This is actually an email I wrote to my equerry. Ostensibly it's about the nature of Introversion, and what can happen to a (MB) Introvert in open denial. But more importantly it's an illustration of the idea that what one believes can have profound effects on one's life; it is actually a rebuttal to the (secular, Western) idea that what one believes can be divorced from one's day to day life, that beliefs do not have real consequences.
Even more profoundly than that, it presents a case which illustrates the radical idea that, contrary to a rarely articulated tenet of Western philosophy, there are aspects of our minds and souls which are not abridgeable with will power. We do not get to be whatever we think it best for us to be; we have real and durable natures that when violated, react with natural consequences.
This letter was written in the context of answering my student's perplext question in res "So, are you saying you think the self is changable... or not?"
If one is an Introvert and one believes being an Introvert is an inherently morally culpable state, inferior to being an Extrovert, it doesn't make one an Extrovert. Even with lots of willpower, self-flagilation and hard work, it doesn't make one an Extrovert. It makes one miserable.
But worse, in both cases, those beliefs make one not only miserable, but *dangerous* to others.
Irene is certain she must be an Extravert, because she like the idea of being an Extravert much more than that of being an Introvert. Irene never, ever turns down an offer to socialize, because that would suggest maybe she isn't an Extravert after all (whereas, in reality, sometimes even Extraverts need time alone).
Irene feels constantly edgy, irritated, brittle, tired, moody. She doesn't feel very good on a day to day basis, but chalks it up to "life" and "other people are such jerks" and "men!" and "work is such a drag" and "you know what kids are like". She gets a reputation of having a *really* abrasive manner, sarcastic, teasing, brusque, high-strung. She tends to have raw nerves all the time, and when someone hits one, she has an overwhelming emotional reaction, from devestation, to bursting into tears, to lashing back in anger. But behind it all is a feeling of indignance that the other person tresspassed on her space/time/energy. Sometimes she lashes back much harder than she intended, blurting out things she observed but had not intended to say, or doing things she loathes -- like smacking her kids, or yelling at her mom. Behind her back, co-workers joke about her not getting laid enough, or her being on the rag. Her behavior is erratic, you can never tell if she'll react to something with rage, injuredness or the soul of generosity. She, at times, feels like everyone is no good, and she can't trust or like any of her friends or family. She never reveals herself in conversation with others, becoming increasingly shallow in her communication and more alienating, her interactive style becoming more and more like a Joan River's standup routine than interpersonal communication.
Irene's thoughts are in constant turmoil and a rage simmers beneath her surface which prevents her from relaxing. She has chronic back pain; she has TMJ pain and dental problems form grinding her molars in her sleep. To relax, she starts drinking at night. She is so "tired" when she wakes up in the morning, she drinks several cups of coffee. She smokes because it calms her.
Irene thinks of herself as having tremendous self-control because she manages to keep a lid (she thinks) on the geyser of rage she contains. Everyone else thinks she has very poor impuse control, because she is so erratic. She also seems incapable of denying herself material things which make her feel good -- a pair of shoes her eye falls on in a shop window, a nice dinner out.
Irene feels bad because she's hemoraging emotional energy. Never allowing herself time alone, she neither replenishes her emotional reserves, not ever processes her backlog of emotional crud. She is in a chronic state of both psychological and physiological crisis; her body starts showing signs of suffering from the constant adrenaline, her emotions feel "out of control" and overwhelming.
Instead of thinking through and processing her negative feelings, she packs all her bad feeling down into her subconscious, which isn't to pleased with the state of affairs.
Her subconscious starts defending itself by seizing control whenever it can, and trying to extricate the whole self from the intolerable situation which the conscious mind has decided to put itself into. If the conscious mind won't say "Not tonight, I need some time alone", the subconscious mind will *manufacture* solitude by the simple expedient of *driving everyone away*, by being so provoking and offensive, whenever it gets a chance, no one will want to be around Irene.
One way it does this is by bubbling up whenever Irene's self-control wavers -- freudian slips, blurting out offensive things. Another way it does this is by disproportionately seizing upon negative things -- an unkind word, an uncomfortable situation -- whispering value judgments in the back of her mind, like a devil on her shoulder whispering in her ear: "He must really hate you to say that." "They're so thoughtless." "You never could trust her."
So, from Irene's point of view, from waking to sleep, every hour of her day is one long battle to retain self-control, and if she slips for a few second here or there, that barely registers on the scale of what she succeeds at controlling. From everyone else's point of view, Irene is completely erratic: you're having a pleasant conversation, and Irene explodes; you think she's happy, and suddenly she bursts into tears. She finds unfathomable reasons to give friends the cold shoulder, rather than say "I need some time alone."
Irene's negativity towards others becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy -- other people start disliking her and treating her coldly because of how she has treated them. When she trips over others' neuroses, they lash back at her, starting cycles of feuds. All social things which rest on interpersonal conduct, like getting raises and mortgages, suffer; Irene decides her cynicism about others is justified, and everyone really is out to get her. Her living conditions are materially degraded by loss of income, opportunity and slack.
This is an example of how believing something which is erroneous about oneself can be destructive -- to self and to others[*].
It's important to note that in this example Irene doesn't merely *think* "gee, I guess I am an extrovert" and then go on behaving as an introvert, but *believes* and is invested in defending the belief that she *is* an extrovert.
[* It is also a nice example of the inextricability of self-destruction and other-destruction. It's pretty much impossible to be self-destructive without hurting others. The single greatest argument for self-development is that it makes us better/less harmful members of the human community. The mental/spiritual health of the individual is *not* a private matter -- it is the most public affair of all.]