When Spirituality Becomes Another Costume of the Ego
Lately, I’ve been taking indoor ski lessons as I prepare for a trip to British Columbia in January. I can feel the thrill of learning something new – the unfamiliarity, the excitement that comes with entering a new world. Walking into a ski shop, I notice the subtle sense of exclusivity: the language, the gear, the feeling of belonging to a particular tribe.
And at the same time, I can see it clearly.
It’s another layer of identity.
Another garment the self puts on.
There is nothing wrong with this. It is deeply human (and even wonderful) to enjoy the pleasures of life. But it is also revealing. The ego loves to gather symbols: activities, aesthetics, and communities that quietly tell a story about who we are.
Skier.
Yogi.
Seeker.
Teacher.
Entrepreneur.
Vegan.
Initiated.
Awake.
In this way, identity works like clothing. Some layers are practical. Some are expressive. Some are protective. And some become so familiar we forget we are wearing them at all.
Religion offers a more visible example of this. Around the world, we see how spiritual identity can harden into hierarchy – one belief system claiming superiority over another, one path seen as closer to truth, more chosen, more pure. What begins as devotion quietly becomes division (and even leading to murder in some countries).
I noticed a similar dynamic when I co-owned a vegan restaurant. What began as a sincere ethical choice sometimes took on a subtle sense of superiority. Identity formed around not eating meat, and in some cases, compassion narrowed rather than expanded. The focus quietly shifted from care for life to comparison with others.
This, too, revealed how easily even well-intentioned values can become tools of separation – another way the ego defines itself as more conscious, more evolved, or more right.
Spirituality is often spoken of as the path beyond ego.
And yet, quietly (almost subtly) spirituality can become one of the ego’s most convincing disguises.
This is not a condemnation of spiritual practice. I have devoted my life to it. Meditation, yoga, devotion, inquiry, discipline – these have shaped me, expanded me, softened me, opened me. But they have also revealed something far more honest to face: the ego does not disappear simply because we turn toward the sacred.
It evolves.
The ego does not die easily. It adapts.
And when stripped of worldly identities, it often reaches for spiritual ones.
The Ego’s Subtle Evolution
At first, ego wears familiar costumes: success, beauty, productivity, achievement. When those begin to feel hollow, many of us turn toward spirituality in search of something more enduring.
But the ego is clever.
It trades “I am successful” for “I am awakened.”
It trades “I am desirable” for “I am detached.”
It trades “I am important” for “I am conscious.”
Suddenly, identity is no longer built on what we have – but on what we have transcended.
The problem is not spirituality itself.
The problem is identification.
The moment spirituality becomes who we are – rather than a living, breathing inquiry – we have not moved beyond ego.
One of the most insidious expressions of spiritual ego is bypassing – using spiritual ideas to avoid the raw, unresolved terrain of being human.
We tell ourselves:
“It’s all an illusion” instead of feeling grief.
“I’m witnessing” instead of entering intimacy.
“I’m non-attached” instead of setting boundaries.
“Everything is love and light” instead of naming anger or harm.
This became painfully clear to me in a past relationship. Rather than meeting raw, vulnerable emotions, spirituality became a way to smooth things over – to stay elevated, composed, and untouched. Only “love and light” was acceptable. There was more emphasis on guiding, helping, or being the teacher than on truly meeting another as equal and human. And yet, the shadows (that were not explored in one’s self) quietly sabotaged true intimacy.
The intentions were good.
And yet beneath them lived a subtle seduction – the hierarchy of spirituality.
In these moments, transcendence became dissociation dressed as wisdom.
And I began to ask:
Where is humility?
Where is the willingness to embrace the full humanness of life?
True spirituality does not bypass the nervous system, the body, or the heart. It includes them. It’s why I love teaching Restorative Yoga Teacher Trainings – where we explore the nervous system and how to support the body and emotions. Anything that pulls us out of honest contact with our lived experience is not liberation.
It is protection.
Awakening and the Quiet Rise of Hierarchy
In many spiritual spaces, hierarchy appears subtly, even when no one names it.
Those who desire less are seen as more evolved.
Those who feel less are seen as more advanced.
Those who are untriggered are seen as more awake.
But the moment spirituality creates a ladder, the ego is already climbing it.
Awakening becomes a status.
Stillness becomes a performance.
And the messiness of being human – desire, confusion, longing, attachment – is quietly shamed.
The Return to the Human Heart
Eventually, if we are honest, spirituality brings us back – not upward, but inward.
Back to the body.
Back to relationship.
Back to desire, grief, pleasure, and vulnerability.
I no longer believe awakening makes us less human.
I believe it makes us more honest about our humanity.
This does not mean indulging in every desire and pleasure as we are more aware of the results of certain decisions.
The heart does not open by floating above life.
It opens by meeting life fully.
The ego does not dissolve through transcendence alone.
It softens through intimacy.
Integration Over Escape
Integrated spirituality does not look impressive.
It looks like:
Accountability instead of superiority
Curiosity instead of certainty
Embodiment instead of performance
Relationship instead of isolation
Humility instead of identity
It is less about appearing awakened and more about being available – to truth, to feedback, to love, to repair.
A Living Question
Perhaps the question is not,
“How do I get rid of my ego?”
But rather:
“Where am I still using spirituality to protect myself from being fully alive?”
This inquiry is not a destination.
It is a devotion.
One that returns us again and again – not to perfection – but to presence.
And in that presence, something far more sacred than ego or awakening is remembered: our shared, tender, luminous humanity.
