Image by Chil Vera from Pixabay

This article is just a thought experiment, not to be taken too seriously. It draws on religious texts combined with my personal interpretation, rather than clinical evidence. While I don’t adhere to any specific religious beliefs, my aim is to help readers understand themselves in simple terms. I love simplicity and have always aimed to explain attachment theory in the easiest way possible, often using examples from animals and creating a Wi-Fi analogy. For instance, in my piece ‘What Feli the Goose Taught Me About Healing: A Lesson in Trauma and Attachment with Daniel Stern, #4’. I explored these concepts through relatable stories and analogies to make them more accessible. However, I’m grateful to a reader who pointed out the need for a bit more information about the four attachment styles. With that in mind, I recognise that not everyone is familiar with them, so I’ll clarify the attachment styles here before discussing Jesus’ attachment style.

Our early childhood relationships with our parents shape how we connect with others throughout our lives. Attachment theory identifies four main patterns: secure, dismissing, preoccupied, and fearful.

• Secure Attachment: Those with secure attachment experienced consistent love and support from their parents. For example, their parents may have made time for them despite busy schedules, listened to their concerns, and provided emotional warmth. As a result, they tend to feel secure in relationships, seek support when needed, and handle social challenges with confidence.
• Dismissing Attachment: Individuals with dismissing attachment often had emotionally unavailable parents. This might have been because their parents worked long hours or were preoccupied with their own struggles, leaving little time or energy to provide emotional support. As adults, these individuals may expect little from relationships, tend to be emotionally distant, and disengage easily when things become too emotionally intense.
• Preoccupied Attachment: Those with preoccupied attachment are often anxious in relationships, constantly seeking reassurance. Their parents may have been inconsistent in their availability — sometimes attentive, other times distracted or overwhelmed — leading to uncertainty. As adults, they struggle to trust others fully and may fear that their needs won’t be met, often seeking reassurance but still feeling unsettled.
• Fearful Attachment: Individuals with fearful attachment experienced chaotic early relationships. Their parents may have been dealing with their own trauma or mental health issues, sometimes reacting with fear or aggression. As a result, these individuals often exhibit a mix of avoidance and anxiety in adult relationships, seeking reassurance but quickly shutting down out of fear of being hurt.

Attachment styles aren’t fixed. People don’t always fit neatly into one type, and styles can shift with experiences and growth.

We are our brain

Attachment isn’t just psychological; it’s also biological. For instance, oxytocin, a hormone linked to bonding, plays a role in forming secure attachments. Early experiences shape our brains, influencing emotional regulation and social engagement. Secure attachment builds neural pathways that help with emotional control, while insecure attachment can make us more vulnerable to stress.

Our attachment patterns also affect how we behave automatically in relationships, often outside our conscious awareness. Securely attached individuals are comfortable seeking support, while insecurely attached people may struggle with trust and closeness.

If you read my previous article about Feli the goose, you might remember that attachment takes time to change. While change is possible, it’s crucial to have some understanding of our attachment style, especially in romantic relationships. Knowing this helps us communicate better with our partners. For instance, someone with a dismissing attachment style might say, ‘I need to go now; I’m not rejecting you. I just need more space.’ Or someone with a fearful attachment style might express, ‘I fear intimacy, but I’m working on it by gradually opening up, sharing my feelings, and learning to trust that my partner won’t abandon me’. I think it would be great if the person could have the humility to say, ‘I’m sorry, darling, if I’m still unable to do it, and thank you for your patience with me.’ Surely, identifying and effectively communicating our attachment needs can contribute to the development of healthier, more resilient relationships, don’t you think?

With this in mind, I wonder if Jesus might have exhibited qualities of a secure attachment style.

Here’s why

1. Strong Relationships and Trust:

Jesus demonstrated a deep sense of trust in his relationship with God, referring to God as “Abba”. “Abba” is an Aramaic term that translates to “father” or “dad,” but it carries a much deeper, more intimate meaning. It conveys a sense of closeness, trust, and affection, much like how a child might call their parent “daddy” or “papa.” This term conveys intimacy and trust, hallmarks of secure attachment.

His close relationships with his disciples, despite their flaws and imperfections, also indicate a strong ability to form deep, meaningful connections without fear of abandonment.

2. Emotional Regulation:

Jesus displayed strong emotional regulation. For instance, in moments of great stress, such as the night before his crucifixion, he expressed his anxiety and distress but still maintained composure and a sense of purpose.

For example, Jesus openly expressed His profound anxiety and distress, saying, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Matthew 26:38, NIV). Yet, He maintained His composure and sense of purpose, praying, “Not my will, but Yours be done” (Luke 22:42, NIV). Even in this vulnerable state, He managed to regulate His emotions. This kind of surrender was not passive; it was a conscious and courageous decision to trust in a higher purpose. His prayer, “Not my will, but Yours be done,” exemplifies the ultimate surrender of personal control.

Securely attached individuals are able to manage difficult emotions while maintaining their connections with others, which aligns with his capacity for empathy, care, and emotional resilience.

3. Compassion and Boundaries:

Jesus was highly compassionate toward others, showing love and understanding, but he also set boundaries when necessary (e.g., cleansing the temple or confronting hypocritical religious leaders). This balance between empathy and maintaining boundaries is characteristic of someone with secure attachment. For example, in cleansing the temple (Matthew 21:12–13), Jesus demonstrated righteous anger by driving out the money changers who were exploiting the temple for personal gain. This act was a clear boundary, reinforcing that the temple was to be respected as a house of prayer, not a marketplace.

For many of us, this remains a learning curve: being kind and patient with our loved ones, especially when they are struggling, while also asserting our needs, setting limits when necessary, and expressing frustration or anger in a healthy manner. This echoes Aristotle’s famous quote:

‘Anyone can become angry — that is easy. But to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not easy’.

4. Acceptance of Vulnerability:

Jesus was open about his emotions and vulnerabilities (e.g., expressing sorrow or disappointment, such as when his disciples fell asleep in the Garden of Gethsemane).

For those who don’t know, the account of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane is found in the New Testament of the Bible, specifically in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. In the Garden of Gethsemane, just before his arrest, Jesus experienced deep emotional turmoil. He brought three of his closest disciples — Peter, James, and John — asking them to stay awake and pray with him. As he prayed to God, overwhelmed with sorrow and distress, he expressed his desire for the suffering ahead to be taken from him but ultimately submitted to God’s will. When he returned to his disciples, he found them asleep, which led to feelings of disappointment. He asked them, “Could you not keep watch with me for one hour?” This moment reveals Jesus’ vulnerability, as he expressed his need for support and companionship during a time of great emotional struggle

Sorry for digressing, but I think Jesus’ experience in the Garden of Gethsemane also reminds us that even when our deepest needs for connection aren’t fulfilled, there can be strength in vulnerability. It highlights the importance of self-awareness and compassion, not just towards others but towards ourselves in moments of pain and loneliness.

This is a reminder that even the strongest among us, even those with a secure attachment, can have moments of deep sorrow and a need for support that may not always be met.

Anyway, back to the point: secure attachment involves a willingness to be vulnerable in relationships while trusting that others will respond with care and understanding

5. Forgiveness and Trust in Relationships:

Despite being betrayed by Judas and denied by Peter, Jesus responded with forgiveness and love, which points to a deep sense of trust and an understanding of human frailty. Securely attached individuals are generally more forgiving because they do not see others’ actions as personal rejections of their own worth.

Conclusion:

Based on these attributes, Jesus might be interpreted as someone who had a secure attachment style, characterised by trust, empathy, emotional regulation, and strong, healthy relationships. He showed a profound sense of love and understanding toward others, while maintaining a strong, trusting bond with God.

Could his example of secure attachment invite us to consider how we respond to others when we feel hurt or abandoned, and what it means to truly trust, even in the face of uncertainty?

Before I begin, I want to express my deep respect for those living with tinnitus. My hope is to offer comfort and relief to those who are struggling, reminding them that they are not alone and that, with time and support, things can improve

If you’re struggling with tinnitus and have ventured onto YouTube, you’ve likely been flooded with endless advice: ‘It’s because of loud music!’ or ‘You just need to clean your ears.’ Everyone seems to have a quick fix, yet you’re still left asking: Why is my ear ringing like an alarm clock that never turns off?”

Let’s be honest, if everyone knew what caused tinnitus, we’d all be sitting in blissful silence right now, wouldn’t we? But no, tinnitus sufferers are still here, ears buzzing away, trying to figure out which of the thousand causes is the real culprit.

I would like to metaphorically compare my journey to the book We’re Going on a Bear Hunt because, in a way, the “bear” can represent the noise and discomfort of tinnitus itself. It’s been a journey of facing obstacles with different strategies, much like the family in the book traverses rivers, mud, and forests.

“Uh oh! A river! A deep, cold river! We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh oh! We’ve got to go through it!”

 Just like in the book, some challenges with tinnitus must be faced head-on; they can’t be avoided or sidestepped. When the tinnitus intensifies (like the bear suddenly appearing), it can feel overwhelming, and you might feel the urge to retreat into coping mechanisms, seeking relief from the discomfort. Here, I’ll also discuss masking and avoidance strategies. However, these challenges often can’t be avoided, and they can’t always be fully resolved by running away.

So let’s break down all the things that could be causing tinnitus. But spoiler alert — by the end, we’ll all probably still be scratching our heads (and maybe our ears).

And so it begins…

1. Earwax Build-up: The Classic Suspect

Everyone’s favourite go-to cause: earwax. Yes, that tiny, sticky villain that apparently has the power to make your ears scream. In England, that’s where your tinnitus journey likely begins. You try hard to book a GP appointment, hoping and praying it’s just an infection. But once that’s ruled out, your GP sends you to the pharmacist, who kindly suggests olive oil drops. Voilà! Your tinnitus will magically disappear, right? Well, unless it doesn’t. In which case, back to square one.

Uh oh! A river! A deep, cold river! We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh oh! We’ve got to go through it!

