Skip to main content

The Fallacy of Intuition

Image
By
Some time ago, I wrote about intuition, and since then, several people have reached out to say they consider themselves highly intuitive — attuned to subtle details and able to anticipate events. Yet, through deeper conversations, I came to realise that, in many cases, this was not intuition but hypervigilance — a symptom of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD). This ever-present sense of risk is not a gift but an unconscious defence mechanism, developed over time to navigate unstable environments.

When a person grows up or lives under sustained stress, fear, or unpredictable relationships, the brain adapts by scanning relentlessly for danger. The slightest shift in tone, a fleeting gesture, or an unexpected silence can be read as an omen, as though something is always on the verge of going wrong. But this is not foresight — it is the past intruding on the present, old threats projected onto new situations. The trouble is, this state of perpetual vigilance does not offer protection — it merely exhausts the nervous system, fuelling anxiety, insomnia, and emotional depletion.

To restore balance to this overstimulated response, acupuncture can be a valuable ally. Research shows that it lowers cortisol, the stress hormone, while stimulating neurotransmitters that promote relaxation and overall well-being. Beyond improving sleep and easing anxiety, acupuncture helps regulate the nervous system, making a person less reactive to past triggers and more grounded in the present moment.

If what feels like intuition brings more tension than clarity, it may be time to look at it more closely. Questioning these sensations and seeking support could be the first step towards a calmer existence — one where silence is not a threat, nor absence a wound. And with the aid of acupuncture, it is possible to restore inner equilibrium, allowing trust to take the place of fear and security to no longer be contingent on constant vigilance.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

On Loyalty and the Quiet Companionship of Pippen

By
I have a cosmopolitan friend who, by the mercy of chance — that discreet and impartial arbiter of destinies — was born in Serbia. Industrious beyond measure, he treats work not merely as obligation but as a quiet philosophy, a means of aligning oneself with the silent order of things. And he is a companion of a rare kind: steadfast, discerning, and, above all, loyal. His name is Pippen. We first crossed paths in the now-vanished days of Google+ — that fleeting agora where, for a moment, the world’s geeks entertained the gentle delusion that they might, in time, inherit the Earth. It was an age of bright aspiration, tinged with naïveté, yet marked by a peculiar fellowship that transcended all borders and conventions. Among Pippen’s many virtues, loyalty stands pre-eminent. Not the clamorous, performative loyalty so fashionable in this restless age, but the quieter, unwavering kind — the loyalty of one who stays. It is revealed not in grand gestures but in small, consistent a...
Post a Comment
Read more

Subtle Daily Happiness

By
Happiness is a landscape hidden in the details. It does not arrive with trumpets, but in whispers: a ray of sunlight slipping through the window, the scent of morning coffee, the hush before a burst of laughter. We live in an age that mistakes happiness for grandeur, as if it depended on spectacular achievements or material possessions. Yet, its essence lies in the opposite—in the ability to notice what is already there, nearly invisible, yet full of meaning. There is an irony in this. While we chase ambitious goals—promotions, travels, recognition—we overlook what the philosopher Epicurus called “simple pleasures”: a conversation with a friend, the joy of an unhurried meal, the quiet sense of belonging when watching the sunset. Neuroscience reinforces this idea: small moments of connection or contemplation trigger neurotransmitters like serotonin and dopamine, responsible for our sense of well-being. Happiness, then, is not a destination, but a way of walking. Part of its subtlety l...
Post a Comment
Read more

Ten Voices, One Silence

By
There were ten of them — though at times they spoke as one murmuring voice, and at others, like ten distinct silences, each fractured differently by the strain of being. They were not chosen as idols for a shelf, nor as exhibits in some canonical museum. Rather, they happened to me — each arriving, unbidden, during the long, luminous solitude of study. They were not so much read as endured, not so much admired as absorbed. What they gave me was not knowledge, but permission — to question, to unravel, to dwell within the unsayable. Sophocles carved fate into stone. He gave suffering a chorus and lent blindness a voice. In his tragedies, destiny is not an event but a law — impersonal, inescapable. His characters do not fall because they err, but because they exist. He was the architect of inevitability. Through him, I grasped that form can contain anguish without flinching. Dante Alighieri descended, and rose again. His Divine Comedy traced the arc of the soul with a pilgrim’...
Post a Comment
Read more