How Much Have You Changed ?

‍There’s something beautiful about seeing your life as a continuous story in which you’re the stable protagonist. But how real is the idea of a consistent self? Is it possible to change our personalities? And what happens when it’s an outside force that threatens to alter who we are?

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The winter that I was 21, I started to feel unwell. Getting out of bed in the morning became an ordeal; my mind was foggy, my body heavy and uncooperative. Weeks earlier, I’d been a happy and hardworking graphic design student with a wide circle of friends. Suddenly I couldn’t focus on my courses or enjoy the activities that once reliably brought me joy. Listless and depressed, I withdrew from my family. When a few sessions with a counselor failed to provide answers, I was sent for an MRI. The news that followed was shocking. An adenoma had grown on my pituitary gland. In layman's terms, I had a brain tumor.

Looking back from where I am now, I wish I could have spoken to neuroscientist Hannah Critchlow while I was going through this. My doctors explained everything in medical terms, but I think an understanding of the brain’s plasticity—the way that difficult experiences shape us—would have been a great comfort to me then. When terrible things happen, one of the hardest notions to contend with is the point in our suffering. We often turn to spiritually or religion to make meaning out of dark periods. I never would have thought that groundbreaking research in genetics could’ve given me an additional sense of calm through the storm.

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We inherit memories like we inherit brown eyes

Hannah and I are speaking on a sunny late-summer morning. Her cheeks are still flushed from her daily 30-minute jog, a routine she’s committed to “rain or shine” for its cognitive benefits. A neuroscientist at Cambridge University, Hannah has written extensively on atopic she’s obsessed with: The nature vs. nurture debate. She has been at the forefront of research that shows just how big a role genes play in determining who we are and how we shape our lives. More and more evidence is showing that complex traits, from our political ideologies to our music preferences, are hardwired in our genes. Then there’s an emerging field of research that adds anew twist: We inherit more than just characteristics from Mom and Dad. We might inherit their memories, too.

“It’s pretty unbelievable,” Hannah says, her eyes brightening. “Epigenetics is this really fascinating mechanism by which experiences actually change the shape of our DNA. It means that we can possibly pass on both trauma and positive memories to our offspring, which in turn helps them avoid certain threats and thrive.”

She tells me about the pinnacle study behind the theory. A group of mice were exposed to a mild electric shock whenever they were offered sweet cherries—a favorite treat among the species. Over time, them ice developed an adverse response to the fruit; like Pavlov’s dog, they’d learned to associate the smell and the punishment. When the experiment was reprised on the mice’s grand pups, they reacted to the cherries the same way, freezing when exposed to the smell. Learned behavior was an impossible explanation, as the pups had never known Granny or Grandpa mouse.

“Similar mechanisms seem to exist in humans,” Hannah says, the curiosity and compassion audible in her voice. “There’s data coming out regarding the biological transmission of trauma across generations. How we can store those memories and react in a way that can help us survive in the future,” she says.

“So recovering from a very stressful event in your life–like a serious illness–can have a positive biological effect on your offspring for centuries, in the sense that you pass on the struggle you overcame?” I ask.

When Hannah nods and says it’s a possibility, she’s unaware of how much this means to me, of just how personal this question is.

Hard as diamonds or soft as clay?

I’m eager to get Hannah’s thoughts on the origins of our personalities. What can explain who we are, what we love, what we end up doing with our lives? “Nothing is set in stone,” Hannah tells me. “Genes are important, but there's this amazing biological process in our brains called synaptic plasticity. It lets us transform new information into connections between nerve cells, which can actually create new routes in our brain.” In other words, information and experiences literally shape the way that we perceive the world and the way that we're going to interact in it.

The people we surround ourselves with also impacts our behavior. Hannah explains the phenomenon of moral and emotional contagion. “We’re wired for imitation and conformity; that's again part of our success as a species.” Studies show that if you add a cheater into a room, others will similarly start cheating. By the same token, a principled leader with integrity and compassion will inspire others’ to follow suit. “The real takeaway is that our brains are constantly changing. Everything we do and experience can form functional connections within the existing circuit board. It means we literally start to think in new ways, ”Hannah says. “My morning run, that physical exercise, seems to contribute to greater plasticity, the birth of new brain cells and mental resilience. Running, sticking to New Year’s resolutions, interacting with lots of different people, exploring new places—all this has a lasting impact on the way your brain works and, by extension, on the person who you are.”

