Worrying that you might be a fraud is a positive indicator of self-awareness and integrity. Genuinely duplicitous or evil people don't spend time questioning their own authenticity; therefore, feeling like an imposter is a good starting point.

Medicaid claims for autism in Minnesota skyrocketed from $3M to $400M in five years. This suggests that large-scale entitlement fraud doesn't just steal money; it can also create the illusion of a worsening social crisis by manufacturing data, leading to misallocated resources and a distorted public perception of the problem's scale.

While increased awareness is positive, mental health terminology is often misused as a shield. People can use labels to deflect responsibility, expecting empathy without accountability, which complicates professional and personal development.

For individuals whose symptoms have been repeatedly dismissed, a serious diagnosis can feel like a relief. It provides validation that their suffering is real and offers a concrete problem to address, overriding the initial terror of the illness itself.

When terms like "setting boundaries" escape the clinic and scale on social media, they lose their clinical meaning. This "therapy speak" becomes a cultural currency, used by those who suffer least to frame minor disagreements as trauma, weaponize emotional reactions, and promote a culture of fragility rather than genuine healing.

Rather than a flaw to be eliminated, imposter syndrome can be a reassuring sign of self-awareness and honesty. Truly evil or duplicitous people don't worry that they might be evil. The capacity to question your own authenticity is a crucial starting point for being a genuine person.

A diagnosis like autism may function like the 19th-century term 'dropsy' (swelling). It accurately describes a collection of symptoms but doesn't necessarily identify a single, unified underlying cause. The label captures a surface-level phenomenon, not a fundamental 'thing' in the world.

The modern online discourse around therapy has devolved from a tool for healing into a competitive sport of self-optimization. It uses buzzwords to reframe bad days as generational trauma and sells subscription-based "cures," ultimately making people weaker and more divided.

Public perception often limits OCD to cleanliness and symmetry. This causes individuals with different obsessions, like fears of contamination or harm, to not recognize their symptoms as OCD, delaying diagnosis and treatment for years.