April 2025

inspired by a bat, a brainwave, and a barely-remembered dream

Ever wondered what your brain is doing while you’re zoning out, sleeping, or intensely focused? Welcome to the mystical terrain of BATDG Waves — an iceberg-shaped map of the mind, dividing the conscious from the subconscious with just five letters.

Let’s break down the acronym: B.A.T.D.G.
Each letter stands for a different type of brainwave: Beta, Alpha, Theta, Delta, and Gamma (though Gamma isn’t in this visual, we’ll sneak it in later). These waves represent different frequencies of brain activity, each tied to a specific mental state.

The diagram (that charming bat isn’t just for show) shows an iceberg model — where the tip above water represents our conscious mind and the vast base hidden below is the subconscious. Like all good metaphors, it’s hiding more than it reveals.

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🧠 The BATDG Breakdown

B – Beta (14–20+ Hz)

• State: Alert, focused, logical thinking.
• Waveform: Fast and choppy.
• Location on iceberg: Tip-top. Conscious thought.
• When you’re here: You’re reading this blog, solving problems, attending meetings, overthinking dinner plans.

A – Alpha (7–14 Hz)

• State: Relaxed, meditative, light trance.
• Waveform: Smoother, slower.
• Location: Just below the surface.
• When you’re here: Meditating, daydreaming, right before you fall asleep or after you wake up.

T – Theta (4–7 Hz)

• State: Deep relaxation, creativity, emotional processing.
• Waveform: Slower and more flowing.
• Location: Deeper subconscious.
• When you’re here: In dreams, hypnosis, or those strange moments between sleep and wakefulness when you get your best ideas.

D – Delta (0–4 Hz)

• State: Deep, dreamless sleep.
• Waveform: Slowest and most powerful.
• Location: Bottom of the iceberg.
• When you’re here: Unconscious, but still processing and healing. Your brain is doing its night-shift cleanup.

(Optional G – Gamma, 30–100 Hz)

• State: Peak consciousness, integration, high-level cognition.
• Where is it?: It’s not on the chart, maybe because Gamma is less about levels and more about across levels. Think of it as the connective tissue of awareness.

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🧊 Why the Iceberg Matters

The drawing cleverly places Beta waves above water, in the conscious realm — the land of decisions, judgment, and stress. But the real power lies below: Alpha to Delta. This is where intuition, healing, imagination, and memory reside.

Ironically, the more we chase Beta states for productivity, the more we disconnect from the subconscious depths where creativity and insight live. BATDG reminds us: real transformation happens not by thinking harder, but by thinking less— by diving below the surface.

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🦇 One Bat to Rule Them All?

The bat in the top left corner? Possibly a metaphor for the night — or the mind navigating through dark, unseen territories. Bats use echolocation; perhaps that’s what we’re doing with these waves — pinging the void for answers.

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💡 Final Thought: The TPM Scale?

On the right, there’s an empty bar marked “TPM” — maybe “Thoughts Per Minute”? A subtle nudge: less isn’t lazy, it’s lucid.

The invitation here is clear: Don’t just live at the tip. Explore the rest of your mental iceberg.

There’s something deeply satisfying about starting a project. That rush of excitement. The blank canvas. The scribbled notes and the fresh folder on your desktop. A new beginning carries hope, possibility, and—let’s be honest—just the right amount of self-delusion.

But finishing? Finishing is hard. Finishing is messy. Finishing requires confrontation—with your taste, your talent, your time, and your own inconsistency.

That’s why the idea of a “Finish Up Weekend” feels both obvious and radical.

No clients.
No emails.
No doomscrolling.
Just you. And that thing you once promised yourself you’d finish.

Maybe it’s a half-written short story.
Maybe it’s the prototype for a side hustle.
Maybe it’s finally organizing that 600-tab Notion dashboard you thought would make you productive.

Whatever it is, it’s yours.

The brilliance of Finish Up Weekend isn’t just in the name. It’s in the permission it gives. To block the world out for 48 hours and focus entirely on something that matters to you, not your employer, your deadlines, or your notification drawer.

It’s also in the shared accountability. Knowing someone else is doing the same—hunkering down, closing loops, removing friction—adds a layer of quiet momentum. You don’t want to be the one who shows up Monday with excuses instead of a screenshot.

