What to Do When You Can’t Unfollow Yourself

Introspection is not just a word used by people trying not to say “therapy” on first dates, or by spiritual influencers. It’s also a favorite among philosophy professors, AI researchers with too much time, and self-help authors who treat it like a seasoning — sprinkle it in, and suddenly anything sounds deep. “I’ve been doing a lot of introspection lately” is millennial code for “I finally cried in front of another human”.

And yes, the meaning of the word “introspection” doesn’t have to be complicated. It’s just the old, odd, unsexy craft of actually looking inside yourself — like cleaning out a junk drawer, only it’s in your head and everything inside is linked with one or a few outdated stories.

Just to be clear: this is not a productivity hack blog post. It won’t make you money, help you create viral reels, or turn you into a high-performance machine on a nootropic diet of elk meat and breathwork. What it might do is help you to become a little more honest. A little more… you.

It’s hard to pin down exactly what introspection is — but it’s a little easier to notice what it does. It doesn’t play by the rules of productivity or performance. It’s not here to help you fit in or to tidy up your thoughts into something quotable. It’s not even here to expose your secrets. It’s here to help you listen in — to that quiet murmur beneath the noise, the flicker of an old memory, the strange ache in your chest when you tell a lie and no one notices.

Truth is, most of us live like museum curators of our own image. Carefully arranging ourselves for optimal public display. We collect flattering thoughts, aspirational habits, and mood-board aesthetics until our sense of self resembles a Pinterest board with trust issues.

And beneath that? A growing pressure to be agreeable, impressive, “like”-worthy — while quietly managing the suspicion that maybe we are, in fact none of those things. Maybe we’re a bit lost. Maybe we’re tired of trying to get everything “right”.

The good news? That’s where introspection starts. Not in the polished parts, but in the messy, contradictory, slightly embarrassing bits we’ve been avoiding. The part of you that still cringes at something you said in 2015. The part of you that wants more but can’t name what it is. The part of you that, despite everything, still feels like yours.

Introspection is not one method. It’s more like a sub-genre. Sometimes it looks like sitting quietly for five minutes before you ruin your day with a phone scroll. Sometimes it’s dancing alone in your bedroom to a song that knows you better than your friends do. Sometimes it’s realising your anger isn’t about what just happened — but about what always happens, and how tired you are of pretending it doesn’t.

There’s no right way in. But once you’re in, there’s no slipping back into the numbing rhythms, the quiet avoidance that used to pass for coping. Because once you start turning inward and paying attention to yourself — you begin to notice how much of your life has been lived on borrowed scripts. How often you’ve pursued things out of fear, or guilt, or the false promise of acceptance. And how much sweeter it is to want what you really want, even if you’re not yet sure how to get it.

At its best, introspection is not navel-gazing — it’s soul composting. You throw in confusion, memory, envy, hope, childhood nicknames, and the time you were rejected by your crush in front of the whole class. You stir it all up, and wait. Over time, the mess becomes fertile. You start growing new qualities.

You can grow a sense of direction that’s not reactive. A kind of knowing that doesn’t need to be explained. The ability to say “yes” like you mean it and “no” without guilt. And most importantly — you grow yourself into someone you can stand being alone with.

You’d be surprised how often people bring this up in coaching. Not that they say, “teach me introspection, please”, but when they’ve run out of answers. When problem-solving stops working — and let’s be honest, it eventually does — what’s left is you. Not the polished, curated version. The one who’s been there all along, waiting for a little attention.

And the question that remains is simple, but not easy: how do you get to know yourself better? Journaling might just be the most accessible way in. A daily written dialogue with the self: from you, to you, about you. Clients often say:

• “I don’t know what to write.”
• “What’s the point if it doesn’t change anything?”
• “I’m not sure how this helps.”

I get it. Resistance shows up in all kinds of costumes — from eye-rolls to full-on avoidance. But here’s the thing: you can’t unfollow yourself. You’re the one person you can’t mute, unsubscribe from, or scroll past. You wake up with you. You fall asleep with you. Everything in between — the good days, the weird moods, the small wins and sudden overreactions, the loss of energy and motivation — all of it comes from the same place: you.

If you can’t escape yourself, maybe the better move is to become someone you’re genuinely curious about. Someone whose inner world you want to understand — not outrun. This is why introspection matters. It’s not a luxury or a lofty ideal — it’s a way of becoming fluent in your own language. And like any language, it gets easier with practice, even if that practice feels clumsy at first.

I’ll leave you with a question: what if you could unfollow just one part of yourself for a day — not all of you, just the bit that second-guesses, stalls, or talks you out of trying? What might shift if that voice went quiet for a while?

