Book review: The Drama of Being a Child (The Search for the True Self) – Alice Miller

This is actually a book report I had to write for my course, so it might be less of a traditional book review and more of a summary/general impressions I had of the book. Either way it seemed enlightening enough for those who might be wondering whether to read this to post it here. I don’t usually review books that aren’t genre fiction so this feels very odd, and somewhat personal too, but I do hope it will interest those who are intrigued by this field of study and self-discovery!


41046HJX0YL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_Miller offers through her book a fascinating tale of the effects of childhood, not solely on the child as these events take place, but more so on the adult. These events from childhood that have become the invisible strings that guide us through our lives are, more often than not, simply accepted by the adult person as a fact that had little to no consequences on their lives. It is only when as an adult we can look back to our childhood days and not only understand but truly feel what affected us as children, that we can begin to unravel the tangle of fears, habits, and issues that has followed us everywhere we went during our adult life.

Much like emotional therapeutic counselling, Miller recognises the importance of the hurt and lonely child we all carry within us. She emphasises that it is that child’s emotions that make us often react as we do to the world around our adult selves. Because that child is made of so many repressed emotions, so he seeks to either take revenge upon the world, or hide away everything even more. The dialogue with this Inner Child is, to Miller, as intrinsic a part of healing, as it is for emotional therapeutic counselling.

Miller also mentions the importance of confronting those who have caused the hurt during childhood, whether face to face or, if the former is impossible for one reason or another, through a mental dialogue wherein the adult can finally unload the Inner Child’s actual feelings onto the person who has caused them and have a discussion with them. Similarly to emotional therapeutic counselling, Miller does not believe that we can be free of the hurt of our childhood until we have truly felt the emotions that our child-self repressed.

Another element in the book that reminded me strongly of what we had done in the course was Miller’s regular mention of her patients’ dreams and their importance in their therapy. She takes dreams as the subconscious’ way of talking to us, or trying to point where or what the issues might be. She points out in one of her examples how it can be an easy way to track therapy progress as the patient’s dreams change and evolve.

I personally found this read enlightening, especially following what I had already learnt about myself during the course and it shed a fascinating light on some elements of my childhood that has just seemed that they had left me unaffected up to that point. Stories of which I have little to no recollection but have been told about seemed to come back with stark clarity as the emotions I had felt were accessed. It emphasised that it was ok for my adult self to revisit those emotions, to let them happen and face the feelings of my childhood without fear of any consequences. It has allowed me to understand my reactions to certain things that happen around me, as well as turn the emotions elicited towards their true target instead of the situation at hand.



Like a phoenix rising from its ashes

dusty-room-800-600Hello? Anyone around?

It’s gotten a bit dusty around here, hasn’t it?

I guess that’s what happens after such a long time, dust piles up and then there’s lots of cleaning to do before we can move forward. To be honest I’m surprised this little corner of the Internet didn’t collapse out of existence after being ignored for so long. But I’m really glad it didn’t!

I had all these wonderful ideas of what I could do and what I could post and how I would do it all. Studying psychology at the OU felt like such an amazing thing and I was ready to take on the world, one blog post at the time. This was supposed to be the place where I could express my thoughts, all my ideas and insights born from what I was studying.

This was all created and thought up with the naivety of one who still believes that traditional education is there to teach us how to /think/. I think I had already forgotten my previous stint at university and the painful realization that I was not so much expected to think as I was expected to fit into a mold.

I don’t do molds. The more I am forced into one, the more I push against it. But also the more miserable I become. So not only was I heartbroken that what I was studying was nothing of square_peg_in_round_hole_2what I had wanted, but it contributed (alongside what feels like a million things that life was throwing at me) to me sinking very low into depression.

For a year, maybe more but it all feels like a timeless blur now, I fought and lost against depression. Simple things became hard and the stress only piled on as I fell behind on my studies. Ridiculously to say I was studying a course about psychology, I received little help from my tutors and the course people. So I crashed somewhere at the bottom of a very dark pit, and for a while, I thought I would stay there.

