Michelle: Research suggests nearly 5% of Americans have a history of trauma severe enough to split their consciousness. That's one in twenty people. The person next to you in line for coffee might not be who you think they are. In fact, they might not even know who they are. Mark: Whoa, hold on. One in twenty? That's a staggering number. That can't be right. Are we talking about a full-blown clinical disorder for that many people? Michelle: It's a shocking statistic, and it gets to the heart of what we're exploring today from the book The Myth of Sanity by Dr. Martha Stout. And what's incredible is that Stout isn't some fringe theorist; she's a clinical psychologist who taught at Harvard Medical School for over 25 years and trained at the world-famous McLean Psychiatric Hospital. She wrote this book based on her work with the most severe trauma survivors, people many other therapists would turn away. Mark: Okay, with that background, I'm listening. So what does she mean by the 'myth of sanity'? Is she saying we're all walking around 'insane' and just don't know it?

Michelle: That's the provocative question, isn't it? Stout's argument is that our definition of sanity is flawed. We don't judge it based on whether someone is truly in touch with reality. We judge it based on whether they are predictable and their behavior is acceptable. Mark: That makes a weird kind of sense. We want people to be consistent. If my friend suddenly acts completely out of character, it's unsettling. I'd probably try to find a reason for it, like, 'Oh, he's just stressed from work.' Michelle: Exactly. And Stout says we all use a mild form of this mental departure, or dissociation, all the time. Think about going to a movie. You intentionally set aside your awareness of the theater, your job, your worries, and you immerse yourself in the world on the screen. You are, for two hours, willingly dissociated. It’s a tool. Mark: Right, I get that. It's like zoning out or getting lost in a good book. But that feels like a huge leap from enjoying a movie to what you were talking about, a split consciousness. Michelle: It is, but Stout argues it’s a spectrum. On one end, you have the moviegoer. But let's move along that spectrum. She tells the story of a man named Matthew. To his friends, he's a successful, intelligent guy, but he has this habit they call his 'space-cadet routine.' In the middle of a conversation, he'll just... check out. His eyes glaze over, and he's gone. Mark: I think I know people like that. You just assume they're absentminded or not paying attention. Michelle: And that's the 'myth' in action. We create a label—'absentminded professor'—to make his behavior consistent. But the reality is much deeper. Matthew grew up in a home with a rageful, dish-throwing mother. As a child, the only way to survive the terror of those moments was to mentally 'leave.' Now, as an adult, any time he feels a hint of conflict, especially with his wife, his brain automatically hits the eject button. It's a survival strategy that's become a reflex. Mark: Wow. So his wife thinks he's ignoring her or being dismissive, but he's actually, in a way, a nine-year-old boy hiding in his mind from his mother. That’s heartbreaking. Michelle: It is. And it shows how this 'normal' coping mechanism, when born from trauma, can become a hidden force that shapes our entire lives and relationships, all while everyone around us, including ourselves, pretends it's just a personality quirk.

Mark: That idea of a reflex is powerful. It's not a choice. But for Matthew, it's still just moments of zoning out. The book goes further, right? Into something much more extreme. Michelle: It does. For some, that fracture isn't a crack; it's a chasm. This brings us to the most haunting parts of the book, where we see how trauma can literally create different realities within one person. Mark: This is the 'woke up Tuesday, it was Friday' part, isn't it? I read that quote in the summary. Tell me about Julia. Her story sounds unbelievable. Michelle: Julia is a brilliant, successful documentary filmmaker. When she comes to Dr. Stout for therapy, it's after several serious suicide attempts. On the surface, she's articulate and accomplished. But she has almost no memory of her life before the age of twenty. She just assumed that was normal. Mark: Assumed it was normal to not remember your childhood? How? Michelle: Because that was her only reality. Stout explains that severe trauma changes the brain. It prevents memories from being stored as a coherent story. Instead, they become what she calls 'wordless, placeless, and eternal' fragments of emotion, image, and sensation. A broken alarm that can go off at any time. For Julia, most of her life was sealed away behind a wall of amnesia. Mark: And the title of that chapter, "When I Woke Up Tuesday Morning, It Was Friday." That actually happened? Michelle: Yes. She would experience fugue states, losing entire chunks of time. She'd be performing complex tasks, living her life, but 'Julia' wasn't there. Another part of her was. The most terrifying illustration of this was when her appendix ruptured. Mark: Oh no. Michelle: Her assistant noticed she looked deathly pale. Julia just said her stomach was a little upset. Then she collapsed. She was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. She had felt no pain. Her mind's defense mechanism, her dissociation from her own body, was so complete that it almost killed her. Mark: That is beyond terrifying. The idea that your mind could hide a fatal physical event from you... I can't wrap my head around that. And what about the 'alters'? The different personalities? Michelle: During hypnosis, they started to emerge. A five-year-old child state she called 'Amelia,' who held the memories of the abuse. And another one named 'Kate,' a cynical, tough protector. Stout is clear: these weren't just moods. They were distinct, dissociated ego states, each created to hold a piece of her unbearable trauma so that another part of her could survive and function.

Mark: Okay, so if someone's mind is this fractured, with different 'people' inside who hold different memories and emotions, how can they ever get better? Who is even in charge to make the decision to heal? Michelle: This is Stout's most challenging and, I think, most hopeful point. She argues that recovery hinges on a radical sense of personal responsibility. And this is where the book became quite polarizing for some readers. Mark: I can see why. That feels controversial. If an alter that you don't consciously control does something, how can you be held responsible? It sounds a lot like victim-blaming if you're not careful. Michelle: It's a fine line, but Stout frames it as empowerment, not blame. She illustrates it with the incredible case of Garrett, a man with profound DID stemming from a nightmarish, abusive childhood. He had multiple, distinct alters. Stout asks him a direct question: If one of your personalities, one you don't remember, commits a crime, who is responsible? Mark: What did he say? Michelle: Without a moment's hesitation, Garrett says, "I am." He understood that all of these fragmented parts, even the angry or destructive ones, were still part of his whole self. He was the CEO of the entire system, and he had to be accountable for all of it. Mark: That's an incredible amount of self-awareness and strength. Michelle: It's everything. Stout contrasts his case with other patients who remain stuck. Those who define themselves solely as victims, who see their alters as completely separate entities, they tend not to recover. For Stout, the choice to take ownership of the entire, messy, fractured self—that is the heroic act. That is what allows for integration and healing. It’s the decision to stop being a collection of pieces and start building a life.

Mark: So, the book is really saying that 'sanity' isn't about being perfect or having no scars. It's the conscious, incredibly difficult work of piecing our fragmented selves back together into a coherent story that we can actually own. Michelle: Exactly. It’s not about being unbroken; it's about the promise of awareness. The book is filled with these profound quotes, but one that really captures it is, "That awareness is life-giving, that dissociation and numbness are lethal, is a lesson the recovered survivor has learned down to his or her bones." The goal is to be able to live substantially in the present. Mark: It's a powerful and deeply compassionate perspective. It makes you look at people differently. It also makes you wonder... what little dissociations do we all use to get through the day, and what parts of our own lives are we not fully present for? Michelle: A question for all of us to ponder. This is Aibrary, signing off.