Maybe we can never truly understand ourselves

The mind, the brain, it’s a crazy thing. We use it to understand it. What a paradox. How utterly impossible a feat. Psychology aims to understand and categorise but I fear we never will, and that’s both beautiful and terrifying.

We have all these convenient hacks for the brain. How to optimise the mind. I’m sceptical. Not all of our minds are the same! And what about neurodivergence? Even, and especially, undiagnosed and unrecognised neurodivergence! So many of us have brains that work differently to atypical brains and yet we have no idea. We just beat ourselves up for not being able to do what others seem to do so easily.

I’ve always said that knowing yourself is important. It empowers us. It helps us to design our lives in the best way. It helps us to make decisions based on our values and beliefs. It helps us to combat things we don’t like and consciously make different choices.

Knowledge is power

But what if the knowledge is incorrect? We can go our whole lives believing something to be true about ourselves that is entirely false. Now that’s terrifying. Perception is so flawed, especially, perhaps, our perception of ourselves. What we think we see, how we interpret that information, then what we decide it means about us, is always going to be skewed data. A flawed system impacted by past incorrect data, hormones, basic needs being met that day, neurodivergence, trauma, illness, poor gut health, feelings and mood changes.

Each day, we may interpret the same information completely differently.

So what I think I’m saying here is, we’re always wrong! You’re not stupid because your brain gave you evidence that you are. You’re not lazy. You’re not a failure. You’re not even a genius. You’re not the best person. You’re just a flawed, confusing, capable human being who is complicated and constantly trying, to no avail, to understand itself.

Perhaps we ought to stop trying altogether. Or, at least, question all the data we receive and know that there’s room for error.

Sincerely,

S. xx