We like to think we see the world as it
is. But we don’t.
We don’t see with our eyes. We see through them. Like light filtering through stained glass, our vision is coloured by everything we’ve lived. Our eyes might capture the image, but our minds interpret it. And what we perceive is never neutral. It’s shaped by memory, trauma, belief systems, fears, and hopes.
What we’ve
experienced becomes a lens, tinting every moment.
A room isn’t just a room if you once
felt unsafe in one.
A smile isn’t just a smile if you’ve
learned not to trust them.
Even colours and sounds can carry
emotional echoes we no longer consciously register.
We don’t notice
everything. We notice what we’ve been conditioned to see. We scan for patterns
that support the story we’ve always told ourselves, and we often miss what
doesn’t fit.
And here’s another
layer: our senses aren’t perfect. Even when fully alert and emotionally
grounded, we still don’t experience the full picture.
Biologically, our
eyes detect only a sliver of the electromagnetic spectrum. We miss the
infrared, the ultraviolet. Our ears register only a limited range of
frequencies. So even before personal bias comes in, we’re already working with
incomplete data. We build entire truths from fragments. And what makes it worse
is that we trust those fragments absolutely. We forget how much we’re missing.
So yes, the past shapes perception. But so do the natural limits of being human. We think we’re seeing clearly, but often, we’re just seeing enough to feel certain. And that’s dangerous.
This is the creative’s ache – one that artists, writers, and speakers know too well. It’s not just about craft. It’s about translation. Taking something filtered internally and trying to make it visible to others. The goal isn’t just accuracy. It’s honesty. To reveal not just what we see, but how we experience it. And that takes more than talent. It takes vulnerability.
In every painting,
story, or speech, the creator’s internal weather is present. Mood shapes
expression. Meaning every piece is more than creative output. It’s a mirror.
Can we ever see more clearly? Maybe. The path starts with asking better questions: Is this real, or is this my past speaking? Am I seeing this moment, or a memory dressed up as the “here-and-now”?
Self-awareness helps
us interrupt the automatic replay of old wounds. It allows us to meet the
moment as it is, not as we once knew it. Healing our vision is the first step
toward a better life. One not dictated by shadows.
Yes, it does
matter that we don’t see objective reality. Because until we realize
that, we’ll keep reacting to ghosts and calling them truth. The narrative of
the past will dominate the present. That’s why so many people stay trapped in
victimhood instead of showing up as survivors.
Memory doesn’t record facts. It stores emotion. And over time, the line between what happened and how it felt begins to blur. We don’t just remember events. We remember how they made us feel. And those feelings become filters, colouring how we see now.
A kind word can
sound like a warning if we’ve been hurt before.
A loving gesture can feel suspicious if
trust has been broken.
Suddenly, we’re no longer responding to this
moment. We’re reliving that one.
Without awareness, memory manipulates perception. And perception, in turn, becomes a prisoner of the past.
So maybe the answer isn’t just to paint, write, or speak about what we think we’ve experienced. Maybe the deeper work is this: to explore it again. To find the truth beneath the emotion. To revisit the past, especially with someone who was there.
In the end, we have a choice. We get to decide how we see.
As for me? I am the captain of my creations, the master of my perceptions. Yes, I’ll probably always see the world through eyes slightly clouded by yesterday, but knowing that helps me pause. Even when I can’t name what’s haunting me, awareness gives me a choice. If I can feel it, I can face it. And whether I understand it fully or not, I can acknowledge it, release it, and choose to reframe it.
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