Self-compassion through the Levels of balance

Or, who exactly is being kind to whom?

In my previous piece, I suggested that self-compassion is not a ‘sentimental extra’ in inner work, but an absolute requirement. As the very condition that makes honest self-examination possible, we need it if our practice is ever to generate any deeper transformation to speak of. And yes, this is the case whether our ‘practice’ looks like specific things that we set aside time for in our everyday life or just kind of happens in parallel with it.

This time, I want to look at something more specific. Last week, we covered self-compassion being essential. We also noticed that there are widely differing interpretations of what this concept entails, and that we might need to examine those a bit closer. And here, a really helpful model is the Levels of balance (originally the Levels of Development) that Don Riso mapped out and later fleshed out and deepened together with Russ Hudson. Because, the ‘balance’ (or, originally, ‘development’) that is being mapped is in fact ego-identification.

The one at the wheel gets to assign meaning

The idea is simple: stronger ego-identification means a lower level; a more balanced relationship, where the ego is an inner construct rather than ‘me’, means a higher level. And when we start exploring our own personality and self-image from the Levels lens, we quickly notice how the ‘me’ and ‘myself’ involved in this self-compassion equation aren’t in fact consistent at all.

When we’re operating out of the ‘healthy’ range (Levels 1–3), the ego is a relatively see-through affair. Again, it’s there, obviously — but we don’t consider its thoughts The Ultimate Truth. We are in a kind of symbiotic relationship with it. And the fact that there is essentially a ‘me’ relating to an ‘it’ reveals a balanced lack of (over-)identification. Because if I am relating to the ego, then obviously the ego is not who I am — or at least not the entirety of it. From here, self-compassion looks like one thing. Lower down, however, it looks quite different.

An example from the healthy range

Let’s look at what this means in practice. If I have an Enneagram Three pattern, this means that in the healthy range, while I do care about things like appearance and brilliance and how I’m seen by others, there is still a lightness to this dance. I do know, in my core, that my performance is not my identity. Sure, I like to perform. I even excel at it. I enjoy using my skills to shine — and to help others shine, too.

As a Three in the healthy range, I ‘use my powers for good’, as the narrator of a superhero story might put it. But I am not depending on applause or credentials to constitute my true value as a human being.

This way, I can afford to stay in touch with my heart and my real needs and wishes. I won’t risk compromising what is truly important to me in order to get my fix of attention and admiration.

From this level of identification, self-compassion is not dramatic: if I notice that I have overextended myself, I can ease up. If I feel disappointed, I can acknowledge it without collapsing. If I catch ego investment creeping in, I can recalibrate. I get it. I understand any ego fragility that shines through, and I can ‘be there for myself’ and suffer-with it — specifically because I know it’s not my ultimate identity. Here, there is enough space to include imperfection without defending against it.

What about you?

At this point, maybe you even want to pause and reflect for a moment on how the ‘high side’ of your own type is often described. Does its description resonate with how you’ve experienced yourself when you’ve been in a good state of balance? Does it resonate with how you long to live, work, and interact? When was the last time you sensed that lightness? That trust?

If you do this little reflection, not to judge. Be curious and interested. We’re just taking a little walk through the landscape. This gentle curiosity, by the way, is already a hallmark of the kind of self-compassion we are talking about.

When the ego comes ‘to the rescue’

When in the course of our lives we tip over into the average range, something in the perceived dynamic changes. While we won’t immediately lose all sense that there is more to us than the egoic plane, there’s still a distinct shift in the amount of trust we put in the ego and its agendas. In Levels 4–6 (where, statistically, most of us spend most of our time), we increasingly buy into the ego’s ‘truths’, and our beliefs start looking less and less like flexible interpretations and more and more like just ‘how things are’ or ‘how life works’. No longer trusting in our natural gifts, we feel we must actively produce them to get our needs met (and of course the needs themselves, too, get distorted here).

An example from the average range

With the Three as our continued example, the consistent positive response from others becomes more instrumental. What was previously a fun perk now feels imperative to maintain my self-image and stay on course. When pushed to choose between keeping up appearances and being authentic, I increasingly prioritise ‘how it looks’. At first, even I might see these moments as brief lapses that I will compensate for later — but the further I spiral into my investment in the ego façade, the more tightly I find myself tied to its claims and schemes. It feels increasingly vital to keep the stream of positive attention flowing.

