Reflections in the Mirror: How Helping Others Illuminates Our Own Path

Reflections in the Mirror: How Helping Others Illuminates Our Own Path

The brain can absorb a vast amount of information through its trillions of synapses. However, when flooded with a mix of data, processing and organizing this information into different memory compartments is part of its superpower. But if something hasn’t been stored in our memory, recalling it becomes almost impossible. That’s why the faintest pen can sometimes be more powerful than the strongest memory—it allows us to process and retain what the mind alone might let slip away.

When faced with logical problems like math puzzles, our ability to solve them depends on the brain’s exposure to a myriad of data and experiences. The more we feed the brain, the stronger its network of interconnected thoughts becomes, allowing it to draw upon its rich resources when solving these logical challenges. Still, for most people, tackling such issues purely from memory can be a tall order. That’s where external aids—like writing things down or consulting outside sources—come in, bridging the gap between what we know and what we need to know.

This, in a nutshell, addresses intellectual challenges.

How about the knots tied in our hearts—those emotional tangles?

Emotional challenges are another kettle of fish. Unlike intellectual issues, they’re not easily resolved by logic or formula. Often, those who have walked through the fire of tough emotional experiences and come out on the other side—therapists—are the ones best equipped to guide others. In therapy, a subject works hand in hand with the therapist, who combines their own life journey with professional expertise to see through the challenges from both sides. It’s a powerful process: two heads, or rather two hearts, working together to unravel the problem.

Interestingly, therapists themselves might not have needed therapy to resolve their own struggles.

So how does solving others’ problems end up helping us solve ours?

Emotional issues are like puzzles. On one hand, we dig for the roots of our challenges. On the other hand, we wrestle with behaviors that sprout from them. To solve these issues, helping others can be the key. Humanity, at its core, is interdependent. No one can see their own back without a mirror, and even our faces are hidden from us without a reflection. The way we see ourselves is not always how the world sees us. All of this points to the fact that we are woven into each other’s lives.

Moreover, emotional issues touch everyone, unlike certain logical or intellectual problems that might only affect a few. An emotional storm in a far-off corner of the world can ripple across oceans and touch lives thousands of miles away. Every action driven by these emotions, big or small, shapes the world around us.

The first step is to identify our own issues. If we can’t name the problem, we’ll keep dancing to the same old tune, repeating actions that only make the problem bigger. But when we spot it—like turning on a light in a dark room—we can roll up our sleeves and help others facing the same challenge. And as we do, our own issues shrink from giants to ants, until they quietly slip away.

This, in essence, is the magic of this pathway.

All so-called problems and challenges are really just opportunities in disguise. The one who feels hopelessly suicidal could, in fact, be the one best suited to breathe life not only into themselves but into others, too. The one who feels bitter and angry at life’s unfair twists might actually have the makings of a master at navigating life’s hurdles. It’s all about perspective—a perspective that only an emotional journey can reveal.

On helping others and not receiving help.

Helping others has a special kind of magic. It often circles back to us in ways we might not expect. Yet, there’s a catch: how we see ourselves is rarely how the world sees us. Someone might think they’re poor because they lack the flashy things of the wealthy, but the world might see them as rich in other ways. If this person helps others, the kind of help they receive might be more than they can even imagine—yet, they might not recognize it because of their poor mindset. They might even think helping others doesn’t invite help in return. The secret? Knowing who you truly are and embracing it fully.

A first-year student might find it odd to help an emeritus professor with new academic material. But the professor sees himself as a lifelong student, always learning. The student, not yet seeing themselves as part of this journey, might miss this opportunity. Most unsolved issues remain so not because answers don’t exist, but because identities remain hidden. Logical or mathematical solutions might not directly solve a psychologist’s search for answers to attention-deficit disorders. That doesn’t mean those logical solutions don’t hold their own truths—they’re just for a different puzzle.

Why science isn’t averse to anything on earth.

Reason is the proof of science, faith is the proof of religion, and logic is the proof of philosophy. These three—science, religion, and philosophy—aren’t enemies. They’re different lenses through which we see the world. Science is about the visible and measurable. Religion dances with the supernatural. Philosophy peers into what we can observe and think about. Often, people specialize in just one, losing sight of how they can work together like a well-oiled machine.

Some scientists claim that if something religious or philosophical can’t be reasoned out, it’s false. Some religious folks say if something can’t be backed by faith, it isn’t real. I prefer to see it this way: religious experiences are real for the faithful, just as scientific observations are real for the scientists, and philosophical ideas are real for those who ponder deeply. Science weighs what can be seen; religion finds strength in what can’t. And philosophers? They’re the bridge, connecting the dots of what is seen and what is felt.

Two simple yet striking examples: Walking on ice is something many have experienced, whether in Antarctica, the Americas, or any place where snow transforms the landscape. In those snow-laden moments, one can easily stride across the ice, and sometimes it’s so thick. In a sense, walking on ice is like walking on water, as ice is merely water wearing a frozen coat.

Contrast this with the biblical story of Jesus walking on water. Some quick to reason might ask: what kind of water was that? The Sea of Galilee, they’d find out. Then they might wonder: did it ever freeze over, like the icy rivers of Antarctica or North America, turning solid underfoot?

From a scientific angle, the parting of the Red Sea might have been aided by the fierce desert winds that responded to Moses’s call, opening a path where water once ruled, only to rush back when he bid them retreat. 

These are stories that still speak of man’s dominion over land and sea, even if the sea proves more challenging to master than the land.

These are equally observable, natural events that science confidently vouches for.

Science says what we can see matters most, while faith insists the unseen shapes the seen, and philosophy watches it all unfold. In snowy lands, walking on ice is as easy as treading dry ground. Walking on water, though? That’s not a human feat, no more than swimming on land would be.

Knowledge itself is limitless. Scientists bask in the glow of reason, celebrating intelligence and the wonders of the mind. The faithful find solace in belief that bends even the toughest realities. The philosophers? They’re content to find the profound in what they can see and think about.

By weaving together what we know, believe, and can reason, we can turn every challenge into a stepping stone. By helping others, we find the answers to our own questions. By lending a hand, we hold a mirror up to our own souls, seeing our truest selves more clearly than before.