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There are many survival strategies to survive another day in life, some of them beautiful and look and smell "good". All of them
though are limited.
Limited to just survival,
What's beyond survival ?
That's the purpose of this
research.
Instad of reading this website, talk to someone in our team and ask them
About Survival Stratagies
And the Connection to the Box
Our survival strategies are what make up our Box.
Looking at these survival strategies is the key to empowering ourselves to go beyond them, and beyond relating to the world through our Box.
Surviving in the world is an honorable thing our Being chooses to do.
Our Being — our Soul — chose to play the Game for its highest purpose.
The survival strategies we developed were simply part of the conditions to play that Game.
They are not bad or wrong, nor good or right — they simply are what they are.
What are the Survival Strategies ?
These are the behavior patterns that keep us the same.
They help us cope with the world and make sure our Box doesn’t change.
What worked until now is what our Box believes gives us the best chance not to mess up and die.
But actually—like the Jews who were led into the burning camps—what keeps you sane and able to cope with reality is not necessarily what keeps you out of the furnace. Usually, it’s not.
Modern culture is full of people who were burned at the stake because they didn’t make their life process about growth and transformation beyond the Box.
These are literally patterns of behavior we learned as we grew up — picked up from our parents, our environment, and society — whatever else was there to influence us.
By that definition, they are different from anything that wasn’t that.
For example, some of us as kids went on exploration journeys — discovering the outside world, beyond the house, into the park, or outside the city or village.
Doing that — going to explore — is not a survival strategy.
Wanting to connect with others, share, experience, feel, love, care, and take a stand — are not survival strategies.
If you ever have a doubt about whether something you’re doing is one, ask yourself:
What’s the purpose of it?
Where is it coming from?
If it’s from your Box, it’s probably a survival strategy.
20 Different Survival Stratagies :
Of course, your first instinct will be to ask if there are only twenty — or more.
These are not the truth; they are simply a rough ground to base this distinction on, in a way that can serve and empower you in your research.
The Beliver
By believing everything you’re told, you make yourself non-threatening — and therefore, you survive by being adaptable.
But it’s not adaptability to someone — it’s adaptability to an entire belief system.
Yoga, personal development, religion, philosophy, astrology — whatever it is, you fully take it in as the "truth" everyone else is unaware of.
Now your life is dedicated to pursuing that, until a few years later you find the next truth or belief system and start over.
The lowest denominator
You adapt yourself to the lowest common denominator — the most common thing people share.
Often, in modern culture, this relates to other people’s survival strategies or shadow parts.
You laugh at things that don’t make you laugh, eat what numbs you, and join habits that keep everyone asleep.
Bad music, unhealthy food, irresponsible behavior — all become the glue that holds the illusion of belonging together.
But deep down, a quiet part of you knows — this is not connection, it’s self-erasure in disguise.
The Doormat
You let people walk all over you — that’s how you learned to survive in your family or friend group.
Whatever someone says or does to you, it’s fine. You swallow it, stay quiet, and try to keep the peace.
You convince yourself it’s better not to make a scene, better not to be the problem.
So you take the hits, absorb the tension, and tell yourself you’re strong for doing so.
But underneath, you suffocate under the weight of what’s unspoken — your will, your boundaries, your fire.
You don’t matter, your voice doesn’t matter — you’re just there to be a doormat, keeping everything together while slowly disappearing yourself.
The good boy/ nice girl
Favorite hanging place: the library.
The good boy or girl learned that the best way to survive is to do what they’re told, obey the rules, and support authority figures.
They cringe at the idea of doing something “bad” or outside the rules, and their Box becomes severely alarmed when the offer to do so becomes real.
They often end up in organizations or societies that reward “good kids,” and suffer greatly when life’s transformation calls them to become a Conscious Jackass — which is why that training is often meant for them.
The Bad boy/ Badass chick
Favorite hangout spot: the smoking section of the school yard.
