and how much of yourself can you still change?
w hat if the person you think you are is partly the result of everything that happened to you before you were old enough to understand it?”
There is a question I have been carrying for a long time:
Why am I the way I am?
Why do certain things frighten me?
Why do some experiences stay with me long after they are gone?
Why do I desire certain things so intensely?
Why do I sometimes hold myself back, even when I know I am capable of more?
And perhaps the most uncomfortable question of all:
How much of who I am did I actually choose?
None of us enter this world knowing who we are going to become.
Before we can choose our values, question our beliefs or decide what kind of life we want to live, we are already being shaped.
By our parents.
By our caregivers.
By our surroundings.
By our culture.
By our experiences.
By the people who love us.
And sometimes, by the people who hurt us.
We spend years becoming someone before we are even old enough to realise that we are becoming.
And then, somewhere along the way, we start calling that person “me.”
But what if some of what we call personality is actually experience?
What if some of our fears were learned?
What if some of our beliefs were inherited?
What if some of our limitations were never truly ours to begin with?
And if that is true, perhaps another question becomes even more important:
CAN WE CHANGE?
WHAT HAPPENS TO US BEFORE WE KNOW WHO WE ARE?
When I ask myself what made me who I am, I cannot separate the question from my childhood.
I was around six years old when I was removed from my mother’s care together with my siblings.
My early childhood was marked by instability, addiction, violence and uncertainty. Eventually, my grandparents took us in and fought to keep the family together.
They became the people who raised us.
My grandfather had been a soldier and later worked as a carpenter. My grandmother worked in a nursing home and eventually became a homemaker.
They had been married for most of their lives.
For me, they became something very different from the instability I had known in my earliest years.
They became family.
They became home.
And looking back, I can see that both sides of that childhood mattered.
The instability.
And the stability that came afterwards.
Because perhaps what shapes us isn’t only what happens to us.
It is also what happens after.
THE NEED TO BELONG
Why does a child instinctively reach for someone when the world becomes frightening?
Why does a baby cry when its caregiver disappears?
And why can the presence of a familiar person make an unfamiliar world feel safer?
British psychiatrist John Bowlby spent much of his career trying to understand questions like these.
His attachment theory proposed that humans are biologically predisposed to form strong emotional bonds with caregivers. These relationships aren’t simply about comfort; attachment has been understood as part of the system that helps children seek proximity and safety when threatened.
One of the most important ideas associated with this work is the secure base.
A child can move outward and explore when there is someone they can return to for safety and comfort.
Explore.
Return.
Feel safe.
Explore again.
That simple cycle can become part of the foundation from which a child learns about relationships and the world around them.
American-Canadian psychologist Mary Ainsworth later developed the famous Strange Situation procedure to study differences in children’s attachment behaviour.
Children were observed during separations and reunions with their caregivers. What happened when the caregiver returned was particularly revealing.
Some children sought contact and were relatively easily comforted before returning to exploration.
Others showed patterns of avoidance or resistance.
A disorganised pattern was identified later by researchers building on Ainsworth’s work.
But there is an important distinction.
Attachment isn’t a life sentence.
Childhood does not mechanically determine adulthood.
Human development is much more complicated than that.
What attachment research gives us is something more subtle:
Our earliest relationships can become part of the foundation from which we experience other people and the world.
And that raises another question.
If our earliest experiences can influence us psychologically…
what else might our experiences be changing inside us?
EXPERIENCE LEAVES A TRACE
Can experience change something inside our biology?
This is where the work of neuroscientist Michael Meaney becomes fascinating.
Meaney and his colleagues studied rats that received different amounts of maternal care.
Some mothers engaged in more licking, grooming and nursing behaviours toward their offspring than others.
As the offspring developed, researchers observed differences in their responses to stress.
Further research connected these differences with changes in gene expression and regulation within systems involved in the stress response.
The important point is not that “your childhood changes your genes” in some simplistic sense.
These were animal studies.
They cannot be translated directly into a prediction about any individual human being.
But they demonstrated something profound:
Experience and biology are not separate worlds.