Maybe one day I’ll talk about it, but for now suffice to say that what saved me is the fact that I don’t know how to give up. It’s something I learnt in childhood, but not so much from my parents as from the anime I used to watch. But that’s a topic for another day.

6304953359400960So somewhere along the line I managed to start crawling back up out of the hole. I had withdrawn from the OU and felt very hopeless about my desire to become a counsellor. That was until I stumbled upon this This is the Foundation for Emotional Therapeutic Counselling. But I didn’t go to them for counselling, I saw instead that they offered training to those willing to learn. So I signed up. Everything about it sounded like what I wanted to learn and become, and so I took a leap and hoped it would work out better than university.

I still remember being very shaky on the phone interview I had to do before being allowed on the course, but I like to think I rocked it, and that my already increased understanding of our emotions/thoughts/psychology stuff really helped!

Let’s add a little bit of context to this though, shall we?

Around the same time I signed up for the course, I got the news that a sister-like-friend was terminally ill with cancer. She had been fighting it for years already, but this time the fight wassydney-grief-counselling-how-to-deal-with-the-loss-of-a-partner going to be over, and she wouldn’t be the victor left on the field. I don’t think there is an age that makes getting this kind of news easier, but being young can make it more difficult. There is nothing in the way we are raised that prepares us to watch someone we love, someone who is around our age, die the slow death my friend was going to go through.

I crumbled all over again, crashed back down at the bottom of the pit, and shattered. I felt hopeless, like nothing would be bright or be the same again.

My brother, Final Fantasy XIV, and kpop, literally saved my life. They were my anchors to reality, my weapons against the darkness of depression. I didn’t think we could win but, somehow, we did.

So a year down the line nearly from the day we got that news, my friend is gone. She died recently, passed away in her sleep to a better place, or a new, hopefully better, existence depending on what you believe. For months already I had lost her as she wasn’t able to live her life anymore, the cancer so debilitating. So the news didn’t come as a shock, but it didn’t make it any harder: having lost her was now official. There would be no miracle to save her anymore.

But she lives on in mine, and her friends and family’s hearts.

weight-loss-plateauAnd for the living, things carry on. Soon I will be working towards my diploma in Emotional Therapeutic Counselling so I can begin practicing. I am more motivated than ever to finish all the many stories I have started writing and I have a gazillion projects I can’t wait to get started.

Somehow, despite everything, I made it back to the top of the pit, and all the hardships on the way up only made me stronger, made me want to take on the world.

So alongside with starting posting here, and expressing the thousands of opinions I have about our inner workings, I am also going to start doing the #100happydays photo project both here and on Twitter/FB page (which will be created especially for this blog!). Why? Because no matter how dark things get, there are always small things to be happy about. I learnt that over the last years, and now I want to celebrate those small things (or sometimes big things) that make me smile every day.

So yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, the Psych Engine is open once again, and this time it is more than ever ready to deliver!

Childhood development: nature vs nurture, or is it both?

Nature_versus_NurtureThe start of my childhood development course has taken me down the alleys of thinking about how it is exactly that children develop and what it is that affects their development. History has seen many a theory being introduced to explain how it is that we develop, learn, and grow. Not all of them still fully apply today, and some seem absolutely baffling if you’re not inclined to share the views of those who first introduced them. But on the whole, most of them have good points that seems to work especially well when mixed and matched in between the different theories.

The four I studied in-depth seemed to grow from within one another, with obvious elements of past theories being dropped as new and shiny concepts are introduced. Sometimes the progress is minimal, sometimes it is revolutionary, but each step taken forward towards a more global understanding of childhood development is an important one: full of promises of better parenting, happier children, and better developed adults. But there is a debate that has always permeated theories of development: are we the product of nature, or the product of nurture?