Those who don’t break the rules are nerds — missing out on all the fun.
They dislike and often challenge or attack authority figures, or at least find ways to take advantage of them.
If society approves of something, they won’t support it.
Festivals, bars, and places without many rules are where they thrive and feel most at home.
The Joker
This person will not defy authority or society — they defy reality itself.
They’re too cosmic to be grounded, too far outside everyone’s boxes to be understood, and they hate when someone says, “I get you.”
No, you don’t. Their way to cope with reality was to not be part of it in any way, shape, or form.
They often wear unusual clothes, talk about imaginary realities, and check in with something that makes everyone else look at each other and go, “Huh?”
The "Ars", "Social trash"
They are loud, take up space to dominate it, and will keep bouncing a ball in the air until it hits your head.
Similar to the lowest common denominator — but expressed through bad taste, poor manners, and a destructive need for control.
They are the white, black, brown, red, yellow, pink, green, or whatever-color trash of the world — surviving by meeting no resistance from modern culture as they do whatever they want.
They often don’t reach the level of criminals, though some do. Most stay on the surface of petty offenses — breaking not just social rules, but the subtle laws of the universe itself: no class, no finesse, and a trail of bad karma wherever they go.
Golden boy/ Perfect girl
You can talk with them for hours and never find a flaw. They cruise through life effortlessly, shining.
They have no friction with the world.
They’re golden — their career has been thriving since their teens, everyone likes them, and they’re kind to everyone. That golden smile, that genuine warmth — they’re awesome.
So much so that, eventually, you hand them your center. You try to be as perfect as they are. But then you slip, revealing the flaws you’ve tried so hard to hide.
They’ll be benevolent about it, of course. Their only burden is wondering, “Why can’t everyone else just be as perfect?”
It’s hard to live in a world where you’re so good and everyone else seems to struggle — easier to ignore it all and focus on your own golden life.
The Junkie
The Junkie survives by chasing intensity — anything that gives a quick hit of aliveness.
It doesn’t have to be drugs; it can be attention, love, drama, work, sex, adrenaline, coffee, spiritual highs, or even emotional pain. The form changes, but the pattern stays the same: a desperate reach for something that makes them feel something.
Underneath, there’s a deep emptiness — a sense that without stimulation, they would disappear. Stillness feels like death, silence feels unbearable.
So they fill the space, again and again, until the crash comes. Then the hunt starts over.
Their Box learned that being high, busy, or overwhelmed is safer than being present.
Because presence brings up what they’ve been running from — fear, grief, anger, boredom, or the pain of meaninglessness.
The Junkie strategy gives the illusion of freedom while secretly keeping them enslaved.
It keeps them in motion but never in transformation.
The Rationalist
The Rationalist survives by thinking — by understanding, analyzing, and explaining everything.
Their safety comes from logic, linearity structure. If they can name it, define it, or categorize it, they can handle it.
Feelings are inconvenient variables in their system. They trust the mind more than the heart, seeing emotions as distractions that cloud judgment.
So they build a fortress of concepts, theories, and frameworks — neat and organized — to make sure nothing unpredictable slips through.
Underneath this control is fear. Fear of chaos, of being wrong, of losing the stable ground of knowing.
The Rationalist learned that survival means being right, being smart, and never being caught off guard.
They often become experts, teachers, or critics — mastering systems that confirm their worldview.
But their brilliance also becomes their trap: the more they know, the less they feel. The more they understand, the less they experience.
The vampire
The Vampire survives by feeding on others energy — not always in a visible way.
Their presence can be nice, soothing, invisible, or charming — yet behind that front, there’s a pull.
After being with them, you might feel slightly tired, foggy, drained, or subtly guilty for not giving more.
They don’t necessarily seek attention or recognition; what they draw in is life energy — inspiration, vitality, and movement.
Their Box learned that survival depends on taking energy from the outside rather than generating it from within.
Sometimes they do this with one person, attaching to their light, purpose, or clarity.
