Aphantasia

Close your eyes and picture an apple. What do you see? Can you visualize it clearly and in color? Is it just a blurry outline? Or maybe, like me, you can’t see anything at all.

For most of my life, I assumed that everyone experienced the world the way I did; that “imagining” was just closing your eyes and thinking in words. It wasn’t until last year that I learned how visual imagery differs from person to person. I was talking with my friend about how counting sheep to fall asleep is useless because it’s impossible to see something unless you're looking at it with your eyes. My friend was shocked that I couldn’t picture images in my head, and I couldn’t believe that she could. We went back and forth, asking each other questions, trying to grasp how our minds work differently. After delving into articles and podcasts, I found that I have a neurological trait called aphantasia— the inability to visualize mental images.

The concept has been debated by philosophers for centuries, but it received little attention from the scientific community until 2003, when a patient underwent brain surgery and lost their visual imagination.

The exact reason behind aphantasia is still debated, but scientists believe it to be caused by genetic factors that result in a weak connection between certain parts of the brain.

Some people have the opposite experience: hyperphantasia, which is the ability to visualize images in great detail, some even experience movie-like imagery that they can easily manipulate. For me, this would feel overwhelming; words in my head already feel like enough, and I can’t imagine having pictures too.

Scientists say that people with aphantasia rely on a verbal memory instead of a visual memory. It’s true, instead of remembering through imagery, I remember in detail, like little facts that are tucked away somewhere in my head. For example, I can’t remember what my childhood birthday party looked like, but I can remember who was there, what we ate, and even what games we played.

There are moments in life when these differences become more apparent. In dance class, I can’t replay the combinations in my head, instead I have to practice it over and over again until it's muscle memory. At lacrosse practice, many of my teammates can learn a play off of a whiteboard diagram, while I have to watch a couple of reps of the play to actually see what we’re doing.

Reading books also offers a different experience for me. I have come to learn that some people can visualize the scenes in their head when they read, but for me, it’s just words on a page. That doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy reading, but I typically pick up books full of emotion and interesting plots and characters, not ones filled with descriptive language.

At first, I worried that I was missing out on a large aspect of the human experience, that everyone else could do something I couldn’t, and that it put me at a disadvantage somehow. But in reality, I think it offers some benefits too. I find it easy to live in the moment and to remember little details that people tell me. I may not be able to see my imagination, but I can find creativity through emotion, movement and sound.

Aphantasia has taught me that everyone remembers, learns, and dreams differently. So when someone struggles to learn a move or follow a lesson, I don’t assume that they're not trying. Instead, I try to understand how their brain works and cater to their strengths.

We all experience life in different ways. What might be effortless for one person may be a struggle, or even impossible for someone else. This is why it’s so important to approach one another with compassion and understanding.