Choosing Who We Become

A Psychological Exploration of Change and Self-Determination

Not long ago, I found myself sifting through a box of old notebooks from my early years as a psychology student. One entry stood out. I had written at length about a sense of “collapse” I observed in the world — relationships unraveling, societal trust eroding, and people becoming increasingly withdrawn. In my mid-twenties, I felt deeply convicted that things were worse than they had ever been.

Every generation perceives itself at the brink of decline, mourning a simpler, more stable past.

Reading that decades later, I smiled — not because I was entirely wrong, but because I recognized the pattern. Every generation perceives itself at the brink of decline, mourning a simpler, more stable past. This rhythm has echoed across history. The ancient Greeks lamented their golden age’s passing. The Romans feared the fall of their empire. In the 19th century, industrialization sparked concerns that technology was eroding morality and connection.

The Paradox of Perception and the Invitation to Introspection

Even within living memory, this cycle repeats. The post-war generation idealized a pre-industrial purity. Their children romanticized mid-20th-century economic booms, forgetting the social upheaval and inequality of that era. Today, we look back on those same decades as stable — a view that filters out the turbulence of the time.

This nostalgia, however, reveals more about us than about history. The past feels simpler not because it was free of problems, but because its complexities have been filtered by time. We see resolution where the present feels unfinished, messy, and uncertain. This longing for the past may not be about history at all, but about our deeper need for stability and security when confronted with change.

The past feels simpler not because it was free of problems, but because its complexities have been filtered by time.

But what struck me most about my younger self’s reflections wasn’t the sense that the world was crumbling — it was my instinct to fix it. I believed that if I could rearrange broken systems, relationships, or patterns, my unease would disappear.

This impulse is universal. Faced with discomfort, we instinctively seek repair. Yet what if this instinct blinds us to a deeper opportunity? What if, instead of rushing to salvage the familiar, discomfort is inviting us to pause, reflect, and transform? Perhaps the cracks we perceive — whether in society, our relationships, or ourselves — are not signs of collapse but signals of growth. By letting go of what is broken, we can begin to create something new, rooted not in who we’ve been, but in who we are becoming.

Why Everything Feels Like It’s Falling Apart

The belief that “things are getting worse” is hardly unique to our time. Psychologists and historians alike note that this sentiment emerges in nearly every generation. While contemporary society grapples with unique challenges — technological disruption, political divisiveness, and widespread information overload — the core perception of decline remains remarkably consistent throughout history.

From a psychological standpoint, this phenomenon can be partly explained by negativity bias — our brain’s tendency to focus more intensely on negative events than positive ones. Evolutionarily, this bias served a clear purpose: being alert to danger enhanced our ancestors’ survival. Today, however, it shapes our perception of the world. When exposed to constant media narratives of chaos, conflict, or loss, we internalize a skewed image of reality, one that amplifies decline and obscures progress.

This perception is further reinforced by our emotional attachment to nostalgia. Research shows that we often view the past through an idealized lens, filtering out its challenges while preserving its highlights. In contrast, the present feels unfiltered and overwhelming, filled with complexities that demand our attention and concern. Consider, for instance, a family reminiscing about “simpler times” while ignoring the stressors and struggles that coexisted alongside those rose-tinted memories.

Yet, the perception of decline is not just external — it extends into our personal lives as well. We feel it when relationships we once relied upon begin to fray, when careers that once seemed promising now feel stagnant, or when daily routines that once brought comfort begin to suffocate us. I remember a time in my own life when the realization of such decline hit me sharply. A long-held friendship began to unravel, and my immediate instinct was to repair it — to restore what had been familiar, even if doing so meant ignoring the deeper fractures that had appeared over time. It was not until I paused and allowed myself to question why I was clinging so desperately to the relationship that I recognized a more significant truth: the discomfort I felt was not a sign of failure, but of growth. The friendship, while once valuable, no longer aligned with the person I was becoming. By letting go of the urge to salvage the old, I was able to create space for new, more meaningful connections to emerge.

This instinct to “repair” is often rooted in our fear of uncertainty. We invest energy into salvaging what feels familiar, unaware that this impulse may hold us back from meaningful transformation. It is only when we step back and reflect on what we are holding onto and why that we can begin to see discomfort — the cracks and unraveling — not as symptoms of collapse but as invitations to grow, evolve, and redefine who we are. We become acutely aware of relationships fraying, careers stagnating, or habits no longer serving us. Here, too, the instinct to “repair” emerges. We invest energy into salvaging what feels familiar, often unaware that this impulse may be holding us back from meaningful transformation.

The familiar feels safe — even when it no longer serves us — because abandoning it introduces something far more unsettling: uncertainty.

