After all, if she were a car mechanic and her car wouldn’t start, she’d pop the hood and find out it was a faulty carburetor or whatever. And then she’d fix it and drive merrily to her shop, where she fixed other people’s cars. So ideally, if she felt her brain didn’t work properly, she could say “Aha, I’m under stress, which, fueled by my childhood memories, is driving me to perceive reality in a twisted manner.” And then she would just . . . fix it, and all would be well.
