Nothing Is Fixed: On Stress, Meaning, and the Work of Becoming
This piece is for those in therapy, therapists, or anyone grappling with meaning and uncertainty*
Across various cultures and traditions, one fundamental principle consistently emerges: life requires active participation from individuals. From ancient texts to modern interpretations, many of the earliest creation narratives depict human beings as essential partners in shaping and transforming their surroundings. This collaborative effort highlights the deep relationship between humans and their environment, as we are called to nurture not only the world around us but also our inner selves.
The land needs careful stewardship, which may involve sustainable practices and an acknowledgment of its importance in our lives. Similarly, developing oneself—cultivating one’s mind, emotions, and character—requires ongoing effort and reflection. This psychological engagement should not be seen as a punishment or burden; rather, it is an essential journey through which we cultivate profound meaning and personal significance. Engaging in this work not only deepens our understanding of ourselves but also enhances our contributions to humanity's collective experience.
And yet, in the midst of this work, we often long for guarantees. We want our stories to make sense, our identities to stay stable, our suffering to fit a clean narrative arc. But in therapy—and in life—we eventually discover that nothing is fixed. Everything we experience, every part of our story, will be used.
Paradoxically, this impermanence is what frees us.
The Myth of the Finished Life
Many people want to be a “best-seller” rather than write the book. They want the assurance of significance without the vulnerability of creation. But importance is never predetermined—it is not a reward granted from the outside. As Viktor Frankl described in his work on the existential vacuum, meaning is recreated continually through the choices we make in the face of uncertainty, suffering, and mortality.
This is why attachment to certainty becomes a form of distress in itself. We clutch rigid expectations—about career, relationships, identity, or success—and feel pain not only from life’s challenges but from our resistance to them. As existentialists have long noted, our aversion to suffering often hurts more than the suffering itself.
Learning to “love our suffering” is not romanticizing pain; it is accepting what is present rather than fighting what we wish were different.
Or, in simpler terms:
Less “let it go,” more “let it be.” (Appreciation to the Beatles)
Stress, Subception, and the Body’s Wisdom
Clients rarely come to therapy with a blank slate. Children and adults alike carry stress histories shaped by family systems, social contexts, and cultural narratives. Contrary to the idea of “sudden breakdowns,” people rarely move from zero to one hundred—instead, they move within shifting windows of tolerance.
Modern psychology offers several frameworks to explain this interplay:
Stress contagion theory shows how stress spreads between individuals in relational systems.
At home (Example):
One parent comes home tense and irritable after work. They don’t say much, but their tone is short and their body is tight. Within minutes, the rest of the household feels on edge—kids become reactive, partners feel anxious or withdrawn. No one “caught” the stress through words; it spread through mood, posture, pacing, and emotional cues.
In a workplace (Example):
A manager is visibly overwhelmed—checking emails compulsively, speaking quickly, sighing often. Even high-performing employees begin to feel anxious, rush their work, or make mistakes. Productivity drops not because the workload changed, but because stress traveled through the system.
Among friends (Example):
One friend repeatedly catastrophizes about a problem. Over time, others begin to mirror that urgency or dread, even if the issue doesn’t directly affect them.
In short: Stress doesn’t stay inside individuals—it moves through relationships.
Interpersonal neurobiology explains how stress affects learning, motivation, attention, and emotional regulation.
A child in school (Example):
A child who feels unsafe at home struggles to focus in class. Teachers may interpret this as laziness or defiance, but their nervous system is prioritizing survival over learning. Stress narrows attention, weakens memory, and disrupts impulse control.
Adults under chronic stress (Example):
Someone juggling financial strain, caregiving, and lack of sleep may:
Forget things they normally remember
Feel unmotivated by goals they once cared about
Overreact emotionally to small frustrations
This isn’t a character flaw—it’s the brain operating under constant threat activation.
In relationships (Example):
During conflict, partners stop hearing each other clearly. One person feels attacked; the other feels dismissed. Stress temporarily reduces the brain’s capacity for empathy and flexible thinking.
