Recently, I was having a conversation with my daughter - who’s 19 - about the mental changes in a family member with memory loss. I commented that it can feel like a long goodbye, as they seem less like themself. Even as I said that, it didn’t ring true. She quickly responded, “When are we ever ourselves? It seems like we’re always changing.'“
Her comment, which did ring true, got me thinking a lot this week about the elusive “self.”
Who Am I? Who are You?
My genes and early life experiences have shaped me. The arrival of hormonal changes around puberty changed me. My friendships changed me. After puberty, hormonal cycles played a role in changing my personality throughout the month. My education changed me. Love, marriage, and motherhood changed me. My work changed the way I make sense of things. For example, I’m sure optimizing my zinc level changed me into someone more comfortable around people. Addressing mold toxicity increased my energy, so everything wasn’t so hard. Addressing methylation lifted an apathy that came with toxicity. When I was in the throes of mast cell activation and inflammation, I was different. For 3 days at a time, feelings of “doom” and head and neck pain colored my world. When the flare passed, “I” was back.
Sickness changed me into a more compassionate person. Despite this, I was determined to return to who I was before chronic illness. No one tells you that’s not possible. We may heal, but we don’t going back to a former self. Sickness forced me to let go of certainty and let go of identity so I could approach life with greater ease.
Menopause lessened my intensity, possibly because less estrogen would have increased the ability of COMT and MOA-A to better clear catecholamines (which increase tension and, for some, hyperfocus). The need to go - go - go softened.
I miss how much I could once do. I don’t miss believing that everything mattered more than the present moment.
Even on a given day, our “selves” change. “Morning Me” is calm, has plans, and sticks with a routine. The “3-4:30 pm Me” is slower and less sharp. I’ve come to design my schedule to take care of both. “Me on Too Many Carbs” is self-conscious and judgmental and looks for things to complain about, while “Me on Less Carbs” is more at peace with what is.
The challenge, of course, is to accept whatever perceived “self” shows up at a given time of day and not banish the moment with judgments about who we think we are. When we can do this, we can extend that grace to others.
Who Is This Person?
If you are a parent or have a partner or spouse, you’ve likely noticed the changing personalities of those you love. When my daughter was three, she was struggling with episodic cognitive and mood changes, as well as some developmental regression. Though not apparent to most people, in my mind, she was “herself” only about one out of four days. This was evident in her clear thinking, playfulness, humorous comments, and ability to draw a stick figure. This was who I perceived “her” to be. I felt connected to her.
But for three of the four days (for a good part of the year), she was forgetful and didn’t engage in imaginative play. She was irritable and anxious. Her speech was slurred, and she couldn’t draw a circle. It was as if I had repeatedly lost her to an imposter with whom I found connecting more challenging.
Ideally, I would have been more present and better connected to all her “selves.” But that’s not often who shows up when we’re in survival mode. I am grateful to my analytical, driven, and detail-oriented left brain, which ultimately found the help and answers that allowed her to return to her developmental path. I did, however, have to let that part of me go (in our relationship), for her and my well-being.
There is No Fixed Self
With these recent thoughts of the elusive “self” came a need to rekindle my relationship with one of my favorite mystics - Leonard Cohen. Though I’ve heard the interview (quoted below) several times, I was surprised at how different it resonates at this stage in my life.
After commenting on how he no longer struggles with chronic depression, he explains why that is.
“We don’t determine what we are going to see next, or hear next, or taste next, or think next, or feel next. Yet we have the sense that we’re running the show. So if anything has relaxed in my mind, it’s the sense of control, or the quest for meaning. My sense is there is not a fixed self. There is not one whom I can locate as the real me. And, dissolving the search for the real me is relaxation, is the content of peace….But these recognitions are temporary and fleeting, and, you know, …….we go back to thinking we know who we are.”
The Right & Left Brain
I love how Leonard Cohen unknowingly speaks about the differences between the right and the left brain. His right brain can’t locate a real him; for this, he is glad and at peace. The sense of control he refers to is mainly from the left brain, where the ego resides with its self-focus, striving, and clinging. And though the right brain is ideally the master and where we ultimately find peace, we still reflexively return to the left brain as we “return to thinking we know who we are.”
Buddhism
If Leonard Cohen sounds Buddhist, he is. Though Judaism remained integral to his spiritual life, he steeped himself in Eastern spiritual and religious practices. From the ages of 61-65, he was a Buddhist monk.
I’m not Buddhist, nor do I promote specific religious beliefs or structures. But, I am beginning to understand why the doctrine of "no-self" - the idea that there is no permanent self - has helped many people worldwide. The doctrine doesn’t claim that we don’t exist, but it does deny ordinary claims about human identity that bring inevitable tension and, for some, anxiety.
Instead, according to the doctrine, the self is considered a collection of ever-changing mental, physical, and emotional processes that interconnect with other factors. I can’t help but think that among those other factors are changes in our nutrient levels, microbiome, hormones, epigenetic expression, levels of inflammation, and oxidative stress.
Self-Focus & the No-Self
Have you ever noticed the difference in how you think and feel when alone with your “self?” Have you ever stopped and noticed how fleeting your thoughts and feelings are? Who were you in those minute-by-minute moments when you were excited and then when you were frustrated? Who is even doing the noticing? Now, think about how you think and feel when you are in the flow of satisfying work or taking a walk, in friendly conversation, helping someone in need, or petting a dog. In those moments, we don’t need a self to orient ourselves in the world. In those moments, we are in the world.
As human isolation increases, we become more self-focused. We are more in our heads and not in the world. Isolation has our left brain taking us on a tedious pursuit of who we think we are or should be. Our left brain wants an identity to hang its hat on as if that will make everything right in our world. And from this identity, we judge ourselves and others, making it more challenging to connect,….if we let it.
Suffering
Buddhism connects the concept of self to great human suffering.
Think about how much of our attention and energy we spend to find ourselves. We strive to be authentic. Many of us have been bucking up against a self we believe we didn’t have much say in creating. And many of us succeed in finding new ways of being in the world that feel more aligned with who we think we are.
But many of us will reach a point where we realize the self we’ve been excavating or creating is fleeting. Our perpetual growth has been walking hand in hand with a falling away of self and identity. We find that all we ever had - and have - are our moments.
Presence
Wiring a brain to be present in such moments takes practice. It is when we practice noticing and paying more attention to the people and the world around us. It’s when we notice what we see, hear, and even smell. It's when we are immersed in a conversation or our work. It is when we are creating anything or listening to music. It is when we experience compassion, which includes self-compassion. It’s not all about good feelings. To be present is to sit with anger, sadness, and fear as they arise. They, too, shall pass, especially if we don’t try to deny or resist them.
Being present is the antidote to the self. Being present is an antidote for suffering.
Wishing you moments of presence and the ability to hold everything, including your sense of identity, more lightly in the New Year.
CourtneySnyderMD.com
Medical Disclaimer:
This newsletter is for educational purposes and not intended or implied to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment for yourself or others, including but not limited to patients you are treating (if you are a practitioner). Consult your physician for any medical issues that you may be having.
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