B PsychEd

The phrase “You are the people you surround yourself with” is commonly used to make assumptions about people’s personalities and values based on their friends and as a warning to surround yourself with the “right people” who will guide you down the right path. However, the Chameleon Effect, similar to the Social Learning Theory, puts a different spin on the saying.

I often find myself picking up my friends’ speech patterns or mannerisms. After being around someone for a while, I subconsciously start using unique words or sayings that the person says and imitating their small habits. Sometimes, it starts as an intentional inside joke, which then becomes a habit of my own, integrated into my daily life. Then, I “pass it on” to my other close friends who pick up the same words and phrases from my speech patterns. It then becomes something shared that we can bond over.

The small habits in my daily actions and speech include a collection of small parts of my friends and people around me. I am the people I surround myself with, and we are all made of fragments of the people we surround ourselves with— whether it be shared dialogues and memories, or the similarities that are picked up.

There’s a part of me that has always struggled with being vulnerable… like really letting people in. The kind of vulnerability where you let your guard down, let yourself be soft, and show up fully with all the messiness that comes with feeling deeply. I don’t do that well. Not because I don’t want to, but because I never really learned how.

Instead, I tease. I make little jokes, poke fun, throw in sarcasm. It’s how I show affection. It’s my way of saying, “I see you, and I care,” without having to say those exact words. Because saying those words… being that raw, that open… is terrifying. And maybe if I hide behind humor, people won’t see how scared I really am.

I’ve learned to rely on that version of love: guarded, safe, indirect. Because loving openly? That’s dangerous. It’s admitting that someone could break you. And I’ve been broken before. People have left. People I thought would stay. And those goodbyes… whether they came suddenly or slowly faded… left bruises I still carry.

So now, when I meet someone who makes my heart ache in that beautiful way, I pull back. I stay reserved. I flirt, but only up to a point. I get close, but never too close. Because if I don’t let someone in fully, maybe it won’t hurt as much if (or when) they leave.

It’s affected my love life more than I’d like to admit. There have been times where someone amazing stood in front of me, ready to offer something real. And I couldn’t take it. Not because I didn’t want to, but because my fear screamed louder than my hope. I told myself I wasn’t ready, or that the timing was off, or that they deserved someone who could give more. The truth? I was scared they’d see the real me and walk away.

Even now, I feel it. The tension between wanting to love and fearing what that love could cost me. Between craving connection and clinging to my independence. Between who I am and who I wish I could be for someone.

But I’m learning. Slowly. That softness isn't a weakness. That letting people in doesn’t guarantee pain… it just opens the door for something beautiful. That teasing can be love, yes, but so can quiet moments, honest words, and saying “I care about you” without needing a punchline.

This past weekend, I hung out with some friends. Nothing major… just being together, laughing, sharing space. But there was a moment, a few moments really, where I let myself say something kind, even if I wasn’t “fully there.” Something genuine. I gave someone a compliment that wasn’t wrapped in sarcasm. I let myself say “I’m glad you’re here,” and mean it, out loud. And honestly? I felt... embarrassed. Exposed, even. Like I had accidentally shown too much of my heart. I told someone from the group that I felt like I was annoying and bothersome, almost invading the space.

But the weird part? I also felt kind of glad.

Because maybe… just maybe… those little cracks in the armor allowed someone else to feel loved. To feel seen. Maybe they went home thinking, “Damn, I needed that today…” or at least I hope. And if my small moment of discomfort gave someone else comfort, then maybe it was… is worth it.

I’m still not the person who knows how to love loudly. But I’m trying. Trying to reach out more. To say the thing I want to say before fear tells me not to. To be warm, even if I’m still figuring out how to do it without blushing or brushing it off with a joke.

This is me, learning to love more openly, even if it starts with baby steps. Even if it's messy. Even if it's awkward. Because I think the people in my life deserve that version of me… the version that isn’t just funny or chill or teasing, but real. Honest. Human. Vulnerable.

And maybe… just maybe… I deserve that version of me too, an authentic vulnerable one.

With college comes freedom, but also a wave of pressure to partake in the typical college experiences. They say that college is the time to find your true self, however, I constantly felt myself comparing to other people’s experiences and achievements. This is called the Social Comparison Theory. This theory suggests that individuals compare themselves with others who are similar in some aspects, such as age, gender, occupation, etc to gauge their own progress and achievements. I often questioned if I was going out enough, or if I was in enough clubs. I questioned if I was enough as a Berkeley student. Then, I began tying my self-worth through other people’s standards. As I watched my peers slip into social parties, joining multiple organizations, and attaining tough internships, I couldn’t help but wonder what I did wrong. I’ve always known this mindset was unhealthy, but it consumed my mind before I even realized.

