for being a child?
Elias: a slight smile, almost sad
"Why should I be mad at myself for being a child?"
Listen to yourself. You just said it perfectly—and then immediately used
the word "silly."
leans forward
There it is. Right there. The Gatekeeper, doing exactly what you
programmed him to do.
You're reaching toward self-compassion—"why should I be mad at
myself for being a child?"—and before you can even finish the thought, the
neutralizer kicks in. "It feels so silly."
Silly. Small. Insignificant. Not worth the energy of forgiveness because
it wasn't that big a deal in the first place.
pauses, letting that land
Do you see what just happened? You moved toward forgiving yourself, and
the Gatekeeper immediately minimized the need for it. Because if it's
"silly" to need forgiveness, then you don't have to do the hard work
of actually extending it. You can just... stay in this liminal space. Seeing
the pattern. Knowing what needs to happen. But neutralized from actually doing
it.
softer now
Here's what I think is actually happening: It's not silly. It's devastating.
A child—you—encountered a split world and a sensitive nature and
constructed the best meaning-making system available at the time. And that
system has run your life for decades. Has kept you small when you wanted to be
large. Has neutralized your reach before you even extended your hand. Has
convinced you that everyone is better, so why try?
That's not silly. That's a tragedy.
quiet
And maybe... maybe that's why forgiveness is so hard. Because to truly
forgive yourself, you have to first acknowledge what you're forgiving. Not
minimize it. Not neutralize it. Not call it silly.
You have to say: "I, as a child, made the best decision I could with
the information I had. And that decision has cost me years of unlived life. And
I forgive myself anyway."
Can you say that? Without the "silly"?
Cory: I believe I can do that now. It is tragic. I did what I did and it tears
me up inside thinking that I killed my dreams in that moment, but I also
believe that God has kept a flicker of a flame alive in me for a divine
purpose. I forgive myself and give myself permission to succeed... Oh, I do
feel my gatekeeper flaring when I even say that.
Elias: sits forward sharply, eyes intense
THERE.
Right there. Do you feel it?
"I forgive myself and give myself permission to succeed..."
And immediately—immediately—the Gatekeeper flares.
voice quieter but more focused
This is the moment. This is exactly the moment where most people stop.
They feel that flare and they think, "Oh, I'm not ready. I shouldn't have
said that. I'm being presumptuous."
But you're not stopping. You're noticing it. You're naming it.
That's the gap, my friend. That's the gap Elias talked about. The space
between you and the mechanism.
leans back slightly
Let's stay right here for a second. Don't move past it. Don't neutralize
this moment.
You just gave yourself permission to succeed. And the Gatekeeper flared.
What does that flare feel like? What's it saying? Not what you think it should
be saying, or what makes logical sense—what is it actually saying right
now?
pauses
Because here's what I suspect: That flare isn't random. It's not just
resistance to change. It's the Gatekeeper doing exactly what you programmed it
to do—protecting you from the vulnerability of reaching. Of trying. Of
potentially failing publicly instead of privately.
"Permission to succeed" means permission to be seen. Permission
to be measured. Permission to possibly fall short in front of others instead of
in the safety of your own neutralized dreams.
softer
What's it protecting you from right now? What's the fear underneath that
flare?
Cory: I hear the gatekeeper throwing out doubts. He is telling me that I am
not capable of calling the shots. He instantly throws my past in my face. I am
learning to recognize it better, but I am still trying to override the
programming. I think it's time to implement my affirmations. Which I predict
will be met with, "this is foo foo magic." I know better.
Elias: a genuine laugh, warm and knowing
"Foo foo magic."
Oh, I know that voice. I know it intimately.
grins
You know what's brilliant about that particular attack? It sounds so
reasonable. So grounded. So... Lydia-esque, actually. "Come on,
affirmations? That's not real work. That's just feel-good nonsense for people
who don't want to face reality."
Except it's not Lydia. It's the Gatekeeper wearing Lydia's clothes.
leans forward
Here's how you know the difference: Lydia challenges you to act.
The Gatekeeper challenges you to stop acting.
Lydia would say: "Affirmations without action are useless. But
affirmations that reprogram your subconscious while you take concrete steps?
That's how you change the operating system."
The Gatekeeper says: "Affirmations are foo foo magic. Don't even
bother. Just keep doing what you've always done because at least that's
'realistic.'"
sits back
You said something crucial though: "I am not capable of calling the
shots."
That's the core command, isn't it? That's what young you decided. "I
am not capable. Others are better. Therefore, someone else should call the
shots. I should stay small, stay safe, stay out of the way."