And in an age where starting new things is glorified and shipping them is rare, a ritual like this could be an antidote. A new micro-culture of finishers. People who don’t just ideate, but follow through.

Because there’s a different kind of joy in completing something.
Not perfect.
Not viral.
But done.

And done, as they say, is a gift to your future self.

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Have a half-done project tugging at your sleeve?
Pick a weekend. Grab a friend. Shut the noise.
Finish the damn thing.

What project would you bring to your own Finish Up Weekend?

We like to think we’re either good at something or not. Skilled or unskilled. Talented or talentless. But reality—like all things worth exploring—is layered.

The Four Stages of Competence is one of those deceptively simple models that packs a lifetime of wisdom into four steps. It doesn’t just describe how we learn a skill; it offers a lens into how we become the kind of person who is good at things. And more importantly, how we become blind to what we don’t know.

Let’s walk through each stage.

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1. Unconscious Incompetence

“You don’t know that you don’t know.”

This is where every beginner starts. It’s not just lack of skill—it’s lack of awareness that a skill even exists. The person who can’t swim and doesn’t think it’s a big deal. The executive who doesn’t realize emotional intelligence is a thing. The entrepreneur who thinks marketing is just posting on Instagram.

This is the most dangerous place to be—not because you’re unskilled, but because you’re unaware. It’s the Dunning-Kruger pit.

The antidote? Humility. Curiosity. Feedback loops.

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2. Conscious Incompetence

“You know that you don’t know.”

Now the lightbulb flickers. You attend a workshop, watch someone code, or try to cook a simple meal… and realize how much you suck. This is when awareness kicks in—and with it, discomfort.

It’s also the most fertile stage for growth. But many people quit here. The pain of realizing your incompetence is too much for the ego.

The people who stay are the ones who learn. Because now, finally, you’re teachable.

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3. Conscious Competence

“You know that you know.”

This is the awkward adolescent stage of mastery. You’ve learned the skill. You can do it. But it takes effort. It’s slow. You’re mentally ticking boxes as you go.

This is the language learner who can hold a conversation—but only if they mentally translate each word. The developer who can write decent code—but needs to double-check syntax.

You’re capable, but not fluid.

Deliberate practice lives here. So does repetition, coaching, and process. This is where you build the muscle memory required to level up.

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4. Unconscious Competence

“You don’t know that you know.”

Welcome to the flow state.

You’re not thinking about your skill. You are the skill. The pianist doesn’t think about scales. The speaker doesn’t rehearse sentence structure mid-talk. The coder doesn’t Google “for loop syntax” anymore.

You are competent without conscious effort.

But here’s the twist: this stage can make you a bad teacher. Because you’ve forgotten what it’s like to not know.

That’s why the best coaches often hang out in stage 3—they’re good enough to perform, but still close enough to the struggle to explain it.

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The Climb Never Ends

Here’s the punchline: every time you start something new, you go back to stage 1. The ladder resets. You might be a master chef, but if you start writing fiction, you’re back at “unconscious incompetence.” That’s the deal.

The goal isn’t to get stuck at the top, nor to avoid the bottom. The goal is to climb, again and again, with grace.

Because awareness isn’t just about skill—it’s about who we are when we don’t know.

And that’s where growth begins.

Here’s something you probably didn’t wake up worrying about today:
Soap bars.

Specifically, those tiny hotel soap bars, no bigger than a credit card, wrapped in enough plastic to survive a nuclear event.

You know the ones. You check into your room, maybe after a long flight. You find a neat little bar sitting on the sink like a soldier awaiting orders. You tear it open, give it a quick lather, and… that’s it.
One use.
Maybe two if you’re disciplined.
And then?
Straight to the trash.

Here’s the thing:
The manufacturers know.
They know that 90% of that soap’s life will be spent sitting there, slowly drying out, or being tossed half-used into a bin. Yet they still dutifully design, produce, and distribute millions of them every year.

It’s not incompetence. It’s not carelessness. It’s designing for discard.

The point was never that the soap bar would be fully used.
The point was that it would be available.
There. Present. Making you feel cared for. Hygienic. Safe. Even if you barely touch it.

In product development, there’s a hidden lesson here:
Sometimes the function of a product is not what you think.

The soap bar isn’t just a cleanser.
It’s a signal.
It tells you, “We thought about you.”
Even if you don’t finish it, even if you barely use it, the soap served its real purpose the moment you saw it.