The environment can interact with biological systems.
Experience can influence how those systems develop and function.
And suddenly, the question “What made me who I am?” becomes much larger.
Because perhaps we are shaped not only by what happens around us…
but partly by what those experiences do to the systems inside us.
And that leads to an even bigger question:
If experience can influence biology, what happens when the brain itself begins adapting to experience?
THE BRAIN THAT REFUSES TO STAY THE SAME
For a long time, the adult brain was often imagined as relatively fixed.
You developed.
You learned.
And eventually, the structure was largely set.
But neuroscience has given us a different picture.
The brain can change.
Not infinitely.
Not magically.
But measurably.
It can strengthen and weaken connections.
It can adapt to new demands.
And under certain circumstances, its functional organisation can change.
This capacity is broadly known as neuroplasticity.
One of the researchers who helped transform our understanding of this was neuroscientist Michael Merzenich.
In classic experiments with monkeys, Merzenich and colleagues mapped areas of the somatosensory cortex representing different parts of the hand. After the sensory input from part of the hand was disrupted, the cortical territory that had represented that input was later occupied by expanded representations of surrounding skin regions.
The brain’s map had reorganised.
It wasn’t simply sitting there waiting for the original information to return.
It was adapting to the information it was receiving.
And later work from Merzenich’s group also demonstrated functional reorganisation associated with controlled tactile experience.
That helped challenge a powerful assumption:
The adult brain isn’t simply a finished product.
It remains capable of adaptation.
But there is an important caveat.
Plasticity isn’t automatically good.
The brain doesn’t reorganise itself according to what we want.
It adapts.
Sometimes that adaptation helps us.
Sometimes it can contribute to problems.
This is sometimes described as maladaptive plasticity.
And one of the strangest examples appears when the brain continues to represent a body part that is no longer physically there.
THE MIRROR THAT TRICKED THE BRAIN
Some people who lose a limb continue to experience sensations that seem to come from the missing limb.
Sometimes those sensations can include severe pain.
How can someone feel something that no longer physically exists?
Part of the answer lies in the fact that the brain maintains internal representations of the body.
Removing a physical limb does not simply erase the brain’s representation of it.
This led neuroscientist V. S. Ramachandran to explore an unusually simple tool:
a mirror.
The patient places the intact limb beside a mirror so that its reflection appears where the missing limb would normally be.
When the intact limb moves, the person can see what appears to be the missing limb moving as well.
The mirror doesn’t create a physical limb.
It changes the visual information reaching the brain.
And mirror-based approaches have been investigated as a way of reducing phantom limb pain for some patients.
The larger lesson is fascinating:
Our experience of the body is not simply a direct photograph of physical reality.
The brain is constantly interpreting information.
And when the information changes, perception can sometimes change with it.
That doesn’t mean we can simply
“rewire our brains” by thinking positively.
That’s too simplistic.
Neuroplasticity is not unlimited control.
We cannot erase every painful experience by choosing different thoughts.
But the principle remains powerful:
The brain is capable of adaptation.
Experience matters.
Repetition matters.
Learning matters.
Environment matters.
And if the brain is constantly adapting to the world we experience…
then another question becomes unavoidable: WHAT KIND OF WORLD ARE WE GIVING IT?
THE WORLD IS SHAPING YOU RIGHT NOW
If our past experiences can shape us, and the brain can reorganise itself, then we have to confront an uncomfortable possibility:
We are still being shaped.
Right now.
Today.
While you are reading this.
The people around you.
The conversations you have.
The images you see.
The stories you hear.
The information you consume.
Not everything reaches conscious awareness.
Yet the brain is constantly processing signals from its environment and using them to guide attention, interpretation and behaviour.
One concept psychologists have used to investigate part of this phenomenon is priming.
THE POWER OF A CUE
Priming broadly refers to situations in which exposure to one stimulus can influence responses to something that comes afterwards.
A word can activate an association.
An image can make another idea more accessible.
A previous experience can influence how we interpret what happens next.
But this is where we need to be careful.
