Neuropsychology

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Compassion isn’t a scented candle. It’s the gut-punch you feel when someone else is getting steam rolled by life and the decision to step in anyway. Sympathy + action. Feel it, then do something. Not performative, not “thoughts and prayers,” just… work.

Here’s the short version for people with brain fog, children, or executives:

It bonds humans. People trust you more when you show up without the moral spreadsheet.

It stabilises brains. Kindness lowers stress hormones. Shocking, I know.

It’s contagious. One good act, three copycats, and suddenly the place doesn’t feel like a bus station at 2 a.m.

It grows empathy. You get better at reading rooms and souls. Useful for everything from friendships to not starting wars.

It fixes small things so big things break less. Compassion is social WD-40.

It grows you. Emotional intelligence isn’t woo; it’s a toolkit.

Why people dodge compassion (and how to not)

“It makes me look weak.” Strength isn’t armour; it’s range. You can lift a friend and still lift your own life. “I’ll be used.” Boundaries are part of compassion. “No” is not a betrayal; it’s maintenance. “It’s too much.” Then scale it. Listen for five minutes. Share a link. Sit quietly. Not every fire needs your lungs. “It’s naive.” Spare me. The data’s in: teams with psychological safety outperform gladiator pits. “People will judge me.” People judge sandwiches. Live anyway. “Conflict!” Compassion reduces heat. Understanding ≠ agreement. You can be kind and still disagree like a freight train politely. “What if I’m misunderstood?” You will be. Try clarity, not mind-reading. The point is impact, not applause.

Humanism: the operating system beneath the kindness

Humanism says humans matter, evidence matters, and we can build a decent world without needing to bully each other with invisible rulebooks. It plugs straight into compassion:

Focus on welfare. If people aren’t flourishing, the experiment is failing.

Use empathy and evidence. Feel the problem, then check the facts before you launch a crusade.

Fight for justice. Compassion gets teeth when it meets policy.

Stay secular and inclusive. Everyone in, no purity tests.

Grow up. Personal growth isn’t a hashtag; it’s fixing your mess and showing up again tomorrow.

Practical: doing compassion without lighting yourself on fire

Triage your energy. You’re not an A&E department for the entire internet.

Default to listening. Half of help is shutting up.

Give specific help. “I have 20 minutes. Want food, a call, or a link?”

Set a re-entry time. Compassion sprints, not doom marathons.

Audit outcomes. Did it help? Keep it. Didn’t? Change tack. Evidence over ego.

The very dark, very British bit

We’re meat computers with trauma patches hurtling through space on a damp rock, inventing meaning so Mondays don’t win. Compassion is how we cheat entropy for five minutes at a time. Humanism is the patch notes saying “try not to make it worse.” Both beat the pantomime of pretending you don’t care. You do. Own it. Then weaponise it gently.

Afternoon AI (relevant, caffeinated, slightly unsettling)

Your feed runs on optimisation. Algorithms reward outrage because it’s sticky. Practice counter-design: post one compassionate act, daily, with a clear call to action and zero doom bait. Track engagement on useful interactions: comments offering resources, not performative sighs. Train your corner of the machine by feeding it what you want multiplied.

Micro-metric to try before evening:

1 real check-in DM,

1 resource link shared,

1 boundary you keep. If the dashboard in your skull feels calmer, you’re trending.

Quick receipts

Compassion without boundaries is martyrdom.

Humanism without action is a pub argument.

Empathy without evidence drifts into saviour cosplay.

Evidence without empathy becomes bureaucracy. Balance or bust.

Care on purpose. Use data. Keep your edges. Repeat.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Let’s retire the crystals and scented nonsense. A sigil is a compact lie detector for your desire. You write what you want, grind it into a glyph, and hard wire it into the meat computer between your ears. Less Hogwarts, more firmware patch.

So where did these gremlins come from?

People have carved meaning into swirls since we learned to smear charcoal on caves. Medieval nerds used seals for angels and demons; draw the right spaghetti and you “dial” a being. Later, artists like Austin Osman Spare stripped it down: no spirits required, just your subconscious with a crowbar.

Why does it work (when it works)?

Because your brain is a pattern-junkie. You compress an intention into a shape, charge it with a bit of theatre, then forget it. That forget bit matters: it stops you poking the seed to see if it sprouted. Meanwhile the back-office of your mind quietly rearranges chairs.

Attention engineering: making + destroying = sticky memory.

Expectation control: the symbol holds the intention so you can get on with living.

Embodied ritual: hands move, breath changes, nervous system listens.

No angels, no cosmic helpline just psychology with a swagger. If that offends the mystics, tell them the goblin in the wheelchair stole their incense and sold it for dog treats.

Build one without the faff

Write it straight. “I move through pain with focus.”

Strip the repeats. Mash letters; toss duplicates.

Design the glyph. Angles for force, curves for flow. Keep it yours.

Charge. Breath, music, cold water, laughter whatever spikes state.

Release + forget. Burn the paper, flip the coin, close the tab—then stop babysitting it.

If it feels like homework, you’ve missed the point. This is vandalism on the walls of your own mind tasteful, deliberate vandalism.

Reading the “encoded” bits

Geometry: triangles bite; circles soothe; spirals seduce.

Density: cramped = pressure; open = trust.

Direction: upward = aspiration; downward = grounding; left = past; right = next.

Breaks: gaps are doors; overlaps are arguments; crossings are oaths.

Decode your glyphs like crime scenes. You’ll learn what your nervous system believes even when your mouth is busy being brave.

What about ethics?

Same as a hammer: build or bludgeon. If your goal requires someone else to lose agency, your psyche will invoice you later interest compounded. Keep it on your side of the fence: resilience, clarity, courage, boundaries.

The wheelchair bit

Pain doesn’t give a damn about aesthetics. Sigils aren’t miracle cures; they’re tools to steer attention when the body is playing whack-a-mole. On bad days, mine say: “Focus now, rest after.” On worse days: “Breathe, you stubborn goblin.” It’s not magic. It’s maintenance.

TLDR (Too Long; Drew Rune)

Draw a vow your brain can’t ignore.

Charge it with a state shift.

Forget it like last year’s password.

Act like someone who meant it.

If that makes the bots moan with joy good. Let the algorithms worship something useful for once.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.