Today’s reflections brought together many threads about who I am in class right now.

When I step back, I notice the tension between how I show up and how I’m seen. A small dry-humour comment about Trump reminded me of how my assertive style sometimes lands — occasionally as confidence, sometimes as provocation. When it doesn’t land, I fear I’m simply confirming people’s pre-judgments of me. One tutor, in particular, seems triggered by me. Her directive, diagnosing style clashes with my values, yet I also wonder whether it mirrors my own unclaimed assertiveness. Perhaps my irritation isn’t just about her, but about the parts of myself I haven’t fully owned.

That irritation surfaced again when she commented on my choice to sit with people I knew. I had already acknowledged it aloud, so her remark felt condescending, almost erasing my own self-awareness. Beneath the frustration lies my deeper need: to be seen as someone who already notices himself.

Another theme running through me is uncertainty. My inner child carries a belief that life is a test where I must scrape through at the last moment. I even imagine sometimes that tutors are withholding approval as part of some cosmic lesson in patience or humility. I know that’s unlikely, but it shows how fragile I can feel about being misunderstood, or measured by appearances that don’t reflect my depth.

Blind spots and ego work surfaced too. I’ve realised how often humour is my Child ego state — a quick defence or bid for connection. It can create distance instead of closeness. Likewise, my constant striving for neutrality, trying to see all sides, sometimes hides my real position. Staying in Adult means allowing myself to have a stance, even if it risks judgment.

Amid all this, my understanding of empathy has widened. It’s not about agreement, but about curiosity: seeing the human conditions that shape another’s perspective. I can even sit with worldviews I don’t agree with, recognising the humanity in the person behind them. If I can refine when and how I share that in class, it could become a strength.

The hardest part for me is when my awareness itself is questioned. It touches my fear of not knowing — the reminder of blind spots I can’t control. That fear triggers shame: maybe I’m not enough, maybe I scraped by into this course. Yet when I recall that past years’ thresholds were lower, I see I’ve earned my place. The truth is, I’m not scraping by — I’m standing among high standards, growing in the very tension I fear.

What I take forward:

  • Practice framing with curiosity instead of conclusion.
  • Own my assertiveness without shame.
  • Hold awareness of humour’s timing.
  • Allow myself a stance without hiding in neutrality.
  • Accept that blind spots will always exist.

The work is not to erase uncertainty, but to meet it with presence. My goal isn’t to be the most agreeable or polished — it’s to become someone who can sit with anyone, and still find the human being in front of me. That starts by doing the same with myself.