Everyone’s brain works in its own mysterious way. I understand that so much more now that I have a kid in elementary school. Some things she understands quickly and others she struggles with. I wish I knew what was going on inside her head.

I never had any issues in school and would never consider myself neurodivergent. You’d think that after 41 years of living inside of my head, I would know how my brain works. Imagine my surprise when I realized that my brain isn’t as normal as I thought it was, not even close.

A few months ago, I was listening to a Radiolab episode about a rare neurological condition, when I realized “shit, they’re talking about me!” It’s like waking up one day and realizing that I’m colour-blind. You think I would have noticed that before!

The condition is called “aphantasia” and the podcast above is a highly entertaining and educational dive into how our imagination works (I highly recommend it). In short, having aphantasia means you can’t picture things in your mind. As with a lot of things, there’s a spectrum that ranges from people who see nothing to people who can create imaginary worlds so vivid that they get lost in them (hyperphantasia), but most people are somewhere in the middle. I’m in the extreme 1-4% who doesn’t see anything when I close my eyes and try to picture something, like a red apple.

This has led to a lot of interesting conversations and a lot of introspection over the past few months. Reasoning about how your brain works and then trying to explain that out loud is surprisingly hard. It’s been fun to hear other people try.

Here is my best attempt at self-introspection and writing down my brain’s inner workings. I don’t know how much of this is typical, how much is explained by aphantasia, and how much is just my brain being quirky.

• I can’t visualize things. In relaxation exercises, when the instructor says, “close your eyes and picture yourself on a beach,” I think of things on a beach like sand or waves, but I don’t actually see anything.
• I also can’t recall smells. If I try to remember what cinnamon smells like, I know it smells good and I associate it with certain foods, but I can’t trigger that smell in my brain by thinking about it.
• I can’t recall sounds. I remember the lyrics and melodies to songs, but it doesn’t sound like the original. Songs get stuck in my head all the time, but all I hear is my inner voice singing or humming along.
• I have a strong inner monologue. I’m constantly talking to myself in my head.
• My memory isn’t great, especially around details. Don’t ask me to remember a name, phone number, or random fact.
• I can digest concepts and ideas really well. I create mental abstractions of how things work and I learn very quickly.
• I often find myself in super productive flow states, where I block out all distractions.
• I struggle with Rubik’s Cubes and most spatial puzzles. I can’t picture something in my mind and rotate it.
• My dreams are vivid, like I’m in a movie or video game. I know when I’m starting to drift off because that’s when I start to see images in my mind. They often start simple and fleeting, but the more I fall asleep off the more detailed they get. I have limited control of these images.

I’m curious which of these people relate to and which sound completely alien.

Within my own family, my wife thinks she has visual aphantasia but doesn’t have the same problems as me recalling sounds or smells. My daughter has normal visual imagery, but might be neurodivergent in other ways (dyslexia).

Having aphantasia isn’t a huge limitation, it just is the reality that I live. I’ve clearly found ways to work around it. One of the more interesting parts of the Radiolab episode is the discussion about correcting aphantasia. Is this a disorder that can be “fixed”? Personally, I don’t think I would want that. Yes, I would love to close my eyes and picture the people I care about the most. That sounds amazing. But what would I lose if I didn’t have aphantasia? I have no idea how many of my strengths (my ability to work on complex coding problems, my compulsive drive to capture my memories through blogs and photos, or my ability to block out distractions and get into “the zone”) are the flip-side of my inability to mentally visualize. Why would I risk that?