It’s the same reason most car owners have spare tires they’ve never touched.
Or why high-end gadgets ship with velvet bags no one ever uses.
Or why luxury brands sell handbags so delicate you’d be insane to actually carry them daily.

Utility isn’t always the goal.
Sometimes it’s reassurance. Status. Presence. A little nudge to your limbic system that says: you made a good choice.

The tragedy, of course, is that the soap bar, unlike the spare tire or velvet bag, is actually useful.
In a better world, maybe we’d have a communal soap jar that refills itself like magic. (Or a tiny “hotel soap seed” you plant in water to grow a full bar overnight.)

But for now, the poor travel soap will continue its short, tragic life: born in a factory, flown across oceans, briefly admired, hastily unwrapped, used once, and abandoned forever.

A reminder that in product development — and maybe in life — it’s good to ask:
Am I building something to be used…
or just something to be seen?

And more importantly:
Would I want to be the soap bar?

Why Shadow Integration Is the Most Important Work You’ll Ever Do

There’s a quiet force steering your life. You don’t hear it. You don’t name it. But it’s running the show.

Carl Jung called it the shadow—a storehouse of everything you’ve rejected, repressed, denied, or disowned about yourself.

Not just the “bad” stuff.
Not just the violent urges or inappropriate desires.
But also the raw power you were told was “too much.” The tears you swallowed. The laughter you muted. The dreams you shelved.

And here’s the truth no one tells you:
What you bury doesn’t die. It takes the wheel.

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The Mirror Is Always On

Ever wonder why certain people get under your skin?

It’s probably not about them.
It’s about you.

• You get angry at someone for being arrogant—but it’s your own suppressed need to stand tall.
• You roll your eyes at someone’s selfishness—while quietly resenting that you never put yourself first.
• You mock someone for being “too emotional”—because you learned that vulnerability equals weakness.

This is projection.
Your unconscious pushes your disowned traits onto others.
You turn them into villains so you can keep your mask clean.

But here’s the real kicker:
The world is not full of monsters.
You’re just haunted by your reflection.

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The Shadow is Not the Enemy

Most people treat the shadow like toxic waste.

Lock it up. Throw it out. Pretend it’s not there.

But Jung didn’t see it that way. He saw it as your unlived life.
A psychic basement filled with both your darkness and your dormant power.

That rage? It could become clarity.
That envy? Fuel for growth.
That shame? A map to your unmet needs.

The shadow isn’t there to destroy you.
It’s there to complete you.

But only if you have the guts to face it.

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Integration Over Exorcism

This is the part no Instagram reel tells you:
They’ll call it healing.
It’s not.
It’s reckoning.

You don’t “cure” your shadow. You confront it.
You don’t banish it. You integrate it.

Let’s say you’re the peacemaker, the “nice one.” But you keep erupting over small things. That’s not random. That’s your ignored anger banging on the walls of your psyche.

Or maybe you give until you’re empty—then resent everyone. That’s not sainthood. That’s self-erasure.

Integration is not indulgence. It’s ownership.

You look your darkness in the eye.
You name it.
You stop running from yourself.

And something radical happens.

You stop needing others to behave a certain way to keep you safe from your own emotions.

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What Happens If You Don’t

The shadow you ignore doesn’t fade.
It festers.
It metastasizes.

Eventually, you become the very thing you claim to hate.

• You condemn arrogance while quietly chasing validation.
• You virtue-signal generosity while manipulating others with guilt.
• You crusade against toxicity while quietly poisoning your own relationships.

Jung warned:

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

And that’s how “good” people become bitter, performative, and dangerous—first to others, then to themselves.

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The Cost of Growth (and the Reward)

Shadow work is not a vibe. It’s a blood sport.

You’ll face your shame.
You’ll admit things you swore were “not you.”
You’ll see how much of your life was built to protect a self-image you never chose, just inherited.

But if you stay in the fire long enough…

You get your life back.

You reclaim:

• The voice you muted
• The anger that could’ve set boundaries
• The envy that pointed to forgotten dreams
• The sensuality, courage, clarity you were told to shut down

You stop being a curated version of yourself.
You become real.
And real is magnetic.

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You Can’t Do This Alone

Start alone, sure. But don’t try to finish alone.

Some shadows are too slippery to catch without a mirror.
That mirror can be a therapist, a coach, or someone trained to see what you can’t.