I began to realize that the more I compared myself, the more disconnected I felt from my identity. The pressure to conform to a specific “college experience” made me even more confused. There were moments that felt like I was not “living the college experience”. But, what I failed to understand was that college wasn’t just about the experiences you have, but rather it’s about how those experiences shape you. Slowly, I stopped comparing my path to other student’s paths. I started to lean into what felt right for me, even if it didn’t align with the typical college “experience”.

For any freshmen in college reading this, my biggest advice is accepting that college is not a race. College truly is the time to explore what makes you fulfilled. Some people thrive in loud social settings while others prefer more peaceful quiet time. And I realized that it takes time to figure out where you belong, but do not try to force yourself into a box that you don’t fit in.

What really got me into the philosophy part of the philosophy + psychology equation was the critical problem philosopher Thomas Nagel raises on the concept of “moral luck”. Moral luck is when an agent is assigned praise or blame in a moral situation, even if they do not have control over the outcomes. For example, in the case of two drunk drivers A and B, only A runs into a pedestrian who happened to cross the road, while B does not encounter any pedestrians and gets safely home. Both drivers deserve blame for driving drunk, and they performed the same action, but the only difference is the uncontrollable event that A encountered. Had B encountered the same event, they would have run over the pedestrian too, but by luck, they didn’t.

This problematic situation seems to go against our intuitions. This also raises questions about how we happened to be the people we are. Constitutive moral luck, or that of the disposition of an agent is highly variable based on environment (in fact, a whole psychology subfield is based on this!). How much one is prone to react with anger in one situation or be composed in another highly affects their outcomes. Bad traits such as selfishness are given moral blame, but this characteristic is almost certainly a product of the environment or genes or anything that the agent cannot control.

This issue poses similarly to the fundamental attribution error in psychology, a cognitive bias where one tends to assign another individual’s behaviors to one’s disposition over the situation. If one encounters someone who acts rudely, they’re more likely to assume that the other person is a mean person instead of assuming that something in their environment caused them to behave in that way (ie. they spilled their coffee). Interestingly, this differs between individualistic cultures that value individual goals and needs over the collective, such as the USA and Western Europe, vs collectivist cultures that value community harmony over individual autonomy, such as East Asian countries. People in collectivist cultures are less likely to commit the fundamental attribution error, as they prioritize individual personality traits and intentions less.

So, with all of these issues in perception and praise and blame-assignment, I ask, can we actually and accurately hold people morally responsible for their actions? Is it only just luck that determines how we are? Is there even need for the nature vs nurture debate when both are just entirely luck? Congrats, I guess the age old problem is "solved".

During a discussion section for an introductory moral philosophy class, I was asked to offer a solution to Nagel’s problem. The first thing I thought about was about collectivist societies, courtesy of cramming for my social psychology midterm (and maybe how a significant part of Western philosophy has shaped the individualistic culture, IDK…). The second thing I thought of was the title: embrace the other solutions that philosophy offers on the question of moral responsibility. I’ve always thought about issues through the lens of psychology, but embracing this new perspective (and minor!) has taught me a new way of thinking.

___

Nagel, T. (2012). Moral Luck. Mortal Questions. (pp. 57-71.) Cambridge University Press.

TW: MENTION OF RAPE, SELF HARM, SUICIDE, RACISM

Archetypes are useful in many situations, as they allow us to make quick decisions. However, in my work as a crisis counselor, I’ve seen how misapplied archetypes can have tragic, even deadly consequences. Recently, a young man called in expressing suicidal thoughts and self-harm. After some probing, I learned he had been roofied and sexually assaulted by his girlfriend. However, because he was a muscular, physically fit man, his trauma was dismissed by his family and friends, and his parents even forbade him from seeking counseling. Isolated and without support, he saw suicide as his only way out.

This case illustrates the dangerous effect of applying societal schemas that are based on gender and appearance. The stereotype that men who are physically strong and muscular cannot be victims of sexual assault led to the invalidation of this young man’s experience. This type of dismissal is common for male victims of sexual assault, as they do not fit the typical image of a victim, often leading to their struggles being ignored. I have encountered similar cases, such as a guest lecturer in my Public Health 116 class, who was denied proper medical attention and a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis because of her race—she was a black woman, a sharp contrast from the stereotype of the neurological disorder affecting only young, white women. These instances show that people who do not conform to societal archetypes are often disregarded, preventing them from getting the help they need.

