Recently, I was sitting around a table with friends when the conversation drifted toward politics. Not policy specifics. Not party favourites. Just the shared fatigue of how hard it feels to talk about any of it without things becoming polarized and contentious.
As the conversation unfolded, someone said, “You know, I just find that the left thinks they’re right. The right thinks they’re right. And honestly, I see good and bad on both sides.”
Without warning, a flash of certainty shot through me. And before discernment could catch up, I jumped in—passionate and unfiltered.
“I AM SO SICK AND TIRED OF HEARING THAT NARRATIVE,” I said. “This constant left-versus-right framing feels like a total smokescreen. Politics is about so much more than simply our favourite leaders and parties — it’s about how we organize and arrange our communities. The real question isn’t which side you’re on. It’s whether what you support reflects a genuine concern for the well-being and security of others as much as your own.”
And then—Silence.
Not reflective silence. Not thoughtful silence.
The kind of silence where you can almost hear people recalibrating.
For half a second, I thought, “You nailed it, Jonathan.” 🎤💥
Then I looked around the table.
My Mountain Lion Moment
No one looked inspired. They looked surprised. It felt less like I’d made a compelling point and more like I’d stepped out of the bushes in full mountain-lion mode during someone’s morning walk. Which, if I’m honest, is not usually the effect I’m going for.
So I tried to repair. “What’s happening right now?” I asked.
“Well, you clearly have a lot of energy behind that,” someone said gently.
My son, sitting beside me, cautiously added, “Honestly… I find it hard to dialogue with you when you show up with that much intensity.”
My first instinct? Defensiveness.
“What do you mean? I’m not trying to shut anyone down. I’m just sharing my heart.”
And then I said a line that felt solid in the moment, but hollow almost immediately after: “This is just who I am. I’m just being real.”
But here’s what I was actually doing. I wasn’t describing my core self. I was defending a behaviour. And behaviour is not identity—it’s simply how I show up in a given moment.
When “Who I Am” Becomes a Shield
Later that day, replaying it in my head (because of course I replayed it), clarity began to surface.
My intensity hadn’t opened space — it had closed it.
And in my defensiveness, I fused my behaviour with my identity. I took a moment of poor regulation and dressed it up as authenticity. “It’s just who I am.”
It sounded strong. Grounded. Convicted. But in that moment, it was a shield. It reframed feedback as an attack and placed my behaviour beyond critique. It allowed me to mistake defensiveness for depth.
And here’s the real danger: once I called it “me”, I made it untouchable. I defended it instead of improving it.
And what I defend, I tend to repeat and reinforce.
We All Do This
Truth be told, this is a pattern we’ve all seen—whether in boardrooms, marriages, friendships, or families.
Someone snaps and says,
“I’m just being honest.”
As if honesty and kindness can’t possibly share the same room.
Someone erupts and later shrugs,
“That’s just how I am. I’m passionate.”
As if passion justifies all collateral damage.
Someone publicly corrects a colleague and justifies it by saying,
“I’m just direct.”
As if clarity must cost someone their dignity.
Different settings. Same moves.
Behaviour gets welded to identity.
And once that weld hardens, feedback feels like rejection.
Because if this sharpness is who I am,
if this defensiveness is who I am,
if this intensity is who I am,
then to question it feels like I am questioning my core identity.
And when behaviour and identity collapse into one another like that, any feedback starts to sound like, “You don’t love me for who I am.”
And that is where we get stuck.
A Simple Liberating Distinction
Behaviour is something I do in the moment. It is the outward expression of the identity I’ve formed over time—my habits, my wiring, my learned responses.
Core identity runs far deeper. It forms slowly, shaped by experience and reinforced by habit. And while it can change, it doesn’t shift overnight.
So when I say, “That’s just who I am,” what I’m really saying is, “This behaviour is not up for change.” And that’s where things get dangerous. Because feedback about my behaviour begins to feel like rejection of my worth.
So when I said, “This is just who I am,” I wasn’t protecting authenticity. I was protecting my ego.
And the irony is almost embarrassing.
I had just given a passionate speech about love-centric living over ego-centric living—and then, when challenged, I clung to my ego like it was oxygen.
Love-centric living would have said,
“Help me understand how that landed.”
Instead, ego-centric living said,
“Why can’t you just accept me as I am?”
One leans in.
The other locks up.
And the moment behaviour becomes identity, transformation stops.
Our worst habits become “just who we are.”
And then we blame others for the distance we’ve created.
The Hopeful Truth
The truth is far more hopeful.
I am not my raised voice.