This isn’t about being “fixed.”
It’s about getting honest.

A good therapist won’t tell you who you are.
They’ll ask the question you’ve been avoiding.
And sit with you in the silence after the answer.

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What Happens After

When the shadow is integrated, everything changes.

You stop flinching at feedback.
You stop playing emotional ping-pong with your triggers.
You stop making other people responsible for your peace.

You become…

• Less reactive
• More discerning
• More grounded
• Less easily manipulated

You don’t need the world to coddle you anymore.
You’ve met your darkness—and lived to tell the story.

And here’s the twist:

People feel it.

Some are drawn closer. They feel your authenticity.
Some pull away. You’ve stopped playing their game.

Either way, you’re free.

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Final Word

This isn’t about becoming perfect.
It’s about becoming whole.

There is no peace while you’re at war with yourself.
And no freedom without truth.

The shadow will run your life—until you choose to run toward it.

You don’t have to stay fragmented.
You don’t have to stay exhausted.
You don’t have to stay small.

But you do have to choose.

So here’s the question:
What part of you are you still afraid to meet?

(Source mentioned at end of post)

Have you ever had that persistent, silent feeling that you are wasting your life?

No matter how hard you try to keep yourself busy—surrounded by people, goals, obligations—deep down it feels like something essential is missing. As if you are merely existing, not truly living.

Perhaps you’ve tried to explain this as anxiety.
Maybe a doctor has called it depression.
And perhaps they prescribed something to silence that discomfort—a pill in the morning, another at night.
And time goes by, numbing what you should be urgently listening to.

But what if I told you this suffering is not a mistake?
What if I told you it is not something to be suppressed—but rather, a calling?

Carl Gustaf Jung—one of the greatest names in depth psychology—believed that what we call mental disorder is often not a pathology. It is an attempt by the psyche to heal itself. A warning that your life, as it is, does not serve your soul.

You may be living a routine that was imposed on you—a job that consumes you, relationships that drain your energy, dreams that aren’t even yours. Meanwhile…

Your essence screams for freedom.
But no one taught you to listen to that scream.
On the contrary, they taught you to silence it—to function, to adapt, to not disturb.
And so, you become ill in silence while the world applauds your productivity.

This is where Jung comes in.

For him, healing does not come from denial, but from diving in. It is not about masking the symptoms, but about understanding what they are trying to say. Because in Jung’s own words:

“Neurosis is always a substitute for legitimate suffering.”

In other words, you are sick because you are running away from the pain you need to feel in order to transform your life.

As long as you keep running, you will keep suffering.

This post is not for those who want distraction. It is for those who are tired of pretending—for those who feel they are sinking, but still hold a spark of hope that there is a way.

And there is.
But it starts with a brutal decision:
To stop running, and start listening.

Listening to yourself.
Listening to the unconscious.
Listening to the pain you tried to silence with medication, with addictions, with routines.

If you’ve made it this far, you may have already realized:
The emptiness you feel is not weakness.
It is the absence of yourself in your own life.

And it is time to change that.

You’ve been feeling sad—for days, weeks, maybe months.
You go to the doctor. He listens to you for 15 minutes—if he listens at all.
You talk about insomnia, anxiety, the tightness in your chest that appears for no reason, the constant feeling of being out of place, disconnected from your own existence.

He nods. Types a few words on the computer.
And then comes the verdict: “It’s anxiety. Let’s start with this medication.”
Done.

In a few days or weeks, your pain has been reduced to a “chemical imbalance.”
And what was once an existential cry becomes a number on a prescription label.

What no one tells you is that this type of treatment is not interested in your soul.
It is interested in your functionality.

The logic is simple:
You need to keep working.
Keep consuming.
Keep producing.
Keep the gears of the system turning.

The medication allows you to endure the unbearable.
And that’s why it is offered as a definitive solution.

But this solution, as Jung said, is a trap.

Jung believed that most modern neurosis does not arise from an internal failure of the brain, but from the disconnection between the life we lead and the life we should be living.

When you ignore your vocation, your most authentic impulses, your inner truths—the soul begins to sicken. And since it has no literal voice, it speaks through the body and mind:
Anxiety.
Panic attacks.
Hopelessness.

But instead of listening, we are trained to silence it.
To neutralize any discomfort with chemicals.
To return to “normal” as quickly as possible.