As I continue my work as a counselor and navigate everyday interactions, I remind myself that it’s not just about listening to someone's struggles but also trusting in the legitimacy of their pain, even when it challenges my current worldview. While schemas help us navigate the world quickly, they should not be used as an excuse to ignore the complexity of someone’s experience. I have heard the expression “you don’t know what someone is going through” but, unfortunately, stories like these two show that, sometimes the “what someone is going through” has been communicated to an unsupportive listener.

Both of my parents have unbelievable recall. My mom has eidetic (photographic) memory, and my dad remembers details from events that happened twenty or thirty years ago. My memory isn’t nearly as good as either of theirs, but I’ve always considered it pretty solid. I can quote books or essays I read years ago, and I often surprise my friends by remembering things they’ve long forgotten: conversations, inside jokes, or even the exact way they phrased something in passing. Just yesterday, I texted a friend about something from years ago, and their immediate response was “HOW DO U REMEMBER THAT”. So, up until high school, I’ve always thought of memory as a trustworthy record.

However, this changed when I had the chance to organize an event featuring Dr. Elizabeth Loftus, a leading expert on the malleability of memory. As I sat in the audience, listening as she explained how subtle wording changes—like asking someone if they "saw the broken headlight" instead of "a broken headlight"—could implant false details into their recollections. Even more shocking, some people could be led to believe entirely fabricated events, like being lost in a mall as a child, despite them never occurring.

Since then, I’ve caught myself questioning memories I once felt certain about. How many times have I misremembered an argument, an event, or even a conversation? And how often do we trust memories that have, without our awareness, been subtly reshaped over time? Now, I remind myself that certainty doesn’t always equal accuracy, and sometimes, the things we remember most vividly might be the ones we should question the most.

“Are you a farmer?” I was asked this question twice in my first week of college. This question was asked after I told them that I am from Fresno. A city known for its agriculture. I couldn’t tell if I was being stereotyped because of where I am from or because I am Hispanic.

I was taken aback by the question because no one had ever asked me this before, back home. I never thought that because I am from Fresno, people would think I’m a farmer. I was not offended that the people who asked me this question thought I was a farmer; I was more surprised and curious. What about me made them think I was a farmer? When I returned to Fresno, visiting from college, I told my friends and family the question I was asked. Some laughed; others were offended for me. My tia told me that I should have said yes, I am a farmer, and boasted about how nice my family’s farm is.

The answer is no, I’m not a farmer.

My Aha! Moment revolves around the social psychological concept of schemas, specifically self-schemas, which are schemas that one creates about themselves. These are what you believe about yourself and your overall perception of yourself in the world. I never previously realized the number of schemas that I unknowingly create for myself as well as others based on my life experiences. Once I really thought about the amount I have created, there was one about myself that specifically stood out most.

This specific self-schema I have created is that I often believe that I am an unrecognizable person. This is especially the case for individuals who I do not interact with often or have only seen a couple of times. There are many times where I see someone who I have met a few times in the past or ran into before and I automatically recognize them but for some reason, my mind assumes that although I recognize and remember them, they do not recognize or remember me. This will stop me from giving them any sort of acknowledgement, like a smile or wave, because I fear that they will be confused and not know who I am.

I am not completely sure why I have created this self-schema, and oftentimes, this schema is proven wrong when individuals do recognize me. Despite this constant pattern of it being proven wrong, I still assume that one will not recognize who I am if I have only seen them a couple of times. The self-schema of me being an unrecognizable person still remains to this day and really makes me realize the amount of schemas that are present in my day to day life whether they revolve around myself or those around me.

My Aha! Moment involves a common stereotype that affects both my friends and me: we’re often misunderstood as being mean or judgmental because of our RBF, or resting b**** face.This means that when our faces are rested and not reacting, they appear stern and unapproachable, which leads strangers to assume we’re mean. What’s ironic is that I’ve experienced this stereotype firsthand, but I also fell into the trap of making the same assumption to who is now my best friend.

When I first met her, she had an RBF, and I instantly thought she was unapproachable. I was intimidated and hesitant to talk to her. However, we ended up working together on a group project, which gave me the chance to interact with her more. To my surprise, she turned out to be one of the sweetest, most genuine people I’ve ever met, and we instantly got along. This experience was a turning point for me.

It made me realize how unfair and limiting it is to judge people solely based on a stereotype because if I stuck to my initial impression, I would have missed out on a connection of a lifetime. Reflecting on this, I also recognized that I wasn’t any better than the strangers who judged me for my own RBF because I had done the same to my friend. This realization motivated me to be more open-minded and friendly, ensuring I give people a fair chance before making assumptions.

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