I am not my defensive reflex.
I am not the surge of adrenaline that runs through me when I feel misunderstood.
Those are behaviours.
They are expressions—sometimes immature, sometimes protective, sometimes rooted in fear.
But they are not my core identity.
3 Ways to Stop Confusing Behaviour with Identity
Remember Who You Are
Clarity about your core identity isn’t a one-time decision. It’s a lifelong journey. But growth begins by asking a simple question: When I am grounded in love, who am I? Not who do I become when I’m triggered. Not who do I become when I need to win. But who am I when I am steady, rooted, and aligned with my deepest values?
Take time — regularly — to name that person. Am I someone who values connection over control? Curiosity over certainty? Care over ego? Write it down. Revisit it. Reflect on it. Because when you are clear about who you are at your best—who you are when you are rooted and grounded in love—it becomes easier to notice when your behaviour drifts. And noticing is the beginning of change.Notice How You Show Up
After a regrettable incident, resist the urge to defend yourself. Instead, get curious. Ask gently: Did my tone open space — or close it? Did I move toward connection — or toward control? Would I feel safe receiving what I just delivered?
This isn’t about shaming yourself. It’s about awareness. Behaviour is visible. It leaves a trail. And anything we can observe, we can refine. You may not catch it in the moment. Most of us don’t. But you can reflect afterward. You can adjust. You can grow. And each time you do, you move a little closer to the person you’re becoming when rooted in love.Don’t Turn Feedback into an Identity Threat
When someone offers you feedback—even gently—notice what happens inside. Does your body tighten?
Does your mind immediately translate it into rejection? Pause. Feedback about your behaviour is not a verdict on your worth. It is simply information.
The reflex of the ego is to ask, “Are you attacking who I am?” The posture of love asks, “What can I learn about how I showed up?” One defends the self. The other refines the self. The more you practice separating your identity from your behaviour, the less feedback feels like danger. And the freer you become to grow.
Bottom Line:
When behaviour becomes identity, growth shuts down, and we defend what should be refined. But behaviour is not our core self—it is the current expression of a life still forming. And identity—especially when rooted in love—is not brittle. It can mature. It can deepen. It can change. The real work is learning to receive feedback as guidance, not as a verdict on our worth.
Until next week,
Jonathan Penner | Co-Founder & Executive Director of LifeApp
Resources To Dig Deeper
Book
Mistakes Were Made (but Not By Me)
This book is a compelling exploration of why we so fiercely defend ourselves—even when we’re wrong. Drawing on decades of research in cognitive dissonance, Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson show how the mind works overtime to protect our sense of being smart, moral, and right. Instead of admitting mistakes, we unconsciously rewrite the story—justifying harmful decisions, clinging to false beliefs, and dismissing disconfirming evidence. Through vivid case studies spanning marriages, medicine, law, and politics, the book reveals how self-justification traps good people in bad patterns. Yet it’s not cynical. It offers a hopeful path forward: by recognizing the mental machinery of defensiveness, we can loosen its grip, take responsibility, and reclaim the rare but transformative power of saying, “I was wrong.”
-Caroll Tavris and Elliot Aronson
Podcast
Mistakes Were Made (but Not by Me) with Dr. Carol Tavris
This episode of Brain Science explores cognitive dissonance—the mental tension we feel when our behavior clashes with our values or self-image. In conversation with social psychologist Carol Tavris, Dr. Ginger Campbell unpacks why we so often justify our actions instead of examining them, and how ordinary, well-intentioned people can double down on harmful choices to preserve the belief that they are good, competent, and right. Through research and real-world examples, the episode reveals how small decisions harden into identity, why feedback feels like attack, and how self-justification quietly shapes politics, relationships, and everyday life. It’s a clear, compelling look at the psychology behind “That’s just who I am”—and what it takes to grow beyond it.
-Brain Science, Ginger Campbell (1:03.00)
Music
Anti-Hero
“Anti-Hero” is a surprisingly honest confession about the stories we tell ourselves to avoid the mirror. Beneath the catchy refrain—“It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me”—is a raw exploration of defensiveness, covert narcissism disguised as altruism, and the exhausting dance of protecting an image instead of confronting reality. The song captures what happens when behaviour hardens into identity—when we’d rather stare at the sun than look inward. Through humor, self-awareness, and brutal honesty, Swift gives language to the fear that we might be the common denominator in our relational breakdowns. This episode explores how self-reflection—when rooted in love rather than shame—can transform “I’m the problem” from self-condemnation into the first step toward growth.
-Taylor Swift (3:23)