Finding the Cellar Door - What Inner Freedom actually looks like

Part 2 of How to make better decisions.

Photo by Chad Madden on Unsplash

In Part 1 I reflected on the importance of finding some distance from the loud voices within us — the narratives and survival strategies that subtly shape so much of our decision-making.

Until that begins to happen, it’s surprisingly difficult to know what we actually think, feel, or need. Most of us have had the experience of making a decision that seemed right at the time, only to realise later that it was driven more by fear, habit, or the need to belong than by anything deeply true within us.

The best techniques for discernment — and also our efforts to become more disciplined — rarely work very well while these inner voices and patterns still have free rein. Attending to these set ways of understanding ourselves and the world isn’t preparatory work before the real task begins: it is the real task. It is the healing that becomes necessary if we are to start truly living the life that is ours to live.’

The early contemplatives were quite clear about this. The Desert Fathers observed that even when a person withdraws from external noise, the deeper struggle remains the battle within the heart. Centuries later, depth psychology arrived at the same conclusion: it is our unconscious material that shapes the quality and trajectory of our lives — and as Jung observed, we tend to often mistake these hidden forces for fate.

After writing Part 1, I felt it would be worth sitting a little longer with what it actually looks and feels like when this inner work begins to take hold — when the internal mirror starts to clear. So the practical framework I had planned for Part 2 will now come in Part 3.

The shift

Different traditions have named this movement differently. Some speak of awakening, enlightenment, or illumination. Others describe it as psychological integration, or the transition from ego-identity toward a deeper centre of self. Whatever the language, the experience tends to share certain recognisable features.

I’m still very much on this journey myself. The inner cobwebs I’ve spent years attending to haven’t all been cleared, and they probably never fully will be. But I’ve come far enough to recognise something of what’s on the ‘other side’. The shifts I have experienced have been many and varied, and without question, some of the greatest gifts of my life.

What I have come to see is that there may be no more consequential task in our lives than attending to what lives in our inner world. Nothing else carries quite the same leverage. This work gradually opens a kind of inner freedom that shapes not only what we see, but how we see — and this ultimately influences how we experience every part of our lives.

It’s not easy to put words to what this shift is like. The experience will look a little different for each of us, and it rarely arrives as a single dramatic moment. It tends to come gradually, through accumulated small shifts and recognitions. But certain things do begin to change.

What Inner Freedom looks like

One of the first things many people notice is a reduction in reactivity. Shame, anger, and fear don’t disappear, but they are rarely as unbridled as before. And when they do arise, there is often a sense of distance from them — as though you are the one noticing the feeling rather than being entirely consumed by it. The emotion moves through you rather than taking you over completely.

Alongside this, you may find yourself less defensive. When identity is no longer so tightly wrapped around particular beliefs or roles, other worldviews feel less threatening. You may notice that you no longer need people to fit neatly into your expectations — and may even find yourself becoming curious about perspectives that once unsettled you.

Over time, the need to prove yourself or win every argument also begins to soften. You may still care deeply about truth and justice — perhaps even more than before — but there is less intensity in how you hold the fight. You’re a little less attached to the outcome. There is more trust, and the compulsion to dominate, defend, or force things to go a certain way gradually loses its grip. You begin to recognise that you are not responsible for fixing everything, and not nearly as in control as you once believed you needed to be.

Your relationship with your own thoughts begins to change too. Instead of experiencing them as unquestionable truths, you start to see them more as passing mental events — some helpful, some outdated, many simply reflecting old conditioning. This creates a little more space between stimulus and response, which, as Viktor Frankl famously observed, is precisely where our freedom to choose begins.

Then there is something harder to name. At times it might feel like discovering a hidden cellar door inside your own house — one that leads down into a deeper room you didn’t realise was there. That room has a very different temperature and atmosphere. It is quieter, more stable, less reactive to the weather outside. When you find yourself in that place, there is a clarity and steadiness that doesn’t depend on circumstances being a particular way. The mind doesn’t disappear, but it steps back from the centre.

From there, several other shifts tend to follow.

Your interior environment becomes more spacious. There is less noise, less urgency, less of the low hum of anxiety that many of us have lived with for so long that we stopped noticing it. In that space, life becomes more perceptible — you may suddenly start noticing birds singing, beauty in ordinary moments, and vulnerability and tenderness in other people. And not only more noticeable, but more genuinely felt. The joys register more fully. So, sometimes, do the sorrows. You become more available to your own experience.

As this clearing continues, parts of yourself that were previously hidden begin to surface. Desires that were never given permission. Hurts that were set aside. Talents or qualities that didn’t fit the identity you developed in order to feel safe or accepted. Welcoming these neglected parts is often one of the most important movements in the journey toward wholeness — not because they need to be acted on immediately, but because they need to be known. They are an essential part of you.

As your desires start to become clearer, you may also notice that they feel less urgent. The sense that your happiness or worth depends on achieving particular outcomes begins to loosen. What you want starts to feel less like a necessity and more like an invitation — something that continues to draw you toward wholeness, but no longer carries the same anxious weight.

From this more grounded place, boundaries tend to emerge more naturally. Less about pushing people away, and more about protecting and honouring the deeper life that is slowly taking shape within you.

And in the midst of all this inner change, the old stories about who you are begin to loosen their hold. Rather than living inside a fixed narrative, many people begin to experience themselves as something more spacious and still-becoming. This is where genuinely new choices become possible.

It’s a journey…

None of this means life becomes frictionless. Our old narratives are rarely fully integrated — and occasionally, a situation will touch an old sensitivity and derail us for a time. What tends to change is not that we stop being affected, but that it doesn’t take as long to find our way back ‘on track’.

The key is not to try to force these shifts to happen. They tend to arise on their own as we begin paying steady attention to what is happening within us. The real task is simply to keep noticing — and to respond with honesty and compassion to the reactions and triggers that reveal themselves along the way.

A practice to try

One of the most accessible ways to begin this work is something I’ll call the Daily Examen of Inner Movements — a short, unhurried reflection at the end of the day, drawn from the Ignatian tradition but framed in a way that aligns with what psychology now understands about awareness and integration.

Set aside ten minutes. Find somewhere quiet. And move through these four steps:

1. Settle.

Take a few slow breaths and let the noise of the day begin to quieten. You’re not trying to achieve anything here — just arriving.

2. Review.

Let the day pass through your awareness gently, like watching a film on slow play. You’re not analysing or judging, just noticing. Where did you feel most alive, most like yourself? Where did you feel constricted, reactive, or out of alignment?

3. Attend to the edges.

If something triggered a strong reaction — irritation, anxiety, shame, the need to prove yourself — gently ask: what was that protecting? Not to solve it, but to become curious about it. These reactions are rarely random. They tend to point toward something in the inner world that is asking for attention.

4. Close with intention.

End with a simple, honest question: Is there anything I want to carry differently tomorrow? Not a to-do list. Just a quiet intention.

Done regularly, this kind of reflection begins to build what might be called inner literacy - the capacity to read your own experience with greater clarity and compassion. Over time, this is what allows discernment to become less of an occasional exercise and more of a way of moving through life.

In Part 3, I’ll offer some practical frameworks for decision-making itself - drawing from this more integrated inner authority that we’ve been exploring.

Go gently with this work. It is lifelong, and none of us does it perfectly.

— Dan

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This kind of “mirror cleaning” is a core component of my one-to-one work, where we create space to untangle inherited patterns and listen more carefully to what is emerging in and through you. If that resonates, please feel free to reach out via Substack.

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