We all have inner worlds, beautifully expanding and painfully contracting, with the ego acting as a thin filter that lets certain parts of us move outward while keeping the rest inside. Around us stretches a vast external world, and we are constantly choosing what we allow in and what we release.

For some, the filter is so porous they barely notice their lives taking shape around them. For others, the filter is so strong that the outside world registers as pressure, even pain, felt deeply and constantly. And then there are those who seem to arrive already sealed off, largely untouched by what surrounds them, moving through the world with remarkable insulation.

That filter shifts over time. It responds to stress and safety, to hormones and power, to age and context, always in service of survival. A person can move between these states across a lifetime, sometimes within a single day.

Pay close enough attention, and the inner world starts to feel theatrical. Mine certainly did that day.

I was walking to meet someone I would never choose as a friend. While climbing the stairs, I was already running the encounter in my head, unfiltered and fully me, right at the end of my cycle.

“Hi, how are you?” he asks, politely.

“Oh hi. Late luteal, you know. Progesterone dropping, taking its calming effects with it. Estrogen at the bottom, energy gone, patience thinning, everything registering louder than usual. Breasts swelling, body feeling heavy and inward, tolerance for bullshit close to zero. Time and space feel precious. So choose your words carefully today. Clarity would be appreciated, I am operating on a very selective bandwidth,” I respond, internally.

“Oh. Okay. I don’t know what to say,” he concludes, still in my head.

“Of course you don’t,” the monologue continues, almost indulgently. “You know very little about women, even though you once lived inside one for nine months. You were raised within a script that made the world feel readable early on. Confidence arrived before curiosity, and still the insecurity runs surprisingly deep. You became fluent in systems that already knew how to receive you. You dress like everyone around you because there was little pressure to develop a distinct taste. Even your shoes reflect that comfort. You walk through rooms that already make sense. Silence feels natural there. Words tend to arrive ready-made.”

Then I reach the destination, open the door, and hear:

“Hi, how are you?”

Somewhere between the stairs and the door, the filter did its work. The entire inner rant stayed inside. Hormones, irritation, sharp judgments, the urge to say something honest and inconvenient all curled back in. What made it through was a version of me that could function in the room.

I closed the door and everything I thought compressed into:

“Great.”

That moment means more than it looks. What people don’t see is the constant micro-editing underneath it. I translate inner volatility into something the situation can hold. Entire conversations play out and disappear before anyone else hears a word. The filter never really switches off. It adjusts to timing and context. Some days it feels light. Other days it holds tight.

Inner worlds stay invisible through a skill that builds over time. You practice it without really noticing, learning what to hold back and what to let through. The inner world stays vast and alive beneath the surface, even as only a small, carefully polished fragment ever makes it out.

ADRIANA

BODEM is a fantastic Dutch series that captures Cat’s inner world with striking precision, sometimes in ways that feel almost explosive, making visible what usually stays contained. Eva Crutzen, who directs the series and plays Cat herself, is clearly the driving force behind it and fully deserves the recognition the series received.

In this scene, Cat dances at a party, fully inside her own head, seeing herself as the main character while the rest of the room slowly fades out. Mijn rol is een bril. My role is a lens. For a moment, the filter loosens. Ik ben vrij. Ik ben thuis. I am free. I am home.

Then the music breaks, the room comes back into focus, and the world gently but firmly pulls her back in. The moment closes. Ga naar huis. Go home.

This is by far my favourite series I’ve ever watched 🤍