2. Bad Posture: Wait, My Neck is the Problem?

Did you know your neck could be the reason your ears are ringing? You’ve been hunched over your laptop, neck craned forward like a giraffe, and somehow that causes tinnitus. Apparently, poor posture can trigger hyperactivity in your neck muscles, which in turn makes your ears decide they’re a concert hall. An orthopaedic pillow might just be the thing to calm your neck down, and with it, your tinnitus. Or at least make your naps more comfortable. And so I went to check this research by consulting an orthopaedic specialist.

Voilà! Despite all my efforts — countless downward dogs, hours spent perfecting warrior poses, and my relentless dedication to daily yoga — apparently (or so the specialist noticed; I can’t judge based on this X-ray), my head has decided to lean into a more “forward-thinking” position.

However, the screen below was much clearer to interpret and revealed that my head is 2.79 cm forward! What an interesting discovery. These deviations are a crucial factor for cervical pain and tinnitus.

There is growing evidence suggesting a connection between cervical spine dysfunction, muscle tension, posture, and tinnitus. Now, let’s take a closer look at cervical pain together to see if you have any of these symptoms…

Cervical pain, commonly referred to as neck pain, is associated with a variety of symptoms. Here are some of the most common ones:

• Neck Pain or Stiffness: This can range from a dull ache to sharp pain when moving the neck.
• Limited Range of Motion: This involves difficulty turning or tilting the head due to stiffness or pain.
• Headaches: Often located at the base of the skull and sometimes radiating toward the forehead or behind the eyes (cervicogenic headaches).
• Pain Radiating to Shoulders or Arms: When nerves are irritated or compressed, pain can radiate from the neck down to the shoulders, arms, or hands.
• Muscle Spasms: Involuntary tightening of neck muscles, leading to stiffness and pain.
• Tingling or Numbness: This is often felt in the arms, hands, or fingers if nerves are involved.
• Weakness: Affected muscles in the arms or hands may feel weak, a sign of nerve compression.
• Grinding or Popping Sensations: This involves feeling grinding, popping, or clicking when moving the neck, often indicating joint issues.
• Dizziness or Lightheadedness: These can occur with certain types of cervical issues, particularly when blood flow or nerve function is affected.
• Tinnitus: Cervical pain, especially due to postural issues or muscle tension, can contribute to the perception of ringing in the ears. This is actually the reason I’m writing this.
• Fatigue: Ongoing pain can lead to tiredness and a lack of energy.
• Difficulty Sleeping: Pain and discomfort may interfere with sleep, particularly if lying down aggravates the symptoms.

So, not only is tinnitus a pain in the neck, but it may also be caused by pain in the neck! Please forgive my cheap humour, but in a way, I want to subtly convey throughout the article, and between the lines, the idea that we should remind ourselves to be more relaxed and playful in life, as this can also help with tinnitus

Uh oh! A river! A deep, cold river! We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh oh! We’ve got to go through it!

3. Vitamin B12 Deficiency: Oh, I’m Just Low on B12?

For those who thought tinnitus was all in the ears, think again! Turns out, low Vitamin B12 can make your ears buzz like a broken TV. So, is the solution as simple as popping a B12 pill? Maybe. But even if you gulp down supplements like sweets, don’t be too surprised if that ringing doesn’t pack its bags and leave overnight.

As for me? I checked my B12, and it was fine.

Uh oh! A river! A deep, cold river! We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh oh! We’ve got to go through it!

4. Blood Sugar Levels: Yes, Even Your Sweet Tooth Can Cause Tinnitus

Oh, you thought sugar was just bad for your teeth and waistline? Think again! High blood sugar doesn’t just give you cravings — it can also throw your inner ear into a tailspin. Too much sugar? Say hello to buzzing ears. Too little sugar? You guessed it: more buzzing. It’s like your ears are stuck in a never-ending sugar crash.

Research proves that tinnitus can be caused by high levels of insulin and sugar in the blood. This is because the inner ear and brain depend on blood sugar, and high insulin levels can deplete vital nutrients, such as B vitamins, leading to nerve damage (here we are again!).

Interestingly enough, I was pre-diabetic, but with a different diet, as shown below, I completely reversed the problem. This may also be why my tinnitus is no longer an issue. Keep in mind, I exercise every day and am not overweight, so don’t rule out insulin resistance as a potential factor.

According to studies, anywhere from 84% to 92% of people with tinnitus have been found to have insulin resistance. This was observed in clinical studies conducted in Brazil and published in the International Tinnitus Journal. So maybe your pancreas has been keeping this little secret from you all along.

Perhaps you may want to consider asking your doctor to check your insulin levels when diagnosing tinnitus.

Uh oh! A river! A deep, cold river! We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh oh! We’ve got to go through it!

5. Genetics

• Genetics: Ah, here’s something. Some people are just genetically predisposed. My grandmother had severe tinnitus, but the good news is, it mysteriously disappeared after she retired. Interesting, right?
• Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS): This is usually linked to insulin resistance in women.

Uh oh! A river! A deep, cold river! We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh oh! We’ve got to go through it!

6. Hyperactivity in the Auditory Cortex: The Brain’s Version of “Let’s Make Noise!”

More sciencey stuff. Take your time, but if you have tinnitus, I highly recommend listening to this great talk by Josef Rauschecker:

Tinnitus: Ringing in the Brain | TEDxCharlottesville.

Sometimes, tinnitus is not about your ears at all — it’s your brain that’s to blame. When your ears aren’t sending normal sound signals, your brain decides to step in and create its own noise. It’s like your brain got bored and thought, “Hey, let’s fill the silence with some buzzing!” I’ve summarised some key points for you:

👂 Tinnitus is not a real sound but a phantom sound generated by the brain.

🤯 The brain compensates for damage to hair cells in the inner ear by filling in gaps, which leads to tinnitus.

🧠 Tinnitus is not purely an auditory disorder; it is also influenced by the limbic system, the part of the brain responsible for regulating emotions.

Tinnitus is strongly affected by emotional and stress systems in the brain, especially in a part called the limbic system, which controls our emotions. When you’re feeling stressed or upset, your tinnitus is likely to get worse. Josef Rauschecker explains that this system in the brain communicates with our senses, like hearing, and can either make sounds seem louder or quieter.

At the heart of the issue is a “noise cancellation” system in the brain, which normally filters out unnecessary internal sounds, like the ringing in tinnitus. In people with tinnitus, however, this system — particularly in areas like the ventral medial prefrontal cortex and the nucleus accumbens — doesn’t work properly. These brain regions usually help to block out unwanted noise, but when they malfunction, the brain struggles to cancel out the phantom sounds, which results in tinnitus.

The below slide is illustrating hyperactivity in the auditory cortex as observed in patients with tinnitus compared to individuals without it (controls). Here’s a breakdown of what it shows:

1. FMRI: This stands for functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging, a technique that measures and maps brain activity. In this case, it’s being used to observe how the brain’s auditory cortex responds.
2. Controls: This refers to people without tinnitus. In the image of their brain scan (on the left), you can see some activity in the auditory cortex (the area that processes sound), but it’s more subdued.
3. Patients: This refers to people with tinnitus. In their brain scan (on the right), you can see much more activity in the auditory cortex — shown by the bright orange areas. This “hyperactivity” suggests that the brain is still processing sound even when there isn’t any external sound present, which could explain why people with tinnitus perceive that constant ringing or buzzing.

Essentially, the brain is “creating” noise that isn’t really there!

Why is that?

Tinnitus occurs because of changes in how the brain processes sound. This can happen for several reasons:

1. Hearing loss: As we get older (yep, the joy of aging — hello grey hairs, creaky knees, and now… tinnitus!), the brain gets less input from the ears. In response, the auditory cortex may become hyperactive, trying to “fill in” the missing sounds, which leads to the ringing or buzzing.
2. Damage to the ear: Damage to the inner ear or the auditory nerve can cause faulty signals to be sent to the brain, which it misinterprets as sound.

3. Neural rewiring: The brain is always adapting. When it doesn’t receive normal sound signals, it may “rewire” itself in ways that cause overactivity, leading to tinnitus.

😥 Stress plays a major role in tinnitus, often making it worse by increasing the brain’s sensitivity to the phantom noise. When you’re stressed or anxious, your brain chemicals like dopamine and serotonin, which regulate mood, can become imbalanced. This imbalance can lead to depression, which in turn might amplify your perception of tinnitus.

Stress and anxiety may not cause tinnitus directly, but they certainly turn up the volume. It’s like having a smoke detector that goes off for burnt toast — not a real fire, but the alarm makes it feel like an emergency. And if you’ve been through a traumatic experience (like a real fire in the past), that alarm feels even more frightening. Stress heightens your brain’s sensitivity, so even the mild buzzing of tinnitus can suddenly feel like a full-blown siren. Your brain, already on high alert, starts treating that background noise like a significant threat, even when it’s just minor static.

Essentially, the brain compensates for lost or altered sound signals by producing its own noise, leading to the sensation of tinnitus.

Uh oh! A river! A deep, cold river! We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh oh! We’ve got to go through it! And you decide to see a CBT therapist

And they will explain like this:

I am going to simply this for you and break down:

1. Normal Hearing Process:

• Sound waves enter the ear and cause vibrations in the eardrum and inner ear structures.
• These vibrations are converted into electrical signals and sent to the brain via the auditory nerve.
• The brain processes these signals, and “noise” is filtered out, only allowing meaningful sound to reach your awareness.
• Finally, the sound is perceived.

2. Tinnitus Onset:

• Tinnitus can occur after a concert, an infection, hearing loss, or trauma.
• During tinnitus, the brain might hear sound even when no external sound is present. The filter (which normally blocks irrelevant sounds) may become faulty, allowing the brain to perceive “phantom” sounds like ringing, buzzing, or humming.

3. Worrying Thoughts:

• When tinnitus occurs, it’s common to have worrying thoughts about the noise. Some common thoughts might be:
• “My ears are damaged.”
• “I can’t cope with this.”
• “It will never stop.”
• These thoughts often lead to emotional distress, causing feelings of anger, fear, or frustration.