Other times, they drain whole groups or organizations — creating confusion, victim stories, or endless draining tasks that pull everyone’s focus toward them.
Transformation slows, inspiration fades, and no one can explain why the atmosphere feels heavy.
Some Vampires do this unconsciously, unaware of the impact.
Others act with darker intent — out of revenge, resentment, or the belief that they’re reclaiming energy that was once taken from them.
They may justify it as balancing the scales, when in truth they are deepening their dependency.
To go beyond this strategy, the Vampire must face the hunger — not by feeding it, but by feeling it.
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The Loner
The Loner survives by staying apart.
They learned early that being alone is safer than being hurt, rejected, or misunderstood.
Distance became their shield — and solitude, their safest home.
They tell themselves they don’t need anyone. They find comfort in isolation, in silence, in the predictability of their own company. The world feels loud, invasive, and full of demands. People are complicated, and connection feels like a risk that’s rarely worth taking.
Behind the calm surface is often a quiet ache — the longing to be seen, held, and met — hidden under layers of self-sufficiency. They became experts at disappearing while still being around. They observe life instead of participating, always on the edge of belonging.
Their Box learned that survival means not depending on anyone. No expectations, no disappointments.
But what once protected them now limits them — because life, love, and transformation require exposure.
To go beyond this strategy, the Loner must take the smallest step toward being seen — to speak, to reach out, to let someone in.
It’s not about losing their solitude, but about discovering connection that doesn’t demand surrender — where being alone and being together can coexist.
The Adapter
The Adapter survives by blending in.
They become whoever they need to be to fit in, belong, or stay relevant. Whether it’s fashion, language, beliefs, or lifestyle — they shift shape to match their surroundings.
They are always up to date, always tuned to the latest trend, always seeming “right” for the moment.
They sense the atmosphere of a room within seconds and adjust their tone, opinions, or even values to match it.
Their Box learned that safety lies in being liked and accepted — not in being authentic.
Standing out feels dangerous; blending in feels smart.
Underneath, there’s often a quiet fear: If I stop adapting, will anyone still want me?
Their chameleon skill keeps them on top of social waves but disconnected from their deeper center.
They can look confident and stylish, but they live in constant calibration, afraid to freeze into one true shape.
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The Straight Shooter
The Straight Shooter survives by being direct, efficient, and modern — no fluff, no drama, no hesitation.
They pride themselves on being honest and practical, the kind of person who says things “as they are.”
They stay informed, up to date, stylish, and sharp. Always busy, always moving forward, always performing at a high level. To them, being vulnerable, uncertain, or emotional feels like weakness. They’d rather keep things clear, quick, and controlled.
Their Box learned that survival means being competent, independent, and ahead of the curve.
Trends, technologies, opinions — they adapt fast, not to belong, but to stay powerful and respected.
Underneath, though, there’s often exhaustion — the pressure of always having to know, to perform, to hold it together.
They rarely stop long enough to feel, and when they do, the silence can be terrifying.
The Calm one
The calm one survives by staying cool, composed, and unfazed.
When emotions rise, they drift away — to surf, to train, to work, to do something. Anything but feel.
They learned early that feelings are messy, unpredictable, and dangerous — that showing them means losing control or becoming weak.
So they built a life around calmness and ease, a constant low tide where nothing gets too intense.
They seem chill, grounded, maybe even wise — the kind of person who says, “It’s all good,” when it’s clearly not.
Their Box believes that by staying even, they’re safe — but underneath the smooth surface, waves of emotion keep building, never truly landing.
They don’t explode or collapse; they simply fade out. Go for a run, take a drive, light a joint, hit the water — anything to avoid being hit by the storm inside.
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The Tortured Prophet
The Tortured Prophet survives by carrying the weight of knowing.
They see too much, feel too deeply, and live in a world that seems asleep.
Their Box learned that their sensitivity, vision, or truth is both their gift and their curse — that they’re destined to walk alone because no one can truly understand.
