People seem to either love or hate the Enneagram—I love it. I’ve been looking forward to this post for weeks, but now that I’m writing it I’m struggling. Where to focus? How vulnerable should I be? I’m feeling a bit stuck. So I’m just going to drink some water, take a deep breath, and start writing.

Super Brief Introduction to the Enneagram

The Enneagram is another personality profile tool, similar to the Myers Briggs Type Indicator. But while the MBTI focuses on different preferences for taking in information, focusing energy, and making decisions, the Enneagram differentiates according to core motivation, fears, and desires. It aims deeper. 

After testing out a few different versions, I’ve got the Enneagram intel for you. First, take the free online test at Enneagram-Personality.com to find out your type. It has the most straightforward questions. Then, pop over to the Enneagram Institute to read about it; their descriptions are more comprehensive and actionable.

Being a Type 2, Wing 1

I am a type 2, or “the Helper.” This type is known for being caring, attentive, and attuned to others. They are warm, generous, and like to help people reach their full potential. Their core desire is to be loved, and their core fear is rejection. Becoming worthy of love via usefulness is their default function.

From there, it gets more specific. I’m a type 2, wing 1, which means I lean more toward privacy and idealism (“the Servant”). If you read my last post about being an INFJ, you can see these two results totally go together.

One of the best truisms I’ve ever heard about the Enneagram is that you know you got the right results if you think your type is the worst one. That’s certainly how I used to feel about being a 2. The very first time I read through my Enneagram results—maybe about 12 years ago—I cried, overwhelmed and overcome. Mostly by frustration, embarrassment, and shame, but there was a little relief in there too. Even though I didn’t like what I saw, I saw myself. And felt truly seen. Most importantly, if all my strengths and weaknesses could be laid out like that in detailed black and white for anyone to see, and called “good,” then maybe I could be. 

These days, I’m pretty okay with being a 2.

At Our Best: When we’ve faced up to some things and done our inner work, 2s can be at peace, content. We’re empathetic, caring, warm, enthusiastic, compassionate, and considerate. Everything other people want us to be, except now we’re doing it for ourselves. When we give, it’s sincerely and with humility, no secret expectations or hidden strings attached. We become really good at helping others without draining ourselves or becoming resentful. 

At Our Worst: When 2s haven’t yet had the courage to look in the mirror, or they become unhealthy or highly stressed, things can get pretty bad. We’re prideful, and care deeply about being seen as empathetic, caring, and all the rest, but we rely more often on self-deception or manipulation of others to achieve this. We desperately want to be loved, to feel worthy, and so we insert ourselves into other people’s lives and “help” however we see fit. We are drawn to codependent situations that keep us in a sort of savior or martyr role, but are secretly full of resentment when we aren’t appreciated. 

And of course, we try to hide all this.

If you know me, you’ve seen me at both my best AND my worst—even if you didn’t realize it. That’s the trickiest part about being a 2: me being at my worst doesn’t necessarily look that much different from the outside—at least in small doses. So I can get away with it for longer. Add in my ability to self-deceive, and you can see how easy it is for me to still get trapped in my “worst” even after all the time and effort I’ve put into becoming my best.

Sometimes, I think I’m doing pretty well—chugging along at mostly my best on most days in most relationships. Other times, I feel like I have SO much work still to do. The truth I’m learning is that I will never fully settle into my “best” self and my worst tendencies will never truly fade away. This work will last a lifetime. Which is a good thing because I’ve got a lot of life left ahead of me, and I wouldn’t want to get bored. 

I can do this work both by improving what’s already lovely in me, and by examining and addressing what isn’t.

On the Bright Side: Wholeheartedness.

When I’m focusing on developing what is good and loving in me, this is what comes to mind: “Healthy 2s open our hearts because theirs are already so open, and they show us the way to be more deeply and richly human.”

This is my favorite quote from my results because it summarizes so well what I strive for: Wholeheartedness. I yearn and strive to keep my own heart open and all-in, so that I can connect to yours and together we can become more deeply and richly human. When I’m my happiest and most satisfied, this is my motivation for pretty much everything I do—including writing. 

But that’s only half the work.

Facing the Darkness: No Filters.

Maybe this is true for everyone, but it seems to be especially difficult for 2s to dig into our own weaknesses because we prefer to see ourselves in only the most positive, glowy light. But if I keep looking only at the bright side, my shadow side will never get its chance to come into the light. To keep growing, I need to spend some quality time looking at my true self—no filters. 

But turning off the filters is hard. I am almost constantly presenting false images of myself. I don’t know how not to. Everything in me is wired to “spin” things and present myself in the best possible light so that you will love me. Even trying to be vulnerable by showing you the bad stuff, it all gets angled so that you’ll see me as tastefully imperfect, human, and humble. 

It seems like the only time I can snap out of this mode is when I’m really angry and my filter gets thrown out the window. This doesn’t happen often, and when it does… I’m left with a lot of PR work to do afterwards. Even phrasing it that way stings, because I want to care more about true relational repair—but my first motivation is repairing my image in your mind.

Getting underneath all this airbrushing is difficult, and takes real effort. I can do it, though, and the reward is not a pretty picture. The ugliest thing I see when I look at the real me is resentment. Here’s what I’m learning the longer I look at it. 

If I’m feeling resentment towards someone, it’s almost always on me. And it means one of two things:

1. I’m over-involving myself somehow and need to figure out where to take a step back.
2. I’m expecting someone to read my mind, when really I just need to speak my needs/expectations out loud.

Between last week’s INFJ lightbulb (knowing I need to practice real vulnerability) and today’s Type 2 task (asking for what I need), here’s my new goal: I’m going to ask for something I need or want every day. I actually started yesterday.

Resentment in Real Life

My husband and I were talking about him taking back over cooking and grocery shopping, and I felt the resentment squirming up my spine. He wants this to be the thing that he owns, and for me to back off and let him. But it never works for very long. I took a deep breath and told him why I always end up butting back into the kitchen. When he cooks, it’s with a lot of meat, potatoes, pasta, dairy—and I really, really like meals that are vegetable heavy. Then I made myself say it out loud, “I want you to cook with more vegetables, please.”

He said, “Oh, okay. More veg. Got it, on it.”

That’s it. Eight years of waxing and waning resentment dissolved with a single conversation in a parked car. 

Why did I never just tell him what I wanted? Why did I secretly think he already knew what I wanted and just didn’t care? Because I know what he wants most of the time without him having to tell me, based on patterns, non-verbal cues, and intuition, so I accidentally assume he can do the same. I need to remember this is not the case.

When I feel resentment, it’s on me. People cannot read my mind the way I can almost read theirs. I don’t always need to solve or help just because I’m aware of a problem. Recognizing this is how I actually heal resentment instead of covering over it.

Without even realizing it, I thought love was something I had to earn through usefulness. Now that I see more clearly, I’m learning to receive it by asking.