Somewhere in this urgency, my sense of what self-compassion is begins to warp. I might feel justified to take a shortcut; it’s only fair, considering the pressure I’ve been under lately. I might even rationalise actively undermining someone I’m competing with, on account of ‘evening the odds’. As you can see, I’m now a far cry from ‘suffering-with’ myself. The ego simply can’t see the point of that, when instead I can take measures to get rid of the suffering.

Another gentle invitation

Now, if you’re having a relatively good day and feel regulated reading this, you might want to take another short pause to look at your own life experience. Note, though: If you’re having a crappy day or feel a bit stressed out overall, I recommend you postpone this reflection. Putting it off is not a reflection on how well you’re doing your ‘growth work’; it’s a wise, informed decision (and, as it happens, a self-compassionate one, at that). If you feel like this is a good day to reflect, be kind to yourself. This is fertile ground for the superego, but it’s important to understand that we’re not doing this to beat ourselves up or make ourselves feel bad enough about whatever we’ve been doing that we don’t repeat it. (That sort of self-administered aversion therapy is notoriously ineffective and never ever works anyway.) The point is, again, to be curious and interested, not to judge.

A brief note on the unhealthy levels

Obviously, there’s another third of the spectrum, which I won’t cover at this point for two reasons: firstly, space; secondly, because it’s safe to assume that anyone reading this is not operating from these levels as a default state. If you were, the topic of self-compassion would be too ambitious, as the primary task there is stabilisation. We can of course dip into the ‘unhealthy’ range without shifting our centre of gravity there, but again … for another time.

Self-compassion, ‘eye of the beholder’ style

By now, it may be clear that what self-compassion entails — and how helpful it is — depends strongly on whose interpretation of the word we use. Viewed through the filter of the average-level ego, self-compassion is easily replaced with what in last week’s article I called ‘I deserve’ thinking.

From within this tighter identification, what feels like self-compassion or even the much wider and vaguer interpretation ‘being kind to oneself’ is often simply protection of identity. Shame is rationalised — or blown out of proportion, depending on our ego flavour. Failure is reframed — or wallowed in. Insecurity is masked or exacerbated. We feel justified, or we constantly question ourselves. But none of this, even the bits that might look affirmative, makes us feel any lighter or takes us any closer to our true experience. And this is the crucial distinction.

Because genuine self-compassion — as explored in Part I — is not about reinforcing the strategy. Rather, it’s about remaining present to the discomfort that exposes it. When we spell it out like this, it might seem like a bit of a no-brainer, but from the average range, that exposure can feel too threatening. And for this reason, the practice here is not grand transcendence but small, honest interruption.

Returning to what matters

By now, it’s clear how the concept of self-compassion changes meaning depending on our level of identification. But this means instructions like ‘just be kinder to yourself’ become insufficient. Kinder from where? Even if my ego happens to be the sort that actually remembers that compassion is to ‘suffer with’, it’s likely to only try to actually do this if it can help its agenda. Then I might sit and ‘suffer’ — building up the story of me to include a lot of bravely faced pain, unfair treatment by others, or whatever it is that my ego reads into my ‘suffering’. But this is not the witnessing of compassion; it’s just polishing my spiritual CV. And if the ego is less into suffering and more into ‘kindness’ — which, in the average range, is then likely translated into some form of ego-protection. If on the other hand true awareness is doing the interpreting, both self-compassion and more general kindness point to inclusion.

The Levels help us see that what feels like compassion may, in fact, be consolidation of identity — and what feels uncomfortable may be the beginning of its loosening. In the healthy range, we can afford to turn towards discomfort. In the average range, instead, we often weaponise light and bypass darkness. But it is precisely in the avoided material — the embarrassment, the defensiveness, the small dishonesties — that identification is most entrenched.

Self-compassion, in its mature form, is the willingness to sit with those strategies — messy, awkward, and occasionally mortifying — and gradually uncover the innocence, confusion, and desperation from which they originated. Not to excuse them or make a big drama about them, but to acknowledge them and, in that, discover how separate and interchangeable they are from ‘me’. The more space we can allow between strategy and awareness, the less likely we are to mistake self-protection for self-compassion.