It doesn’t mean someone can simply insert an idea into your mind and control your behaviour.
Human beings are far more complicated than that.
What it does suggest is:
Context matters.
We don’t approach every situation from a completely neutral starting point.
We bring memories, associations and expectations with us.
THE FAMOUS EXPERIMENT
One of the most famous examples came from psychologist John Bargh and colleagues.
In a 1996 study, participants completed a task containing words associated with older people. The researchers reported that those participants subsequently walked more slowly down a hallway than participants who had received neutral words.
The implication was fascinating:
Could activating an idea outside conscious awareness influence subsequent behaviour?
The finding became famous.
But later attempts to reproduce the effect did not consistently obtain the same result.
That matters.
Because an interesting psychological finding isn’t automatically a reliable psychological finding.
Replication is one of the ways science separates a compelling story from a robust effect.
So perhaps the responsible conclusion isn’t:
“Words can control your behaviour.”
Nor is it:
“Priming is completely fake.”
It is something more cautious:
Some forms of priming and contextual influence may occur, but the magnitude and reliability of specific effects can vary, and some famous social-priming findings have proven difficult to reproduce.
That is less sensational.
But it is better science.
I SEE IT IN MY OWN LIFE
There is a much simpler example I encounter almost every day.
I work in an international airport in Scandinavia and interact with people from all over the world.
I’ve grown my beard out quite a bit.
And tourists will sometimes look at me and say:
“You look like a Viking.”
Obviously, my beard hasn’t transported me back to the Viking Age.
But something interesting is happening.
A person sees a visual feature.
Their brain searches through what it already knows.
Scandinavia.
Beard.
History.
Vikings.
And suddenly, a connection appears.
Beard → Scandinavia → Viking.
This isn’t a controlled priming experiment.
It’s better understood as an everyday example of association and prior knowledge influencing interpretation.
And that distinction matters.
Because our brains don’t encounter the world as blank slates.
We interpret new information through information we already possess.
THE WORLD THAT ENTERS YOUR HEAD
This becomes more consequential when we think about the information we consume every day.
Imagine someone spending hours every day watching stories about crime, war, terrorism, political conflict and social collapse.
That doesn’t mean the person is being “programmed.”
But they are repeatedly being exposed to the same categories of information.
Those topics become familiar.
Emotionally charged.
Easy to recall.
And potentially more noticeable when they encounter the world outside the screen.
Which brings us to another psychological shortcut:
THE AVAILABILITY HEURISTIC
We often judge how likely or common something is partly by how easily examples come to mind.
And here’s the problem:
What is easiest to remember isn’t necessarily what is most common.
Watch repeated stories about plane crashes, and plane crashes may suddenly feel more common than they actually are.
See repeated stories about violent crime, and danger may feel closer.
Constantly hear about conflict between groups, and those conflicts may become easier to notice.
The information hasn’t necessarily changed reality.
It may have changed which parts of reality feel most psychologically available to us.
AND THEN WE FILTER
Our minds don’t stop there.
We also have a tendency to search for, interpret and remember information in ways that can support what we already believe.
This is known as confirmation bias.
Suppose someone already believes:
“The world is becoming increasingly dangerous.”
They see a story about violence.
It fits.
They remember it.
They see another.
It reinforces the belief.
But then they encounter evidence that contradicts their expectation.
Perhaps it receives less attention.
Perhaps they question it more.
Perhaps they barely remember it.
Now the process can become circular:
Belief → attention → evidence → stronger belief.
And suddenly, the person isn’t simply observing the world.
They are filtering it.
I’ve started noticing this in conversations around me.
Sometimes someone watches a heavily negative news cycle…
and afterwards, their conversations become dominated by the same fears, frustrations and conflicts.
That doesn’t mean the news caused their personality.
It doesn’t mean negative information automatically makes someone negative.
And it certainly doesn’t mean the problems being reported aren’t real.
But it does make me wonder:
How much of what we experience as “reality” is reality — and how much is reality filtered through what we repeatedly give our attention to?