It’s not just psychologists that have been faced with this headache, and philosophers have, for centuries, asked themselves the same question. To clarify the terms, nature refers roughly to what we are given at birth: our DNA. Nature will decide if we have blond or brown hair, blue or grey eyes, whether our knees are not aligned or we are likely to get coldsores. Nurture, on the contrary, does not come to us with birth, but through the social context in which we are born, through the people around us, through the education we receive, and so on and so forth. So nurture isn’t going to decide what colour hair we have, but it is likely to decide what kind of human being we grow up into.

To an extent.

And this is where it gets tricky. Once we are grown adults, how can we pretend to know how and why we have turned out as we have? We can make guesses, theorize,  look back on our childhood and try to make rational, logical sense of it in a way we couldn’t at the time. But at the end of the day, even through careful study of other children, there is no sure way to draw solid conclusions and form theories that could claim to apply universally (because humans, after all, have this awful tendency to all be so very different from one another).

Take, for example, the case of Alfred (Yes, this is the best name I could up with for my made-up example). Alfred was born in a loving home, surrounded by a loving, peaceful family. He never spent ridiculous amount of hours watching violent programs on TV either. And yet, Alfred was a violent, anti-social child who could hardly be controlled by his parents. Eventually, it was discovered that Alfred had been born with a deficient part of his brain and was in fact a psychopath  Here, nurture is absolutely powerless against nature, although there is no doubt the nurturing would have affected Alfred in some ways. But nonetheless, who Alfred grew into was not ruled by nurture, but by nature. Perhaps even by both for who can say how Alfred would have turned out had he been raised away from a loving and understanding home? Nobody can, and that’s why the nurture vs nature debate is such a tricky one.

Obviously, there are times when nurture can influence nature, or at least can seem to. Children who are unruly from a young age can be taught discipline, but it is difficult to know whether their unruliness is something that they were born with (an innate trait of character) or whether it something they picked up from peers or siblings behaviour.  What, however, of children who demonstrate such behaviour without ever having witnessed it from others? Are they born with an innate desire to be unruly and cause havoc? Perhaps. And if that is the case then nurture can indeed overrule (or perhaps more so, bend and modify) nature.


Another issue with the concept is when we start looking at people’s choices in career. Those who follow artistic careers and have had contact with an adult they are related to who also follows such a career might find they are told that they are doing so that it is because it is in their nature (clearly being a musician runs into the family, for example). But if a child of two doctors follows the same line of work as his parents, people are far more likely to blame it on nurture (it’s all he’s ever known/he’s trying to be like you). The question is, what is the difference? Maybe a child only chooses to become a musician, not because it is somehow written in his genes, but because he wants to be like his father, his mother, or his uncle. And maybe the little girl whose parents are doctors decides to follow in their footsteps not become she dreams of being like them, but because she feels a real calling towards the profession.

Either way, the idea that either nature or nurture forms us into what we become misses out one important factor: choice. Neither theories, not even them combined, take our own personal choices into account. From a very young age, babies and children are capable of making choices in their day-to-day lives and those choices are likely to have as strong an impact on their development as nurture and nature put together. But that’s for a different blog post all-together.

Psychologists are more and more agreeing that pitching nature vs nurture is a terrible idea and that if we are to truly understand how we develop, both as children and once we have reached our adult years, we need to look at both. To understand one truly would mean the need to understand the other just as completely. Indeed, how could there be development as we know it if only nurture, or only nature had a part to play?

Childhood and identity

open-uri20120828-7303-1xpgydfIn a handful of weeks, I’ll be starting a module on Child development. Now a couple of years back, when I very first signed up to the course, I rolled my eyes at the idea of a module that dealt mainly with childhood and children. But since then I have had to deal with a lot of issues the root of which is to be found in my childhood. It has gifted me with a new perspective on the subject. As such, I find that I am rather looking forward to studying the psychology of children and how their environment  and the people around them have the power to impact on their personality.

