Self As Context: Becoming The Observer Of Yourself

"We are all made up of the stories our life has given us. But we are also the one holding the book and choosing how the story is written next."

Who Are We?

This is probably the weirdest of the core ACT principles. I'm going to try to explain it, but fair warning: it still makes my brain hurt sometimes.

When I was about 16 years old and sat in my first ever psychology lesson, the first question our teacher asked us was "Who are you?" I remember having no real idea how to answer that question.

So, I'll ask you the same question now. Who are you? What are you? What makes you who you are?

How would you answer that question on a bad day? On a good day? Are you the same person when you're at work? In the pub? Doing something fun? When supporting someone you care about?

At times, we can answer this question with stories we’ve long told ourselves. "I am anxious." "I am depressed." "I’m really ADHD." "I’m a bad person." "I’m a failure." These feel like facts, like descriptions of reality. But they're not. They're stories we've come to believe about ourselves. And when we fuse with these stories completely, when we can't see them as stories anymore, we get stuck.

For years, I walked around fused with the story that I was worthless. It wasn't a thought I had occasionally. It was who I was. Everything I did was shaped by that story, by trying to protect myself from being exposed as fundamentally inadequate. I didn't know I was living inside a story. I thought and behaved as though it was just reality.

The One-Dimensional Self

In ACT, we notice that people who are psychologically inflexible often have a one-dimensional sense of self. Their self-story becomes rigid, fixed, unchangeable.

The person experiencing recurrent depression might see themselves through the lens of someone who is ‘hopeless’, with ‘no chance of ever getting better, so what's the point in trying’? The person with OCD could have a strong sense of self as "bad", "dangerous", or "unsafe", therefore they must act relentlessly to monitor, fix or avoid their risks. The person who receives an ADHD diagnosis might start to see every struggle, every mistake, every difficult moment through the lens of "I am ADHD" rather than "I'm a person who experiences ADHD symptoms."

*Diagnosis can be incredibly useful. It explains things, opens doors to support, and it helps you make sense of your experience. But if it becomes too significant a part of your sense of self, if "I am ADHD" or "I am depressed" becomes the whole story, that's fusion, and fusion limits what's possible.

The Two Stories We Tell

Here's where it gets strange. In ACT, we talk about two fundamentally different ways of experiencing yourself.

The first is what we call self-as-content. This is the story you tell about who you are. All your labels, your roles, your self-evaluations. "I am a parent." "I am anxious." "I am good at my job." "I am a terrible person." It's the running commentary your mind creates about who you are and what that means.

The problem isn't having this story. Everyone has one. The problem is when you fuse with it so completely that you can't see it as a story. When "I am anxious" stops being a description of something you're experiencing and becomes your entire identity. When "I am worthless" isn't a thought you're having, it's who you are.

But there's another way of experiencing yourself that most people barely notice. This is what we call self-as-context but calling it "the observer" is probably easier. This is the part of you that's aware of your experience. The part that notices thoughts, feelings, sensations. The part that's reading these words right now.

This observer has been there your whole life. It was there when you were five years old. It was there at fifteen. It's here now. Your body has changed. Your thoughts have changed. Your circumstances have changed. But the part of you that notices, that's aware, that observes, that part has stayed constant.

This is where the brain-hurt starts. How can you be both the story and the observer of the story? How can you be both the thoughts and the thing noticing the thoughts?

Learning to Zoom Out

One useful and more practical way to think about this, is that it is all about learning to zoom out. You can learn to step back from being completely identified with your thoughts and feelings. You can see them as things you're experiencing rather than things you are. You can consciously choose what to do next.

This overlaps with cognitive defusion, but it goes further. Defusion is about stepping back from individual thoughts ("I'm having the thought that I'm worthless" rather than "I am worthless"). This is about stepping back from your entire sense of who you are.

The psychologically flexible person learns to see themselves as the observer of their own content. They can notice "there's anxiety happening" without becoming "I am anxiety." They can watch low moods move through without defining themselves as "a depressed person." They can have intrusive thoughts of all types, without these thoughts defining sense of self.

This is still a very weird idea to me if I think about it too hard. But the main thing is this: we can learn to zoom out, see and accept our feelings, defuse from our thoughts, and consciously choose what matters to us at the various forks in the road in our day.

The Chessboard

Internal Struggles (The Chessboard Metaphor) by Dr. Russ Harris

Imagine a chessboard. On one side, place all your positive thoughts, feelings, and parts of yourself. Confidence, happiness, moments when you feel capable, the part of you that's hopeful, the voice that says "I can do this." On the other side, place all your negative thoughts, feelings, and parts. Anxiety, sadness, self-doubt, the inner critic, the OCD voice that says, "you're dangerous," the part that feels broken.

You've probably spent enormous energy trying to get the positive pieces to win. You work hard to feel confident, to be happy, to silence the critic. And when the negative pieces show up, when the OCD thoughts appear or the anxious part gets loud, you fight to knock them off the board.

The problem is there are infinite pieces on both sides. No matter how many negative pieces you knock off, more appear. You think "I'm doing well," and immediately the critic says "No you're not." You feel confident, and the anxious part says "Don't get too comfortable."

For people with OCD, this becomes especially intense. It's not just "I'm having an intrusive thought." It can mean: "this thought means I am dangerous, and therefore I will definitely act on this thought." The thought, the sense of self, and the feared behaviour all collapse into one rigid, terrifying certainty. The pieces aren't just pieces anymore. They've become who you are.

