Seeker: I keep eating when I’m not even hungry. Like, I’ll finish dinner and immediately start snacking. My body doesn’t want it.

Companion: What happens in that moment between finishing dinner and reaching for more?

Seeker: Nothing really. It’s automatic. I just find myself at the cupboard.

Companion: Nothing? Or something so familiar you don’t notice it anymore?

Seeker: Maybe there’s like a… restlessness? Or no, it’s more like feeling empty. But that doesn’t make sense because I just ate.

Companion: Empty where?

Seeker: Not my stomach. It’s higher up? Chest maybe. Or everywhere. I sound crazy.

Companion: You’re describing something very real. When did you first notice this emptiness?

Seeker: I don’t know. Recently? I always notice it. When I was a kid I remember I used to sneak sweets to my room. Is that relevant?

Companion: What did those sweets do for you then?

Seeker: Made me feel better? Safer? The sweets were my friends… Again I sound crazy.

Companion: The sweets were there when no one else was.

Seeker: Yeah. Exactly. They were company? In my own world. That’s stupid.

Companion: What else wasn’t there that should have been?

Seeker: I mean, my parents were there. They were dealing with their own stuff. They loved me. They just… I was kind of on my own a lot. Had to figure things out myself.

Companion: And food became the thing that was consistently available when you needed comfort.

Seeker: But I’m forty-three. My dad is gone. I’m not that lonely kid anymore. In fact, I wasn’t lonely. I think I just wasn’t where I wanted to be.

Companion: What would happen if you sat with the emptiness instead of filling it?

Seeker: I don’t want to.

Companion: What are you afraid you’d find?

Seeker: That it’s bottomless. That nothing will ever fill it. That I’m still that kid eating chocolate in her room because nobody… because I couldn’t…

Companion: Because you couldn’t what?

Seeker: Because I couldn’t get what I actually needed. And I still can’t. Because what I needed was… was them. But then not any more. Was someone to tell me it was okay, that I was okay, that I wasn’t too much or too needy or…irrelevant.

Companion: The hunger isn’t for food.

Seeker: No. It never was.

Companion: So what is it you’re actually hungry for?

Seeker: I don’t… I don’t even know anymore. It’s been so long since I let myself want anything real.

Seeker: When someone criticizes me, even small things, I just I can’t function. It’s like being erased.

Companion: Erased. That’s such a strong word. What happens in your body when criticism comes?

Seeker: Everything contracts. My chest gets tight. I can’t think straight. It’s not even proportional to what they said.

Companion: Can you give me an example? Something recent?

Seeker: My boss said my presentation needed more data. That’s it. Not even harsh. But I spent the whole night replaying it, feeling like I’m worthless at my job. At everything.

Companion: You went from “needs more data” to “worthless at everything.” That’s quite a leap.

Seeker: I know it’s irrational. I can see that from outside. But inside, it feels true.

Companion: What would it mean if you weren’t good at your job?

Seeker: That I’m… nothing. That sounds dramatic but that’s what it feels like.

Companion: So your worth as a person is tied to how well you perform?

Seeker: I mean, intellectually I know that’s not true. I’ve done therapy. I understand self-worth shouldn’t depend on achievement.

Companion: You understand it intellectually. But something else is running the show when criticism arrives.

Seeker: Yeah. Something panicked.

Companion: When you were young, what happened when you didn’t do something well?

Seeker: My mom would get this look. Not angry, just disappointed. Silent. She’d withdraw. And she was so big.

Companion: And what did that mean to you as a child?

Seeker: That I’d lost her. That she didn’t want me anymore.

Companion: So doing things well meant keeping her close?

Seeker: I never thought of it that way. But yeah. When I got good grades, helped around the house, she was warm. Present. When I messed up…

Companion: She disappeared.

Seeker: Not physically. But yeah. Emotionally, she was gone. I understand it is her problem too at play, but it doesn’t help.

Companion: So you learned that being loved depended on being good enough.

Seeker: But I know that’s not how adult relationships work. Well, I mean I see this at play with other people too. Speaking of adult relationships…

Companion: What if the criticism you receive now is touching that same place — where imperfection meant abandonment?

