Understanding the nature of anxiety and how it controls us until we become aware of it is one of the first major steps toward improving our relationships. But awareness alone isn’t enough. The next great task is character development.
Let’s start by imagining what the ideal human experience could look like if all the circumstances were right. Two parents come together, both with strong genetics, peaceful minds, and a life surrounded by nature and community. They bring a healthy child into the world. That child grows up in a village with parents, grandparents, even great-grandparents close by. He has friends, he learns chores, he spends time outdoors, he feels a sense of importance within his small society. He learns stories about his ancestors, plays, laughs, and falls in love. His character is forming.
(It has no bearing on what is best for children whether or not parents are of the opposite sex. Same-sex parents cannot biologically reproduce children, but like most things humans do that are not biologically designed, we adapt to suit our needs and survival requirements. I find it to be highly immoral and indicative of character deficiency to judge same-sex relationships and parenting.)
In that ancient world, the village elders would teach him about resolving conflict, expressing love, and keeping peace between rival tribes. Through his relationships with younger children, he’d learn patience and compassion. Through stories, he’d learn about the many archetypes that make up human nature, warriors, healers, caretakers, tricksters. Today, our archetypes have evolved into more psychological forms: the narcissist, the addict, the people-pleaser, the avoidant. The stories are still there; they just play out differently.
In those traditional stories, conflict always rises, and resolution depends on humility, understanding, and balance. Both sides give something up and both sides gain something. No one leaves in resentment. That’s the model of character we’ve lost touch with in the modern world.
Today, we are surrounded by outside influences that shape our minds long before we know it. Advertisements, media, and consumer culture constantly imprint images of what we should want and who we should be. Even when we don’t buy into them consciously, they penetrate our unconscious. We are always absorbing.
So the question becomes: what are we made of in relationships? What is the fabric of our character? And how do we learn it now?
For all its flaws, Stoic philosophy offers a practical start. Some critics say the Stoics suppressed emotion, but that’s not entirely fair. Sometimes it’s useful to go through a period of extreme positivity and denial of pain when we’re trying to break free from trauma and self-destructive behavior. It can give us strength and momentum. Later, when we are stable, we can revisit the deeper wounds.
Character can be learned through both Eastern and Western traditions. The direct, logical teachings of the Stoics blend well with the compassionate guidance of Buddhism and the Yoga Sutras. The enlightened, non-dogmatic teachings of the Abrahamic and Hindu traditions also hold great value. Each at its core emphasizes compassion, self-discipline, and service. The key is to study without getting trapped in dogma or superstition.
Meditation and prayer are essential companions for character building. Anyone can sit quietly, breathe, and ask a simple question: What in my character needs work right now? You don’t have to force an answer. Just listen. Observe what arises without harshness or judgment. Notice the behaviors that come from your unconscious mind or ego, and keep breathing until the tension softens.
The standard virtues, kindness, patience, honesty, nonviolence, are a good place to start, but we must go deeper than the social version of goodness. We need character that is rooted in compassion, in the ability to regulate our own nervous system, in the humility to admit our mistakes and correct them. That is what keeps our relationships alive. That is what protects our children from inheriting our pain.
If we refuse to evolve, we imprison our loved ones inside our neuroses. We do the same to our partners when we hide our damage or deny our flaws. The way we act today isn’t just shaped by our first seven years, it’s shaped by every moment since. No one escapes struggle. Even those who had gentle childhoods carry hidden conflicts, albeit more mild. Everything surfaces in relationships, and that’s where deep work begins.
This is where fearlessness is needed. Not the kind of courage used for fighting wars or climbing mountains, but the courage to face the truth of who we are and to keep growing. That’s the highest form of character.