Real BUT not true

Imagine if we were taught this at school!

Not just maths, science and English. Imagine if we were taught how to understand our own minds.

When I look back at my childhood, the hardest part wasn’t failing a test, getting an answer wrong, or struggling with a social encounter. It was actually the meaning I attached to those experiences.

A failed maths test is a fact. Feeling inadequate because of that result is a real emotion.
But “I am inadequate or inferior” is something entirely different. It’s a conclusion - a permanent identity claim smuggled out of a single event.

And our (predominantly negatively wired) mind does this all the time. An event or situation happens. We feel something we don’t like. Then we quietly turn that feeling into a story about who we are.

I failed and I felt ashamed turns into: I am a failure.

Years later, one of the most valuable concepts I’ve learned comes from meditation teacher Tara Brach: “Real BUT not True.” Our feelings are real. They deserve to be acknowledged, understood and treated with compassion. But they are not always telling us the truth.

The failed test is true. The feeling of inadequacy is real. But the belief that I am inadequate because of it, is not.

What if we taught children to question that leap? What if we taught them to ask:

• What actually happened?
• What am I feeling?
• What story am I telling myself?
• Is that story true?
• What evidence challenges it?

Because when I think about the struggles I’ve carried into adulthood, they haven’t come from past maths tests, mean girls or exams. They’ve come from the beliefs I formed about myself because of those experiences.

Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not capable enough.

And now, years later, I’m trying to unwind narratives that have become deeply wired into the way I see myself.

What if we taught neuroplasticity in schools? What if we taught mindfulness, metacognition and emotional awareness?

What if children learned that thoughts are mental events, not facts?

Imagine how different adulthood might look if we learned that lesson at age 10 instead of age 40!