4. Associating Noise with Danger:

• The brain begins to associate the noise with danger because of the negative thoughts and emotional distress.
• This creates a cycle where the brain filters the sound as something that signals danger (even though it’s harmless).

5. The Filter Malfunction:

• If your brain believes tinnitus is dangerous, it becomes hypersensitive, and the brain allows the noise to come through constantly to “keep you safe” by making you aware of the sound.
• The problem is that tinnitus isn’t dangerous, but the brain’s “filter” is now set too high, making the sound more intrusive than necessary.

But what’s the implication?

This implication is that the cycle can continue unless interrupted by challenging negative thoughts, managing emotional reactions, and changing behaviours.

Traditional CBT focused heavily on changing negative thoughts, but modern CBT places more emphasis on a Biopsychosocial model and mindfulness (thank goodness for that!).

A possible Traditional CBT formulation:

• Trigger: (Tinnitus or Ear Damage) sets off the cycle.
• Negative Thoughts: (“I can’t cope”, “It’s permanent”) arise in response to the tinnitus.
• Emotions: (Anxiety, Fear, Frustration) are triggered by these thoughts.
• Physical Symptoms: (Increased awareness of tinnitus, stress) result from heightened anxiety and focus.
• Behaviours: (Checking, Avoiding quiet environments) are efforts to cope but often reinforce the cycle by keeping attention on the tinnitus.

Weaknesses of Traditional CBT in Tinnitus Management

Cognitive Restructuring Limitations:

The essence of traditional CBT is about reshaping thoughts, as if it’s trying to reprogram your brain to handle challenges — like the constant ringing of tinnitus — by encouraging different ways of thinking. But let’s be honest, tinnitus isn’t simply a trick of the mind. It’s more like an annoying, persistent roommate who refuses to leave, no matter how much logic you throw at it. While cognitive reframing can be useful in some situations, when it comes to tinnitus, it can feel like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. It often risks overlooking the deeper emotional layers of frustration and exhaustion that come with tinnitus, leaving you feeling like you’ve been told to ‘just think positive’ while an alarm blares in your ear.

As we’ve discussed before, tinnitus is strongly influenced by emotional and stress systems in the brain, particularly in the limbic system, which controls our emotions. Because of this, addressing tinnitus requires more than just rethinking thoughts — it’s about working with emotions, too. Traditional CBT focuses on changing thought patterns, but when it comes to tinnitus, a more effective approach might involve working with emotional regulation and stress management. The goal is not just to “reframe” your thinking but to address the underlying emotional responses that keep the tinnitus signal heightened, which could lead to more lasting relief.

Lack of Addressing Subconscious Influences:

The automatic negative thoughts that people with tinnitus experience are often echoes of deeper subconscious fears, rooted in trauma or unresolved emotional pain. To truly heal, we need to go beyond the surface and explore the unresolved emotions at their core. This requires bringing understanding and compassion to the subconscious mind, making the unconscious conscious and addressing the pain where it truly begins.

Behavioural Interventions Can Reinforce Attention:

Traditional CBT focuses heavily on behavioural modification, encouraging patients to reduce checking behaviours or avoid quiet environments that may amplify their tinnitus. Yet, these interventions often overlook the root cause of the behaviour — an anxious mind striving for control. When behaviours are merely suppressed without addressing the underlying emotional distress, the mind’s vigilance is heightened, not lessened. These attempts to control or avoid tinnitus may actually reinforce its presence, keeping it firmly in the foreground of awareness. The mind, like the body, cannot be controlled into submission; it must be approached with compassion and understanding.

I don’t think it’s possible to simply say to yourself, ‘Okay, stop checking’ or ‘Decrease the amount of checking.’ However, I’m open to hearing your thoughts on this. I suggest that instead of trying to resist or constantly monitor the tinnitus, you should observe it from a detached space. By doing so, you stop feeding energy into the fear or anxiety around it. Bringing attention back to the present moment and not being consumed by the checking allows you to gradually move into a state of acceptance and peace.

I’ve learned that the more you fight something, the stronger it becomes. When you obsess over your tinnitus, you give it power. Instead, observe it. Be a witness to the sound without reacting. Let it be, and see that you are separate from it. The mind will try to create an issue, but with awareness, you can transcend it.

Gently inquiring into your need to constantly check can help you uncover the emotional or psychological triggers behind this behaviour.

How?

Rather than judging or counting the checking, you can ask yourself, ‘What is this trying to tell me?’ or ‘What am I afraid of if I don’t check?’ Through gentle self-inquiry, you can bring understanding and compassion to your experience rather than resisting it.

Compulsive checking can be a way of distracting yourself from deeper emotional pain or discomfort. Some of my clients know this all too well — checking can often be rooted in unresolved stress or trauma, and tinnitus becomes a focal point for these unresolved feelings. I encourage a compassionate exploration of your emotional history to understand why the mind clings to these habits. The goal isn’t just to stop the behaviour, but to heal the underlying wounds that drive it.

Focus on Symptom Reduction vs. Acceptance:

Much of traditional CBT is geared toward reducing symptoms, aiming for relief through behavioural change. However, when tinnitus is chronic and unresolvable in a literal sense, symptom reduction becomes a limited goal. Efforts to eliminate distress may paradoxically keep attention fixed on the tinnitus itself, feeding a cycle of resistance. What is often needed is not to manage or eliminate the sound, but to accept it. The pain lies not in the sound itself but in our resistance to it. Acceptance shifts the paradigm from control to peace — allowing the sound to exist without the constant fight against it.

Over-Focus on Thought Change:

While cognitive restructuring seeks to target and change maladaptive thoughts, it often neglects the more intense and visceral emotions that people with tinnitus feel. Anxiety, fear, and frustration are not mere mental constructs to be reprogrammed; they are the body’s signals, cries for attention to the underlying emotional distress that demands validation and care. These emotions are not obstacles to be overcome but messengers of deeper needs that have been long ignored. True healing requires us to move beyond thought correction and toward emotional processing and integration.

Inadequate Addressing of the Persistent Nature of Tinnitus:

Traditional CBT is built on the premise that maladaptive thoughts can be corrected, leading to a reduction in distress. But when tinnitus is a constant and persistent presence, there is no quick fix or “cure” for the condition itself. Traditional CBT, with its focus on eliminating symptoms, may inadvertently foster unrealistic expectations, leading individuals to believe that their distress can be entirely erased. This can set them up for disappointment and further emotional turmoil. Instead, a more compassionate approach would prepare clients for the ongoing nature of tinnitus, helping them build resilience through acceptance, not the promise of eradication. Acceptance is the key to living fully even in the presence of the unchangeable.

Uh oh! A river! A deep, cold river! We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh oh! We’ve got to go through it! And you decide to see a CBT therapist (with Tinnitus, maybe they know a bit better)

However, there has been a focus shift in modern CBT:

My Alternative Formulation:

1. Trigger: (Tinnitus or Ear Damage)

• The sound or sensation of tinnitus is still present, but this formulation reframes how we respond to it.

2. Mindful Acceptance:

• Instead of viewing tinnitus as something to fear or fight, the individual practices acceptance of the sound. The thought process changes from “I can’t cope” to “I can notice this sound without reacting to it.”
• Thoughts like “It’s just sound, not danger” or “I don’t have to like it, but I can allow it to be there without judgment” begin to replace negative interpretations.

3. Calm Emotions:

• With acceptance, emotions shift from fear and anxiety to calmness and tolerance.
• By not treating tinnitus as a threat, there’s less emotional escalation. This reduces the body’s stress response and encourages emotional resilience.

4. Physical Relaxation:

• As the emotional distress lessens, physical symptoms such as heightened awareness and stress also decrease. Mindful breathing, body scanning, or relaxation exercises can help the individual feel more grounded and reduce tension associated with tinnitus.
• This approach encourages feeling bodily sensations without interpreting them as danger.

5. Adaptive Behaviours:

Most people, myself included, are often unaware of the effects that sound and silence have on the body and mind, even amidst the noise pollution so characteristic of cities. We should, in fact, talk about a BioPsychoSocial Model to better understand tinnitus. It’s essential for our emotional well-being to take control of the soundscape around us. You can perhaps read between the lines my first hypothesis: our nervous system is already overstimulated by sounds, and the last thing you want to do is add more noise. While masking noise may provide short-term relief, it ultimately causes harm and certainly offers no freedom in the long run.

This idea of habituation applies not only to tinnitus but also to our emotions and feelings. Just like with tinnitus, when we experience strong emotions like anxiety, sadness, or anger, our first instinct might be to suppress or mask them, hoping they’ll go away. However, by doing so, we never give our brain the chance to get used to or process these emotions. This is similar to how masking tinnitus prevents habituation.

Feelings and Thought Suppression:

When we suppress our emotions, we’re essentially telling our brain that these feelings are dangerous or too overwhelming to handle. Much like the brain that doesn’t habituate to tinnitus (represented by the green line), it keeps paying attention to the emotions, amplifying them instead of allowing them to naturally fade.

On the other hand, when we allow ourselves to fully feel and express our emotions — without judgment or suppression — our brain learns that these emotions, while uncomfortable, are not dangerous. Over time, just as with habituating to tinnitus, the brain’s response to these emotions decreases, and we become better equipped to handle them. This is akin to the healthy control in the blue line — our brain begins to habituate to these feelings, reducing their intensity over time.

So, whether it’s tinnitus or difficult emotions, the key is to stop masking or suppressing them. Instead, allow yourself to acknowledge and sit with the discomfort. In doing so, you help your brain gradually adjust, leading to greater peace and less distress in the long run.

This is why I’m against masking the noise, as awareness is often far more effective than simply covering up the sound. I advocate for mindfulness over avoidance, emphasising the power of embracing discomfort rather than trying to escape it. In both my personal experience and in working with others, I’ve seen that true transformation arises from awareness, acceptance, and understanding of one’s inner experiences, including sounds that might initially cause distress.