In short: Under stress, the brain shifts from growth and connection to protection and control.
Subception, a psychoanalytic term, describes the body’s subtle ability to detect incongruence before conscious awareness arrives.
Common examples:
“Something feels off” in a conversation:
You’re talking with someone who says the right things, but your stomach tightens or your chest feels heavy. You can’t explain why yet—but later you realize their words didn’t match their behavior. Your body noticed the inconsistency before your thoughts caught up.
Walking into a room:
You enter a meeting and immediately feel tense, even though no one has spoken yet. Later, conflict erupts or bad news is shared. Your nervous system picked up on subtle cues—facial expressions, silence, energy shifts—without conscious analysis.
After sending a text or email:
You reread something you sent and feel a wave of unease. Eventually, you realize you crossed a personal boundary or said yes when you meant no.
In short: Subception is the body’s early warning system—quiet, fast, and often ignored.
This bodily wisdom is one of the most overlooked elements of healing. Our intellect and mind may analyze and keep the score, but our body is often the scorecard.
The Burden and Gift of Exposure
In today’s digital landscape, we are inundated with archetypes, identities, and emotional templates that extend well beyond our local communities. We cannot “unsee” what we have encountered, nor can we establish clear psychological boundaries around the impressions that shape us.
Rather than trying to erase these influences, the therapeutic task becomes one of integration—assembling the fragments of exposure into a coherent, authentic sense of self.
Authenticity here does not mean blunt expression or endless self-disclosure.
It means showing up without performing for approval, without shrinking to fit a template, and without waiting for perfect permission.
Feeling Lost: A Natural Human Condition
Feeling lost is not a pathology. In fact, it may be one of the most honest psychological states. Few people truly “find their purpose” as a definitive endpoint. More importantly, labeling oneself as lost often deepens despair.
A small but powerful reframe can help:
You are not lost—
You are exploring.
Exploration is the birthplace of identity, creativity, and resilience. Exploration with others—within the community—can be just as stabilizing as finding clarity alone. Through shared exploration, meaning becomes something we co-construct rather than something we must excavate in isolation.
Attention, Meaning, and Existential Integrity
Much of the growth hinges on attention. Awareness precedes intellect. What we attend to shapes what we become.
Psychotherapy often centers on helping clients:
Redirect attention toward what brings vitality
Notice the incongruence between the inner truth and outward behavior
Reclaim parts of themselves exiled by fear, shame, or social pressure
When we act out of alignment with our beliefs, we feel weakened; existential authenticity dissolves. Absolute integrity arises when our actions, values, and inner experiences finally match.
Terror management theory reminds us that belief systems serve as buffers against the anxiety of mortality. When these systems collapse—through trauma, unemployment, grief, or identity disruption—individuals can fall into nihilism or disorientation. Therapy offers a structured place to rebuild meaning, one choice at a time.
As Søren Kierkegaard observed, guilt is an inevitable part of the human condition. It signals not moral failure but opportunity—an invitation to examine how we are living and whether our choices reflect our values.
The Humor and Humility of Being Human
There is a quiet humility in remembering that the size of your funeral largely depends on the weather. Significance is not a fixed trait but a fluid relationship between self, others, and time. Acknowledging this impermanence softens perfectionism and expands our willingness to take risks.
Chance, as Louis Pasteur famously said, favors the prepared mind. The more we engage with life—its uncertainties, contradictions, and possibilities—the more openings appear.
Therapy as a Space of Becoming
At its core, psychotherapy is not about perfecting the self. It is about exploring the self, expanding the self, and gently confronting the limits we have inherited or constructed. It is an invitation to:
Shift perception
Integrate past and present
Cultivate authentic presence
Rebuild the meaning when it collapses
Explore rather than avoid
Allow change rather than fear it
Nothing in life—identity, stress, meaning, suffering, or hope—is ever fixed.
This is not a threat. It is a possibility.
A possibility to recreate ourselves through action.
To attend to what enlivens us.
To explore rather than retreat.
To participate in our becoming.
And ultimately, to remember that every part of our story—every joy, every wound, every detour—will be used.