But what if this discomfort — the cracks, the unraveling — is not a symptom of collapse but a sign of something deeper? What if it is not asking us to fix the broken but to question what we are holding onto and why? To step back and recognize that beneath our frustration lies an invitation — an opportunity to choose how we respond and, ultimately, who we wish to become.

The Tension Between Stability and Change

At the heart of our experience lies a timeless conflict: the human desire for stability colliding with the inevitability — and necessity — of change. Stability provides us with a sense of security, grounding us in the familiar and shielding us from the unpredictability of the world. This drive is not merely psychological but biological, rooted in the principle of homeostasis. Just as our bodies regulate energy and temperature to maintain equilibrium, our minds seek balance in our environments, relationships, and identities. The familiar feels safe — even when it no longer serves us — because abandoning it introduces something far more unsettling: uncertainty.

Philosopher Søren Kierkegaard described this tension as the “dizziness of freedom.” When the systems, routines, or identities we rely on begin to unravel, we are confronted with the boundless possibilities of choice. This freedom, though expansive, brings existential anxiety. We cling to the known not because it fulfills us but because it protects us from the discomfort of creating ourselves anew. Yet such avoidance comes at a cost. As Kierkegaard suggests, tethering ourselves too tightly to stability leads to stagnation, where growth is sacrificed for the illusion of safety.

Carl Jung’s theory of individuation deepens our understanding of this conflict. Individuation is the lifelong process of integrating unconscious aspects of ourselves into conscious awareness, moving toward psychological wholeness. For Jung, growth often begins with disruption: the familiar systems we inhabit — relationships, routines, identities — no longer hold. This unraveling, though painful, is not a sign of failure but a signal of transformation. It forces us to confront suppressed parts of ourselves that we’ve ignored, denied, or projected outward.

“Thoroughly unprepared, we take the step into the afternoon of life. Worse still, we take this step with the false presupposition that our truths and our ideals will serve us as hitherto. But we cannot live the afternoon of life according to the program of life’s morning, for what was great in the morning will be little at evening, and what in the morning was true, at evening will have become a lie.” — Carl Gustav Jung

Resistance to this process, however, leads to fragmentation, where the self becomes divided and incomplete. We may cling to old habits, relationships, or beliefs that once provided stability, fortifying them with denial or distraction. Jung reminds us that embracing disruption, though uncomfortable, offers us clarity, integration, and purpose. The discomfort itself becomes our guide, revealing where growth is possible and nudging us toward a more authentic version of ourselves.

This paradox — that discomfort threatens the stability we crave but also opens the door to transformation — lies at the heart of the human condition. Viktor Frankl, in Man’s Search for Meaning, observed that we are not content with mere comfort. We need purpose, direction, and alignment with our values. Stability without purpose becomes a cage, one we reinforce by attempting to repair what is irreparably broken rather than questioning why we cling to it.

Seen through this lens, the friction we experience during moments of disruption — whether societal or personal — is not an ending but a beginning. It challenges us to examine what we hold onto and why. The very tension we resist may be the invitation we need to evolve into a fuller, more dynamic existence — one where we actively shape our identities and choose our path forward. By stepping beyond the familiar, we reclaim agency over our lives, transforming discomfort into the foundation of growth.

Ultimately, this understanding reframes our narrative of decline. The systems and patterns we cling to may crack, but those cracks do not signify collapse. Instead, they reveal an opening — an opportunity to move beyond the safety of stability into the liberation of transformation.

Stability without purpose becomes a cage, one we reinforce by attempting to repair what is irreparably broken rather than questioning why we cling to it.

From Reaction to Self-Determination

If resistance to change stems from an attachment to the familiar, the antidote lies in reclaiming agency — moving from reaction to intentional action. To do so, we must first recognize that every challenge presents a choice: the choice to remain tethered to systems and patterns that no longer serve us or to forge a new path. Understanding this capacity for choice is central to Self-Determination Theory (SDT), a psychological framework developed by Edward Deci and Richard Ryan. SDT identifies the conditions necessary for humans to achieve growth, motivation, and fulfillment, particularly during moments of transition or disruption.

At the heart of SDT are three core psychological needs: autonomy, competence, and relatedness. These needs are not luxuries but essential components of psychological well-being. Together, they provide the foundation for sustainable, self-directed change by helping individuals transition from passive reaction to purposeful action. Let us explore each of these needs in greater detail:

Autonomy: The Freedom to Choose Your Path

Autonomy refers to our fundamental need for self-direction — the ability to make choices that align with our values, interests, and sense of self. It is not about independence for its own sake but about feeling that our actions are volitional and personally meaningful.

When we feel autonomous, we perceive that we are acting out of intrinsic motivation rather than external pressure or obligation. For example, someone who chooses to leave a stagnant career path because it no longer aligns with their goals feels a sense of autonomy, whereas someone who remains due to societal or familial expectations may feel trapped and powerless.