If you really feel the need to mask the noise, white noise, which resembles the sound of hissing air or rushing water, can help block out unwanted sounds. But beyond neutralising or masking noise, you can consciously choose to listen to sounds that have a positive impact on your mood. Unlike most artificial sounds, nature’s sounds — such as wind rustling through trees or water flowing over rocks — are complex and may provide nourishment for the brain.

By bringing attention to the sound without resistance or judgement, you begin to see it for what it is — just a sensation. Once you fully accept it, you stop being its victim.

Alternative CBT Formulation Diagram Summary:

• Trigger (Tinnitus or Ear Damage) ➜ Mindful Acceptance (“It’s just sound, not a threat”) ➜ Calm Emotions (Tolerance, Calm) ➜ Physical Relaxation (Lowered stress) ➜ Adaptive Behaviors (Engagement in meaningful activities, mindful presence)

I used the word trauma didn’t I? How can trauma impact?

Uh oh! A river! A deep, cold river! We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Uh oh! We’ve got to go through it

Heightened Sensitivity and Trauma: The Body is Always Listening

I want to illustrate the idea that the brain and body unconsciously detect threats, often based on something similar to a past event. These threats might come in the form of reminders — a smell, a sound, an image — that can trigger a response, even when we aren’t aware of it. Much like Alexa in many households, our body-mind system is always listening and vigilant, especially when there are unresolved traumatic experiences.

When trauma remains unresolved, it often leaves individuals in a state of hypervigilance, where the mind and body are constantly on high alert, scanning for potential threats. This heightened sensitivity makes internal sensations, like tinnitus, feel more intrusive and distressing. Of course, people may feel stuck or feel as if the threat is real — even when it’s not. Regardless of whether the threat is real or perceived, the stress response in the body becomes very active, leading to increased cortisol levels, which can further aggravate symptoms like tinnitus.

Some clients often say, “But nothing really triggers me.” Yet, just like Alexa, your body is always listening — scanning, filtering, and ready to respond to any cue, even when you’re not consciously aware of it.

In psychology, Alexa’s constant scanning can be explained and proven by the cocktail party effect, where the brain filters through a noisy environment and focuses on a single conversation, even picking out your name in the background without conscious effort. The brain is constantly monitoring its surroundings, sorting out what is important and what isn’t. In the case of trauma, the body-mind system is doing something similar — staying hypervigilant, always on guard, even when people aren’t aware of it. This scanning keeps the body in a state of stress, reinforcing a loop of anxiety and tension that maintains the body in a heightened state of alert.

Trauma often leaves people with an overactive stress response system!

When the brain is used to being in “fight-or-flight” mode, the stress hormone cortisol is constantly elevated.

Hypervigilance, then, is the body’s way of maintaining this survival mode, where even if no clear threat is present, the nervous system remains wired for danger. This leads to the feeling of always being “on edge,” making it harder to relax, sleep, or stay in the present moment. Understanding that your body is constantly scanning, much like Alexa, helps explain why certain symptoms, like tinnitus, worsen under stress.

Triggers

In therapy, we often talk about triggers, and I think no one explains this better than Dr. Gabor Maté, a renowned physician and trauma expert who focuses on the connection between mind, body, and illness. He illustrates the concept of triggers with a powerful analogy:

“I want you to think about the trigger as part of a weapon. The trigger is just a small piece, but the real issue is the loaded gun — the explosive material inside. When you’re triggered, it’s not the external event that’s the problem; it’s the ammunition within you that’s ready to explode. That’s the pain, the trauma, you’ve carried for years. Instead of focusing solely on the trigger, the rich learning is in becoming curious about your ammunition.”

In therapy, both the therapist and the client must explore this “ammunition” — the deeper emotional wounds carried within, often stored in the subconscious mind.

I propose that working with tinnitus is not just about managing the symptom; it’s about uncovering and healing the deep-rooted wounds that drive this ailment, transforming the way we relate to ourselves and the world.

Emotions, thoughts and trauma.

Our emotions are not just fleeting feelings; they carry deep memories and unresolved pain. When we experience stress or emotional distress, it can lead to patterns like overthinking, analysis paralysis, and catastrophising — cognitive distortions that serve as coping mechanisms, albeit unhealthy ones. These patterns attempt to shield us from unprocessed pain, but in doing so, they magnify our stress response. This prolonged stress raises cortisol levels, affecting not only our mental health but also contributing to physical ailments. The body and mind are deeply interconnected, which is why symptoms like chronic pain or tinnitus often worsen when emotional distress is present.

Tinnitus, on its own, can be emotionally distressing, but for someone with a history of trauma, it can feel even more overwhelming. Trauma survivors often struggle with anxiety, depression, or PTSD, and tinnitus amplifies these challenges. For many, tinnitus feels like another uncontrollable element in their lives, echoing the helplessness and lack of control they once experienced during their trauma.

As Josef Rauschecker’s research shows, tinnitus is closely tied to the emotional brain, particularly the limbic system. Trauma makes the brain more sensitive, both emotionally and physically, which heightens the perception of tinnitus. This isn’t just a psychological experience — it’s a physiological one. The nervous system remains in a state of hypervigilance, making it harder for the brain to filter out the constant ringing. The heightened emotional circuits amplify the noise, compounding stress, anxiety, and the feeling of being overwhelmed.

Moreover, trauma often disrupts sleep and concentration, and tinnitus exacerbates these very symptoms. Difficulty sleeping or focusing makes the tinnitus more noticeable, creating a vicious cycle where trauma and tinnitus feed off each other. The mind, already on high alert from past wounds, struggles to manage both the emotional and auditory disturbances.

In essence, unprocessed trauma sensitises the brain to both emotional and physical stimuli, making tinnitus feel more intense and difficult to manage. True healing involves addressing these emotional roots. By becoming aware of and working through the unresolved pain, we can reduce the brain’s heightened responses — leading to greater balance and ease, both emotionally and physically.

My Tinnitus Diary:

Through my observations, I’ve noticed certain conditions that seem to exacerbate my tinnitus. Overtraining, having COVID, or the flu all seem to trigger it. Swimming in the sea during the English winter also used to trigger my tinnitus, although this has improved over time as I do it less frequently. However, staying in a cold environment without moving seems to be a major factor. Oddly, if I play football outside in 5-degree weather, I have no issues, but staying inactive in cold weather or being exposed to a cold wind aggravates it. Sleep deprivation, overthinking, and seeing too many clients also seem to make my tinnitus worse. Loud environments like concerts, gigs, or even just general noise can trigger my tinnitus as well. Interestingly, I once noticed that ice cream immediately triggered my tinnitus. On the flip side, using the sauna, steam rooms, or being in the warm Scirocco winds in Sicily never seem to trigger my tinnitus.

Additional observations about my neck pain and body:

• Neck Pain or Stiffness: I always experience stiffness at the end of my workday.
• Limited Range of Motion: While I don’t have major issues with range of motion, my neck does feel very stiff after work.
• Headaches: I only experience headaches very rarely.
• Pain Radiating to Shoulders or Arms: I no longer have this issue, but I suffered from pain in my hand due to a pinched nerve for six months. Interestingly, my acupuncturist was convinced that the problem originated from my neck, not my hand.
• Muscle Spasms: I don’t experience muscle spasms.
• Tingling or Numbness: I haven’t experienced these symptoms.
• Weakness: Thankfully, I haven’t experienced weakness.
• Grinding or Popping Sensations: I frequently experience this after work.
• Dizziness or Lightheadedness: I do notice this when I’ve been working more than usual.
• Fatigue: Fortunately, I don’t have this problem.
• Difficulty Sleeping: This happens very rarely for me

My Take:

Please note that I am speaking from my own experience, and what works for me may not apply to everyone, as tinnitus causes can vary greatly from person to person.

Upon reflection, I’ve noticed that my tinnitus seems to be influenced by a combination of cold, stress, and auditory surroundings, though the cold itself isn’t always the primary factor. I’ve observed that the cold causes my shoulders to tense up, leading to stiffness in my neck. This tension spreads throughout my body, tightening the muscles around my neck and shoulders. I suspect that this tension could be compressing nerves or restricting blood flow, particularly when my posture is poor. It’s almost as if the cold amplifies the tension, making my neck even tighter and increasing my perception of tinnitus. This pattern seems especially clear after sitting for long periods with my head slightly leaning forward, which exacerbates the situation.

During the day, my tinnitus is almost absent, but at night, when I lie down and place my head on the pillow, it becomes more noticeable. This could be due to the quiet environment, where distractions are minimal, and my focus shifts inward. However, I’ve come to believe that the root cause has more to do with the tension in my neck and muscles because I tested this theory in isolated and quiet places. Even when I focused intently on my hearing, I heard nothing. This challenges a common myth — at least for me. While it’s true that focusing on tinnitus tends to make me notice it, I’ve also realized that when I don’t have tinnitus, even deliberately focusing on my ears doesn’t bring it about.

Interestingly, even in very quiet environments, such as isolated places, I rarely notice tinnitus during the day. This reinforces my suspicion that it’s more related to muscular tension, posture, and stress in general — even trauma, which I believe can manifest as a stress response — rather than sound alone. For instance, when I play football outside in cold weather, my tinnitus doesn’t flare up. Perhaps it’s because I’m moving and concentrating on the game. But when I’m inactive in the cold, such as standing in cold winds, my tinnitus tends to worsen.

Loud environments, such as concerts or noisy places, seem to overstimulate my auditory system, worsening my tinnitus. On the other hand, warmth and relaxation — like being in a sauna or during the warm Scirocco winds in Sicily — seem to soothe it. These environments help calm both my mind and body, reducing the symptoms. However, stress is highly subjective — what’s relaxing for me, like a sauna, might be stressful for someone else. This reminds me that people respond to different triggers and remedies in unique ways.

