Having worked in mental health, I've spent a fair bit of time thinking about the relationship between our experiences, the language we use to describe them, and the way we come to understand ourselves.
It's an interesting subject because the language we use to make sense of our experiences can have a considerable influence on how we view ourselves and the world around us.
Labels can be incredibly important. For somebody who has spent years struggling to understand their thoughts, feelings or behaviours, receiving a diagnosis can bring a tremendous sense of relief. It can provide an explanation for experiences that have been difficult to articulate, open the door to appropriate support and help somebody realise they're not alone in what they've been going through.
There's real value in that, but I think there's another side to this worth exploring.
At what point does identifying an experience become identifying with it?
There's a difference between saying "I'm experiencing anxiety" and "I'm an anxious person". Between recognising that you're going through a difficult period and beginning to see that difficulty as a defining feature of who you are. The words might seem like a small difference, but I think the implications are worth considering.
The language we use to describe ourselves
We all develop a picture of who we are. That picture is influenced by our upbringing, relationships, experiences, beliefs and the various circumstances we've encountered throughout life.
We use language to make sense of that picture. We describe ourselves as confident, introverted, sensitive, anxious, resilient, insecure or any number of other things. Some descriptions are positive, others less so, but over time they can become woven into the way we think about ourselves.
There's nothing particularly unusual about this. It's part of how we make sense of our identity. The question is whether we're always conscious of the influence these descriptions have on us.
Consider somebody who has experienced anxiety for a considerable period of their life.
They might begin by recognising that certain situations trigger feelings of anxiety. They learn to understand those feelings, identify the circumstances in which they occur and develop ways of managing them.
That's a process of self-understanding. Over time, the language might change.
Rather than recognising anxiety as something they experience, they begin to see themselves as an anxious person. Their expectations of what they're capable of doing might change accordingly. Opportunities are approached with the assumption that anxiety will prevent them from participating.
The experience has become part of the identity. Now, I'm not suggesting that changing the language we use will resolve an anxiety disorder, or that somebody can overcome a genuine mental health difficulty by thinking differently about themselves.
What I'm interested in is the relationship between the experiences we have and the conclusions we draw about ourselves as a result.
When an explanation becomes a boundary
One of the things I've considered is whether finding an explanation for something can occasionally lead us to place limitations on ourselves.
A diagnosis can help explain why somebody experiences certain difficulties. It can provide a framework through which they can better understand their needs and access the right support. But an explanation of how we experience something isn't necessarily a complete explanation of who we are.
Take somebody who receives a diagnosis of ADHD, for example.
That diagnosis might help them understand difficulties they've experienced with concentration, organisation, impulsivity or emotional regulation. It might explain why certain aspects of everyday life have felt more challenging than they appear to be for others. That's valuable information.
But does that diagnosis tell us everything about that person? Does it establish the limits of their abilities, their potential or what they might achieve in life? Of course not.
The same applies across a whole range of mental health diagnoses and life experiences. A person who has experienced trauma is more than their trauma. Somebody living with depression is more than their depression. A person who struggles with social anxiety is not defined entirely by their difficulties in social situations.
These experiences are real. They can have a profound impact on somebody's life and deserve to be understood and taken seriously. But they're not the entirety of a human being.
I think we need to be careful that the explanations we find for ourselves don't inadvertently become boundaries around what we believe we're capable of.
Have we become too accustomed to diagnosing the human experience?
There's another question I'd like to put forward, and I appreciate that it's one which needs a little care.
As our understanding of mental health has developed, we've become much better at recognising and identifying difficulties that were previously misunderstood, dismissed or left untreated. That's a positive thing.
People are more willing to talk about their mental health, seek support and challenge the stigma that has surrounded these subjects for generations. But I wonder whether, alongside this progress, we've also become more inclined to interpret ordinary human experiences through a diagnostic lens.
We experience sadness and look for an explanation. We struggle with confidence and begin questioning whether something is wrong. We feel uncomfortable in social situations, become overwhelmed by everyday responsibilities or find ourselves worrying about the future. Of course, these experiences can be associated with genuine mental health conditions. Context, severity, duration and the impact on someone's life all matter but they're also experiences that exist within the broader human condition.