Nurture isn’t the only factor at work, obviously, as nature plays its part as always, often unseen–or perhaps not so much unseen as not understood–and in a far different way to nurture. For example, I read a while back now (in an article that I can no longer find, unfortunately), that scientists have discovered that there exists a gene that is likely to make children behave more obediently towards their parents. Children lacking in that gene, seemed to be far more free-willed and likely to make their own decisions from a younger age, instead of obediently listening to what they’re told to do.

But nurture can definitely affect nature and influence the direction in which it develops. Several researches have demonstrated that children receiving higher level of care of attention from their parent or carer are likely to grow up healthier, smarter, and kinder (See article: Why spoiled babies grow up to be smarter, kinder kids). If you look at it on very simple term: if the baby is well looked after, the growing brain doesn’t need to waste resources on stress, crying, or other efforts to draw the attention of the ones it expects to be looked after by. So our personality, which will later contribute to the forming of our identity, is influenced by outside factors from the second we are born–and possibly even before that, when we’re still in our mother’s womb.

Obviously, the attention that our parents/carers give us as we grow up will not entirely decide who we are: nature still has a say in the matter and some people who have suffered horrendously neglectful and/or traumatic childhood can still turn out to be wonderful people capable of more empathy than most. On the converse, all the love in the world might not change the way the brain of a sociopath or a psychopath was wired to start with.

Nonetheless, childhood is the root of who we are, whether we like it or not: the person we are today has its roots in our childhood. As such, any baggage that we acquire through childhood, we are likely to drag with us for the rest of our life. Sometimes, even becoming aware of the issue and its origin, is not enough to drop the baggage; it might become lighter and easier to carry, but it never fully leaves us.

My childhood wasn’t an unhappy one, my parents were fairly attentive, and generally I was loved by the people around me. One of the greatest problem my family suffered from, was the incapacity to communicate with each other. When I was six, my mother started suffering from depression due to problems at work. As a child, I was well aware that something was different about my mother, although no-one ever told me what: my mum’s depression was only discussed in between her and my father behind closed doors, and even then, I don’t think they did much talking at all. I found out what was happening by eavesdropping at the kitchen door in an evening. But from this, and several very similar incidents, I learnt a lesson my parents had never thought they might be teaching me with their actions: talking about what is wrong with us personally is bad, something to be done in secret and, preferably, not to be done at all.

I have dragged this with me all the way to my adulthood. Even now, I am more than likely to not talk about something that is bothering or upsetting me. I bottle everything up inside, store it behind high walls and attempt to cope with it by myself. It very rarely works, unfortunately. Eventually, everything that builds up inside gets too much and I find myself crumbling under the weight of it all. I am lucky enough to have a special someone here to help me cope, but he–quite rightly–gets frustrated at my incapacity to talk about the things that get to me. I have been trying to improve since I very first admitted to this issue, but it’s still hard most days to not feel ashamed of some of the negative thoughts that go on in my head.

This is but one of the things that I have dragged from my childhood into my life as an adult, and it is but one example of how things can affect children on a level often unseen by the parents or carers. Received, or perceived, love or affection aren’t the only things that start to shape a child’s personality as they grow up. Children learn by watching and copying: when they play make-believe with their friends, they will more than likely copy the attitude of the adults around them. Although such games are unlikely to directly influence personality later on in life, they do set a basis of what the child perceives as normal behavior for an adult and their own expectations of themselves.

Not everyone will be affected the same, but it’s impossible to know what will and will not affect a child’s personality until it is too late. Where demanding parents may push their child’s ambitions and drive forward, it may just as well make them feel pressured, unworthy, and unable to cope. There is no hard and fast rule that decides how we are going to react to how the people closest to us act and how it will affect us once we are out of childhood. Some children may give clear signs of how they are affected whilst others are likely to bottle it up and hide behind a facade.

But one thing is for sure: there can never be too much love and care in a child’s life, and no-one has ever suffered from too much love in their childhood, and from having attentive parents.

