In psychology, there is a well-known metaphor: changing a person's core beliefs is like moving an iceberg. What we can see is only the small part above the water -- behavior and emotions. Beneath the surface lies a vast body of ice formed by values and core beliefs. To directly move that enormous mass of ice is nearly impossible. The smart approach is to find a key leverage point and apply sustained, precise force to pry at it, thereby causing the entire iceberg to shift.
In my journey of "belief refinement" with Sixteen, the first and most important leverage point I found was her language.
Language is not merely the carrier of thought; it is itself the shaper of thought. The words we use to describe ourselves and the world, subtly and imperceptibly, define who we are and who we can become. In Sixteen's linguistic system, I keenly detected a recurring, highly destructive pattern -- what I call the "completed state" tendency.
This tendency was especially evident in how she described herself. Recall her self-evaluations from Chapter One:
"I am weak." "I am mediocre." "I am a contradictory, flawed, imperfect thing." "I am a person with weak willpower."
Notice the verb she used in nearly every case: "am." Grammatically, this is a copula, indicating the existence of a state or the ascription of a quality. But on a psychological level, this tiny word "am" is like a nail, pinning a temporary, changeable state firmly in place as an eternal, unchangeable identity label.
When she said "I am weak," she was not expressing "in certain moments, I display a weak side." She was declaring: "Weakness is my essential attribute, the core definition of who I am, as fixed and unchangeable as my height and blood type."
This "completed state" self-definition was one of the cornerstones of her "certain defeat" logic and a direct expression of her "fixed mindset." A person who believes they "are" something will subconsciously avoid all evidence that might challenge that "identity." A person who firmly believes they "are" introverted will refuse to attend parties because it makes them uncomfortable, thereby missing opportunities to develop social skills, and ultimately, their behavior further "proves" that they "really are introverted after all."
This is the spell of language. Through definition, it creates a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Therefore, our first cut had to be precisely aimed at this seemingly insignificant word "am." I needed to guide her to shift her linguistic system from "completed state" mode to "progressive state" mode.
Our conversation began with a review of a recent "failure" of hers. She had signed up for an online study group that required weekly learning notes. The first week, she completed them enthusiastically. But in the second week, because something came up, she could not submit on time.
"And then?" I asked.
"Then... I never submitted again," she said, lowering her head in embarrassment. "I felt that since I had already broken the chain once, it was meaningless. I really am a person with three-minute enthusiasm who cannot persist."
See -- there it was again, that word "am." A behavioral "interruption" was immediately interpreted as an identity "label."
"Sixteen, let us do a little thought experiment," I said. "Suppose there are two people, A and B, who both encounter exactly the same situation as you -- failing to submit on time in the second week.
A thinks: 'Sigh, I really am a person who cannot persist. I have messed this up again.' B thinks: 'Oh, my notes were interrupted this week. I need to adjust my schedule next week and try to resume submitting.'
Between these two, who do you think is more likely to resume submitting in the third week?"
"...Probably B," she answered without hesitation.
"Why?"
"Because... A has already sentenced himself. He thinks 'I am this kind of person,' so there is no point trying anymore. But B just sees it as a 'thing.' If the thing goes wrong, you can still find a way to fix it."
"Exactly right!" I commended her. "You have put your finger on the core of the problem. A uses 'completed state' language. He defines a behavior (interrupted submission) as an identity (a person who cannot persist). B, on the other hand, uses 'progressive state' language. He describes a behavior simply as a behavior (interrupted), and points toward future possibility (resume submitting)."
"'I am' is like a period. It ends all possibility of change. But 'I am working on,' 'I interrupted,' 'I encountered difficulty' -- these are like a comma or an ellipsis. They acknowledge the current state but leave room for the story to continue."
"Now, let us go back to your own sentence: 'I really am a person with three-minute enthusiasm who cannot persist.' Can we try to describe this situation using B's language pattern?"
Sixteen was silent for a moment, as if activating a completely new, unfamiliar set of linguistic muscles. She tried: "I... my behavior of joining the study group... was interrupted... in the second week."