They often speak from pain — not for sympathy, but because they can’t not speak.
They see the cracks in the system, the shadows behind the light, and the future woven into the present.
Yet every attempt to share it feels like shouting into the void.
So they live in tension: part of them wanting to awaken others, another part convinced it’s hopeless.
The Tortured Prophet may be an artist, visionary, or teacher — someone who channels meaning through words, images, or presence — yet feels unseen or unreceived.
They often carry guilt, as if their suffering keeps the world in balance, or as if their pain is proof of depth.
Their Box believes that isolation is the price of awareness, that to be awake means to hurt.
So they keep carrying the fire alone, mistaking struggle for purpose.
To go beyond this strategy, the Tortured Prophet must release the need to suffer for the message.
The pain was never proof of worth — it was the doorway.
When they let the world meet them, not as a martyr but as a bridge, their gift transforms from burden to blessing — prophecy becomes participation.
The Social Butterfly
The Social Butterfly survives through connection — or at least, the appearance of it.
They move easily between groups, events, and people, always knowing what to say, how to smile, and where to be seen.
Their Box learned that belonging keeps them safe.
That as long as they’re liked, included, and surrounded by people, nothing bad can happen.
So they master the art of presence — light, friendly, engaging — while keeping their deeper layers hidden beneath charm and motion.
They thrive in activity and attention. Silence feels like emptiness; solitude feels like rejection.
They fill every space with conversation, laughter, or plans — anything that keeps stillness away.
When emotions rise, they change the subject, pour another drink, or move to a new circle where everything feels lighter again.
The Social Butterfly doesn’t just fear being alone — they fear being unseen.
Their constant motion is a dance of survival, an elegant disguise for the ache of disconnection underneath.
To go beyond this strategy, the Social Butterfly must stop fluttering and land — even for a moment.
To sit in stillness without performance, to meet someone without the mask, to feel the loneliness they’ve been out-flying for years.
Only then can connection become what it was meant to be — not survival, but nourishment.
The conspiracy knower
The Conspiracy Knower survives by knowing what others don’t. They are right, everyone else simply don't know their wrong.
Their safety comes from being alert, aware, and one step ahead of the supposed illusion everyone else lives in.
Their Box learned that the world is dangerous and deceptive — and that truth is hidden behind layers of lies, control, and manipulation.
They build identity through knowledge — collecting proofs, patterns, and secret explanations that make the chaos of life feel ordered.
In a way, it’s not about being right — it’s about being safe. If they understand what’s “really” going on, nothing can surprise or harm them.
They mistrust authority, media, systems, and sometimes even friends. If something goes wrong in their life- its all connected to the latest source they watched a you tube about.
Their mind is constantly connecting dots, seeing meaning where others see coincidence. The more they discover, the more separate they feel — both proud of their awareness and trapped in vigilance.
When this strategy deepens, the Conspiracy Knower becomes isolated, frustrated that others “don’t see.”
They start feeding off the energy of revelation — of being the one who knows.
It protects them from feeling powerless, but also keeps them out of connection and flow with life itself. They often use conspiracy to project on and communicate in a masked way their own shadow beliefs and agendas by talking about conspiracy of others. And often behind the scene make money off the stalk market, or the same organization in the pyramids they are preaching against.
The uncalibrated cringe
The Uncalibrated Cringe survives by not noticing how off they are.
They say the wrong thing, laugh too loud, overshare, or act out of sync — and somehow keep going as if nothing happened.
Their Box learned that awareness is painful, that self-reflection leads to shame or rejection.
So they turned that sensitivity off. They built a fantasy world where everything they do is “fine,” even when everyone else cringes.
They often carry an energy that makes others uncomfortable — not because they’re bad, but because they don’t read the room or realize that social norms keep people from saying anything.
They confuse intimacy with oversharing, confidence with invasion, playfulness with chaos.
