If we are afraid we are stupid, we spend our lives proving to ourselves that we are, in fact, smart.

Or that we are attractive, athletic, spiritual, funny. Insert the negative antonym, then the disproving behaviour will follow.

Diabolical? Yes. But if we know what our fearful innerselves are up to, maybe there is hope. That we can put this behaviour to good use.

Sleep last night was filled with dreams, of fears about my son, expressed in dreams of death and funerals.

The memories of my childhood was a chaos of books and bugs and food and toothpaste, toothbrushes and dental hygiene in general.

I dreamt, last night, I was stuck at my parents’ house, I needed to get my younger son back home, so I could get him to school.

It is the story of my parenting, or so it seems, from the perspective of today.

We carry our own turmoil within us. Eventually that turmoil infects others, or resonates within them. Then we have a riot or a regime change Or a divorce. Or a war.

We make ourselves far too complicated than who or what we really are.