In moments of change, autonomy allows us to reclaim agency. Instead of reacting automatically to discomfort — by clinging to the familiar or avoiding uncertainty — we recognize our power to choose new, intentional responses. By fostering autonomy, we shift from being passengers in our lives to active participants, navigating change with purpose rather than fear.

Competence: Belief in Your Ability to Grow

Competence is the need to feel effective, capable, and confident in handling challenges. It stems from a sense of mastery — the belief that we can engage with and overcome obstacles. This need is crucial during transitions, as change often brings feelings of inadequacy or self-doubt.

When we experience competence, we are more likely to approach challenges as opportunities for growth rather than threats to our identity. For instance, someone learning a new skill may initially feel overwhelmed, but small, incremental successes build confidence and reinforce their belief in their ability to adapt.

Competence is not about perfection but about progress. It reminds us that transformation is a process — one in which we can develop new strengths, refine our abilities, and build resilience. By nurturing this need, we cultivate a growth mindset, reframing discomfort as a stepping stone toward mastery rather than evidence of failure.

Relatedness: Connection as a Source of Strength

Relatedness reflects our innate need to feel connected to others — to belong, to be seen, and to share experiences of meaning. Change, especially disruptive change, can feel isolating. When we lose familiar patterns or relationships, we often question our place in the world.

It is during these moments that relatedness becomes vital. Connection to others — whether through supportive relationships, shared struggles, or a sense of community — grounds us and provides emotional safety as we navigate uncertainty. For example, someone going through a major life transition may find strength in sharing their journey with close friends, mentors, or others experiencing similar challenges.

Relatedness is not about dependence; it is about knowing we are not alone. When we feel connected, we are more likely to embrace change because we know that even in discomfort, there is support, understanding, and shared humanity. This connection gives us the courage to move forward, knowing we are tethered to something larger than ourselves.

The Foundation for Intentional Change

When these three needs — autonomy, competence, and relatedness — are fulfilled, we are better equipped to engage with change in a healthy, intentional way. Autonomy empowers us to choose our path, competence reassures us that we can meet the challenge, and relatedness reminds us that we are supported along the way.

In moments of disruption, these needs become the foundation for self-determination. Rather than reacting passively to discomfort, we reclaim our capacity to respond with purpose, aligning our actions with our values and the person we wish to become. Change, then, is no longer something to fear but an opportunity to grow — rooted in agency, confidence, and connection.

The Transformative Power of Change

Throughout human history, and within the lives of individuals, the sense of decline — whether societal or personal — has felt ever-present. It manifests as a quiet unease or a roaring disillusionment, an undercurrent that whispers that things are falling apart and that our capacity to fix them is limited. Yet, as we have explored, perceived decline does not signal the end of opportunity. Instead, it reveals an invitation.

Every challenge presents a choice: the choice to remain tethered to systems and patterns that no longer serve us or to forge a new path.

The discomfort we feel during times of disruption — the fractures in systems, relationships, or identities — is not asking us to salvage the old but to create something new. It challenges us to step into agency, to examine what we value, and to embrace the discomfort of transformation. Through the lens of psychological theories such as Self-Determination, individuation, and existential meaning, we see that life’s disruptions are far from arbitrary. Each of these frameworks — rooted in both psychological rigor and philosophical depth — underscores a powerful truth: the challenges we encounter are not merely forces of chaos but opportunities to actively shape our response, our growth, and our identity. Self-Determination Theory reveals how autonomy, competence, and relatedness guide us toward intentional action, even amid uncertainty. Jung’s concept of individuation teaches us that discomfort and disruption invite us to reconcile the unconscious and conscious self, achieving a deeper sense of wholeness. Meanwhile, existential psychology — embodied in Viktor Frankl’s Logotherapy — reminds us that meaning is not given but created, particularly in moments of suffering and ambiguity.

Taken together, these theories offer us a way forward: to move beyond reactivity, to embrace the discomfort of growth, and to reframe challenges not as disruptions to our lives but as invitations to redefine ourselves. Through their lens, we see that change is not an end but a beginning — a process that demands courage, reflection, and the willingness to become something new, something greater. we discover that life’s disruptions are not obstacles but opportunities for growth.

Ultimately, the power to change lies not in fixing what is broken but in choosing who we wish to become. Transformation is not a singular event but a continuous process — one shaped by the courage to embrace uncertainty, the commitment to growth, and the willingness to engage fully with the questions life presents.

Who we become is not dictated by the world around us; it is determined by the choices we make. In those choices, we reclaim the power to create meaning, direction, and purpose — not in spite of life’s disruptions, but because of them.