We spend about half our lives lost in thought. Most of that time? We're thinking about myself or my self in some capacity. It’s that constant internal narrator. You know the one. It’s the voice that wonders if you sounded like an idiot in that meeting or why your friend hasn’t texted back yet.
It feels personal. It feels like "you." But neurologically speaking, the concept of "self" is a massive construction project the brain is running 24/7. It’s not a single spot behind your eyes.
When you start digging into the science of self-referential thought, things get weird. Fast.
The Default Mode Network: Where Myself or My Self Lives
There’s this thing called the Default Mode Network (DMN). Scientists like Marcus Raichle at Washington University started noticing it back in the early 2000s. Basically, when you stop "doing" things—like folding laundry or staring at a spreadsheet—and your mind starts to wander, the DMN kicks into high gear.
This is the home of myself or my self in the physical brain.
It’s a web of connected regions, primarily the medial prefrontal cortex and the posterior cingulate cortex. When these fire up, you aren't thinking about the present moment. You’re time traveling. You’re rehearsing the future or dissecting the past. You're building a narrative.
Honestly, the DMN is a double-edged sword. It’s what allows us to have an identity and learn from mistakes. But it’s also the engine of rumination. When the DMN is overactive, people tend to report higher levels of unhappiness. The "wandering mind" is often a stressed mind because the self is usually worried about something.
The narrative vs. the experiential
Psychologist Shaun Gallagher and others have often split this concept into two parts. You have the "narrative self" and the "minimal self."
The minimal self is just the immediate feeling of being in a body. It's the "I" that feels the heat of a coffee mug. The narrative self is the "Me." That’s the story you tell. "I am a person who likes coffee but hates mornings because of that one time in 2014..."
We get into trouble when we confuse the story for the reality.
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What Happens When the Self "Disappears"
You’ve probably heard of "flow states." Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi made this famous. It’s that feeling when you’re so deep in a task—playing guitar, coding, rock climbing—that you lose track of time.
What’s actually happening? The DMN quietens down.
The sense of myself or my self basically goes offline. This is why flow feels so good. The critic is gone. There is no one there to judge the performance because the "performer" has merged with the action.
Research using fMRI scans shows that during intense focus or even certain types of meditation, the activity in the medial prefrontal cortex drops significantly. We call this "transient hypofrontality." It sounds scary, but it’s actually a vacation for your brain.
Does the self even exist?
Ask a neuroscientist and a Buddhist monk this question, and you’ll get surprisingly similar answers.
The "self" isn't a permanent object. It’s a process.
Think about a river. Is a river a thing? Sort of. But the water is always moving. The banks are eroding. The fish are dying and being born. There is no "river" that stays the same for two seconds.
Your brain is the same. It is constantly updating the "me" file. New memories are added. Old ones are reconstructed (and often distorted). Your physical cells turn over. So, when you worry about myself or my self, you’re actually worrying about a flickering image that’s changing while you look at it.
The Impact of Social Media on Self-Construction
We can't talk about the self in 2026 without talking about the digital mirror.
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Every time you post, you aren't just sharing information. You are performing a version of yourself. This creates a feedback loop that didn't exist thirty years ago. In the past, you had a "self" that existed in your head and maybe a slightly different one for your friends.
Now? You have a documented, archived, and quantified version of myself or my self that lives on a server.
The dopamine trap
When someone likes a photo, your brain gets a hit. But it’s not "you" getting the hit—it’s the avatar you created. This creates a weird psychological gap. You start to feel like you have to maintain the avatar to keep the self-esteem high.
- Hyper-awareness of how we appear to others.
- Constant comparison (which is just the DMN running a "Me vs. Them" script).
- The fragmentation of identity across different platforms.
It's exhausting. No wonder anxiety rates are where they are. We are managing multiple "selves" and none of them feel totally real.
Practical Ways to Manage the Self-Narrative
If the "narrative self" is the source of most of our stress, how do we turn it down without losing our minds?
You don't need to become a monk.
One of the most effective ways is "de-centering." This is a term used in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). It’s the ability to step back and realize that your thoughts about myself or my self are just thoughts. They aren't facts.
If your brain says, "I'm a failure," de-centering allows you to say, "I am having the thought that I am a failure."
It seems like a small grammatical shift. It's actually a massive neurological shift. It moves the activity from the emotional centers of the brain back to the executive centers. You're observing the DMN rather than being trapped inside it.
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Physicality as an anchor
Another trick? Get back into the "minimal self."
Exercise isn't just for your heart. It’s a way to force the brain to pay attention to the body. When you're lifting something heavy or sprinting, your brain doesn't have the spare cycles to wonder if people liked your last LinkedIn update.
The sensory input overrides the narrative loop.
The Future of Self-Identity
We are moving into an era where "the self" is becoming even more fluid. With AI, VR, and deep-level digital integration, the boundaries of where "I" end and "the world" begins are blurring.
Some researchers, like Andy Clark, argue for the "Extended Mind" theory. This suggests that your phone or your notebook is literally part of your mind because you use it to store and process "self" information.
If your memories are on a cloud drive, is the cloud part of myself or my self? It’s a question that’s moving from philosophy into actual legal and medical territory.
Next Steps for Better Self-Management:
- Audit your "I" statements. Spend one afternoon noticing how often you use the words "I," "me," or "my." Is the focus usually on a problem or a comparison?
- Practice 10 minutes of "non-referential" activity. Do something where there is no goal and no audience. Doodling, walking without a destination, or just sitting.
- Label the narrator. Give your internal critic a name. When it starts spiraling, acknowledge it: "Oh, there goes [Name] again." It breaks the spell of the narrative self.
- Engage the senses. When the internal talk about the self gets too loud, find three things you can smell or five things you can see. It forces the brain out of the Default Mode Network and back into the present.
The goal isn't to get rid of the self. That’s impossible for most of us. The goal is to realize that the self is a tool—a piece of software your brain runs—rather than a cage you have to live in.