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She doesn’t need to convince me. Some point after my diagnosis, when I’d returned to my courses and was starting to feel a little better, a professor called me into her office to discuss my work. She told me it had matured ten-fold since I’d been sick. “I’ve never seen designs like this from you before. They’re so striking and powerful. It’s as though something deep inside you has shifted,” she said.

Her words moved me profoundly because I knew they were true. My illness had changed me. It forced me to look inward and figure out who I was without the certainty of the future I’d taken for granted. Both ancient Stoic philosophy and modern therapy discourse stress the importance of recognizing and accepting what we can’t control in life and focusing instead on our reactions. In a world rife with terrible hardship and suffering, it can be hard to buy the adage “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” But in the darkest days of my illness, I found hope and resilience I hadn’t suspected were mine. I surprised myself. And that surprise has stayed with me. It has shown me that I can’t predict what I’m capable of, that my personality is a work-in-progress, that every challenge is an opportunity to surpass my own expectations. I can hardly express how emboldening a thought this is, the idea that my strength and forbearance are always improving, that I’m becoming “better” at being a person over time. It gives me confidence that feels primal, even animal, as though there’s a force within me that could survive anything.

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The happiness of growth

It turns out that my feelings aren’t all that unique. People who think they are capable of genuine growth and change tend to be happier. Psychologists call this a “growth mindset,” the belief that the talents and assets we’re born with are just a starting point, that hard work and perseverance can make us better, smarter, and more skilled. Neuroplasticity was once thought to end after childhood; now research has shown that the brain is a dynamic organ capable of altering its structure throughout life. From a purely scientific perspective, this means the person you were ten years ago has a differently wired brain than the one you have now.

I have friends who wouldn’t be fazed by this idea. They look at their past with curiosity and detachment. As a teenager, my friend Sofia read every single Twilight novel, plastered her bedroom wall with Beyoncé posters, and covered her eyelids with smoky black shadow. Now she looks at pictures of herself at 16 and wonders what on earth she was thinking. That makeup! Those ridiculous vampire books!

For my part, I can’t relate to this bewilderment. I have clear, vivid memories of my childhood that I can watch in my mind like short films. The little girl who looked out at the wild red grass of the South African veld, and felt the vastness of the world rising within her, is still very real to me. I can access her hopes and fears; when I close my eyes and concentrate, her dreams wash over me like a mist I’ve felt before. Of course, I’m proud of all the ways that I’ve changed and grown—everything I’ve learned, accomplished, and surmounted—but I remain adamant that it’s the same me who has experienced all this. I’d never want to let go of that fixed stone in the center of my heart, the sense that there is an essence to my selfhood that has been there all along.

I’m relieved when Hannah tells me I don’t have to let go of the beauty of the grand narrative. She says there’s nothing misguided about feeling a profound sense of continuity across your life, so long as you recognize how powerfully it coexists with the possibility for change. Being ill forced me to pause and take care of myself in a way I never had before. I experienced the slowness of time in a new way, the terror of uncertainty. Some changes are more difficult than others, but there’s always a silver lining, even if you have to squint to make it out. Now, looking up at the sky, I sense the possibilities that are open to me—how much I’m in charge of how I respond to whatever happens, how much that “I” is of my own making.

Lately, I’ve been trying to consider Hannah’s insights in a more regular, everyday context. Neuroplasticity can generate major growth across a lifetime, but it can also help us make little changes to our daily habits and routines. It can make our careers more rewarding, our lives more vibrant and enriched. Here are a few ways I’ve been working on enhancing my growth mindset.

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Hannah Critchlow is an internationally-acclaimed neuroscientist with a background in neuropsychiatry. She is Fellow at Magdalene College, Cambridge University where she also conducted her PhD research. She is the author of three acclaimed books on neuroscience: Joined-Up Thinking (2022); The Science of Fate (2019); and Consciousness: A Ladybird Expert Book (2018). She regularly appears on TV and radio, most recently as Science Presenter in BBC series Family Brain Games with Dara ÓBriain. In 2019, Hannah was named one of Cambridge University’s “Rising Stars in Life Sciences,” and, in 2014, named a “Top 100 UK scientist” by the Science Council.

Jesse May Palmer is the creative director of the House of Beautiful Business. A multidisciplinary designer who specializes in experience design and world-building, she has spent the past decade refining her craft and shaping the visual language of leading brands. Hailing from South Africa and currently based in Berlin, Jesse has lived and worked around the world, with long stops in Portugal, the United Arab Emirates, and the U.S.. Her journey has fostered a deep exploration of the power of beauty within business.

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