Seeker: That’s exactly what it feels like. Like I’m about to be left.

Companion: Can you see the difference between who you are and what you produce?

Seeker: I actually can’t. That’s the problem, isn’t it? They’re the same thing to me.

Companion: What would it mean if they weren’t the same?

Seeker: Then criticism would just be feedback. Not a verdict on my right to exist.

Companion: But right now, they’re fused.

Seeker: Completely fused. I AM my performance. No wonder it destroys me.

Companion: What’s that like to see?

Seeker: Honestly? Terrifying. If I’m not my achievements, then who am I?

Companion: That might be the question.

Seeker: I don’t even know where to start with that.

Companion: Didn’t you start already?

Seeker: I know they’re bad for me. Everyone tells me. I tell myself. But I can’t seem to actually leave.

Companion: What happens when you try?

Seeker: I get to the edge of it, you know? Like I’ll pack a bag or write the text. Then I think about them alone, struggling, and… I just can’t.

Companion: So you see them struggling and you stay. What do you see happening to you while you stay?

Seeker: I’m getting smaller. Quieter. I used to paint, see friends. Now I mostly just manage their moods. But they’ve had such a hard life, trauma from their childhood. If I could just help them heal.

Companion: I notice you immediately went to their trauma. What about yours?

Seeker: Mine? I didn’t have trauma. My childhood was fine. I mean, my mom was insecure and depressed a lot, but I learned how to cheer her up. I was good at it.

Companion: You were good at cheering up your depressed mother.

Seeker: Yeah. I knew exactly what would work. Which TV show to suggest, what joke to make. My sister would just hide in her room, she did not take part in this game, but I could actually help.

Companion: And now you’re with someone you’re trying to help.

Seeker: That’s not… Hmm. I guess I am. But this is different. They’re actually mean to me sometimes. My mom was just sad.

Companion: What makes you stay with someone who’s mean to you?

Seeker: Because I can see who they really are underneath. Nobody else sees it, but I do. If I can just love them enough, consistently enough…

Companion: What happens if you can’t transform them?

Seeker: What do you mean?

Companion: If you leave and they stay exactly as they are. What happens to you?

Seeker: That’s not. I mean. I’d feel like I failed. Like I wasn’t enough.

Companion: Enough for what?

Seeker: Enough to… matter. If I can fix them, then I matter. If I can’t, then what’s the point of me?

Companion: When did you learn that equation? That your worth equals your ability to transform someone?

Seeker: I remember this: I was seven, maybe eight. Mom was crying again. Dad was at work. I made her laugh with this stupid dance and she said “You’re my sunshine. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” And I felt important. Looking back now, it is a sad memory.

Companion: What would seven-year-old you have felt if you couldn’t cheer her up?

Seeker: Invisible. Like I didn’t exist.

Companion: And now?

Seeker: I’m still trying to exist. By fixing them. But they don’t want to be fixed, do they?

Companion: What do you think?

Seeker: No. They want me to keep trying though. It keeps me focused on them. Shit. I’m not their partner. I’m their proof that they’re worth saving. And I stay because…

Companion: Because?

Seeker: Because if I can’t save them, then that little girl who couldn’t always cheer up her mom… she was worthless. But that’s not true, is it? She was just a kid.

Companion: She was just a kid.

Seeker: I don’t know how to be in a relationship without trying to fix someone. That’s terrifying.

Companion: What else is it?

Seeker: Free? Maybe? I don’t know. It’s like there’s this whole other life where I’m not constantly monitoring someone else’s mood. Where I could just be. It feels like open space.

Seeker: I can’t do conflict. The moment someone’s upset with me, I just… fold. Say whatever they want to hear. My job becomes to find out what people want to hear.

Companion: What happens in your body when you sense that tension rising?

Seeker: My chest gets tight. And I clench my fists a little bit. Everything speeds up. And gets stuck at the same time. It’s like I need to fix it immediately or something terrible will happen.

Companion: Something terrible.