Mental stressors also contribute — overthinking, lack of sleep, or seeing too many clients seem to heighten my sensitivity to tinnitus. When I’m mentally drained, it becomes more prominent. However, in more relaxed environments, my nervous system calms down, and so does the tinnitus.

What fascinates me is that my tinnitus isn’t constant, which makes me question whether it’s truly caused by hearing loss or nerve damage. If that were the case, wouldn’t it be persistent? Instead, it comes and goes, particularly at night when the world quiets down, and my body relaxes. White noise, warmth, and relaxation help manage it, while overstimulation — whether physical, auditory, or psychological — tends to worsen it.

Here are some key strategies that have helped me better understand my tinnitus:

• 🔍 Identify Triggers
• 📊 Observe Patterns
• 🧘‍♂️ Manage Physical Tension
• 🛏️ Create a Calming Sleep Environment
• 🎧 Limit Exposure to Loud Noises
• 🌿 Relaxation Techniques

Austin Goh, a natural health consultant, shares a helpful method in his video “How to Get Rid of Tinnitus Naturally”

• 🧠 Address Mental Stress
• 💤 Prioritise Rest and Recovery
• 🌳 Spend Time in Nature
• 🌟 Acknowledge Improvements
• 💭 Consider Trauma’s Impact
• 🧘‍♀️ Incorporate Mindfulness Practices
• 🔊 Experiment with White Noise
• 🧎 Stretch and Strengthen Neck Muscles

The exercises provided by Dr. Jon Saunders in “Fix Forward Head Posture in 4 Minutes” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xg9z3bY90E) have been very helpful.

I have also done plenty of helpful yoga postures, but I believe two exercises make the most difference: stretching the subscapularis (the muscles around the shoulder) in a door frame and hanging from a pull-up bar

• 🧠 Reduce Overthinking and Mental Overload
• 💊 Benfotiamine, a fat-soluble B vitamin, can help repair damaged nerves. What I have integrated into my diet is millet, which is rich in B vitamins:

1. 💊Vitamin B1 (Thiamine): Helps convert carbohydrates into energy and is vital for nerve function.
2. 💊Vitamin B2 (Riboflavin): Important for energy production and the metabolism of fats, drugs, and steroids.
3. 💊Vitamin B3 (Niacin): Supports the digestive system, skin health, and nerve function.
4. 💊Vitamin B5 (Pantothenic Acid): Crucial for producing energy and synthesizing hormones.
5. 💊Vitamin B6 (Pyridoxine): Helps with amino acid metabolism, red blood cell production, and neurotransmitter function.
6. 💊Vitamin B7 (Biotin): Important for healthy hair, skin, and nails, and helps in fat and carbohydrate metabolism.
7. 💊Vitamin B9 (Folate or Folic Acid): Essential for cell growth, DNA synthesis, and during pregnancy for fetal development.
8. 💊Vitamin B12 (Cobalamin): Important for nerve tissue health, brain function, and red blood cell production.

• 🥑 A new diet — I wouldn’t call it strictly Keto, Paleo, or Mediterranean, but rather a blend tailored to what I feel I need. It’s focused on being mindful of foods that can reduce inflammation and help regulate insulin levels, which in turn can positively impact blood vessels and nerves.
• 🚶‍♂️Going for walks has helped me to improve, and I’ve made it a regular part of my routine. It could be because walking relaxes me, or perhaps the movement of looking around, turning my head left and right, helps relieve stiffness in my neck. It might also be that walking naturally improves my posture, easing tension throughout my body — or perhaps the ambient noise of the outdoors acts like a kind of white noise, distracting me from focusing on the tinnitus. Additionally, walking helps me process my thoughts, emotions, and the events of my day, which in turn seems to alleviate some of the mental stress that can worsen my symptoms.

For those who have tinnitus and have lost hope of healing, I want to share that my grandmother got rid of hers when she was 70! So, don’t lose hope. At the same time, try to accept your tinnitus with serenity — total surrender and acceptance can facilitate healing and definitely lead to a better quality of life.

Please, do not isolate yourself. Be authentic with others if you are struggling. Opening up can provide support and connection.

Like the family in We’re Going on a Bear Hunt (spoiler alert) who find safety at home, managing tinnitus may involve finding safe spaces, methods of relaxation, and moments of calm that allow you to cope with the symptoms without letting them dominate your life. The journey isn’t necessarily about defeating the bear (or eliminating tinnitus entirely — though that can happen too, as it did with my grandmother), but about learning how to coexist with it and finding ways to feel safe and secure despite its presence.

This article is a work in progress, and I intend to expand it over time based on people’s inputs, experiences, and suggestions. Please feel free to share your reflections — I welcome your thoughts and insights.

Photo by David Gomez on Unsplash

Conventional wisdom often casts sloths as lazy, simple creatures, drifting through life with little purpose beyond sleeping. The very name ‘sloth’ has become synonymous with idleness, and in 1749, French naturalist Buffon described them as slow, habitually in pain, and unintelligent, calling them the “lowest form of existence.” This harsh judgement, echoed throughout history, stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of the sloth’s way of life — a misunderstanding that reflects how we often misjudge not only animals but also each other.

Today, in a world full of gurus, coaches, therapists, and Instagram teachers, we are constantly bombarded with advice on how to live our lives, be productive, and overcome our flaws. These voices often tell us what to do and how to be, overlooking a key factor: the unconscious intelligence that drives much of our behaviour. This unconscious wisdom often knows what it is doing, even when we consciously do not. The story of the sloth offers a reflection on this very idea.

Sloths, often mocked for their slow movement and algae-covered fur, have a reputation for being inefficient or even unintelligent. For example, their habit of descending to the ground to defecate, exposing themselves to predators like jaguars, seems like a foolish risk. However, this ritual is actually vital for reproduction. Female sloths use this time to leave signals for potential mates and gather information about others in the area. What seems irrational or dangerous to an outside observer is, in fact, a deeply ingrained survival strategy, guided by the sloth’s unconscious instincts.

This speaks to a larger truth: just as the sloth’s actions are guided by its evolutionary intelligence, human behaviour is also shaped by our unconscious minds. Much of what we do, whether in personal life or therapy, stems from processes we don’t fully understand. While experts may offer advice based on surface-level observations, the unconscious forces within each individual often know more than any external teacher or guide.

A Therapeutic Example: Trusting the Unconscious

Consider a typical therapy session where a client feels stuck, unable to explain why they haven’t been able to make the changes they so desperately want. They might come to therapy seeking clarity, frustrated by their perceived inaction or emotional paralysis. Traditional therapeutic approaches often focus on analysing these blocks and pushing toward immediate solutions. But this approach can overlook the wisdom of the unconscious.

For instance, I once worked with a client who had difficulty making decisions regarding a major life change — a new job opportunity in a different city. On the surface, it seemed like the perfect step: better pay, new challenges, and a fresh start. Yet the client kept delaying the decision and felt immense guilt for not moving forward. External voices — from career coaches to friends — urged quick action, framing the delay as indecisiveness or fear of change.

However, when we explored the situation more deeply in therapy, it became clear that the client’s hesitation was not due to laziness or fear but a deep, unconscious awareness that something was off. Their body and emotions were signalling caution, even though their conscious mind couldn’t articulate why. Over time, the client realised that taking the job would actually bring more stress and disconnection from their family, things that deeply mattered but were initially overlooked in the excitement of the opportunity.

Like the sloth’s seemingly irrational movements, this client’s unconscious mind knew what it was doing. The delay was not a flaw but a protective mechanism, ensuring that they made a decision aligned with their values and deeper emotional needs. Once they understood this, they were able to make an informed choice — one that respected both their conscious goals and unconscious wisdom.

Conclusions: Lessons from Sloths and the Power of Unconscious Intelligence

Sloths teach us profound lessons about survival, perception, and the nature of intelligence. They remind us that judgements based on appearances — whether of animals or people — often miss the deeper, unseen forces at play. Like the sloth, we too possess an unconscious intelligence, a force that operates beneath the surface, guiding our actions and decisions even when we’re not fully aware of it. This is a critical aspect of being human, and one that is frequently overlooked, especially in today’s world, where experts abound, each offering a prescription for how we should live.

1. Unconscious intelligence is wiser than we think.
   Just as sloths instinctively know how to survive, we too have an inner wisdom that guides us, even when we don’t consciously understand it; we often call this a ‘gut feeling’. Just like a sloth descending a tree or a person hesitating over a decision, our unconscious often knows what it’s doing, even when gurus, coaches, or therapists may not. People’s judgements — including those of experts — are limited by their own perceptions. They do not have access to this inner intelligence that each of us carries.
2. Hesitation or delay can be a form of self-preservation.
   Just as sloths move slowly to conserve energy, delays or indecision in humans may be a protective mechanism. In therapy, clients often feel frustrated by their inability to move forward, but sometimes this delay reflects a deeper, unconscious intelligence guiding them toward a decision that is more aligned with their emotional needs or values. Taking the time to listen to this inner wisdom can prevent unnecessary harm or regret.

Dear reader, I know what you are thinking: What if it’s a maladaptive behaviour or habit, mistaken for a gut instinct?

This raises an important question about the fine line between trusting our inner world and recognising when certain behaviours, especially maladaptive ones, stem from trauma or unconscious conditioning rather than genuine instincts.

In my view, much of what we perceive as instinctive behaviour may in fact be learned survival strategies, ingrained during formative years when we had to protect ourselves from emotional pain or unmet needs. These behaviours, though adaptive at the time, can become maladaptive in adulthood when the context has changed. What once served to shield us from harm may now keep us trapped in cycles of avoidance, addiction, or self-sabotage.

I know you want an example. Okay, take, for instance, someone who feels a gut instinct to withdraw from intimate relationships. To the individual, this might feel like self-protection, an instinct telling them that vulnerability is dangerous. Yet, if we look deeper, we might find a history of abandonment or rejection, where emotional closeness once equated to pain. In such cases, the “gut instinct” is not a genuine guide to one’s needs, but rather a trauma response — an unconscious effort to avoid further hurt.

