Mental Health: The Repetition of Who We Are

The person I am in this moment is the result of repetition. Along the way, my sense of self found comfort in certain patterns of being, even when they weren't the most joyful. The brain longs for safety and predictability, while the soul yearns for something deeper—something the mind can’t always make sense of. It feels almost absurd to realize that the person I’ve become is simply the most convenient version shaped by circumstance. This version of me is the one that knew how to survive best with the hand I was dealt — which begs the question: who am I really?

When you begin to peel back the layers of conditioning, one by one, I wonder what remains. Who are we without the projections, assumptions, and limitations that have shaped our lives? Perhaps if circumstances had been different, a new expression of self might have emerged — as if I could have become someone entirely different from who I am now. If, at my core, I’m just a collection of repetitions built on false assumptions about what creates safety, trust, and survival — then who would I be if I no longer cared about any of those things?
​
On a deeper, more personal level, this means my anxiety is simply a survival mechanism — something that worked well enough for my psyche to cling to. And in many ways, I think that’s true for a lot of our behaviors: they’re just strategies that once kept us safe. Does this mean that if I choose differently — if I resist the comfort that repetition offers — I could rewire my brain and all the paths it’s taken? 

The phrase “choose differently” has been echoing in my mind these past few weeks. Sometimes I catch myself stuck in a pattern, an obsession, or a belief — and in those moments, I remind myself that even when it feels impossible, I still have the power to choose differently. I can choose to become a different version of myself. I can choose a different story than the one I’ve been telling my whole life. ​

But maybe that’s too simple. So many of our patterns are deeply ingrained — automatic, unconscious, and often fused with our very identity. To let them go can feel like losing pieces of who we believed we were, even the parts of us we might despise. Maybe we hold onto our flaws because they offer a strange sense of security — as if it’s safer to believe something is wrong with us than to accept that maybe… nothing is. If nothing is wrong, then what’s our purpose? But if something is wrong, at least it gives us a purpose — to become “better” versions of ourselves. Maybe what we truly crave is the pursuit of something greater — even if it costs us our happiness, because happiness can't be the only thing we're chasing, right? But these are all questions. Regardless, I’d like to meet different versions of myself — to create new neural pathways, new patterns, and new repetitions.