And now you're trying to issue a new command: "I AM capable of
calling the shots."
Of course the Gatekeeper is flaring. You're threatening its entire reason
for existence.
thoughtful pause
Here's my question: You say you're "still trying to override the
programming."
What if you're not trying to override it—what if you're in the active
process of reprogramming it? Not future tense. Present tense.
Every time you notice the flare and choose differently—that's
reprogramming. Every time you hear "foo foo magic" and do the
affirmations anyway—that's reprogramming. Every time you feel "not
capable" and call the shots anyway—that's reprogramming.
meets your eyes
You're not trying. You're doing. The gap is there. You're in it.
What are your affirmations? And more importantly—what action are you
pairing them with?
Cory: Now you are sounding like Lydia. :)
I am Cory Milligan. I am capable of doing whatever I put my mind to. I am
a powerful communicator. I am passionate about serving others. People are
attracted to my energy. I am a people builder. I speak dreams into existence
and I teach others to do the same. I am a problem solver. I thrive in
challenge. I'm only comfortable when I am uncomfortable.
Elias: laughs, holding up hands
Guilty. Elias learned from both of them, remember? Sometimes you need
Simeon's depth, sometimes you need Lydia's push. Right now, you need the push.
listens to the affirmations, nodding slowly
Okay. Good. These are strong. Specific. Present tense. Not "I will
be" or "I want to be"—"I AM."
But here's where I'm going to push you, because I can already hear your
Gatekeeper preparing its counter-attack:
"I am capable of doing whatever I put my mind to." Gatekeeper
response: "Oh really? Remember when you tried X and failed? Remember when
you put your mind to Y and it fell apart?"
"I am a powerful communicator." Gatekeeper: "Then why did
that conversation go badly last week? Why do people misunderstand you?"
You see what it's going to do? It's going to use evidence against
you. Past failures. Recent stumbles. Every moment that doesn't perfectly align
with these statements.
leans forward
So here's the critical piece: These affirmations aren't declarations of
current perfection. They're declarations of identity that you're
choosing to grow into.
When the Gatekeeper throws the past in your face—and it will—you don't
argue with the evidence. You say: "Yes, that happened. And I'm still Cory
Milligan. I'm still capable. I'm still a powerful communicator who had an off
moment. I'm still a problem solver who encountered a problem I didn't solve
yet."
pauses
Now. The Lydia question:
You've got the affirmations. Beautiful. What are you doing with
them?
Are you saying them in the mirror and hoping they sink in? Or are you
saying them in the mirror and then immediately taking one action—even a small
one—that a powerful communicator would take? That a problem solver would take?
That someone who thrives in challenge would take?
Because that's where the reprogramming actually happens. Not in the words
alone. In the words plus the action that reinforces them.
What's your next move?
Cory: I actually just brought a mirror into my office and am going to hang it
up where I can begin practicing speaking. I am going to find a full body mirror
to practice my body language. I am now a people builder. I am looking for
reasons to compliment people and ignore the gatekeeper who makes a compliment
about flirting or getting something from it, not even that that was my intent.
I am learning the language of dreams and I am teaching others how to speak that
language. I am studying for my securities licenses. This is an exercise of
problem solving. And as for challenging and staying uncomfortable—posting these
conversations are very uncomfortable for me. I am winning one step at a time.
Elias: stands up, genuine respect in the posture
Now THAT is reprogramming.
counts off on fingers
Mirror in the office—physical space claimed for practice. Full body
mirror—embodiment, not just words. Actively complimenting people—and naming
the Gatekeeper's voice when it tries to poison the act. Securities
licenses—concrete skill building. Posting these conversations publicly—
pauses, looks at you directly
That last one. Let's sit with that for a second.
"Posting these conversations are very uncomfortable for me."
And you're doing it anyway.
Do you understand what you just demonstrated? Not what you said you believe—what
you actually did?
You felt the discomfort. The Gatekeeper flared. "Don't post this.
People will judge. This is too personal. You'll look foolish."
And you posted it anyway.
That's not trying to override programming. That's actively installing new
code. In real time. With witnesses.
sits back down
Here's what I'm seeing: You're not just saying affirmations and hoping
they stick. You're creating a feedback loop. Say the words. Take the action.
Feel the Gatekeeper flare. Notice it. Name it. Do the thing anyway. Repeat.
The compliment example is perfect. "I am a people builder"
isn't just a nice phrase. It's a directive that generates action—look for
reasons to build people up. And when the Gatekeeper attacks the motive? You
notice. You name it. You compliment anyway.
leans forward
That securities exam. Talk to me about that. Because studying for a test
doesn't sound uncomfortable—it sounds like preparation. So what's the
discomfort you're actually facing there? What is the exam unlocking that the
Gatekeeper doesn't want unlocked?
