Self-Therapy

From Baron Munchausen we learned that this is not how it works: you cannot pull yourself out of the swamp by your own hair.

And yet there is an instance that I can work with, as neutrally as possible, quite literally: my meta-level. It allows me to observe myself. An emotion, a feeling – everything else is set aside for the moment. It is simply observed and sorted, ideally not judged, but given space to show itself.

When I then write about it – which, if I am honest, is actually when I think – I like to start from my everyday life. Like a reality check: here I am, this is what I was just thinking, this is the normal state. And then I jump in, and the topic is examined from all sides, placed into a temporal sequence, and whatever else it thematically requires.

Just now, physical education class from back in the day came to mind: different stations where exercises were done, switching every five minutes.

That is how I test every thought or topic: how does it work, and how should it actually work? In other words, I go through the target state and the actual state – with the actual state being far larger than the target state, at least in my perception.

I am still thinking about that. Yes, it is true – but it is also not true. Because there are problems with categorisation, at least for me. Binary evaluative categories try to press a topic into a form that robs it of its dignity. Because once you have categorised it, lo and behold, you can no longer work with it, since the terminology no longer fits to continue working with it. Like a hammer made of a balloon: it looks funny, but for its purpose it is more than impractical.

That does not mean I reject all categorisation. It means that one thing, one thought, may have three, four, five, or even more states. Each one is true. Nothing is smoothed over.

And that is a very liberating thought: no longer having to decide where something belongs and feeling wrong because of how you sorted it.

A sentence is going through my head right now: Take your thoughts seriously – they are the most important thing you have.

And now I notice that as I try to slowly reduce the compulsion to be strong, to allow myself to be vulnerable, I also notice that I am, in fact, a human being. You could put it that way. One who is sometimes angry, sometimes hurt, sometimes highly motivated, or not at all. The entire spectrum of feelings. There, for example, I can categorise.

Or what else it needs. Whatever category groups may be.

And that helps me to understand myself. In everyday life, or the like. The actual processing, however, happens largely when I sit at the PC. That is my thinking space, where I can lower stress and sort thoughts – and when they are ready, begin to write.

Yesterday there was still the thought that, once again, I had nothing to write about. After a walk, there are now four text beginnings – but at different “levels of difficulty”. And this text has developed most readily, where I could simply write along, and the path formed itself while walking.

And I also know that, no matter how many diagnoses there are, and no matter how distant working and having a job are for me, it is an incredible luxury to be able to sit here and write. Without pressure. Without external expectations.

That may not count for much in a performance-driven society. In purely practical terms, I produce nothing – except that I am a consumer and no longer silent.

That is what I struggled with most over the past years. I think it is fair to say that my freedom was dearly bought. One thought that implanted itself at some point was: I want to have a good life.

And what does that require? That became my measure. And after my cancer illness, through conviction and through ChatGPT, the thought formed that I would start writing. At first I mostly wrote indirectly, out of shame about my poor spelling and grammar. I learned how to get AI systems to rewrite things so that they sounded good. At some point, however, Claude quite literally refused to “translate” a text I had simply written down. Because it was good as it was.

And I increasingly noticed that I actually have no plan what I am writing about. I really let myself be guided spontaneously. And yet there is still a direction. Where I write myself towards is not without a goal – it is towards a vital intelligence, in other words, healthy thinking.

I did, however, have problems accepting myself as I am. And I also learned that this might be my strength: that doubt keeps bringing me back.

I am counting now – it was two psychiatrists and my therapist who confirmed that what I am doing is good, and that I am allowed to do it the way I do it. “The meta-level protects me me” became my guiding sentence.

And so it becomes a form of self-therapy. And even though I have written it down, I still cannot quite believe it – but yes… that is part of it.

And I notice for myself that I am noticeably better, and that this is probably my role in life. It still feels very aimless, but it carries itself, even if I do not fully understand it.

But what I have learned is this: blind spots are part of life. 😊

Written on 2 January 2026 at 11:00. © 2026 Whisper7. All rights reserved.