They feel most at home in “conscious” events or communities, where people walk on eggshells and play practically nice boys and girls — spaces where their lack of calibration is tolerated rather than challenged.
At its core, this strategy hides deep loneliness. The Uncalibrated Cringe wants connection but doesn’t know how to enter it. They try — hard — and when it goes wrong, they double down, unaware of why people pull away.
They survive by pretending they don’t notice the silence that follows their words.
And in a way, it works — because noticing it would mean feeling the pain of separation they’ve spent a lifetime avoiding.
The Dummy survives by staying simple — or at least acting that way.
They pretend not to know, not to understand, or not to notice, because awareness feels dangerous.
Their Box learned that being clever, insightful, or sharp attracts attention — and attention brings pressure, responsibility, or conflict.
So they dim the lights on purpose, play innocent, and let others take charge. It’s safer to be underestimated than to be exposed.
They often use humor, confusion, or forgetfulness as protection. “Oh, I didn’t know,” “I’m not good with that stuff,” or “You’re so much smarter than me” — all become invisible shields against expectation.
People around them may find them cute, funny, or harmless, but underneath that mask lies quiet intelligence and awareness — just locked away, unused.
By playing small, they avoid both failure and power, blending into the background where nothing is demanded of them.
They survive by pretending not to get it — when, in truth, they do. They’ve just learned that showing it costs too much.
At its root, the Dummy carries grief — the sadness of knowing they could do more, say more, be more, but choosing not to.
Because somewhere along the way, they decided that safety matters more than brilliance.
The Small Player
The Small Player survives by staying under the radar.
They keep their moves small, their voice quiet, and their dreams modest — not because they lack vision, but because standing out once felt unsafe.
Their Box learned that power attracts attack, visibility brings pressure, and success creates envy or rejection.
So they play safe. They avoid big risks, big choices, or big commitments. They master the art of almost — almost ready, almost starting, almost visible.
They often surround themselves with people who seem “bigger,” letting others lead while they quietly support from behind the scenes. It feels easier that way — less chance of failing, less chance of being blamed.
Inside, there’s a spark — the knowing they have more to give, more to say, more to create. But every time it rises, their Box whispers: “Don’t. You’ll lose everything.”
So they shrink again, smile, and tell themselves it’s not the right time.
The Small Player doesn’t lack talent or courage; they lack permission.
They survive by keeping their true size hidden — as if playing small guarantees safety.
But it also guarantees stagnation. And deep down, they know it.
What they really want isn’t to dominate — it’s to take up their real space in the world, without apology.
The Success Story / Big Player
The Success Story survives by winning.
They build their safety through achievement, image, and momentum — always moving forward, always performing, always proving.
Their Box learned that love and respect are earned through success.
That as long as they’re impressive, productive, or admired, they’ll be safe.
So they become masters of doing — filling every moment with results, status, or stories of victory.
They radiate confidence, competence, and control. People look up to them, follow them, and feed off their energy.
But beneath the polished surface lives quiet exhaustion — a fear that if they stop, the entire structure will collapse.
They can’t rest, because rest feels like falling behind. They can’t fail, because failure feels like death.
Their entire identity is built on being someone, and the idea of being no one terrifies them.
They often collect experiences, trophies, and relationships like proof of worth — yet each success fades quickly, demanding the next one.
The high of achievement becomes their only safe emotion.
At its core, the Success Story hides the terror of not being enough.
Their survival depends on staying above — above doubt, above others, above stillness.
They survive by living in the story of their greatness.
But the price is intimacy, rest, and authenticity. Because in their world, being human feels like losing — and losing was never an option.
The Ghost
The Ghost survives by disappearing.
Not literally — but energetically, emotionally, and sometimes even physically.
Their Box learned early that being present was unsafe.
Maybe there was shouting, chaos, or emotional invasion at home — or maybe they were simply never seen.
So they learned to fade. To shrink their presence until it didn’t disturb anyone.
To move quietly, think quietly, feel quietly — and eventually, to be quiet.
