All The World’s A Mirror (12 min. read)

I have always loved reading, writing, and daydreaming stories. 

Reading stories allows me to dip a toe in a different perspective from my own, to see how another mind crafted a character’s decisions; writing and creating stories allows me to enter a mind not entirely my own, broadening my horizons and enabling me to evaluate, if I were someone else with a different perspective, how would I imagine moving forward?

As someone who’s often struggled with processing my intense emotions, it’s no surprise that I love stories and storytelling. Storytelling allows the mind to insert an arm’s length distance between itself and one’s emotions, which enables more space to process the meaning of something with both a logical and emotional mindset; storytelling allows us to process hallmark meanings about life with a wise mindset. 

For me, especially as an autist who thinks in pictures with an incessant ADHD inner monologue over it, one of my favorite tools in storytelling is visual metaphors and allegories—they make intangible, ether-like concepts concrete and graspable. This benefit particularly applies to life’s gritty, existential concepts, such as understanding one’s role and purpose in the world.

One visual metaphor on my mind recently is Shakespeare’s famous monologue from As You Like It:

All the world’s a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players. 

They have their exits and their entrances; 

And one man in his time plays many parts.

As a neurodivergent, I have spent so much of my life feeling out of place, a square peg desperately banging myself to try and fit into a round hole. Often finding myself on the outside of belonging, I spent profuse amount of time comparing myself to other people; I reflected on what I deemed them having that I didn’t and started finding patterns in things others had—a comfort and know-all of when it was appropriate to add something to a conversation, the ability to not randomly zone-out and get lost in their thoughts, control over their emotions that didn’t lead to them fighting tears or running to the bathroom to cry regularly—that I didn’t. 

I got lost in the feeling that since I didn’t fit or check the large number of boxes that others checked, I was broken—like Tangerine Bear, unable to achieve my purpose on Earth due to my malformation. 

But this monologue is a wondrous reminder for those who have often struggled to grasp where we fit in the world’s storyline. The best stories aren’t full of conforming, “normal” box-checking characters.

Instead, the most impactful stories have a variety of unique characters who create a complex, rich story. So what a metaphor for the world to lean into—we all serve our assigned purposes, entering and exiting the stage at different times, perfectly cast to deliver our characters’ lines.

Knowing I am not here on Earth to achieve the same thing as my husband, friend, sister, or neighbor brings me solace. The square shape of my character doesn’t and shouldn’t fit in a round hole; my shape should seek the matching slot to slide my specific talents and capabilities into. And when I search for my slot rather than force my shape, I am starting to find what I’ve always longed for—belonging; l belong within humanity’s pegboard.

Just because I’ve begun sliding my peg around the board to find my place doesn’t mean I’ve settled and called it a day—quite the opposite. With this outlook on my life, I am positively determined to deliver my character’s lines at a level that brings tears to people’s eyes, invokes a standing ovation, and inspires them to return to reality with a changed perspective. 

I want to deliver my lines exceptionally. 

I want to live an exceptional life.

This desire brings me to an important question: How do I ensure I tap into my full potential? How do I not just slide through my peg hole, but soar through it?

First and foremost, I need to understand and develop my character. I need and want a continuous character arc of learning and improvement. Because what is better than watching an incredible character arc, where a character grows throughout the entire story? 

Here is where we diverge from Shakespeare’s historical monologue; I propose adding the following to this metaphor for life. 

All the world’s a mirror. 

I know what you’re thinking—WTF does that mean, Liv? 

Let’s step back and explore a psychological theory that my psychology hero, Carl Jung, introduced. 

Jung inserted an intriguing theory into modern psychology, a fundamental concept we must fully understand to experience a worthwhile character arc in our lifetime: perception is projection. 

But what does that mean?

According to Jung, our internal state, beliefs, biases, and experiences influence our understanding and interpretation of the world rather than being a purely objective reflection of reality; essentially, how we perceive the external world is based on our internal world.

So, rather than instantly turning inward and reading our lines alone, we should first turn outward and run through scenes with cast mates to evaluate where growth opportunities lie when we practice lines.

The ways projections present themselves are not a one-size-fits-all concept. So, let’s dive into a few examples of projections I’ve worked through that have served me well in forming and delivering an exceptional character arc. 

Example 1: Projecting A Trait

Perception: Before discovering and exploring my AuDHD, I regularly admired and expressed to my husband that his tenacity amazed and inspired me. I perceived he was fatigued and stressed in the first year of being an entrepreneur, but he still got out of bed every day and went to the office, giving it his all. I was even slightly envious of how easy he made it look; we both felt burnt out in our own ways, and he seemed to handle his burnout better than me. 

Projection: Before my diagnosis, the needs I have—mental, physical, emotional, and physiological—because of my AuDHD were unmet. I had been masking, overperforming, living dichotomously to who I was, and not meeting my sensory needs for twenty-eight years and to say that takes a toll is an understatement. Throughout this period of burnout, while parts of my life were falling apart, I was still keeping together—I was still performing at work, maintained my full-time job, and remained committed to my writing practice, writing two novel-length stories. I cleaned the house, managed chores, and despite my issues with drinking, never even sneezed near the possibility of legal trouble. The level at which I was and had performed my whole life, considering I had undiagnosed and unmanaged ADHD and autism, was incredibly tenacious. More importantly, I was projecting and seeing my tenacity within my husband. 

