Moments of Realization: Love, Memory, and the Journey of Self

by Michael Zaky, MA Clinical Psychology.

I’ve come to realize that some memories, certain defining moments, stick with us in ways that are hard to explain. These aren’t just snapshots or fragments—they’re foundational, almost like markers of who we are at our core. One of my earliest memories, a moment when I was perhaps a year and a half or two, still sits in my mind as vividly as if it happened yesterday. I remember the room, the shapes, the silhouettes. I remember knowing that I was in Egypt, surrounded by two women: my mother and my grandmother.

Even at that young age, I was aware, fully present. It wasn’t just a memory—it was a moment of consciousness. There was a sudden burst of life, a shock of awareness that felt as if I’d come alive all at once. I knew my grandmother, and I felt her love. It wasn’t something that needed words; it was just there, in the warmth of her presence, in the unspoken acceptance that surrounded us. My grandmother, with her gentle, non-judgmental spirit, brought out the best in me, even as a toddler. She allowed me to be innocent, curious, and unfiltered, to explore without the weight of expectations.

This connection we shared was special, a bond that went beyond words. I felt it every time I was around her, that sense of being unconditionally loved for who I was. And years later, near the end of her life, she came to stay with us when I was sixteen. She was bedridden, and her presence was quieter, but the connection was still as strong. She would call my name in those early hours of the morning, and one night, I went to her side, held her hand, and stayed with her as she passed. I remember feeling a profound peace, not sadness or anger, just peace. In that moment, it was as if time circled back to that first burst of awareness in Egypt, where I’d felt her love as purely as I did that night. It was the same feeling—an unbroken thread of love that marked both the beginning and end of our time together.

In many ways, these moments of approval and acceptance stay with us because they imprint something vital onto our sense of self. Research supports this, showing that memories tied to deep acceptance or rejection often form the strongest emotional impressions. Positive experiences of being seen and valued, where we feel our authenticity is met with approval, activate the brain’s reward system, releasing dopamine and reinforcing those memories. These moments anchor us; they tell us that who we are matters, that there’s a place for our true self in the world.

On the other hand, memories of rejection or disapproval leave scars. When we’re dismissed or judged for being ourselves, it triggers the brain’s threat response system, encoding the pain of that experience as a form of emotional survival. These moments can be just as deeply etched, lingering in the background as we move through life. They remind us, sometimes painfully, of times we felt our authenticity was not welcome, and that shapes us too.

The nature of self-doubt often stems from these very experiences—those times we felt deeply accepted and those times we felt dismissed. When my grandmother loved me without condition, it left a mark on my soul, one of peace, one of knowing that I was good as I was. That’s the kind of memory that builds a foundation. But the moments of rejection we encounter, the times we’re told we don’t belong or we’re not enough, they add their own weight, leaving marks that can pull at us over time.

But there’s something profound in recognizing this, in realizing that our most memorable moments are those where we’re seen—either fully embraced or painfully dismissed. Self-realization, I think, is about understanding how these moments shape us and choosing to let the memories of acceptance, of warmth, and of love become the foundation we stand on. Because in the end, it’s the approval, the love, the moments where we’re allowed to be our truest selves that hold the deepest truth.

And the most beautiful part about all of this is knowing that the peace I felt holding my grandmother’s hand as she passed was the same peace I felt when I first became aware of her love. Those moments, though years apart, were woven with the same thread, one of kindness, acceptance, and authenticity. They remind me that even in the midst of self-doubt or rejection, there’s a place within me that knows what it is to be truly loved. That knowledge, that memory, is something I carry forward, a quiet, enduring guide that shapes my journey of self-realization.

by Michael Zaky, MA Clinical Psychology