Shame and embracing both Wolves

The old story I had read in the past:  an old man told his grandson, “My son, there is an endless battle that goes on inside all of us. It is between two wolves. One wolf is bad – he is anger, envy, regret, greed, arrogance, resentment, lies, superiority and ego. The other is good he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”

The old man answered, “The one you feed.” I have recently read a new take on this old story. That is, embracing the “bad” wolf and actually not seeing it as actually bad, but more different than bad. Learning to embrace both sides as having unique benefits instead of embracing only one. Beginning with Shame, lets dive in.

Shame has a strange way of convincing us that our mistakes define us. I have worked with people from the legal system for years whom have struggled to shake the label of "felon," more from their own definition than even those around them. Shame whispers that we should hide the parts of ourselves that acted out of fear, anger, or selfishness. It tells us that growth means erasing those moments, denying they ever existed, or pretending we are only made of light.

But wisdom, real, lived wisdom teaches something different. There is an old teaching often shared as the story of two wolves: a good wolf and a bad wolf, locked in an endless battle within us. One represents love, compassion, humility, and kindness. The other represents anger, fear, jealousy, and pride. When asked which wolf wins, the answer is simple: the one you feed. It is a powerful story, but incomplete.

Because life isn’t that clean. Growth isn’t about starving half of who we are.

A lesser known continuation of this teaching offers a deeper truth. When the student asks which wolf wins, the elder replies:
“If you feed them right, they both win.”

This reframes everything we think we know about shame and mistakes.

The so called “dark wolf” is not evil. It carries qualities we desperately need: tenacity, courage, fearlessness, strategic thinking, and an unbreakable will. These traits are what help us survive, protect boundaries, and stand firm in hard moments. Without them, compassion becomes weakness and kindness turns into self-abandonment.

The “light wolf,” on the other hand, brings empathy, care, strength rooted in love, and the ability to see what serves the greater good. Without it, determination becomes cruelty and courage becomes recklessness.

The problem isn’t that one exists, it is that we have been taught to pretend one of them should not.

When we try to feed only the light wolf, the dark wolf doesn’t disappear. It goes hungry. And a starving part of ourselves doesn’t become obedient, it becomes desperate. It hides in the shadows, waiting for moments of exhaustion, distraction, or pain to leap out in unhealthy ways. That’s often where shame is born: not from having a dark side, but from refusing to understand it.

But when we acknowledge the dark wolf, when we listen instead of suppress, we remove its need to fight for attention. It no longer has to sabotage us to be seen. And when it is fed with awareness, discipline, and purpose, it becomes an ally rather than an enemy.

This is where true growth lives.

Learning from mistakes doesn’t mean excusing harmful behavior, nor does it mean condemning ourselves forever. It means asking better questions:

What was this part of me trying to protect?

What fear or unmet need was driving this choice?

How can I guide this energy more wisely next time?

When both wolves are fed with intention, the internal war quiets. There is no constant tug-of-war for control, no exhausting cycle of self-judgment and denial. And in that stillness, something remarkable happens: we can hear our deeper knowing. The voice that isn’t ruled by fear or pride, but by clarity.

Shame loses its grip when we stop seeing ourselves as broken and start seeing ourselves as complex. Mistakes stop being proof of failure and become teachers—sometimes harsh, sometimes humbling, but always instructive if we’re willing to listen.

Feeding both wolves doesn’t make us dangerous. It makes us whole.

And when we are whole, we don’t have to pretend to be good.
We simply are—with strength guided by compassion, courage tempered by wisdom, and a life shaped not by internal battles, but by conscious choice.