Principle Takeaway: To see a trait or quality in another person, it must first exist within us. When I doubt myself or struggle with my individuation because of masking, I remember and hold onto this to ground me back within my identity. This principle applies to positive and negative traits, however we define them.

Example 2: Projecting Reason for a Behavior

Perception: I don’t take it personally when people cancel plans with me at the last minute, giving a vague reason. When someone cancels or continuously reschedules plans, I quickly jump to the conclusion they are rescheduling for the reason they say or simply because they don’t feel they have the energy to engage at the level they would like to during our time together and are prioritizing the quality of our time together and their needs.

Projection: When I cancel plans, it is majorly because, as an AuDHDer, my social battery and mental capacity for socializing is limited. While I acknowledge I do crave socialization, it also requires a large amount of preparation (running and practicing conversation scripts in my head beforehand, setting sensory expectations with my body), energy (remembering to make eye contact, making appropriate facial expressions, not zoning out while others are talking, etc.), and leaves me incredibly mentally and physically drained. Therefore, when I cancel plans, it has everything to do with me and my energy levels and nothing to do with whether I feel a particular type of way about someone. In this instance, I am projecting my reasoning for canceling plans to when people reciprocate the behavior. 

Principle Takeaway: The reason someone treats us or acts a certain way is not always the same reasoning we’d do something and vice versa. The way I see this happening most often in my life, to myself or others, is negatively misinterpreting someone’s intentions. But just because someone’s actions may come across as hurtful or inconsiderate, that doesn’t necessarily mean the intention of the action is what we think it is. Additionally, I believe this is an essential concept for recovering people pleasers like myself and many sensitive neurodivergents who have often fallen in the trap where we do something and others don’t see our reasoning (more to come on this one under Example #4 below). Ultimately, we can’t control how someone chooses to perceive (that’s right—perception is a choice) our actions, and it is not our responsibility to bend over backward if they can’t grasp our good intentions. It is then on us to reciprocate a mature understanding to other’s actions, and not take them personal.

Example 3: Projecting An Insecurity

Perception: Growing up, my perception of outspoken individuals, regardless of gender or age, was that they were difficult people. I often thought that we all had opinions, and that it was almost like they wanted to be disliked and provocative, constantly expressing how they felt even if it meant it pissed people off. 

Projection: I received the classifications of shy, quiet, and agreeable growing up; however, daily I fought myself not to say so many things I wanted to say because I knew they could rock the boat or might be disagreeable—I just didn’t have the comfort or sense of emotional safety to use my voice. I was projecting my insecurity and lack of comfort in using my voice onto those who used theirs, and rather than acknowledge the jealousy I felt at their bravery to speak their mind, I took a flippant and judgmental view because it was far easier to think negatively of someone else than acknowledge my fear. 

Takeaway: When we judge someone or something—personality traits, behaviors, beliefs—we need to get seriously curious about it. In my reflections on projections, I often find that the judgments I quickly and vehemently make about others are my unconscious mind’s way of avoiding addressing and evolving through a hard truth about myself. 

Example 4: Projecting An Unhealed Wound

Perception: My husband recently mentioned in casual conversation that I hadn’t participated in a friend group chat all week; everyone else in the group message had been extraordinarily active and engaging with one another. I knee jerk got worked up and defensive, providing a dissertation supporting why I had been inactive in the week’s group chat.

Projection: If I had a dollar every time I’ve felt misunderstood, I would be set for life. For me, along with most neurodivergents, the feeling of being unheard or unseen is a profound wound in our nervous systems. One area in particular where I experience this wound is when it comes to social dynamics and expectations. Most times, my social tendencies don’t align with the world at large, and friendships have imploded and disintegrated because, despite having the purest of intentions, they were perceived otherwise and instead led to conflict (which Example 2 illustrates how conflict is yet another projection for me). So, in this example, I was triggered and projected my wound, rather than seeing my husband was coming from a genuine, curious vantage point rather than a chiding one. 

Takeaway: When we feel ourselves triggered, especially if we feel a visceral switch in our body flip, we need to take a step back and lean into some introspection instead. Whenever we are triggered, we should see it as a healing opportunity delivered on a silver platter to get curious about because we will undoubtably find an area for growth. 

And word to the wise—it’s not our job or place to point out if we think someone is projecting onto us. Change comes from within, and we can only change ourselves; we can only deliver our lines and performance on stage, and cast mates don’t and won’t take kindly to unsolicited feedback. 

However, the more we focus on elevating our performance and honing the richness of our character’s story, the more our plot evolves and the scenes change; we slowly shift on stage towards those that mirror our state of reflection and growth, finding our meant-to-be cast mates. And, at the end of our performance, when we exit stage left, we will undoubtedly receive the standing ovation we’ve worked for. 

What are some projections that come to mind for you? What can you take away from them? Share them with me below!

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XOXO, Liv