My biggest flaw, or the reason I believe I have so many of them, is due to a fear of what I call the “blind spot.” In essence, I can never be fully confident in myself because I am convinced that there is something secretly wrong with or off-putting about my being that I am unable to detect — vis-a-vis, my blind spot. I believe that everyone has blind spots, but the primary factor of having a blind spot (i.e. being blind to its existence) is something that stains my every word and interaction. The metacognition of not knowing my blind spots, yet understanding that inherently they exist, has thrust me into a spiral of excessive thinking, analysis and self-consciousness. I am constantly picking apart common interactions to try and desperately squeeze out a modicum of another person’s perception of me, a process that does not achieve results, just angst.
I hesitate to call myself self-aware, despite my self-consciousness, because I believe it’s impossible to bestow such a title on oneself. The whole premise of being self-aware lies within what it’s not; not being self-aware means that there is a “disconnect between the image we project and our inner selves.” Having a lack of self-awareness entails an inability to predict or understand the common, external perception of oneself; everyone sees you and perceives you in a different manner than you perceive yourself. While this mindset can be viewed as a signifier of low emotional intelligence, I believe it to be increasingly common, especially as I witness —, and experience — instances of this phenomenon amid day-to-day life.
How many times have I heard a friend ranting about, say, a guy not snapping her back and hanging out with another girl at a frat party? Or what about that time my friend read his roommate’s texts and found out that some untasteful things were being said behind his back? In most cases, my friends think they are 100% in the right. But how many times have I thought my friend was actually the problem and just kept it to myself? Well … you and this guy were only snapping for a week, and you left him on delivered for most of it. He’s not a mind-reader, I quietly muse. Or, Hm, well you’ve called your roommate some colorful names in the past as well. And snooping in someone’s private messages isn’t really a strong foundation for moral superiority. And then I have to wonder, how many times have I complained about a situation in my life during which the listener was biting their tongue, concealing their true opinion between their teeth?
But of course, some things are too indelicate to say to a friend. After all, exposing a person to their blind spots is like introducing them to a whole new version of themselves, except it’s wholly negative. They start to question everything. Suddenly, qualities that your friend never thought they portrayed and insecurities they never had are at the forefront of the way in which they perceive others to perceive themselves; so much meta, right? They wonder, am I irrational for being upset about this guy that I barely know hanging out with another girl? Am I just seeking validation and projecting insecurities? Am I really unkind for talking behind my roommate’s back? Do I lack boundaries or a moral compass for going through his phone? And whose perception is correct: your friend’s because they know themselves inside and out, or the majority of people around them because they see things your friend doesn’t? Singular credibility versus majority opinion is a rough terrain to fight within. So, sometimes it’s best to stay quiet and nod along, so as not to disturb the inner peace of perceived self-awareness or introspection illusion.
Introspection illusion is a theory devised by Princeton University researcher Emily Pronin. In essence, introspection illusion is the belief that one’s personal introspection, or inner understanding and perception of oneself, is greater or more valid than another person’s introspection. Conversely, the concept of introspection illusion suggests that one’s introspection holds more weight than another person’s external perception of them. For instance, I know that my friend who looked through his roommate’s phone sees himself as being wholly moral. He believes he has good intentions, he thinks of himself to operate by a strict moral compass, yet his actions speak differently. However, does this make him all knowing and superior in thought, possessing a hidden insight into his personal introspection that trumps the perception of his concrete actions by others? I don’t think so.
That being said, there are just some things that you can only think about in your head or talk about with others in secret. A term that can be used to illuminate this phenomenon, as coined by the television series “New Girl,” is a POGO. To put it nicely, a POGO is a quirky trait that someone is painfully unaware of that people will talk about behind their back. The term stems from an innuendo regarding character Winston Bishop’s awkwardly persistent morning wood, so to speak, and incites a full-fledged confession session about each character’s irritating mannerisms of which they are blissfully unaware: one character is a know-it-all, the other doesn’t take care of himself, and so on. It’s very difficult not to wonder, as an imperfect human: What am I not aware of? What would most people say my flaws are? And the scariest part is, despite how well I think I know myself, if I were to really discover my blind spots and the flaws perceived by others, I’m certain I would never see them coming.