The work, then, is not to dismiss our instincts outright, but to inquire into them with curiosity and compassion. Is this behaviour truly in alignment with my authentic self, or is it a vestige of past survival mechanisms? True healing begins when we can distinguish between genuine instincts, which move us toward growth and connection, and conditioned responses, which are rooted in fear and avoidance.

A therapist should serve as a guide in this exploration, not as a judge of behaviour. It is their role to help us identify where we are being guided by past wounds rather than present reality. Through compassionate inquiry, a good therapist will support us in reconnecting with our authentic selves, so that we may make choices not from a place of survival, but from a place of inner wisdom.

3. Success is not always about speed.
In a fast-paced world, the sloth shows us the wisdom of slowing down. Sloths have survived for millions of years by adapting to their environment at a slow pace. Likewise, in therapy, rushing toward solutions may overlook the deeper process of emotional integration that needs time to unfold. Trusting the slower, unconscious processes can often lead to more lasting and meaningful outcomes.

4. Nature’s adaptations are brilliant, even when misunderstood.
Sloths camouflage themselves with algae, moving so slowly that even predators fail to notice them. This brilliant adaptation reflects the deeper intelligence of nature, which operates beyond human comprehension. Similarly, think of animals that sleep longer during winter, like bears in hibernation. What may seem like prolonged inactivity is actually a vital period of conservation and restoration, allowing them to thrive when the conditions are right. In the same way, what might look like indecision or delay in a client could actually be their unconscious mind adapting to complex emotional realities, ensuring they take action only when they are truly ready and able. I imagine that if a bear went to see a GP in winter, they’d be prescribed some tablets to overcome hibernation!

Let’s have a bit of fun now by imagining a dialogue between Buffon, the French naturalist who described sloths as slow, unintelligent, and habitually in pain, and one of the very sloths from which he drew his conclusions:

Buffon
“Ah, my dear sloth, I’ve been observing you for quite some time, and I must say, your lifestyle leaves much to be desired. You’re slow, inefficient, and, frankly, a bit uninspired. Allow me to prescribe a simple, intelligent plan for you to follow: First, break your day into small, manageable tasks. Climb one branch at a time, quickly! Set a timer — 5 minutes per branch should do the trick. Eliminate distractions, of course. No more staring off into the jungle for hours. And when you’ve accomplished each task, reward yourself. Perhaps a leaf snack! What do you think?”

Sloth:
“Hmm, well, Monsieur Buffon, that’s quite the plan. I’m sure it works…. But let’s see here — 5 minutes per branch? I move a grand total of about 10 feet per day. By the time your timer rings, I’ll have barely stretched out my claw! And as for distractions, staring into the jungle is my version of ‘zen,’ my friend. Plus, I don’t need rewards for each task — life is my reward! I’ve been around for 64 million years without timers or task lists, thriving in slow motion. So, thank you for the suggestion, but I think I’ll stick to my ‘unintelligent’ ways. They seem to be working just fine for me!”

In conclusion, I am sceptical of ‘overcome procrastination’ programs, which often offer a one-size-fits-all solution that ignores the complexity of human behaviour. These programs, along with self-help coaches and gurus, frame procrastination, avoidance, laziness, or lack of motivation as problems to be fixed, pushing for constant productivity without recognising the deeper purpose these behaviours might serve.

Procrastination and avoidance can be forms of unconscious self-regulation — a way for the mind to process complex emotions or cope with overstimulation. In today’s world, we are bombarded by sensory input, spend long hours in highly stimulating environments, and often lack sufficient rest. What appears as laziness or a lack of motivation may, in fact, be a necessary pause, allowing us to slow down and process the overwhelm.

As Carl Jung so insightfully said, “Your unconscious knows more than you do. It is a powerful force that is continuously and silently at work, guiding your actions and choices.” Of course, Buffon did not know this, as his rational mind rushed to conclusions.

Footballer Totò Schillaci finds the back of the net once more, but this time in the hearts of his supporters. In testament to their love and esteem for him, many people in the city of Palermo queued up since yesterday afternoon (19/9/2024) to reach the funeral of the former national team striker, pouring out affection on his wife, children, and all his family members. “I hoped that all these people would come,” confesses Giovanni Schillaci, brother of the hero of Italia ’90. “Totò is a great man and he is receiving everything he deserved.” His wife added: “We are happy for the love from the people.”

From Humble Beginnings to National Hero

Totò Schillaci, born in a working-class neighbourhood of Palermo in Sicily, rose from humble origins to become one of Italy’s most beloved football legends. His meteoric rise to fame culminated in the 1990 World Cup, where his determination and skill captured the hearts of a nation. Despite facing public scrutiny and the pressures of life in the spotlight, Schillaci eventually earned admiration for his hard work and resilience.

The Lottery and Bias of Birth

Schillaci didn’t choose to be born into a part of Italy that was often looked down upon because of poverty, crime, and violence. He didn’t choose his accent or the context of his upbringing, yet he was judged for them. So much of our lives are shaped by factors beyond our control. We don’t get to choose where we’re born, our family, or our circumstances, yet we’re often judged as if those things define who we are.

For the former footballer, being heavily judged quickly became routine, as he recalls:

The ’90s in Palermo were terrible. I opened my eyes late. I thought only about playing, for me the mafia was just a local reality. Extortion, match-fixing, illegal gambling. Until one evening, during a retreat, Trapattoni [a legendary Italian football manager and former player] came up to me and said: “You’ve killed Falcone too.” [Falcone refers to Giovanni Falcone, a prominent Italian judge assassinated by the Mafia in 1992 for his work against organised crime.] ‘I replied: “Coach, I was with Baggio, ask him what I did.”’ [Baggio refers to Roberto Baggio, one of the most legendary Italian footballers, known for his exceptional skills and influence in the game]. Although it seems absurd to provide an alibi in this way, Schillaci commented ‘He wasn’t joking; the atmosphere was tense. But I went on to repeat to him when I left Juventus: “I didn’t kill him, nor did those Sicilians who don’t deserve prejudice.”’

Trapattoni’s remark about Schillaci and the Mafia-related murder of Falcone is a clear example of stereotyping and association bias.

System 1 and System 2

According to Nobel Prize winner Daniel Kahneman, our brains process information in two distinct ways: System 1 and System 2.

System 1 is fast, automatic, emotional, and subconscious. System 2, on the other hand, is slow, effortful, and conscious. It’s almost as if we’re wired with a pre-reflective instinct, ready to react in fight-or-flight mode, driven by survival. When we encounter someone different — someone like Schillaci, with his southern accent or working-class background — our System 1 often takes over. We judge quickly and emotionally, without fully understanding the person in front of us.

These cognitive biases — like ingroup bias (where we favour people similar to ourselves) and confirmation bias (where we only see what fits our pre-existing beliefs) — shaped the way Schillaci was perceived. People in the North of Italy saw him through the lens of their biases, focusing on his accent, his origins, and using these as markers to define his worth. These biases are deeply human, but they limit our ability to see people for who they really are.

This ties into the lottery of life, a concept discussed by philosophers like John Locke, Thomas Hobbes, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau. We are born into circumstances we didn’t choose, shaped by factors like birth, culture, and society. Jim Morrison famously captured this feeling in one of his songs when he sang, “Into this house we’re born, into this world we’re thrown.” Heidegger referred to this as “thrownness” — the idea that we are thrust into life without control over where we start, left to navigate the randomness of our existence.

The concept of “thrownness” and the lottery of life are tragically described by the genius of Dostoevsky through one of his characters, Ivan Karamazov in The Brothers Karamazov: “I am trying to find out where your God is just to return to him the entrance ticket — the entrance ticket to life. I don’t want to be here. And if there is any God, he must be very violent and cruel,” the character says. “Because without asking me, he has thrown me into life. It has never been my choice. Why am I alive without choosing it?”. Schillaci did not return the ticket, nobody can. Life is then inherited rather than chosen. We are judged but we don’t choose. Schillaci’s story — it’s ours too. I remember working with a client who had been bullied for her accent. When I asked her, “Where is this lovely accent from?” it was a relief for her to hear it framed as something positive, not something to be ashamed of.

Thus people come to therapy because they want to change their accents, believing that doing so will make them more accepted. But what does this say about the pressure we feel to conform to the world’s expectations? I hope that by keeping my own Italian accent (and by the way, I am not in control of this either), I can send a message that it’s okay to hold on to the parts of ourselves that make us unique. The problem isn’t in our accents or what we still carry with us from our backgrounds — it’s in the lack of acceptance we often feel from others.

“People are just as wonderful as sunsets if you let them be. When I look at a sunset, I don’t find myself saying, “Soften the orange a bit on the right hand corner.” I don’t try to control a sunset. I watch with awe as it unfolds.”

― Carl R. Rogers, A Way of Being

Many people find themselves in therapy stuck between who they are and who they think they should be. There’s often an internal conflict between what society expects and who we truly are. The struggle is not to change ourselves to meet those expectations but to learn to accept who we are, even in a world that constantly tells us we should be different.

Schillaci’s story isn’t just about football — it’s about the emotional pain of living on the margins, constantly feeling like you’re buffering, searching for connection in a world that doesn’t offer it. His celebrations after scoring goals — running toward hostile crowds, fists raised — weren’t acts of defiance or anger. They were pleas for recognition, for dignity. He wasn’t asking to be celebrated as a hero; he just wanted to be seen as worthy of respect. And isn’t that what we all seek? To be valued, not just for what we achieve, but for who we are? This is as he recalls these moments:

‘I brought my torment onto the field. Gossip, malice. They insulted me in the stadiums. It wasn’t enough to call me a ‘southerner’ and a ‘mafioso’; the chant ‘tire thief’ wasn’t enough either. No: they even called me ‘cuckold.’