But what is this “normal”?

A job you hate but can’t quit.
Superficial relationships that serve to maintain appearances.
Empty goals.
Mechanical routines.
And a constant feeling that you are surviving instead of living.

The anxiety you feel is not a failure.
It is your soul telling you:

“This life is not yours. You are betraying me.”

And if you ignore this for too long, the body starts to scream louder.

But the system is always ready—with a new dose, a new label, a new sedative.
And the more you adapt to this model, the further you distance yourself from yourself—until you feel nothing anymore.

Neither pain.
Nor pleasure.
Just this chronic numbness they call “adult life.”

Carl Jung warned that by medicating the symptom without understanding its root, we create an illusion of healing.
The person improves on the outside, but inside remains lost.

And in the long run, this division—between what is felt and what is lived—generates an even greater collapse.

Because there is no way to escape the soul forever.
It will demand its price—whether in the form of burnout, emotional collapses, or through an emptiness that nothing, absolutely nothing, can fill.

This mass medicalization is a reflection of something deeper:
A culture that does not know how to deal with suffering.
That fears pain—because it has lost the sense of its transformative value.

For Jung, suffering was necessary.
It was the beginning of the journey.
It was the call to individuation.

But in modern society, any discomfort is labeled as pathological.
And by fleeing from suffering, we also flee from the chance to become who we should be.

Source – Credit to Psyphoria for their amazing video production with this fantastic script, link. The passage has been reproduced verbatim from the script of the video. While modifying the language was possible, preserving the original essence of the video and its words felt more important. All credits and copyrights belong to the original author.

How to manage motivation, distraction, and the myth of obsessive focus.

The brain isn’t built for clarity.
It’s built for survival. For pattern-matching. For saving energy.

Which means most of the time, the brain behaves like a tired bureaucrat — sluggish, addicted to shortcuts, and content with checking boxes that look like work without producing anything of real value.

Add ADHD, poor sleep, or even just overstimulation — and this bureaucrat becomes a saboteur.

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1. The mind is a prediction machine, not a truth engine.

Thoughts are not instructions.
They’re noise. Often shaped by hormones, distractions, unprocessed inputs, and social programming.

Sleep-deprived brains spin into self-doubt. Overstimulated brains become emotionally erratic.
The modern world constantly feeds this — with its infinite scrolls, urgent notifications, and dopamine-on-demand platforms.

And in this environment, “focus” becomes less about discipline and more about resistance training.

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2. Inconsistency + Circular Work = Burnout

Two patterns quietly wreck momentum:

• Inconsistency: Starting things without finishing.
• Circular Work: Tasks that feel like progress but lead nowhere.

Picture this:
A person puts real effort into solving a problem adjacent to the main task. It’s noticed. Appreciated even. But then comes the response:
“Let’s first wrap up the existing work. We’ll pick this up later.”
That moment — of being seen but sidelined — kills momentum.

When feedback loops are delayed or disconnected, people stop shipping.

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3. Obsessive focus is overrated.

“Go all in” sounds heroic, but tunnel vision is rarely strategic.

Spending an entire day obsessing over one piece of work — especially if it’s low-leverage — leads to burnout, blind spots, and decision fatigue.

Over-optimization on one front leads to underperformance on others.
Creative and cognitive systems thrive on cross-pollination, not isolation.

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4. Sisyphus and Side Projects

Albert Camus reframed the myth of Sisyphus — doomed to roll a boulder up a hill forever — as a metaphor for meaning.

Most impactful work feels repetitive. Progress is invisible. Appreciation is delayed.
And yet, the act of pushing — of showing up — matters.

But here’s the twist:
To prevent burnout, introduce side projects. Not as escapes, but as mental counterweights.

Never do only one thing obsessively in a day.

Shifting gears refreshes perspective.
Returning to the main task with a cleaner lens often makes it better — and lighter.

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5. Tools That Help

• Pomodoro: Forces the brain into structured sprints.
• Medication (if needed): Neurodivergence is not a moral failing.
• Content as nourishment: Curate, don’t binge.
• Sleep: The real productivity hack.

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In conclusion:

The modern mind doesn’t need more willpower.
It needs better architecture.

It doesn’t need total silence.
It needs cleaner signals.

And it doesn’t need the world to clap.
Just a rhythm it can return to.

Push the boulder. Then rest. Then push again.