Becoming an adult

I’ll put a disclaimer before starting that this isn’t a subject that I have researched beyond what my uni textbook had to say. It is, however, something I have given a fair amount of thought to as it has felt particularly relevant to me and the people around me in the last couple of years. So this post is really more of a collection of my thoughts and feelings about the subject than it is a researched article on the subject of becoming an adult.

I was raised in a place where majority was at 21 but my big birthday, my coming of age, was to be my 18th birthday. At 18, I was going to be considered an adult in most countries I could travel to, I would be starting university, and I would generally be expected to behave more like, well, an adult. Whatever that actually means.

I’m now twenty-something, and I feel absolutely no older than when I use to run home from school at 17, dump my homework to the side and lodge myself in front of a video game for a couple of hours. I’ll grant you that I do more than I did back then: I can drive, I can cook, I have a degree, I have held a full-time job for three years, I’m in a relationship, and I have made some life-changing decisions. And yet, at the very core of me, I still don’t feel like an adult.

I learnt to drive at the behest of my mother, begrudgingly at first as I would have been quite happy to spend the time driving around sitting in my bedroom playing a video game. But I learnt—and aren’t I glad I did!—and got my licence. That document alone was supposed to be, after the event of my birthday, the first thing that marked me as an adult. Perhaps I would have felt more grown up if the first car I had hadn’t been a Volkswagen New Beetle, painted bright metallic blue, with a flower in the vase next to the steering wheel, crying out ‘gay’ perhaps a little more than I had intended.

But the car didn’t do it.

Then I left home and went on a gap-year around Europe selling anime merchandise around conventions. Feeling like an adult back then equated to making sure that I had enough money for what I wanted to do; the setting up at conventions, acquiring and selling of stock more felt like a fun game. What should have really made me feel like an adult—earning my own money, travelling, living by myself—fell seriously short of the mark: I was a teenager on a gap year having more fun than I had ever had in my life.

After that I settled away from home, studied at university, and eventually got a job. Surely, alongside living my myself, being financially independent and having a job should have been what finally marked me as being an adult. Instead, I spent three years playing at being an adult, doing everything I could to look older than I was—I look about eighteen on a good day, and I’m in my late twenties—and pretending that I was Mr Cristea, team leader and expert salesman.

But there was the point: I was pretending. I had never felt so out of place in my life as I did where I worked and I forced myself to appear differently so that I would be taken seriously. I put on a mask, and for all it felt as though it had stuck for good, it fell apart at the first opportunity.

So how the hell does one become an adult? My uni book hinted that any of the things I have cited above (learning to drive, leaving home, getting a job) should have made me into an adult. But I don’t feel like one. There are days I forget how old I am and would hardly be lying if I said I was nineteen or twenty. It’s not like there is  a button in our brain that gets pressed when we enter majority and suddenly turns us into an adult, although it probably would be simpler at times—and much, much more boring—if there was.

I have reached the conclusion that I may never end up feeling like an adult and it is a strange feeling to say the least. But perhaps this is simply due to the fact that my generation, and the ‘geek community’ I am part of just sees the world in a different way. It is perfectly acceptable for men to litter their desks with cute figurines, play video games until the little hours of the morning—even if they have work the next day—and geek-out to music, anime, and movies all day long with friends.

So maybe it’s a generation thing, and being an adult doesn’t mean the same now as it did when my parents entered adulthood. Or maybe the mentalities have changed so much, the world around us changed so much, that becoming an adult is different and happens later on in life.

Becoming, and being, an adult are tricky things that are often mentioned but never really talked about. No-one ever tells us what will make us

But is it as simple as that?

adults, or what it will feel like. It’s a bit like falling in love: there is no way to describe when, how, or why it will happen. When asked when I would know I was in love, all my father could reply was ‘you will Know’. Is that how it works for being an adult? I have no idea, but if that’s the case, then I’m most definitely not one yet!