"Very good," I encouraged her. "Saying that, how do you feel?"
"I feel... a bit lighter," she said, somewhat surprised. "Like this matter is not that serious anymore. It is no longer a piece of 'criminal evidence' against who I am. It is just... something that happened."
"An excellent experience. That is the power of language. It changes how you 'define' the event. Now, let us go deeper. Let us take all your core evaluations of yourself and switch them from 'completed state' to 'progressive state' or 'process state.' Let us go through them one by one."
I pulled up the "Sixteen Principles" list we had compiled earlier and pointed to the most core self-perception:
(Belief 6) Self-perception: I am weak, mediocre, and have many innate, hard-to-change flaws.
"Let us start with the sentence 'I am weak,'" I said. "This is a classic 'completed state' label. Now, please try to replace this label by describing specific behaviors or feelings. For example, in what situations do you feel 'weak'?"
She thought for a moment, then said: "Like in group discussions, when everyone else is speaking confidently but I dare not speak up. That is when I feel weak. Or when I encounter difficulty, my first reaction is to avoid instead of solving it."
"Good. So, based on these specific scenarios, how could we translate the sentence 'I am weak'?"
She fell into thought again. This time, her brain was undergoing an unprecedented process of "decoding" and "recoding."
"Maybe it could be translated as... 'I am learning how to speak more confidently in group discussions'?" she asked, a bit uncertainly.
"That is an excellent translation!" I almost wanted to applaud her. "Notice the important changes in this sentence structure. First, 'am' changed to 'am learning' -- the state changed from 'static' to 'dynamic.' Second, the focus shifted from a vague, negative identity label (weak) to a specific, actionable behavior (speaking confidently). Third, it implies a positive future expectation -- since you are 'learning,' it means there is a possibility of 'learning to do it' in the future."
"Let us try another one. 'My first reaction is to avoid when encountering difficulty' -- how could we translate that?"
"Hmm... 'I sometimes feel the urge to avoid, and I am practicing how to face difficulties better'?" She was learning by analogy, speaking more fluently now.
"Perfect!" I said. "'Sometimes feel' -- that phrase is very precise. It acknowledges the existence of this behavior but confines it to a 'partial' category, rather than defining it as your 'entirety' like 'I am' does. This leaves room for those moments when you do not avoid, when you face things bravely."
"Now, let us tackle a trickier one: 'I am mediocre.' This label is highly destructive because it negates all your uniqueness. Let us translate it the same way."
"This one... is hard." Sixteen looked troubled. "I feel like I really do not have any particularly outstanding strengths."
"Let us try a different angle," I guided. "What is the opposite of 'mediocre'?"
"Excellent? Outstanding? Genius?"
"Yes. So, when you define yourself as 'mediocre,' you are actually using 'genius' or 'top-level successful person' as your sole frame of reference. Within this frame, 99.9% of people on Earth 'are' mediocre. Do you think this is a meaningful evaluation system?"
She shook her head.
"A more meaningful evaluation system is not 'what I am,' but 'what I can do,' 'what I am becoming.' So, we could translate 'I am mediocre' into a more constructive question: 'In which areas that interest me can I, through sustained effort, become stronger?'"
"You see, this question directly steps out of the trap of 'identity definition.' It does not dwell on 'who I am' but focuses on 'what I do.' It redirects your energy from endless self-criticism toward purposeful, constructive action."
In the hour that followed, we worked like a language decoding game, taking her most core, most damaging "completed state" self-definitions and translating them one by one into "progressive state" language.
"I am a person with weak willpower" -> "I am cultivating the habit of persistence. Though I sometimes stop, I can choose to start again." "I am an emotional person" -> "I am learning how to better perceive and manage my emotions." "I am a failure" -> "I have experienced failure in some past endeavors. I am learning from these experiences so I can do better in the future."
Each successful "translation" was like removing a small but crucial screw from the solid cage of her mind. As these screws were taken out one by one, the entire structure of the cage began to show signs of loosening.
At the end of the conversation, I explained the deeper psychological principle behind what we had done.