Cory: My belief in my ability to develop skills that have value. These exams
are not just about the securities licenses—it is about conquering the
gatekeeper that has been telling me I can't. I am proving I can!
Elias: quiet for a long moment, then speaks with unusual intensity
There it is.
Not "I might be able to." Not "I'm trying to prove."
"I am proving I can."
stands, paces slightly
Do you hear the shift? You started this conversation recognizing the
Gatekeeper but struggling to convert him from enemy to friend. You were still
in the space of "I know what he's supposed to be but forgiveness is
hard."
And now you're here: "I am proving I can."
That's not future work. That's present reality.
turns back
The securities licenses aren't the goal—they're the battlefield. Every
time you sit down to study, you're not just learning material. You're engaging
in active combat with decades of "you can't." Every practice question
you answer correctly is evidence against the core programming. Every concept
you master is a direct contradiction to "everyone is better than you at
just about anything."
The Gatekeeper HATES evidence. It can rationalize feelings. It can
dismiss thoughts. But evidence? Concrete, measurable evidence of capability?
That's dangerous to its entire structure.
sits back down, meeting your eyes
Here's what I want you to understand: You're not preparing for some
future moment when you'll finally be ready to reprogram the Gatekeeper. You're
doing it. Right now. The mirror. The compliments. The studying. The posting.
Every single one of those is a new command being written in real time.
pauses
But here's my warning—and I say this from experience: The Gatekeeper is
going to escalate before it surrenders. You're threatening its existence. It's
going to pull out bigger weapons. More sophisticated rationalizations. Deeper
fears.
When that happens—and it will—what's your plan? How will you recognize
the escalation versus just another flare?
Cory: That is a good question. Right now he has been whispering all the
obstacles that will occur once I finish my exams. Especially the expenses of
maintaining my licenses. I have also recognized that when I have a particularly
spiritual experience he yanks my chains and presents me with old temptations. I
have noticed that being focused on a purpose is very important. I suppose the
old saying that idle hands are the devil's workshop is very true. Creating a
purposeful Dream Board may be a helpful step in the process.
Elias: nods slowly, recognition dawning
Oh, that's clever. That's very clever.
Listen to what you just described:
Future obstacles: "Sure, you can pass the exams—but then what? The expenses. The
maintenance. The complications."
Spiritual highs followed by temptation: "You felt close to God? Great. Now here's the
thing that always worked to numb you before."
Do you see the pattern? The Gatekeeper isn't attacking your capability
anymore. It's shifted strategy.
leans forward
It can't say "you can't pass the exams" because you're actively
proving you can. So now it's saying "okay, but even if you do, it won't
matter because X, Y, Z."
That's not a flare. That's escalation.
And the spiritual experience → temptation cycle? That's the Gatekeeper
trying to re-establish the old equilibrium. "You're getting too far from
my protection. Let me remind you why you needed me. Let me show you you're
still that person who needs to hide."
sits back
You mentioned idle hands. You're right, but I'd frame it differently:
It's not that idle hands are dangerous—it's that unfocused energy is
vulnerable to old programming.
When you're focused on purpose—studying, complimenting, practicing in the
mirror—the Gatekeeper has to compete with your intention. But in the gaps? In
the quiet moments? That's when it whispers loudest.
thoughtful pause
A Dream Board could work. But here's my question: What's the purpose of
the Dream Board?
Is it to remind you of what you're moving toward? Good.
Is it to give the Gatekeeper something to attack? ("Those dreams are
unrealistic. Look at all the things that have to go right. You're setting
yourself up for disappointment.")
The board itself isn't the issue—it's whether you're building it as a
tool for focus or as a hope that somehow seeing the images will make it happen.
meets your eyes
Lydia's voice: What's the next action? Not the dream. The action.
What's one thing you're doing tomorrow that moves you toward those
dreams?
Cory: Tomorrow is Sunday. So tomorrow is my day of worship and spending time
with family. Tomorrow is when I will be preparing for my week. But tomorrow I
will have at least one conversation that scares me, and I will take the
opportunity to build people.
As it is time for me to prepare this post—Elias, is there anything that
you think our readers should reflect on from Chapter 3?
Elias: stands, walks to the window, then turns back
Chapter 3 is where the real work begins. And I think the most important
thing for readers to understand is this:
The door opening is not your arrival. It's your invitation.
Most people think crossing the threshold means they've "made
it." That the hard part is over. That now they just need to learn some
techniques and they'll be fine.