Haters gonna hate

I have had this deep seeded belief, since being a teenager, that the phrase ‘haters gonna hate’ is so full of truth that if you think about it for five minutes too long, it becomes quite terrifying. Basically, it warns us that there are people who will hate on anything or anyone, just because they can. There won’t be a particular reason; they are just going to do it because they have the ability to.

Now I’m not someone who can claim to hate very often, hell, I’ve got better things to do for the most part than waste hours hating something. I’ll dislike something, even someone, and have my reasons why that’s the case, but hate? I don’t honestly remember the last time I genuinely hated someone or even something.  (Okay, that may be a lie, I can remember the last thing I hated and that was the first Saw movie a friend made me watch. But even then I’m not sure hate is the appropriate word and I shouldn’t more say that I was deeply disturbed by it.)

I have, especially recently, hated a situation. The hate I felt then is what is referred to as rational hate, born from the injustice of an event or situation, and mostly based on my own feelings of powerless and guilt regarding the fact that I can’t make things better[1]. Hate, really, is only there to disguise the gut-wrenching feeling that you can’t do anything

and are sitting there, a powerless mess struggling with upset, frustration, worry, and god knows what else depending on the situation.

That kind of hate, I think, will make sense to most human beings on the planet.

Then there is the other kind of hate, the hate that is born simply because of somebody’s else appearance, religion, race, skin colour, sexual preference, or even opinion (you know, all those things that make the world a wonderfully diverse and interesting place!). This kind of hate, referred to as a hate mask, is born and worn as a way to disguise personal insecurities. Basically, the more insecure someone is the bigger the hate mask, and the more hate they have to distribute around[2].

But let’s not generalise, shall we? After all, ‘not all insecure people are haters, but all haters are insecure people.’[3]

Now hate isn’t a pretty thing, especially when it’s directed at people, or things, that have done little more to deserve it than exist as they are. It’s how bullies start hating and picking on another kid at school, ‘just because they’re different’, or ‘because they’re the nerd’, or because of some other ridiculous reason. In my childhood I was one of those bullied kids. I

stood there and took verbal abuse, had my backpack stolen and my glasses broken, just because ‘I didn’t fit in’ (whatever the hell fitting in at 12 is), because I was good at school, liked to listen in class, and stupidly, because I didn’t wear what was fashionable to wear!

It all sounds pretty stupid and petty, doesn’t it? And yet these people hated me enough to spend all their free time at school making my life miserable, because apparently doing that made them feel better about themselves. I don’t get it, personally, but it seems that hating gives people a sense of purpose when they band and do it together to do it.[4]

So bullies make me mad: as a child I could do little to nothing about what happened to me, but as an adult, when I see bullies, they really, really make me mad (it’s probably the only thing I have in common with Captain America, actually). And haters are just that: big bullies, who probably don’t even realise they’re bullies.

A few months ago, a blog was brought to my attention through certain events I shan’t recount here: Requires Only That You Hate. I won’t do them the favour of giving them traffic by linking to them, and I will spare any kind soul reading this from falling face to face with it.

So yes, there is a blog out there called Requires Only That You Hate. My first reaction to the title of the place was one not suited for a blog post. I just couldn’t believe it. Actually, I was stunned into silent bewilderment (after the initial less-than-polite outburst) that there would be someone, or a group of people, who would create a blog just to hate on things. I mean, in all brutal honesty, what is the point?

I know we all have our opinions, and sometimes we all need somewhere to vent when we didn’t like something. But having enough hate in you to constitute an entire blog? That was beyond my capacity for comprehension. And they literally hate on everything. From the mysoginistic main character of a book (who really, is more of a psychopath than a straight out mysoginist), to elves, also including any book with apparent shocking sexual content, or simply something that rubbed them the wrong way.