Public shaming and insults almost certainly contribute to chronic stress and emotional suffering, often impacting a person’s sense of identity and mental health. Many clients report that emotional pain manifests in physical symptoms and behaviours. In this case, the torment carried onto the field likely reflects deeper unresolved inner pain. It’s highly probable that the audience’s barbaric behaviour traumatised him. People, especially those in the public eye, often suppress or numb their emotional responses to cope with pressure, which can further detach them from their authentic feelings and worsen psychological distress.

Respect was something Schillaci rarely received. Even at the height of his success, the scars of poverty and exclusion stayed with him. This wasn’t because of any failure on his part, but because society was quick to judge. Many people, particularly those who have been bullied, wrestle with the question: Why did they do this to me? Bullying often stems from people’s insecurities, fears, and need to assert dominance. When we see someone who seems different — whether in accent, background, or behaviour — I think System 1 kicks in, not just on an individual level, but collectively. We react quickly, from a place of fear, bias, or power, without taking time to understand.

Although Daniel Kahneman didn’t specifically address a collective System 1, I believe there’s a kind of group mentality that works in the same way. When a group sees someone who doesn’t fit into its norms or expectations, a collective, automatic reaction — shaped by cognitive biases — takes over, reinforcing judgments and exclusions. The herd mentality (or bandwagon effect) drives individuals to conform to group behaviours without critically questioning them, simply because ‘everyone else is doing it.’ This leads to groupthink, where the desire for group harmony causes people to overlook their moral concerns and blindly follow the crowd.

These biases also fuel confirmation bias, where the group selectively notices and remembers behaviours that confirm their negative judgments about the ‘other,’ while ignoring evidence that might challenge these views. Additionally, in-group vs. out-group bias further reinforces exclusion, as the group favours those within their circle and sees those outside of it as less deserving or even threatening.

In such environments, everyone feels the need to conform because others are doing the same, perpetuating a cycle of judgment and exclusion. Bullying often thrives under these conditions, where people act without reflection, driven by instinctive fear and these unconscious biases. Something about the herd mentality, the primal need to belong and not be left outside the group, keeps us stuck in System 1 (quick judgement), unable to evolve into System 2 thinking (evaluating with our own minds, using rationality and empathy).

Understanding these cognitive biases helps us start to answer the painful question of why. Bullies, whether individual or collective, act out of their own unresolved fears, traumas, and insecurities. Their actions are not a reflection of the person they target, but of their own need to feel powerful or accepted within the group.

So, how can we become better human beings?

I don’t know how one truly becomes a better human being, but I do know that we are conditioned from birth by society, culture, family, and experiences. This conditioning distorts our perception of reality, and it’s deeply ingrained in our System 1 thinking. We often find ourselves trapped in ignorance and habitual reactions. So, can we look at ourselves without the lens of this conditioning? Can we observe, without judgment, how we respond to life? This, I believe, is a crucial starting point.

Please forgive us, Schillaci, for we were acting from an underdeveloped System 2, relying too heavily on our automatic, biased responses from System 1. We failed to engage the deeper, reflective thinking that would have allowed us to see you for who you really were.

We see you now, or we try to – thank you.

Photo by Neil Thomas on Unsplash

I recently engaged in an insightful discussion with Professor Giancarlo Dimaggio, a psychiatrist and psychotherapist, and Dr Natanael Lamispramis, a clinical psychologist. We delved into how invalidation, trauma, and emotional growth shape our lives. One key takeaway was the importance of understanding that not all painful experiences are traumatic, but the impact they leave can still be profound.

Invalidation: Painful, But Not Always Traumatic

Prof. Dimaggio highlighted how invalidation — a painful but common experience — can sometimes amplify emotional trauma, particularly when it comes from authority figures or loved ones. Dismissive responses like “You’re overreacting” can send the message that our feelings don’t matter. But what truly defines whether these moments become traumatic is the context and the relationship in which they occur.

Chronic Invalidation: Small Wounds, Deep Scars

I reflected on how repeated invalidation, especially in childhood, can lead to lasting emotional disconnection. Hearing “You’re too sensitive” over time can condition us to suppress our emotions, making it harder to form healthy relationships later in life. This begs the question: Can subtle, repeated invalidation cause wounds as deep as trauma? In many cases, it leaves clients believing their emotions are “wrong,” blocking them from authentic connection and healing.

Rethinking Trauma: It’s Not Just Catastrophic Events

Trauma isn’t always tied to extreme events. As I explained, trauma can also stem from subtle experiences that disconnect us from our authentic selves. A child repeatedly told “You’ll never be good enough” may not endure a dramatic trauma, but the accumulation of such messages can distort their self-worth. The disconnection caused is what defines trauma — not just the intensity of an event, but its impact on one’s sense of self.

Adverse Experiences vs. Trauma: Where’s the Line?

Prof. Dimaggio emphasised that adverse experiences don’t always lead to trauma. Instead, they can lay the groundwork for maladaptive patterns — like defensiveness or fear of criticism — without necessarily fracturing the self. The real question is: How do we differentiate between what shapes us and what truly breaks us?

The Transformative Power of Validation

Dr Lamispramis added a key point about validation, explaining how it fosters emotional connection and growth. Referencing Martin Buber, he reminded us that every person craves to be seen for who they are. A simple, empathetic response like “I understand” can be transformative. Without validation, we lose part of our humanity — the need to be seen and understood.

Knowing What to Validate and What to Challenge

However, as Dr Lamispramis wisely noted, we must discern what to validate and what not to. Validating someone’s feelings doesn’t mean endorsing harmful reactions. For example, we can acknowledge frustration without justifying anger. The key is to validate core emotions while challenging harmful responses, helping others grow without reinforcing unhelpful behaviours.

I can remember it well; there was a time at university when professors and lecturers would bring their real-life experience to young students like me. I lived through the transition of these classes, where professors would directly share their experiences with patients. At that time, everyone used the term ‘patient’ rather than ‘client’, and this was before the invention of slides. Then the slides came along, which might be fine for other fields, but for psychology, even as a young student, I wondered whether I could have just stayed at home or in a library and learned directly from the source — the book — rather than from a representation of it in slides. In those days, caught between firsthand experience and spontaneity, and the mechanical reliance on slides, I was employed by the University of Palermo in Italy. As part of my administrative role, I was co-responsible for organising an international conference. It was at this event that I met Daniel Stern, a renowned American psychoanalyst and developmental psychologist, best known for his work on infant development and his influential theories on the formation of the self. I was just a graduate, there to support the conference with practical aspects, so I couldn’t focus on everything he was saying. Later on, I heard he needed a taxi to return to the US.

My boss, in a gesture of generosity but also as an extension of her ego, suggested we drive him and his wife to the airport. Although I knew this wasn’t part of my very underpaid and exploited job description, I promptly seized the opportunity. I was fascinated by his research and his presentation. The drive to the airport wasn’t what I had anticipated; instead of gaining deeper insights into his life, thoughts, or research, we simply enjoyed a casual conversation. They were a lovely couple, sharing how much they loved Italy, especially Sicily, and even trying to impress me with a few sentences in Italian. We didn’t end up discussing his presentation, but he did recommend I read A Felicitous Meeting of Attachment and Relational Psychotherapy.

I have since summarised some of the most salient aspects, which also ties into one of the longest close psychological follow-up studies of an animal in the literature (Original paper: ‘On the Evolution of Attachment-Disordered Behaviour’ by Hedge Fisher-Mamblona, 2000). At a certain point, one of his patients, Anna, asked him, ‘Can I be a good mother?’ He replied, ‘Can I tell you a story? Can you listen to it now?’ She nodded, and I proceeded to tell her the following story:

I would tell Feli’s story like this:

Feli was born into an environment where the basic needs for attachment were denied from the very beginning. She hatched in isolation, completely cut off from any living being, not even another goose or a human to bond with. From the start, she was a subject of scientific curiosity, but what really matters here is the impact of that isolation. You see, for any creature, especially in its early stages, connection is crucial. In Feli’s case, her world was limited to mechanical feeding and the sound of a thermostat clicking, the only stimulus she had. When she heard that sound, she would run towards it, seeking something familiar, but then fear would take over, and she’d run away. Torn between the instinct to connect and the fear that came from not knowing how to, Feli developed a deep pattern of conflicted attachment.

As Feli missed the critical window for imprinting — the moment when geese naturally attach to their mothers — she was left without the innate capacity to form normal bonds. When she was finally released among other geese, it became clear how deeply that early isolation had affected her. She couldn’t relate to the other geese, who had all imprinted on their mothers and were comfortable in their relationships. Feli stayed on the edge of the flock, unsure of how to interact, not knowing how to be part of the group. She became a misfit, always on the periphery. Her aggression was misplaced — when another goose approached, she reacted as if it were a predator, unable to differentiate between a threat and a peer. Feli’s confusion, her inability to connect in the way she should have, was a direct result of that early deprivation.

As she grew older, pieces of normal goose behaviour started to emerge, but they were fragmented. She tried to build nests, she responded to male courting, but when it came time to fully engage in these social tasks, her old pattern of confusion kicked in. She’d wag her head, a repetitive, anxious behaviour, and run away. When given goose eggs to hatch, she instinctively sat on them, but not long enough — again, her fragmented capacity for care showed. The goslings never had a chance.

But then, something changed. Feli was given duck eggs. Ducklings, you see, are far less demanding than goslings. They don’t need as much from their mothers, and this difference mattered. The ducklings hatched, and for the first time, Feli didn’t run away completely. She didn’t nurture them fully, but she allowed them to exist alongside her. The turning point came during a storm, when the ducklings, terrified, sought her warmth and protection. For the first time, she let them under her wing. That night, she allowed herself to provide the comfort they needed, and in the morning, she followed them to the water. In a way, this reversed the normal imprinting process. The ducklings led, and Feli followed.

This moment marks a significant shift. Feli began to heal, albeit slowly and incompletely. The damage from her early trauma wasn’t erased, but in those small moments, she found a way to connect. She continued to live on the edge of the flock, but slightly more harmoniously. Then, an outsider goose arrived. Like Feli, he didn’t fit in perfectly, but together they found companionship. They formed a bond, and for a time, Feli experienced what had been so difficult for her: attachment.