We will all experience fear, grief, insecurity, loneliness, disappointment and periods when life feels overwhelming.
Not every difficult emotion is a disorder and not every period of struggle needs to become a permanent part of our identity.
I think there's a distinction between recognising when somebody needs professional support and treating every uncomfortable aspect of being human as something that needs a clinical explanation. I'm not arguing against diagnosis or treatment, far from it. Proper recognition and support can be life-changing, and there are many people who have spent years without receiving the help they needed.
I'm raising a question about balance. How do we encourage people to understand their difficulties without encouraging them to view their entire existence through the lens of those difficulties?
We are not fixed in time
One of the things I find most interesting about human beings is our capacity for change. Think about the person you were ten years ago. The things you believed, the things you worried about, the relationships you had and the way you understood yourself.
How much of that remains the same? We've all had experiences that have changed our outlook and encountered circumstances that have challenged our beliefs, forced us to reconsider our assumptions and introduced us to aspects of ourselves we hadn't previously recognised.
We learn, adapt and develop new perspectives. Yet sometimes we seem to hold on to descriptions of ourselves that were formed during particularly difficult periods of our lives. We continue to see ourselves through the eyes of a younger version of who we were, even when our circumstances have changed considerably.
Somebody who once struggled with confidence might continue to describe themselves as lacking confidence, despite having developed skills, relationships and experiences that demonstrate otherwise. Somebody who has spent years feeling anxious might struggle to recognise the progress they've made because anxiety has become such an established part of their self-image.
We should allow ourselves the opportunity to become somebody different from the person our past experiences might lead us to believe we are.
I don’t mean forgetting what we've been through, dismissing the difficulties we've encountered or pretending that certain challenges no longer exist.
I mean recognising that we're not fixed in time.
Our circumstances change and our understanding develops. We acquire new experiences and discover new capabilities.
Why should our understanding of ourselves remain confined to a description formed at another point in our lives?
Understanding yourself without losing sight of yourself
From a more philosophical perspective, I think this raises an interesting question about identity itself. What actually makes us who we are?
Are we the collection of experiences we've accumulated throughout life? Are we our memories, our thoughts, our emotions, our beliefs and the various characteristics we use to describe ourselves? Or is there something more to our identity than the descriptions we attach to it?
I've always found this an interesting area of exploration, particularly when considering the relationship between consciousness, self-awareness and our sense of being. We spend a great deal of time trying to understand ourselves, which is an important part of personal development, but I wonder whether we occasionally become too attached to the conclusions we reach.
We identify a particular characteristic, recognise a recurring pattern or find an explanation for something we've experienced, and that understanding becomes part of the story we tell ourselves. Over time, we can become so familiar with that story that we stop questioning it.
But an understanding of ourselves should be something that continues to develop. It should allow room for contradiction, growth and the discovery of things we didn't previously recognise.
You can be somebody who experiences anxiety and still be courageous.
You can have experienced trauma and still find joy.
You can struggle with confidence and still achieve extraordinary things.
You can have a mental health diagnosis without allowing it to become the sum total of your identity.
So, where do we draw the line?
I don't think there's a straightforward answer, and I'm not sure there needs to be.
Diagnosis has its place and language has its place. Understanding our experiences and recognising the things that influence our behaviour are all important parts of developing a healthier relationship with ourselves. But I think it's worth being mindful of the conclusions we draw along the way.
When we describe ourselves, are we acknowledging something we're experiencing, or are we making a statement about the limits of who we are?
When we look back at our lives, are we recognising the experiences that have shaped us, or are we allowing those experiences to determine what we believe is possible in the future?
There's a difference because we're more than the worst thing we've experienced, the hardest period we've endured or the label that best explains how we've been feeling. Our difficulties deserve recognition, compassion and appropriate support. They don't need to become the boundaries of our identity.
I think one of the most important aspects of understanding ourselves is remaining open to the possibility that there's more to discover. So, I'll leave you with a question to consider:
Am I using what I've experienced to understand myself better, or have I started using it to define the limits of who I can be?
It's worth giving that one some thought.