They also love to attack people they know nothing about on Twitter because…because they can? I don’t know. I watched them doing to an author the other day and felt very sorry the man in question as he struggled to stay surprisingly polite in front of the waves of insults that were thrown at him. I also recently watched them judge someone they, may I add, know absolutely nothing about, again, just because they can.

I, personally, don’t see what there is to gain in attacking someone or something that has never done anything to you personally. Hell, maybe if everybody shared that mentally we’d all be better off. But people don’t, and people like those who post on, or stand by, something like Requires Only That You Hate, are the kind of people that make the world that little bit less of a nice place. They insight hatred into others so that they’re not so alone in their little corner. Psychologically, that allows them to escape introspection and facing off to whatever demons are haunting them inside, it gives them a place to belong, and it even makes them feel like they’re the better people in all of this.[5]

The problem is, it’s all fabricated emotions, and if carried on too long, they’ll never be able to let go of the hate, because it would mean putting the mask down and actually facing the fact that they have nothing better to do with their lives than hate, hate, and hate some more. The longer the hate carries on for, the less likely the mask is to ever come down and these people are less and

less likely to realise what they have done and are doing, and the potential harm that they have done to others through their behaviours.

So basically, those kinds of haters are high-and-mighty bullies, with a complex of holier-than-thou, and a big handful of insecurities thrown in. Most of the time I try to think they’re not worth my time and that I have better things to do than pay them any heed. But every now and again, when they cause upset, stir up drama, or simply take a pot shot at someone they know nothing about, and I happen to see it, a flip in my head switches, and I’m 12 again, facing off the bullies at school. But then another switch flips and I get mad, and I want to rant, and tell them to get a life and for god’s sake, we have better things to do with the years we are given than sit there and spend our time hating people and things, and blogging about it on the internet.

Hell, even psychologists must think that hate is something we’re better without as it’s one of our emotions that has been studied the least, as has been openly admitted by several psychologists that have walked down that path.

Hate isn’t a pretty thing, it doesn’t make things better, it doesn’t really make people feel better, and all it breeds is anger and upset.

For a time I even thought I hated haters like the people of Requires Only That You Hate. But then I realised it wasn’t hate, it was pity, because they’re wasting their lives away on negative emotions instead of seeking to make their existence better.

So yes, haters are gonna hate, they’re going to wear their hate masks and hide all their insecurities behind, act as though they’re right and they’re the best, but at the end of the day, those they hurt will shed off the negative and move on to better things, whereas they will carry on to waste away in it and perhaps, sadly, never realise how much harm they are doing to themselves.

Welcome to the Psych Engine!

Hello internet people, and welcome to my own little corner of this vast information network; welcome to the Psych Engine. Pretty cool name for a psychology blog, huh? Well, to be honest, I’m not the one who thought it up, my little brother did, because he’s cool like that. He’s also the guy who designed the awesome blog banner!

Anyway, less praising for the little brother, and more of what this—my blog—is about. The Psych Engine is a vaguely self explanatory title: This blog is about psychology. Just a little over a year ago I started a psychology course with the OU and, after surviving six months of boring old social science studies, I have finally gotten onto the good stuff. But getting onto the good stuff also means that there are a thousand and one things I want to say, experiment with, or just talk about.

Hence how this little place of the internet came to be mine: It’s going to be my musing board for the foreseeable future for all things psychological which should be ranging from simple musings, to—hopefully—casual experiments for which I intend to use my dearest and friends and family for guinea pigs—they don’t mind, really.

My primary areas of interest at the moment—I say at the moment as I’ve only started studying and I probably only have a narrow view of what I could be interested into—is identity through gender, identity through disability, as well as the concept of core identity as well as what makes people so damned unique: their personality, and how it is created for each people.

So you’ll probably see plenty of posts about the above on here!

So yes, I hope I’ll be able to post interesting things here and that I will draw a few people to come have a look at my blog and hopefully start interesting conversations!

Anyway, that’s enough for now. See you all when I have some time to post!