But trauma leaves deep wounds, and Feli’s story doesn’t end on a perfectly happy note. Her mate was shot, and Feli, in her grief, sank into a depression. The loss was too great for her to bear. She had finally learned to connect, but when that connection was severed, it brought back all the pain of her early isolation. Not long after, she died.

I would now like to offer my interpretation of Feli’s story, particularly focusing on the concept of trauma in relation to attachment. Additionally, I’d like to revisit the analogy I presented in the article ‘Are therapists aware of their own attachment styles? #3.’ In that analogy, I describe attachment style as being like WiFi:

Secure is stable, anxious is always checking the connection, avoidant says, ‘I don’t need WiFi,’ and disorganised just keeps buffering

What strikes me about Feli’s story is that it speaks to how deeply early experiences of trauma shape our ability to connect. Even when we find healing, the scars remain, and the threat of loss can trigger old wounds. Yet, despite her tragic end, Feli did manage to find moments of connection, even after such a difficult start. Her life, in the end, was fuller than one might have expected given her beginnings.

Attachment styles, like WiFi, are ways in which we stay connected — or struggle to. Secure attachment is like a strong and stable connection, unwavering in its reliability. Anxious attachment, on the other hand, is always checking the connection, fearing it might drop at any moment. Avoidant attachment denies the need for connection altogether, saying, ‘I don’t need WiFi,’ while disorganised attachment struggles the most, constantly buffering and never fully stable. Feli’s story exemplifies how disorganised attachment keeps buffering, caught between a longing for connection and the fear that it might break.

Despite buffering through life, Feli managed to find those fleeting moments of stability, of connection, even amidst her disorganised attachment style.

Feli’s life may have had moments where she struggled to hold a stable connection, where her past trauma caused her to fear or even reject it. Yet she found, even in brief moments, the power of connection and healing. Though she was constantly buffering, her story reminds us that even in the most fragile states, people can still find moments of clarity and love. And as therapists, we must always be aware of our own ‘WiFi signals,’ our attachment styles, as they influence the connection we establish with our clients.

I think Stern was a precursor, as he gave Anna not just hope but also psychoeducation about attachment and the importance of timing in making a connection. He was saying something that is hard to convey these days, when people come in and say:

‘Can I have some quick therapy, please?’
‘Would it be possible to avoid talking about what the problem is?’
‘What do you want me to do to get rid of the anxiety?’
‘I told you what the problem is, now it’s up to you to fix it.’

These are real comments, I’m afraid, but there’s only a certain natural speed at which healing can progress, and it takes patience to develop a stable connection, depending on the wounds that stem from the past. So, Stern was forward-thinking in providing psychoeducation to the client, which I think was quite innovative at the time, and it’s still, in many ways, a new concept compared to our current obsession with diagnosis.

I would also add the importance of setting realistic expectations, dismantling what Heidegger called the ‘technological attitude’ — an approach rooted in ‘calculative thinking,’ where everything is framed in terms of means and ends. This calculative mindset can appear in the client, the therapist, GPs, or agencies that send referrals, driven by external pressures that have nothing to do with the client’s pace. For instance, the belief that a client must feel better within a limited number of sessions or that a client expects to be ‘fixed’ in a certain amount of time. Gosh, isn’t that exactly what evidence-based practice is encouraging? Evidence-based approaches have their place, however, they risk missing the larger, more nuanced picture of human healing, especially when they overlook the emotional, relational, and personal layers that unfold at their own pace. The implications of this ‘calculative thinking’ can be devastating (though I think this is a topic for another article).

There are clients who come spontaneously (not under obligation from family or GPs) who have nothing to say. One client in particular surprised me by spending two sessions in complete silence. I felt guilty, taking her money for what seemed like nothing, and asked if these meetings were helping her. She said they were, although she couldn’t explain exactly why. Neither could I. But then, Feli’s teaching and Stern’s approach came to me, and I understood — she was searching for connection.

What about the clients who arrive late, leave early, or stay for only 10 minutes? Of course, this is what they can tolerate, but without pressure, if they feel unjudged and free to attend even for five minutes, they learn that it’s safe to stay longer. The connection deepens, and they begin to share more, to feel better, often without knowing exactly why. This is because healing can occur on a tacit level, not just through words — while verbal expression is important, it is only one part of the larger process.

This was already understood by the genius of Dostoyevsky, as he described in The Brothers Karamazov, where [clients] ‘need to feel that they are in the room with another person, an old and trusted friend, whom they might call upon in their sick moments merely to look at their face, or perhaps exchange some quite irrelevant words with them’.

I hope you enjoyed this article, whether you’re a psychotherapist seeking insight or a client looking for guidance and psycho-education about attachment.

Benny wasn’t just any bunny — he had the biggest, goofiest laugh you could imagine. His giggles rippled through the meadow, spreading joy to every squirrel, bird, and hedgehog around. He embodied the spontaneous child in all of us: playful, free, brimming with creativity, expressing every emotion without a care.

One sunny morning, while bouncing along his usual path, Benny stumbled upon a bright, shiny juggling ball that sparkled like magic giggle dust. Curiosity got the better of him. “Why not?” he thought, giving it a whirl. He was clumsy at first, but soon enough, he was juggling like a pro, and the meadow animals were in awe. They cheered him on, chanting, “Benny! Benny! You’re the best bunny juggler ever!” Here was positive reinforcement at its finest.

But Benny, fueled by a spirit of adventure, thought, “One ball? Pfft, I can do better!” So he picked up a second ball, the Ball of Responsibility (not so shiny, but useful), and then a third — the Ball of Kindness. Now he was juggling all three: fun, responsibility, and kindness. The crowd was thrilled; Benny was thriving.

Then, ambition nudged him forward. He added more balls to his act — ambition, popularity, and perfection. With each new addition, his confidence grew, and so did his stress. He was balancing more than the Easter Bunny in high season. Before long, his laugh began to fade, replaced by frazzled fur and twitchy nerves. Benny was trying to keep up, but the juggling had turned into a chore.

Until one day, with an almost inevitable crash, Benny dropped everything. Balls rolled everywhere as he sat, dazed, surrounded by his overblown ambitions. Exhausted, he thought, “What am I doing?” This was his moment of burnout and reflection, a chance to reevaluate what really mattered.

And in that a-ha moment, Benny realised he didn’t need to juggle everything. He just needed to focus on what brought him joy. So he picked up his original three balls: fun, responsibility, and kindness. The others? He let them roll off, disappearing over the horizon.

With his newfound balance, Benny was back to his giggly, happy self. His friends cheered him on, and Harmony Hills felt a bit more harmonious that day. Together, they learned the real lesson: it’s not how many balls you juggle but how much you enjoy the ones that count.

So remember, friends, no need to juggle every ambition and goal — pick the ones that light you up, and let the rest roll on.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I watched Komorebi. The translated title, Perfect Days, hardly does justice to the beauty of the Japanese word Komorebi, which captures the quiet magic of “sunlight filtering through trees.” Reflecting on this film, or perhaps meditating is the better word, I find myself drawn to the simple, unhurried parts of life. I’m caring more for my plants, spending extra time in nature, slowing down, and discovering the subtle beauty in details I once missed. Above all, I’m cultivating a sense of perspective, calm, and serenity.

On a flight back to England, a seemingly mundane moment became unexpectedly profound. Headed to the toilet, I was reminded of the film’s protagonist, Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho), a humble public toilet cleaner in Tokyo. To me, he seemed like a man of wisdom and freedom, quietly at ease with himself and his choices. He leda life of simplicity, not as a retreat from the world, but as a conscious choice to be fully in it. Despite his modest income, he pursued knowledge and growth, spending evenings at the bookshop, reading late into the night. His contentment wasn’t about having less; it was about appreciating more.

As I approached the tiny airplane toilet, an unusual thought crossed my mind: What if I cleaned it? Initially, I felt genuine disgust at the idea — a place like this, after all, wasn’t my responsibility. But the thought lingered. Wouldn’t this act elevate my experience, even if no one would know about it? Yet, my mind quickly conjured reasons against it: “This is a private company’s job, and they pay someone for this work,” and “What would people think if they saw me?”

But then, I caught myself — these were thoughts born of ego. The narrative playing in my head wasn’t truly mine but a chorus of social expectations and identity. I almost laughed at myself: “You’re a professional, you give presentations, and here you are, contemplating cleaning a toilet.”

In that locked space, it dawned on me that I was wrestling not with the idea of cleaning but with the prisons of my own thoughts. This was a small act, inconsequential to the world, but in that moment, it was an act of dissolving the ego — a test of humility. And so, I cleaned it, discovering a peculiar satisfaction in the simplicity of the act, as if it opened up a small, hidden door to freedom.

Emerging from the toilet, I was surprised to see my 9-year-old daughter waiting next in line. Little did I know, I had unknowingly prepared it for her. And isn’t that life? We go about our tasks, sometimes begrudgingly, yet in a broader sense, these small acts ripple out, touching those around us in ways we may never realise.

This experience reminded me of a Buddhist practice I once heard about in Oprah Winfrey’s SuperSoul Conversations with Pema Chödrön. The “Just Like Me” practice encourages us to see the shared humanity in others, even those who challenge us. It involves repeating, “Just like me, this person wants to be happy. Just like me, this person wants to be free from suffering.” These words help me recognise that, beneath the surface, everyone I encounter — strangers, friends, even adversaries — shares the same instinct to avoid pain and seek joy.

In a way, cleaning that toilet was a small act of compassion, a moment of stepping outside myself to touch another life with kindness. And this realisation followed me back to my seat: we either let the ego expand until it fills every thought, or we find ways to gently dissolve it. Small, mindful acts of service can humble us, leading to clarity and freedom.

That day, I was reminded of an old teaching: let the ego die so that the self may truly live. These small acts — these tiny moments of letting go — are glimpses of what lies beyond, a path to understanding that all of us, in some way, are connected.