They became experts at invisibility. They can be in a room without anyone noticing. They drift through conversations, relationships, and jobs without leaving a trace.
When tension rises, they vanish — into screens, music, work, sleep, or the soft numbness of detachment.
Their disappearance protects them from rejection, conflict, and demand.
But it also erases them from the fabric of life.
They watch rather than participate, think rather than speak, and survive by being somewhere else.
The Ghost often confuses peace with absence.
Feeling nothing seems better than feeling too much.
But that numbness — the fog that keeps them safe — is also what keeps them from truly living.
They survive by not being here.
And the world around them adjusts, forgetting to look for them, until they forget themselves too.
The Pleaser
The Pleaser survives by keeping everyone around them safe and calm.
Their Box learned that emotions are dangerous — that if someone gets angry, sad, or upset, things could fall apart.
In early childhood, there was often chaos or emotional mess at home.
The Pleaser became the one who smoothed things over, softened the edges, and made sure everyone felt okay — or at least looked okay.
They started taking responsibility for other people’s feelings, believing that peace depends on their ability to keep everyone balanced.
They say yes when they mean no, smile when they want to scream, and sense others’ emotions faster than their own.
Their attention lives outside themselves — scanning the room, reading the tone, adjusting to make sure nothing explodes.
They appear kind, supportive, and caring — but underneath, there’s tension, exhaustion, and quiet panic.
They survive by carrying everyone’s emotions so no one else has to feel them.
But in doing so, they lose contact with their own.
The Pleaser doesn’t just want to be liked — they want to prevent collapse.
They learned that safety means keeping harmony alive, even if it costs their authenticity.
To go beyond this strategy, the Pleaser must stop holding the emotional weather of the room.
To let others feel what they feel, without fixing it.
And to discover that peace doesn’t come from managing others — it comes from finally feeling themselves.
Core relevant distinctions:
1
For most people, their survival strategies are as much a part of them as the way they breathe.
They can’t see them — and often get hooked or triggered just by hearing about them.
This, however, can be beneficial during an EHP or an Unhooking session.
2
Survival strategies are NOT the same as breeding strategies.
Even though they are often tied together and connected, they serve different purposes and follow different codes.
They are frequently mixed, but confusing these two types of strategies creates a lot of misunderstanding when working with people.
3
It wasn’t hard to find pictures for this page — these survival strategies are so ingrained in our society that they’re almost invisible.
Like archetypes, they arise from cosmic patterns of reality and hold endless depth to explore.
How you engage with them is up to you — you can stay on the surface or dive as deep as you dare.
4
Notice these survival strategies — for some of us, they are core, and we can find ourselves in one or two of them.
For others, we can take one survival strategy and see it as one behavior our Box has, but not in such a prominent way.
This makes sense.
5
This is written here for you — for your research, not to take as “truths,” and especially not to beat yourself up with!
6
Yes some of these survival strategies cross into the realms of the Shadow Guide and its Shadow purpose and behaviors.
This shows you the connection and how they are so related, as the Shadow Guide behaviors are the protection mechanism that keep the survival strategy together.
7.
What to do with a Survival Strategy
NOT taking the opposite one.
Oftan people discover their survival strategy and their Shadow Guide uses that to beat themselves up with it.
Later, out of self-guilt, they pick the opposite one as the safest solution.
Opposite survival strategies don’t work to grow, or improve life situation.
They just take you on a loop that can take a few years before you find yourself at the same spot again.
For example: if you played the good girl all your life, and now taking the bad girl, in a few months you feel the same stuck emotions you felt before.
Notice we didn't told you what to do and "how to resolve" These survival strategies.
This is because, despite the strategy to solve or go beyond things, feeling the pain of having a survival strategy is the most useful thing for evolution.
The part of you that wants to go beyond the boundaries of limitation will, by itself, show you the path.
If you find some cool experiments along the way, send them to us and we’ll put them here.