Someone speaks confidently at a gathering, and we find ourselves irritated long after the conversation has moved on. “He certainly likes the sound of his own voice,” we think. Perhaps he did take more than his share of the time. But later, when we are alone, another possibility begins to trouble us. We had something to say too. We stayed quiet, as we so often do. Was all of our irritation about his speaking, or was some of it about the freedom he seemed to have—a freedom we seldom allow ourselves?
Such a question opens a doorway into what is often called projection. In the language of shadow work, projection happens when something we have difficulty recognizing in ourselves is experienced as belonging to someone else. A feeling, motive, or quality outside our familiar picture of ourselves seems especially visible in another person. We may be quite certain about what is happening in them while remaining unaware of what is happening in us.
In the previous article, we considered the qualities we learned to keep out of sight. Some were uncomfortable feelings; others were valuable capacities that found little welcome. Now we can begin to consider where those qualities sometimes reappear. Our relationships may bring us into contact with what our usual understanding of ourselves leaves out.
This does not mean that every criticism reveals a secret fault of our own. People can be inconsiderate, dishonest, controlling, or cruel. We can recognize those things accurately. Nor does a strong reaction automatically mean we are projecting. What someone actually does matters. The question is whether we are also bringing something to the encounter that we have not yet recognized.
Imagine a woman who has spent much of her life being available to everyone. When a friend declines a request without apologizing, she feels offended. “That seems selfish,” she says. Yet her friend may simply have other responsibilities, or may need an evening to herself. As the woman sits with her reaction, she begins to notice how exhausted she is. Beneath her judgment lies a wish she has barely permitted herself to acknowledge: she would like to be able to say no as well.
Her discovery need not be that she is secretly selfish. It may be that she has pushed aside a healthy regard for her own limits. The quality she condemns in her friend contains something she needs to develop in herself. Calling it selfishness has allowed her to reject it before she has to consider whether she, too, has a right to it.
At other times, what we see in another person may resemble a tendency we would rather not admit. A man who takes pride in being easygoing complains that his wife always wants things her way. Yet he withdraws whenever plans do not suit him, leaving her to guess what is wrong. Her preferences are spoken aloud; his are enforced through silence. There may be something real to discuss about her behavior, but an honest conversation will also require him to recognize his own way of exerting pressure.
These possibilities can be uncomfortable because we usually have reasons for what we do. We know our intentions, our disappointments, and the circumstances that made our behavior seem necessary. We may give someone else much less room. I was tired; they were rude. I needed reassurance; they wanted attention. I was standing up for myself; they were being difficult. Looking inward asks whether we have granted ourselves a complexity we have denied the other person.
There is another side to projection that can be easier to welcome but just as revealing. We may place qualities we have not claimed in ourselves onto someone we admire. A teacher seems to possess all the wisdom. A friend appears to have a courage we believe we could never develop. A creative person seems to belong to a different kind of humanity altogether. Their gifts may be real, yet our admiration can become a way of keeping our own possibilities at a distance.
Admiration alone does not prove that we possess the same gift. Still, it can invite a useful question: What is it about this person that speaks so deeply to me? Perhaps their honesty touches our wish to speak more plainly. Their tenderness may awaken an affection we have learned to restrain. Their willingness to begin something new may stir a hope we dismissed years ago. We can appreciate what they offer while exploring what might be asking for expression in our own lives.
The shadow, then, can enter a relationship through both condemnation and idealization. We may make someone carry what we refuse to be, or what we scarcely dare to become. In either case, it becomes harder to meet them as an ordinary person. The one we condemn is allowed few redeeming qualities. The one we idealize is allowed few human limitations. Both can become trapped in a picture that serves something within us.
How do we begin to loosen that picture? One place to start is with the difference between what happened and what we have decided it means. “She did not return my call yesterday” describes an event. “She thinks she is better than I am” assigns a motive. The motive may feel obvious, particularly if being overlooked is painful to us. But feeling certain does not give us access to another person’s inner life.
We can then ask what the event brought up in us. Did we feel unimportant, ashamed, envious, excluded? What did we immediately assume about the other person? Is there a quality here that we have difficulty admitting in ourselves, or a freedom we have difficulty allowing ourselves? These questions are invitations. Sometimes they reveal something; sometimes they do not. We need not force every encounter to fit an explanation.
It can help to bring one small possibility into ordinary life. The person troubled by someone else’s confidence might offer an opinion at the next gathering. The exhausted helper might decline one request honestly. The man who withdraws might learn to say, “I do have a preference, and I have been expecting you to guess it.” Understanding becomes more useful when it gives us a more direct and responsible way to live.
Care is needed here. Telling another person, “You are only projecting,” can become a convenient way to dismiss what they are saying. We may use the language of inner work to avoid hearing a legitimate complaint. This inquiry is most fruitful when we begin with our own assumptions and remain willing to consider the facts. Looking inward can accompany a firm boundary, a difficult conversation, or a decision to leave a harmful situation.
For those of us who follow Jesus’s teachings, his image of the beam in our own eye offers a familiar invitation. We are asked to examine what interferes with our seeing before we presume to correct another. There is humility in allowing that our view may be incomplete. We can bring that willingness into prayer: Father, help me see this person more clearly, and help me recognize what I am bringing to the encounter.
As we become more honest about our own envy, need, tenderness, ambition, or fear, other people may have less to carry for us. We can disagree with them more specifically, appreciate them more freely, and allow them to be human. Something in us also gains room to breathe. A quality that once appeared only as someone else’s fault or gift can become something we understand and take responsibility for in ourselves.
The next time someone occupies an unusual amount of space in our thoughts, we might stay with a gentle question: What am I seeing in this person, and what might this encounter help me recognize in myself?
Coming next: The Person We Learned to Be — Understanding the Masks We Wear,
This series is intended for personal reflection and self-understanding. It is not a substitute for professional mental-health care, diagnosis, or treatment. Deep trauma and overwhelming emotional reactions may be best explored with the support of a qualified professional.