If this cracked something open for you, leave a nudge on that arrow below. It’s the digital equivalent of a knowing nod. And if introspection has you curious, confused, or somewhere in between — I’m here for that conversation too. Drop a comment on Bluesky or send an email my way.

title: What to Do When You Can’t Unfollow Yourself
link: what-is-introspection
meta_description: What if you could unfollow the part of yourself that second-guesses everything? A grounded, witty take on introspection and learning to listen in.
lang: en
make_discoverable: true 

Introspection is not just a word used by people trying not to say “therapy” on first dates, or by spiritual influencers. It’s also a favorite among philosophy professors, AI researchers with too much time, and self-help authors who treat it like a seasoning — sprinkle it in, and suddenly anything sounds deep. “I’ve been doing a lot of introspection lately” is millennial code for “I finally cried in front of another human”.

And yes, the meaning of the word "introspection" doesn’t have to be complicated. It’s just the old, odd, unsexy craft of actually looking inside yourself — like cleaning out a junk drawer, only it’s in your head and everything inside is linked with one or a few outdated stories.

Just to be clear: this is not a productivity hack blog post. It won’t make you money, help you create viral reels, or turn you into a high-performance machine on a nootropic diet of elk meat and breathwork. What it might do is help you ==to become a little more honest==. A little more... you.

It’s hard to pin down exactly what introspection is — but it’s a little easier to notice what it does. It doesn’t play by the rules of productivity or performance. It’s not here to help you fit in or to tidy up your thoughts into something quotable. It’s not even here to expose your secrets. It’s here ==to help you _listen in_== — to that quiet murmur beneath the noise, the flicker of an old memory, the strange ache in your chest when you tell a lie and no one notices.

Truth is, most of us live like _museum curators of our own image_. Carefully arranging ourselves for optimal public display. We collect flattering thoughts, aspirational habits, and mood-board aesthetics until our sense of self resembles a Pinterest board with trust issues.

And beneath that? A growing pressure to be agreeable, impressive, “like”-worthy — while quietly managing the suspicion that maybe we are, in fact none of those things. Maybe we’re a bit lost. **Maybe we’re tired of trying to get everything “right”**.

The good news? That’s where introspection starts. Not in the polished parts, but in the messy, contradictory, slightly embarrassing bits we’ve been avoiding. The part of you that still cringes at something you said in 2015. The part of you that wants more but can’t name what it is. The part of you that, despite everything, still feels like yours.

==Introspection is== not one method. It’s ==more like a sub-genre==. Sometimes it looks like sitting quietly for five minutes before you ruin your day with a phone scroll. Sometimes it’s dancing alone in your bedroom to a song that knows you better than your friends do. Sometimes it’s realising your anger isn’t about what just happened — but about what _always_ happens, and how tired you are of pretending it doesn’t.

==There’s no right way in.== But once you’re in, there’s no slipping back into the numbing rhythms, the quiet avoidance that used to pass for coping. Because once you start turning inward and paying attention to yourself — you begin to notice how much of your life has been lived on borrowed scripts. How often you’ve pursued things out of fear, or guilt, or the false promise of acceptance. And how much sweeter it is to want what _you_ really want, even if you're not yet sure how to get it.

At its best, introspection is not navel-gazing — **it’s soul composting**. You throw in confusion, memory, envy, hope, childhood nicknames, and the time you were rejected by your crush in front of the whole class. You stir it all up, and wait. Over time, the mess becomes fertile. You ==start growing new qualities==.

You can grow a sense of direction that’s not reactive. A kind of knowing that doesn’t need to be explained. The ability to say “yes” like you mean it and “no” without guilt. And most importantly — you grow yourself into someone you can stand being alone with.

You’d be surprised how often people bring this up in coaching. Not that they say, "teach me introspection, please", but when they’ve run out of answers. When problem-solving stops working — and let’s be honest, it eventually does — what’s left is you. Not the polished, curated version. The one who’s been there all along, waiting for a little attention.

And the question that remains is simple, but not easy: **how do you get to know yourself better?** _Journaling_ might just be the most accessible way in. A daily written dialogue with the self: from you, to you, about you. Clients often say:

- “I don’t know what to write.”
- “What’s the point if it doesn’t change anything?”
- “I’m not sure how this helps.”

I get it. Resistance shows up in all kinds of costumes — from eye-rolls to full-on avoidance. But here's the thing: ==you can't unfollow== yourself. You're the one person you can't mute, unsubscribe from, or scroll past. You wake up with you. You fall asleep with you. Everything in between — the good days, the weird moods, the small wins and sudden overreactions, the loss of energy and motivation — all of it comes from the same place:== you.==

If you can’t escape yourself, maybe the better move is to become someone you’re genuinely curious about. Someone whose inner world you want to understand — not outrun. This is why introspection matters. It’s not a luxury or a lofty ideal — it’s ==a way of becoming fluent in your own language==. And like any language, it gets easier with practice, even if that practice feels clumsy at first.

I'll leave you with a question: what if you could _unfollow just one part of yourself for a day_ — not all of you, just the bit that second-guesses, stalls, or talks you out of trying? _What might shift if that voice went quiet for a while?_

If this cracked something open for you, leave a nudge on that arrow below. It's the digital equivalent of a knowing nod. And if introspection has you curious, confused, or somewhere in between — I'm here for that conversation too. Drop a comment on Bluesky or [send an email my way](/connect/).

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