Lachlan Brown
The journey toward deeper self-awareness can start off feeling like a mystery.
For me, it began with a vague sense of dissatisfaction that wouldn’t go away, and a growing suspicion that there was more to know about myself than I’d ever acknowledged.
From the outside, my life looked relatively successful—people saw me as driven, affable, and creative. Internally, however, I was haunted by an uncomfortable question: “Who am I, really?”
That question set me on a path I hadn’t expected.
As someone with a Graduate Diploma of Psychological Studies, I already had some intellectual understanding of human behavior, but little clue about my own internal landscape. Once I dug deeper, it quickly became evident that self-awareness is not just a concept—it’s an evolving art.
My early epiphanies eventually led me to Buddhist mindfulness teachings, journaling practices, and a profound shift in how I engage with the world.
In this piece, I’d like to share part of that story and explore ways to cultivate a deeper understanding of yourself.
When I first realized I was a stranger to myself
It sounds dramatic: how could I reach adulthood, with a psychology qualification no less, without truly knowing who I was?
Yet, as I started reflecting on my motivations, I saw how many decisions I’d made on autopilot. It’s a common pattern — choosing career directions because they feel prestigious rather than meaningful, staying in relationships that no longer resonate, and spending weekends in ways that leave you oddly unfulfilled.
Picture finishing a big project and, rather than feeling the surge of satisfaction you expected, feeling strangely hollow.
Someone asks, “What’s next for you?” and you realize you have no real idea. The track you’re on was never consciously chosen — it was a default. That’s often the moment a quiet voice inside whispers: “You’ve never really taken the time to know yourself.”
I’d had flashes of insight like that—times when I noticed my internal dialogue seemed to conflict with the external life I was living. But I usually brushed them aside in favor of forging ahead.
Eventually, I couldn’t ignore it. The emptiness forced me to admit that I was basically going through the motions. It was time to become a more active participant in my own life.
Why self-awareness feels elusive
Self-awareness might seem like it should be second nature — after all, we’re living in our own heads. Yet many of us find it elusive.
One reason is that introspection can be uncomfortable. When we peer inside, we might encounter unflattering truths, regrets, or contradictory desires. It’s simpler to escape into routines, social media, or the next project.
In my case, the fear of discovering that my carefully curated identity might not align with my deeper values kept me from examining myself honestly. I worried that if I truly knew who I was, I might no longer fit the roles or expectations placed on me by others — or even by my own past self.
Looking back, I see it was less about external judgments and more about resisting the unknown. I hadn’t realized that understanding my inner workings could bring freedom rather than disillusionment.
Over time, I learned that self-awareness flourishes when we gently face this discomfort. Much like any skill, it takes deliberate practice.
And it’s not a linear journey: you can have breakthroughs one week and feel stuck the next.
The key, as I found, is consistent, open-minded curiosity about yourself — your thoughts, your emotions, your behaviors — all without falling into harsh judgment.
Connecting self-awareness and mindfulness
During my search for clarity, Buddhist mindfulness became a key turning point.
At first, it felt foreign — sitting quietly, attempting to observe my breath and mental chatter?
I was used to tackling problems head-on, analyzing and dissecting them. But mindfulness invited me into a different approach: noticing without immediately fixing.
Mindfulness is sometimes described as “learning to watch your mind the way you’d watch clouds pass through the sky.”
This was a revelation — there was no pressure to label the clouds good or bad; they simply moved along.
Practicing this nonjudgmental observation helped me see patterns in my internal world that had been invisible before. For instance, I noticed how frequently my mind wandered to worries about approval and achievement.
Just by noticing, I started to recognize that these worries weren’t necessarily truths, but mental habits I could question.
In psychological terms, it’s like shining a light on a hidden part of your operating system, revealing outdated code that runs in the background.
Through mindfulness, I realized I had a choice: keep letting those patterns drive my decisions or gently challenge them.
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