You Are More Than What Happened to You: When life events become part of our identity

Alongside the pain of what actually happens, a deep way that suffering changes us is through the conclusions we inevitably begin to draw about ourselves because of it. Losing a job can become I am worthless. A partner's affair can transform into I am unlovable. A friendship ending may begin as grief but gradually settle into People always leave me. While these conclusions can feel self-evident, they are rarely objective truths. Rather, they represent a psychological pattern which is the mind's attempt to make sense of painful experiences, often by turning events into identities.

Why does the brain turn experiences into beliefs?

This process does not begin in adulthood. Long before we are capable of consciously reflecting on ourselves, our brains are learning from repeated emotional experiences, gradually building expectations about who we are in relation to other people. A child who grows up feeling criticised, or around criticism, is understandably likely to expect criticism wherever they go. Almost like a second language. Or a child who experiences inconsistency may, unconsciously, learn to anticipate abandonment as par for the course. Another who repeatedly has to minimise their own needs in order to preserve important relationships may grow into adulthood believing that asking for support is selfish or dangerous. These are not beliefs we consciously choose; they develop gradually through relationships, becoming so familiar that they begin to feel like simple descriptions of reality rather than interpretations shaped by experience.

Why current events can awaken old wounds

This is why painful events in adulthood can feel so devastating. As well as the often life-changing practicalities of change (financial, relational, or locational), what we also experience is the often sudden and jarring reopening of childhood wounds; an awakening of older expectations that have been organising our understanding of ourselves for many years. Losing a job is undoubtedly difficult in itself, yet for someone who has long carried feelings of inadequacy, it may resonate far beyond financial uncertainty, becoming evidence that they were never good enough. Equally, the end of a relationship or an experience of betrayal is painful for almost anyone, but for someone whose early relationships were marked by inconsistency or rejection, it can seem to confirm something much deeper, namely that they are fundamentally unworthy of love. The event is real. The meaning we attach to it is often shaped by experiences that came long before. An added difficulty here is potentially the doubling of pain when this is within our conscious awareness - two wounds, new and very old, to attend to.

The predictive brain

Contemporary neuroscience offers an interesting way of understanding this. Rather than simply storing memories of the past, the brain is increasingly understood as a prediction-making and pattern-noticing organ, constantly using previous experience to anticipate what is likely to happen next. Mark Solms has written extensively about this predictive nature of emotional life, suggesting that feelings are closely bound to the brain's attempts to guide us towards what it expects will meet our needs and away from what it expects will threaten them (see my blog on the SEEKING system, May 26). In this sense, our emotional world is never simply reactive to the present moment, but uses the lens of the past to interpret the current environment.

This means that many of the beliefs we hold about ourselves are better understood as predictions than as facts. I am unlovable. I am too much. People cannot be trusted. If I make a mistake, I will be rejected. These statements often feel absolute because they have been reinforced repeatedly, not necessarily because they are objectively true. Over time, the distinction between this happened to me and this is who I am can become almost impossible to recognise.

Narrative psychology makes a similar observation. Research suggests that psychological wellbeing is influenced by the way experiences become woven into the story we tell about ourselves. When painful experiences come to define the entire narrative, identity often becomes constricted, and there is less room for complexity, contradiction or change. By contrast, when those same experiences become one chapter within a much larger story, people often describe greater flexibility, resilience and hope, not because the past has disappeared or is meaningless, but because it is no longer the only lens through which they understand themselves.

Can therapy help us see ourselves differently?

This is one of the reasons therapy is so difficult to describe. It is not about uncovering a pristine version of ourselves that existed before anything painful occurred. We are always changing, always in a transitional state. Every relationship, every disappointment, every loss and every moment of care leaves some trace. The "self" is not something fixed that we eventually discover; it is a living and growing state that will continue to develop throughout our lives.

What I believe therapy can offer is the opportunity for that development to become less constrained by old predictions, and give us the language to describe and share the impact that these predictions have had (and continue to have) on our lives. Within a relationship that is sufficiently safe and consistent, experiences gradually accumulate that do not fit the brain's existing expectations: someone who expects criticism encounters curiosity instead, and someone who anticipates rejection discovers that conflict can survive without abandonment. Someone convinced that their needs are unacceptable begins to experience them being received rather than dismissed. These moments may seem small, yet they invite the brain to revise what it once believed was inevitable.

Carl Rogers famously wrote, "The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change." Perhaps acceptance matters because it allows us to hold our conclusions about ourselves a little more lightly. Rather than asking, Who am I really?, we can ask: What have I come to believe about myself, and how did those beliefs develop? 

We will never become people untouched by what has happened to us. Our experiences matter, and they inevitably influence the people we become. Yet influence is not the same as definition. Perhaps one of the most hopeful ideas within both psychotherapy and neuroscience is that identity is never finished. The stories we tell ourselves, the relationships we build, and the emotional experiences we continue to have throughout our lives all remain capable of expanding who we are.