ABOUT 6 HOURS AGO • 3 MIN READ

Get Over Yourself

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Life’s messy. People are difficult. Calm is rare.

I’m Broden Johnson — entrepreneur, husband, dad, and serial failure. I’ve built companies, lost companies, made money, lost money, and written a book about the only lesson that ever stuck: Don’t Be a Dick. I write Tales from a Failed Beekeeper — short weekly stories about philosophy, family, work, and the strange art of not losing your mind. They’re part humour, part Stoicism, and part therapy I don’t have time for. If you like your life advice unpolished, funny, and slightly uncomfortable, you’ll probably like this.

There’s a sentence I come back to more often than I’d like to admit.

Get over yourself.

It’s not motivational.
It’s not soft.
It’s not inspirational.

It’s corrective.

Because the truth is, most of my stress has very little to do with reality and a lot to do with ego.

Ego doesn’t always look loud.

It doesn’t always show up as arrogance or chest-beating confidence. Sometimes it shows up as overthinking. As worrying what people think. As assuming everyone is watching, judging, assessing.

It shows up when I replay conversations in the car.
When I draft the perfect comeback in my head.
When I feel slightly offended by something that probably wasn’t about me at all.
When I assume the room is analysing my every move.

Most of the time, they’re not.

No one is thinking about you as much as you think they are.

They’re thinking about themselves.

Just like you are.

That realisation is strangely freeing.

I used to walk into rooms and wonder how I was being perceived. Was I confident enough? Calm enough? Sharp enough? Too much? Not enough?

That entire internal monologue was ego dressed up as self-awareness.

The Stoics were ruthless about this.

You are not the centre of the universe.
You are not the main character.
You are not uniquely burdened.

You are a person. On a planet. With other people. All trying to manage their own insecurities and problems.

That’s not depressing.

That’s relieving.

Because if you’re not that special, you don’t need to perform constantly.

You don’t need to curate every interaction.
You don’t need to defend every slight.
You don’t need to explain yourself into exhaustion.

You can just… be.

Ego convinces us that everything is personal.

Someone cuts you off in traffic – disrespect.
Someone doesn’t reply quickly – insult.
Someone disagrees – attack.

Most of it isn’t personal.
It’s circumstantial.

Ego also convinces us that we’re more fragile than we are.

We think a mistake defines us.
We think embarrassment lingers.
We think people remember our awkward moments forever.

They don’t.

You remember your awkward moment because it happened to you.

They’re busy remembering theirs.

One of the most useful mental shifts I’ve made over the years is this:

I’m not that important.

That sentence could sound self-deprecating.

It isn’t.

It’s stabilising.

If I’m not that important, then:

• I don’t need to win every argument
• I don’t need to be right all the time
• I don’t need to defend every criticism
• I don’t need to look impressive
• I don’t need to carry every perceived judgment

It strips drama out of ordinary moments.

It removes unnecessary weight.

Ego is heavy.

It turns small inconveniences into identity threats.
It turns feedback into humiliation.
It turns disagreement into hostility.

When you step back and say, get over yourself, something shifts.

The intensity drops.

You realise you don’t need to respond to everything.

You don’t need to prove your worth in every room.

You don’t need to interpret neutral events as attacks.

You can choose steadiness over self-importance.

This doesn’t mean shrinking yourself. It doesn’t mean pretending you don’t matter. It means placing yourself in proportion.

You matter.

Just not in the dramatic, cinematic way your ego sometimes suggests.

And that’s good news.

Because when ego shrinks, perspective grows.

You become easier to be around.
You listen more.
You react less.
You laugh sooner.
You apologise faster.

You stop narrating your life like it’s a film that requires constant validation.

Life is all about battling ego. Not destroying it. Not pretending you don’t have one. Just noticing when it’s steering the car.

Ego isn’t evil. It’s protective.

But it’s also dramatic.

And drama rarely leads to good decisions.

The older I get, the more I see that most of personal growth isn’t about becoming extraordinary.

It’s about becoming proportionate.

Less reactive.
Less self-centred.
Less fragile.

More grounded.
More useful.
More steady.

When something irritates me now, I try to ask:

Is this about principle?
Or is this about pride?

If it’s pride, it’s usually safe to let it go.

That one question has saved me from dozens of unnecessary reactions.

Get over yourself isn’t harsh. It’s practical.

It’s the reminder that the world doesn’t revolve around your insecurities.

And once you accept that, you get lighter.

You don’t have to be the smartest.
Or the loudest.
Or the most impressive.

You just have to be decent.

And decency doesn’t require ego.

If this gave you something to think about, feel free to forward it to someone who might appreciate it.
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Until next time,
Broden Johnson

Life’s messy. People are difficult. Calm is rare.

I’m Broden Johnson — entrepreneur, husband, dad, and serial failure. I’ve built companies, lost companies, made money, lost money, and written a book about the only lesson that ever stuck: Don’t Be a Dick. I write Tales from a Failed Beekeeper — short weekly stories about philosophy, family, work, and the strange art of not losing your mind. They’re part humour, part Stoicism, and part therapy I don’t have time for. If you like your life advice unpolished, funny, and slightly uncomfortable, you’ll probably like this.