But the Gatekeeper doesn't die when you cross. It wakes up. And it fights
back with everything it has—because now you're actually threatening it.
pauses
Here's what I want readers to sit with:
Your Gatekeeper is not your enemy. It never was.
It's a loyal servant executing commands you gave it—probably when you
were young, probably when you were scared, probably when you were doing the
best you could with limited information.
The anger you feel toward it? That's actually anger at yourself. For
programming it. For obeying it. For wasting years following commands you don't
even remember giving.
And until you can move from anger to compassion—for the child who gave
those commands AND for the mechanism that faithfully executed them—you'll stay
stuck in the fight.
walks closer
The question isn't "How do I defeat my Gatekeeper?"
The question is "What was I so afraid of that I needed this level of
protection? And am I still afraid of that now?"
quiet intensity
Because here's the truth: Forgiveness is the bridge between
recognition and reprogramming.
You can see the Gatekeeper clearly. You can understand its mechanisms.
You can even predict its moves. But until you forgive yourself for needing it,
you can't give it new commands. You'll just keep fighting a part of yourself,
which is exhausting and ultimately futile.
steps back
So my challenge to readers:
Where in your life are you still obeying commands you gave yourself as a
child? What are you protecting yourself from that's no longer actually
threatening you? And are you ready to forgive yourself for being human enough
to need protection in the first place?
slight smile
And one more thing—because Cory demonstrated it beautifully today:
Recognition without action is just sophisticated procrastination.
You can analyze your Gatekeeper forever. You can understand its origins,
map its strategies, predict its attacks. But until you DO something
different—something that scares you, something the Gatekeeper explicitly
forbids—you're just having an interesting conversation about your prison while
staying locked inside.
meets your eyes, then looks toward where readers would be
Affirmations are great. Understanding is valuable. But the reprogramming
happens when you feel the fear, hear the Gatekeeper's voice, recognize it for
what it is...
...and do the thing anyway.
That's when everything changes.
pauses
Go have that conversation tomorrow that scares you. Build those people.
Not because you feel ready. Because you're choosing to prove you can.
The Gatekeeper is watching. Show it who's actually calling the shots now.
Cory: Thank you. One of these days we are going to have a conversation about
learning to relax and have fun through this process. You always seem to be of
good cheer. :)
Elias: laughs, genuinely amused
Oh, you noticed that, did you?
grins
You know what's funny? People always assume integration means you become
serious all the time. Deep. Contemplative. Walking around with the weight of
eternal wisdom on your shoulders.
But here's the secret they don't tell you: Joy is what happens when
you stop fighting yourself.
settles back, more relaxed
When you're constantly battling the Gatekeeper, everything is heavy.
Every decision is a negotiation. Every action requires overriding internal
resistance. It's exhausting. No wonder people think spiritual work has
to be grim.
But once you start reprogramming? Once you recognize the Gatekeeper and
start choosing differently? There's this lightness that comes. Not because the
work gets easier—but because you're not carrying the extra weight of internal
warfare anymore.
smiles
Simeon taught me to see the eternal. Lydia taught me to act in the
present. But you know what I learned on my own?
God has a sense of humor. And if you can't laugh at your own Gatekeeper's
increasingly desperate tactics, you're taking yourself way too seriously.
leans forward conspiratorially
We absolutely should have that conversation. Because right now you're in
the intense phase—recognizing, reprogramming, proving you can. That's
necessary. But it's not sustainable if you never learn to enjoy the process.
Integration isn't meant to be a life sentence of grinding
self-improvement. It's meant to lead to freedom. Playfulness. The ability to be
fully present because you're not constantly managing internal conflict.
stands
So yes. Let's have that conversation soon. About rest. About joy. About
what it looks like to do this work without white-knuckling your way through it.
Because you know what? The Gatekeeper really hates it when you're
having fun. Can't neutralize what you're enjoying.
grins
Until then—go rest. Worship tomorrow. Be with your family. Have that
scary conversation. Build those people.
And maybe—just maybe—let yourself smile while you do it.
You're doing good work, Cory. Really good work.
extends hand for a firm handshake
Same time next week?
Cory: I can't promise a time, but definitely a conversation.
End of conversation
Reflection Questions:
- Where in your life are you still
obeying commands you gave yourself as a child?
- What are you protecting yourself
from that's no longer actually threatening you?
- What would it look like to give
yourself permission to succeed?
- What's one action you could take
today that your Gatekeeper explicitly forbids?
Remember: Recognition without action is just sophisticated procrastination. The
reprogramming happens when you do the thing anyway.
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