So, you end up trapped in an endless battle. The pieces fight each other constantly, and you're right in the middle of it, trying desperately to make the positive side win.

Now here's the shift. What if you could be the board instead of the pieces?

The board holds all the pieces. It's in intimate contact with them. But the board itself isn't involved in the fight. The pieces can't damage the board. They can't change it. The board simply is, steady and stable, while the pieces do what pieces do.

This is what we mean by the observer, by self-as-context. You're not the thoughts and feelings moving around. You're the space in which they move. You're not the content of your experience. You're the awareness that notices it all.

The OCD thoughts, the anxious parts, the inner critic, these are all pieces on the board. Vivid, loud, demanding attention, yes. But still pieces, still content, still part of your experience rather than the totality of who you are.

Becoming the observer means you simply notice, with the same steady awareness you’ve had since you were born, watching everything come and go.

The Part That Hasn't Changed

Think about yourself at different ages. Picture yourself as a child. Notice how that child felt, what they worried about. Now think of yourself as a teenager. Different concerns, different body, different circumstances. Think of yourself five years ago, and even right now.

All of these versions of you are radically different. Your body has changed. Your thoughts have changed. Your beliefs, your knowledge, your sense of who you are, all different. But there's something that hasn't changed.

The "I" that was aware at five is the same "I" that's aware now. Not the same thoughts or feelings or stories about yourself. But the same awareness, the same observer, the same you that notices.

This is what remains constant. Not the content of your experience, which changes moment to moment. But the awareness in which experience happens.

What Becomes Possible

When you can contact this observer, even briefly, several things become possible that weren't possible before.

First, you can defuse from the story. When you're completely fused with "I am worthless," that story defines everything. But when you can step into the observer, you recognise: there's the story about being worthless, and there's me noticing the story. The story is convincing. It might be very convincing. But it's still a story, and you are not the story. You are the one aware of the story.

Second, you can accept difficult experiences more easily. It's hard to accept anxiety when you think you are anxiety. But when you're the observer noticing anxiety, you can make room for it without it defining your entire existence.

Third, you can reclaim your behaviour. When you're fused with the pieces, you feed the battle. The person with OCD does compulsions to prove they're not ‘dangerous’. The depressed person withdraws to protect themselves from further feeling ‘useless’. The perfectionist people-pleases to avoid being exposed as inadequate. But when you can step into the observer, you can see these patterns as patterns, pieces moving on the board, and choose not to continue the battle. You can notice the urge to do a compulsion and choose differently. Notice the pull to withdraw and move towards connection anyway. Notice the drive to please and set a boundary instead.

Fourth, you get choice about what matters. If you are your anxiety, you're stuck with whatever the anxiety demands. If you're the observer noticing anxiety, you can notice it and still choose actions based on what matters to you.

This doesn't mean the difficult thoughts and feelings go away. They don't. The OCD thoughts still show up. The critic still speaks. The anxious part still worries. But you have a position to stand in that isn't completely defined by them.

A Quick Way To Practice

We can all get better at becoming the observer of our internal content.

I will often use the following simple idea, taken from my own practice. I use it to gather my thoughts, to zoom out, and to get myself in the best headspace before a therapy session.

So, first of all just pause. Notice the rhythm and sound of your breathing. And as you notice, become aware that there is a 'you' within noticing that breathing. Your mind may be busy, your feelings may be strong, but whatever you are experiencing, just notice. Use that observing part of yourself to gently check in, label, be present, accept, whichever words work for you. You might say something like, hmm, there’s a bit of anxiety, hmm, there’s that self-critical feeling, hmm, I am feeling tired and quite spaced out, ‘I am noticing this right now’

Whatever you notice, know that you are not these experiences, you are the one observing them. (I am aware this is much harder than I am making it sound). But, if you can train yourself to become the observer of yourself, then you become someone with many more deliberate and self-aware headspaces in your day.

In my ‘just before session’ example, I will often ask myself, 'okay, who do I need to be for this next hour and how can I show up for this client in the way I would most like to right now?' Do something like this, and you’ve created a fork in the road moment too, when before there was only auto-pilot.

The Work Continues

Learning to access the observer isn't a one-time shift. It's a skill that develops with practice. Some days you'll be completely fused with your story, lost in the content, identified with the pieces. Other days you'll find that observing awareness and have more autonomy.

Both are fine. The observing you doesn't need to judge you for being fused. You don’t need to maintain some perfect state of awareness. It’s about knowing this observing state exists, and that your self-stories also exist.

The question isn't whether you'll have difficult thoughts, feelings, or stories about yourself. You will, and the stories might be very convincing. The question is this: who would make better choices for the you of the future? The one-dimensional version of you, fused to negative beliefs, feelings and patterns? Or the one who observes the content of who you are?

The you that is completely identified with "I am worthless" or "I am dangerous" or "I am hopeless"? Or the you that can step back, notice those stories, and still choose what matters?

Yes, you are your experience. But you are also the one experiencing it. And that recognition, however brief, creates the space for everything else in ACT to become possible.

Psychological Therapy Services, Manchester & Online

Self As Context: Becoming The Observer Of Yourself

"We are all made up of the stories our life has given us. But we are also the one holding the book and choosing how the story is written next."

The Chessboard