I like psychological frameworks.
There is something deeply satisfying about discovering a concept and suddenly having a name for something you’ve been experiencing for years.
Oh. That’s why I do that.
Excellent.
Mystery solved.
Except, usually, it isn’t.
The Pleasure of a Good Explanation
A framework can give us a useful starting point. It can help us recognise patterns that were previously invisible. It can give us language for something we couldn’t quite put into words.
For some people, that language is far more than interesting. It can be a relief. If you’ve spent years feeling different, misunderstood or simply “too much”, finding words for your experience can feel like finally being seen.
But I wonder if there is a point where the explanation becomes too satisfying.
We learn that we have an anxious attachment style, for example, and suddenly every difficult feeling in a relationship seems to have somewhere to live.
We learn about people-pleasing and understand why saying no is hard.
We learn about perfectionism and recognise the fear underneath it.
All useful.
But there is a subtle danger in having a good explanation.
Once we know why we do something, we can stop asking what is happening now.
When an Explanation Becomes a Verdict
There’s some interesting research on this, though it comes from a slightly different area.
The psychologists Matthew Lebowitz and Woo-kyoung Ahn studied what happens when people are told they have a genetic risk for depression. Those who believed they were genetically predisposed felt less confident in their ability to manage their own mood. The explanation didn’t just describe them. It changed what they believed was possible. Encouragingly, a short explanation that genes are only part of the picture helped restore people’s confidence.
That research was about genes, not psychological frameworks. But I think something similar can happen with the explanations we find for ourselves. An explanation can start to feel like a verdict.
I might know that I tend to avoid conflict because of things I learned earlier in life.
But what about this particular conflict?
Am I avoiding it because I’m frightened?
Because the other person is actually unsafe?
Because the argument isn’t worth having?
Because I’m tired?
Because I’m wrong?
Because I genuinely don’t care enough to argue?
The framework can’t tell me that.
It can give me a lens.
It can’t look through it for me.
When a Word Becomes a Conclusion
This is something I think about when I see psychological language being used online.
We have become very good at turning complicated experiences into recognisable categories.
You’re not confused. You’re dysregulated.
You’re not withdrawing. You’re avoidant.
You’re not hurt. You’re triggered.
The psychologist Nick Haslam has described something he calls “concept creep”: the way psychological ideas such as trauma, abuse and mental disorder have gradually stretched to cover a wider range of experiences, including milder ones. He doesn’t argue this is all bad. Recognising harm that was once ignored has helped a lot of people. But it does mean the same word can now describe very different things.
Again, sometimes those words are useful.
But a word can become a conclusion surprisingly quickly.
And once we have a conclusion, we tend to stop investigating.
Somewhere to Begin Looking
Perhaps the more interesting use of psychological language is not to tell us who we are, but to give us somewhere to begin looking.
This sounds a bit like me.
Okay.
What else is happening?
What does this look like in my life?
Is it always true?
When isn’t it true?
What happens with this person but not that person?
What might I be missing?
I like that version of psychology more.
Less diagnosis of the self.
More curiosity about the self.
We Are Still Changing
Because we are not case studies of our own childhoods.
We are still changing.
The same behaviour can mean different things in different circumstances. Something that was once protective can later become restrictive.
The same person can be anxious in one relationship and remarkably calm in another. This isn’t just a hunch. Research by Chris Fraley and his colleagues, involving more than 21,000 people, suggests that we hold different attachment patterns in different relationships, with a parent, a partner, a close friend. An “attachment style” is less a fixed label than a tendency, which may show up strongly with some people and hardly at all with others.
So perhaps understanding ourselves isn’t about finding the perfect explanation.
Maybe it’s about having enough language to ask better questions.
And being willing to keep asking them after the first satisfying answer arrives.
Keeping the Questions Open
This is a big part of how I work. In therapy, frameworks can be helpful tools, and we’ll use them when they fit. But the aim isn’t to find the right label and stop there. It’s to stay curious about you: your life, your relationships, what’s happening now, and what might be possible next.
At Trueform Therapy, I offer one-to-one sessions in person in Cardiff and online across the UK and EU. If you’d like to explore that kind of curiosity together, you’re welcome to get in touch for an initial conversation.
If You Want to Explore These Ideas Further
If you’d like to look at the research behind this post:
Attachment across different relationships (Fraley and colleagues, 2011): University of Illinois
Nick Haslam on concept creep: Psychology Today overview
How genetic explanations affect people’s confidence in managing their mood (Lebowitz and Ahn): Yale Scientific
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