Seeker: I know it sounds dramatic. But that’s what it feels like — like if I don’t smooth things out right now, everything will fall apart.

Companion: When did you first learn that conflict was dangerous?

Seeker: It wasn’t dangerous. My parents just… they’d go cold. Silent treatment for days if you disagreed with them.

Companion: So conflict meant losing connection.

Seeker: Yeah. And I was really sensitive as a kid. I can’t handle feeling shut out like that. So I learned to just not have opinions that would upset anyone.

Companion: You’re using present tense — “I can’t handle.” Not “couldn’t.”

Seeker: I mean… I guess I’m still that kid when conflict happens. But I want to become who I am supposed to be. I mean I want to be “the real me”. This is keeping me small. I thought about this a lot.

Companion: What would happen if you stayed present during conflict instead of folding?

Seeker: They’d see I’m difficult. Selfish. That I’m not who they thought I was.

Companion: And then?

Seeker: Then they’d leave.

Companion: Who leaves when you fold?

Seeker: What do you mean?

Companion: You abandon your own position the moment tension arises. Who’s doing the leaving?

Seeker: Oh. You mean I am leaving my own self! Before they can leave me.

Companion: Every single time.

Seeker: Fuck. I’ve been so focused on keeping people from abandoning me that I never noticed I abandon myself first. Constantly. This hurts.

Companion: What does that cost you?

Seeker: Everything. No one actually knows me. How could they? I disappear the moment there’s any friction. I show them this agreeable ghost instead of me.

Companion: The part of you that has boundaries, needs, opinions that might create tension — where does that part go?

Seeker: Nowhere. I don’t know. It just… freezes. Waits until it’s safe to come back. Which is never, because I’ve trained everyone that I don’t have edges.

Companion: So you’re living in permanent exile from yourself.

Seeker: To avoid exile from others. Except… I’m alone anyway. Just with company.

Seeker: I have this ongoing fear in the background that something terrible is about to happen. Nothing bad happens, but the feeling won’t leave.

Companion: Where do you feel it in your body?

Seeker: My body? Maybe in my stomach sometimes. Like… bracing. Like right before a car accident, that split second where you see it coming.

Companion: You’re bracing for impact.

Seeker: Constantly. Even when everything’s fine. Especially when everything’s fine, actually. Actually, I wouldn’t say bracing for impact. This is always there.

Companion: Tell me more about that — especially when things are fine.

Seeker: That’s when it’s worst. When things are quiet, calm, going well. That’s when I get really anxious. Like the calm before something explodes.

Companion: What does calm mean to you?

Seeker: I don’t know. Dangerous? That sounds crazy.

Companion: Not crazy at all. When did you first learn that calm was dangerous?

Seeker: My dad. He’d be fine, totally normal, then out of nowhere — rage. The quiet days were the worst because you never knew when it would flip.

Companion: So you learned to read the signs.

Seeker: I got really good at it. I could tell by how he closed the car door. By which coffee mug he used. I think I got really good at this.

Companion: You were the family weather system. The early warning.

Seeker: I’d warn my siblings. Get them out of the way. Try to redirect him sometimes, distract him before it started.

Companion: That’s a big job for a child.

Seeker: Someone had to do it.

Companion: What happened when you didn’t catch it in time?

Seeker: Things got bad. Really bad. So I got better at watching. Always watching.

Companion: And now?

Seeker: Now… oh. I’m still doing it. I can tell myself there’s nothing to watch for, but honestly, I don’t believe it.

Companion: Your body doesn’t know that.

Seeker: It’s still scanning. Still… on duty. Even though that house, that danger — it’s twenty years gone.

Companion: What would happen if you went off duty?

Seeker: I don’t know how to do that. It feels like if I stop watching, stop bracing, that’s when it’ll happen. This became part of me.

Companion: The very act of relaxing feels like dropping your guard.

Seeker: Yeah. Exactly. Like I’m inviting disaster by not expecting it.

Companion: You’re still protecting everyone from a threat that isn’t there anymore.

Seeker: But my body doesn’t believe that. It’s like I’m still twelve, reading coffee mugs.