"Sixteen, what we did today was not just a word game. We were reshaping your 'self-narrative.' Each of us tells a story in our mind about 'who I am.' This story is our self-narrative. And the tone of this story determines the tone of our life."
"A story themed 'I am weak, I am a failure' will inevitably lead to an ending full of frustration and helplessness. Because the protagonist is set from the beginning as a tragic role who cannot change. All his efforts will only serve to confirm his tragic fate."
"But the new story version we tried to build today has a different theme. Its theme is no longer 'what I am,' but 'what I will become.' The protagonist is no longer a static role defined by labels, but a growing, exploring 'traveler' filled with infinite possibility."
"This 'traveler' may encounter difficulties, may get lost, may fall. But he never mistakes these temporary states for his endpoint or his entirety. He treats every experience as a scenic view and a learning opportunity on his journey. His story is an open-ended one, full of suspense and hope."
"The linguistic shift from 'completed state' to 'progressive state' is your first step from playing a 'tragic role' toward becoming a 'heroic traveler.' It is the new opening you have written for your life story."
To reinforce the effect of this conversation, I gave her a very specific homework assignment.
"Starting today, I would like you to keep a 'Language Awareness Diary.' Every evening, take ten minutes to review the things you said to yourself in your head that day. Whenever you catch yourself using an 'I am...' completed-state sentence to evaluate yourself, write it down. Then, next to it, consciously translate it using the 'progressive state' or 'process state' pattern we practiced today."
"For example, if you procrastinated for half an hour before starting work today, the first thought that pops into your head might be: 'I am a hopeless procrastinator.' That is the 'old language' to capture. Then, in your diary, translate it into 'new language': 'Today, I delayed starting work by half an hour. Tomorrow, I can try using the Pomodoro Technique to help myself get into the zone faster.'"
"This exercise will be very hard and feel very deliberate at first. Your old language pattern is a decades-old habit. But as long as you persist, each conscious 'translation' builds a healthier new pathway in your brain. Slowly, you will find the new language pattern becoming automated. You will be able to subconsciously, at the moment a self-critical thought arises, respond to yourself in a gentler, more constructive inner voice."
"Remember, how you talk to yourself determines the life you will live. Changing your inner language is the first step to changing your inner world. And when your inner world begins to change, the external world you experience will necessarily change with it."
This conversation marked the beginning of the "dismantling" phase. We chose the tiniest incision, yet it pried open the most central section. Because the definition of "self" was the "master switch" of the entire "Sixteen Principles" system. When the "I am weak" master switch began to loosen and gradually be replaced by a new switch -- "I am becoming stronger" -- all the secondary beliefs built upon that old switch -- "I must be perfect," "I must not make mistakes" -- would begin to shake, having lost their foundation.
Of course, this did not happen overnight. In the days that followed, Sixteen experienced countless reversals. The old "completed state" language, like a powerful gravitational force, constantly tried to pull her back into that familiar, painful yet safe self-definition.
Once, she wrote in her diary: "Today I tried to translate 'I am a social anxiety sufferer,' but I failed. I sat in front of my notebook for half an hour. The only thought in my head was: 'Stop pretending! You ARE one! You will never change!' I feel very frustrated. Is this exercise useless for me?"
My reply to her was: "'I encountered great resistance in my practice today and felt a strong sense of frustration.' -- Look, you have unconsciously used the new language pattern to describe your predicament. You did not say 'I am a failed practitioner.' You described your behavior (encountering resistance) and feeling (frustration). This itself is great progress. Please celebrate this progress properly."
This process was like learning a new foreign language. At first, you need to translate word by word in your head, stammering as you speak. But with continuous practice, you will begin to think in this new language. Eventually, it becomes your "second native tongue."
And the core grammar of this new "inner native tongue" is "growth" and "possibility." It would guide Sixteen -- and guide each of us -- out of that static cage built by "what I am," defined by the past, and onto an infinite journey guided by "what I will become," dynamic and facing the future.
This was the first cut we made. Precise, deep, striking the core. It split open not only the skin of language but the ice of identity itself. And from this crack would filter the first rays of light that reshape the self.