This is why I can’t even begin to fathom what my biggest insecurity is. Is it my nose? Is it my hair a few days after wash day? Or is it my ears or nail beds or something equally ambiguous that I haven’t even thought of? Or even worse, what about my personality? Do people think I’m dumb and don’t know what I’m talking about, even when I do? Do my friends think that I’m seeking attention when I tell them about things that are going wrong in my life? Am I that one person in the room that everyone wishes would stop talking? Oh gosh, am I not talking enough? A swarm of these thoughts swims through my head during menial social interactions. So the answer to a question about my biggest insecurity, short of Um, everything, would be You tell me. What do you think I should be insecure about? What is wrong with me that I haven’t even considered yet? What do you see that I am blind to?
I could end it here by saying, “And that’s why I prefer watching ‘New Girl’ by myself,” but that’s not entirely true. There’s also another angle through which to understand this phenomenon of blind spots; those who perceive us have blind spots, too. And not just their personal blind spots; blind spots regarding how exactly they perceive us. Because we too, as individuals, know and see things within ourselves and our past that others don’t. The experiences that have shaped our personalities are kept deeper inside, and the hurdles we’ve overcome can only be understood by us, regardless of whether we try to share them or not. For instance, the reason I put pressure on myself to know my flaws and understand what others think of me is because I was raised in a way that involved a lot of comparison to the other kids my age. “Do you see anyone else wearing a shirt like that?” or “Why can’t you be nice and quiet like her? What did her mom do to deserve her and what did I do to get you?” were common phrases tossed around in my home growing up. But the worst one was, “If everyone is doing one thing and you’re doing another, that means you’re doing something wrong.”
I wish these things were never said to me because even though I know intuitively that I should embrace my individuality and there will never be a case where someone looks at me and thinks that I have zero flaws, this standard is something I grew up thinking I needed to adhere to. I needed to somehow make my personality malleable enough to acclimate to different situations, people and environments — which meant “no flaws” (but what it really meant was self-consciousness, a minor identity crisis and an overwhelming need to achieve approval from others). However, without knowing this about me, I might come across as a babbling, angsty person with too much free time, always wondering what my not-so-secret flaws are. Or, I am completely transparent and it’s clear that at one point or another, something went seriously wrong in my upbringing, because yikes. You tell me!
Regardless of whether we think about them an absurd amount or if they only exist as a mere acknowledgement, blind spots are inescapable facets of who we are. We can’t possibly understand ourselves deeply and internally while continuously monitoring and dissecting our outward perception as well — trust me, I’ve tried. The key is to be content with yourself, I know this. I should be thinking, who says there’s anything wrong with me anyway? Why should I care what others think is wrong with me? Who died and made them the personality police? Right?
However, the fact that I have flaws that are blind spots means I cannot improve all aspects of myself. I cannot do damage control when things are going wrong that I haven’t even considered wrong in the first place. My desire to be better for the sake of other people and correct the things about myself that are subjectively unpleasant is precisely what sparks this whole winding ordeal. And frankly, I’m sick of it.
It is true that we will never see ourselves in the same way that others see us, and oftentimes, our introspection illusion may not agree with the way that others perceive us. But each side is privy to different information; my friends know me in a different way than I know myself, and embracing these differences in perception and experience is the only way I know of to solve this dilemma. Everyone sees things differently, and placing validity onto the opinions of others may be an act of self-awareness and accepting external perceptions. Or it may just be an act of self-consciousness and a lack of confidence — that’s for each person to decide on their own. At the end of the day, I’ll be left with only myself and my individualism. The opinions of others or my blind spots or POGOs are simply fabricated unknowns that keep me up at night; ultimately, it is my choice whether or not I allow them to do so tonight.
Statement Deputy Editor Irena Tutunari can be reached at tutunari@umich.edu