Companion: Still standing watch.

Seeker: Still standing watch. God. I’m so tired.

Seeker: I keep doing this thing where as soon as someone really likes me, I find reasons to pull away. It’s like clockwork.

Companion: What happens in your body when you feel someone getting close?

Seeker: My chest gets tight. Like I can’t breathe. Feels like being stuck. And I start finding everything wrong with them — suddenly they’re too needy or too boring or just… too much.

Companion: Too much of what?

Seeker: I don’t know. Too… there. Too present. Like they’re taking up all the space in the room.

Companion: Have you felt that before? Someone taking up all the space?

Seeker: I know it is an obvious cliche but my mom comes to mind. She used to read my diary. Is that what you mean? She’d go through my things, ask about every phone call. Said mothers are like that.

Companion: How did you handle that?

Seeker: I stopped writing. Stopped talking on the phone when she was home. I got really good at… at being blank. Nothing to see, nothing to find.

Companion: And when someone gets close now?

Seeker: It’s different. These are good people. They’re not invasive.

Companion: But your body responds like they are.

Seeker: Yeah. That’s the part I don’t get. They’re being normal and I’m acting like they’re trying to be invasive also. I don’t know what. It cannot be that everyone I meet is an invasive type.

Companion: What would happen if you didn’t pull away? If you stayed?

Seeker: I’d have to let them see me. Really see me. I would have to let them touch me…I mean come too close.

Companion: Then?

Seeker: Then I wouldn’t be mine anymore. I’d be theirs. That sounds crazy when I say it out loud.

Companion: Does it sound crazy? Or does it sound like something you learned?

Seeker: Oh. That’s what love meant. It meant not being allowed to be… separate. It meant giving up your insides.

Companion: And you’re still protecting your insides.

Seeker: From people who aren’t even asking for them. They just want to be close and I’m over here defending territory they don’t even know exists.

Companion: What happens now that you can see it?

Seeker: I don’t know. It still feels dangerous. Knowing why doesn’t make it feel safe.

The realization

What makes self-observation work is the realization of how valuable it is.

Valuing something starts with seeing what that thing really is, its essence. When one starts to see the essence of something, then one can value it based on one’s own mindset and values. This post can only assist with the former: Describe some qualities of self-observation. It cannot assist and does not want to interfere with the latter.

Only when you take in how valuable self-observation is will it start to truly work for you. It is a personal experience, in its deepest sense.

Below, I bring two qualities as my own personal attempts to describe the value of self-observation.

It is unique

It is genuinely unique that a form of life recognizes its own existence and thus is able to look at its own self. Humankind has this ability. Some other animals have it to some degree, but not comparable to our abilities. Today, we don’t know of other forms of life or other forms of existence on our planet or anywhere else that possess this ability. Some say that this ability is a product of nature’s experimentation. Others say that it was meant to happen. Uniqueness here refers to its unmatched function — nothing else in nature does anything close. It is not merely the fact that we may be the only ones who possess it.

We have unmatched potential through it

Let me have the luxury to put this simply and not be politically or scientifically correct: How do you otherwise have the ability, or at least a viable chance to change towards where you want to go? How can somebody have a conscious choice, an act of conscious change (or maybe change at all) without the ability to look and understand their own self? My experience is that people can answer this question, and certainly according to their values.

The paradox of the self and the mirror

The reason why many people do not see what tool they possess (I didn’t) is because of something else:  Self-awareness and the ability to observe one’s self is so much our given nature that we have a hard time seeing that this is our most potent tool for progress. We need to value a tool with the use of that very tool, while that tool is so much our nature that we are the tool itself.

Let’s do this thought experiment: Imagine that you don’t know you exist as a separate being. In other words, you don’t have self-awareness. Imagine that you go and look in the mirror. You will not know that you are seeing your own self. Now imagine that something happens, you may react, and now imagine that you simply do not have the capacity to look at your own self in relation to that event that happened. Let alone have a conscious choice. The reality is that we do have a self and we do have a mirror (the capacity for self-observation). But many times we use the mirror only to fix our hair.