CAN WE CHOOSE WHAT SHAPES US?
We don’t choose everything that shapes us.
We don’t choose our genes.
We don’t choose our childhood.
We don’t choose the family we are born into.
We don’t choose the culture that surrounds us.
We don’t choose every person who enters our lives.
And we certainly don’t choose everything that happens to us.
Some experiences arrive before we are old enough to understand them.
Others arrive when we are old enough to understand exactly how much they hurt.
But there is something I have slowly come to realise:
Being shaped by something is not the same as being permanently defined by it.
There is a difference between influence and destiny.
Our past can leave a mark without having the final word.
THE SPACE BETWEEN WHAT HAPPENS AND WHAT WE DO
I don’t believe we have unlimited control over our lives.
That idea sounds empowering, but it can become cruel.
People genuinely face circumstances they did not choose.
Loss.
Poverty.
Trauma.
Illness.
Addiction.
Discrimination.
Bad luck.
And simply telling someone that they are responsible for everything that happens to them ignores reality.
But the opposite extreme can also become dangerous:
believing that because something shaped you, you are therefore powerless to change.
Maybe the truth lies somewhere between the two.
We don’t control the starting conditions.
But we can sometimes influence the direction.
And eventually the question becomes:
“What do I do with what happened to me?”
THE LOOP
I have recognised this in myself.
There have been ideas I’ve carried for years that never became anything.
Projects that remained inside my head.
Opportunities I didn’t take.
Dreams I postponed.
Not necessarily because I didn’t care.
Sometimes because I was afraid.
Afraid of failing.
Afraid of being judged.
Afraid of making the wrong decision.
Afraid of losing people.
Afraid of discovering that I wasn’t actually capable of doing what I imagined.
And sometimes, instead of confronting the fear, I simply avoided the situation.
The strange thing about self-sabotage is that it doesn’t always look destructive.
Sometimes it looks like waiting.
Sometimes it looks like endlessly preparing.
Sometimes it looks like convincing yourself that now isn’t the right time.
And sometimes it looks like choosing temporary comfort over long-term possibility.
The immediate relief feels good.
But later comes the question:
“What if I had actually tried?”
That question can be heavier than failure itself.
THE ENVIRONMENT WE CHOOSE
If our environment influences us, then perhaps choosing our environment is one of the most practical forms of agency we have.
Who do we spend our time with?
What conversations do we repeatedly participate in?
What information do we consume?
What behaviours do the people around us normalise?
What kind of person do we become when we are around them?
Influence doesn’t always arrive as an argument.
Sometimes it arrives through normalisation.
If everyone around you complains, complaining begins to feel normal.
If everyone around you takes responsibility, responsibility begins to feel normal.
If everyone around you learns, builds and experiments, taking action becomes less intimidating.
If everyone around you gives up, giving up begins to feel reasonable.
And if everyone around you believes growth is possible, growth begins to feel imaginable.
That doesn’t guarantee change.
But it can make change easier to believe in.
WHO MADE YOU?
So I return to the original question.
Why am I the way I am?
The answer, I think, is that no single thing made me.
Not biology alone.
Not childhood alone.
Not trauma alone.
Not love alone.
Not culture alone.
Not memory alone.
Not the world alone.
It was all of it.
And still, that is not the end of the story.
Because if experience helped shape me…
then experience may also help reshape me.
Not instantly.
Not completely.
Not without difficulty.
But perhaps meaningfully.
Maybe the most important question is not simply:
“What made you?”
But:
“What are you still allowing to make you now?”
And perhaps after that:
“What do you want to become from here?”
Because maybe your life is not defined only by what made you.
Maybe it is also defined by what you repeatedly choose to expose yourself to…
what you practise…
what you believe…
what you avoid…
what you pursue…
and who you become around the people and environments you choose.
You may not have chosen everything that shaped you.
But perhaps your future will be shaped not only by what happened to you…
but by what you continue to repeat.
Not only by what hurt you…
but by what you keep feeding your mind.
Not only by what formed you…
but by what you decide to make from what made you.