The mindset that follows

You will have realizations about your own uniqueness. If you haven’t yet, you will realize the importance of the life you live. Most of us struggle to accept our own value. Don’t be surprised if your self starts to work on it more. You will inevitably reach the stage where you stop valuing yourself in relation to external expectations. Be willing to go further than you ever imagined as your life deepens.

Your mind, your thinking will be more comfortable with paradoxes. As your self-observation deepens, so will your acceptance for what reality is. You will look at yourself more broadly and that will have an integrative effect on you.

You will be clearer in how you develop your values and logic. Your deepening self-observation will lead you to question your values and beliefs. You will value your ability to consciously form and change your values more than any particular value you hold. Your heightened internal clarity will drive clearer choices.

You will start to value the spirit behind things more than before. Put another way: you will prioritize your instinct over your mechanical, conceptual thinking. This is what we call magic, especially in our overengineered world. We are taught to be technocrats even with such human qualities and practices as self-awareness and self-observation. It is not about understanding it with some mechanical logic or seeing what personal benefit it can bring. While techniques and methods can be valuable (and this post ‘How self-observation works’ somewhat touches on those), they aren’t any substitutes for deep realizations.

Self-observation on why people are mean to me

• I am mean to people too. I hate this recognition but it is true.
• I have been working on this exercise for a while and for quite some time all my self-reflection was around the above recognition that I am at least as rude and sometimes more than those I find rude. Until recently, when things took some meaningful turns. Here are the outcomes of my self-reflections after.
• Yes, I am rude to people. It is sad for me to recognize this.
• I get rude to people when I get triggered. 
• Almost anything can trigger me. I am in such a state of irritation that the slightest thing can trigger me. 
• It is interesting to realize that deep down I still find that I have some righteousness with my anger. Yes, I overreact, yes, I can be a jerk; but still. It isn’t coming out of nowhere.
• The feeling I have is anger. 
• I am happy I learnt before that anger is a normal, healthy reaction to some kind of intrusion.
• Bang! Such a change in how I understand myself. All the time I was thinking that I was facing my shadow by seeing that I am also a mean and aggressive person. 
• The reason why I get triggered and become mean is because I feel my boundaries are overstepped. This causes my aggression. 
• What have those intrusions been in my case? Contempt, judgement, shaming, and probably most importantly, the simple ignorance to my limits.
• My and others’ “mean” behavior has a different light to it.

No, politicians will not destroy the human race. Politicians are nothing more than a mirror to our present ways of thinking. We choose them, they don’t have power on their own. They are just one manifestation of our inner drama.

If we end our race, it will be because of our psyche. This short post is published at the end of 2024. A lot of dreadful things may happen but they don’t need to. In fact, a lot of life-giving and beautiful things can happen. 

There are truly a lot of us who find that we, humans have already won and our direction is precious. Join us if you want. Joining is easy: Give credit to this and have some nice thoughts about this.  

Self-Observation on why I have a problem with limits

What’s causing my problem with limits?

• I get irritated easily. This is true for most things around me. Be it people, situations, the food I eat; almost anything ‘outside’ of me.
• I have this internal image that situations are irritating and hard and are always like this.
• I know it is a cliché but I can trace this feeling back to my childhood.
• I have this feeling – an image – that I am in a situation that I don’t like and this situation wants something from me that I don’t like. But I need to stay in this situation.
• So I am just sitting in it and getting ever more irritated.
• I feel I always need to fight not to let things into my own space. 
• I just realize that the problem is mine. I mean, sure situations are hard but I find every situation hard.
• Oh…There is something behind the irritation that I kind of see now.
• It is not the irritation but the fact that it is hard to ‘live with it, hard get out of it’. I mean that now I find it is ok to be irritated by things that are in fact irritating. My problem is that I find it literally impossible to solve it for myself. And that is because I find everything so hard to ‘solve’, finish. This is the key for me.
• My problem with limits and my view that it is hard to finish, and ‘accomplish’ things are not in a cause-and-effect relationship. What I mean is that I can not separate one from the other and say that one causes the other. They are together.