Inside Heilsche

I always believed I was a rational person. I trusted my logic. I thought before I spoke. I analyzed before I acted. I felt safe because I thought my mind was clear and sharp. But lately, I started to question myself. Am I really rational? Or am I just convincing myself that I am?

When I read The Intelligence Trap by David Robson, I found something that surprised me. The book introduced the word dysrationalia. It means that even intelligent people can think in irrational ways. Just because someone has high IQ, it does not mean they always make good decisions. This idea hit me deeply, because I realized that many of my choices looked smart on the surface, but later they did not feel so wise.

I can think of many times when I made decisions that seemed logical in the moment. I had strong reasons. I created arguments to support my choice. I convinced myself that my plan was solid. But when time passed, I looked back and wondered, why did I do that? If I was so rational, why did my “smart” decision still lead me to regret or confusion?

One truth I had to face is that sometimes I use logic to cover my emotions. When something hurts me, I pretend it does not matter. To protect myself, I build a logical story around it. I tell myself I am being strategic, I am being wise, I am staying in control. But deep inside, I am reacting to emotions I do not want to admit. Fear of rejection. Fear of losing control. Fear of not being enough.

I realized that many times, I was not rational at all. I was simply hiding my feelings. I wanted to look calm and strong, like nothing touched me. But that calmness was not truth. It was only emotional pain in disguise.

There were times when I stayed in situations far too long. I told myself it was strategic. I told myself I had a plan. I used logic to explain why I should wait, why I should endure, why I should keep trying. But the real reason was different. I was scared to face the pain of letting go. I was scared to admit to myself that I was hurt and that something was not working. So I called it strategy, when in fact it was fear.

There were also times when I walked away too fast. I told myself it was self-respect. I said to myself, “I deserve better, so I will leave now.” On the outside, it sounded strong and rational. But if I look honestly, many times I left because I was afraid to be vulnerable. I did not want to face my feelings of disappointment or sadness. I did not want to admit that I cared more than I wanted to. So I covered my escape with logic.

This pattern repeated again and again. Intelligence became my shield. I used my mind to build walls around my heart. I used my ability to think and explain as a way to avoid the raw truth of my feelings. I could sound calm, wise, and controlled, but inside I was still reacting like any other human being. My logic was just a mask.

When I think about it now, I see that I have been using my intelligence to avoid vulnerability. It is easier to explain than to feel. It is easier to create theories than to sit with the discomfort of sadness or fear. It is easier to sound in control than to say, “I am hurt.” But this is not true rationality. This is not balance. It is survival mode pretending to be wisdom.

The question I asked myself then was simple: how do I stop doing this? How do I stop overestimating my rationality and start being more honest with myself?

The answer, I think, begins with honesty. I need to admit that just because I can explain something, it does not mean I have handled it well. Explanation is not the same as resolution. Logic is not the same as healing.

Sometimes the smartest move is to sit with the feeling and let it be, instead of escaping with words. Sometimes rationality means taking a pause, instead of pushing forward with more plans and arguments. Sometimes rationality means asking for help, instead of trying to prove I can carry everything by myself.

I do not want to be someone who is always “right” but never real. Being right may sound good, but if it keeps me disconnected from my feelings, then it is not true wisdom. I want to balance logic with truth. I want to be aware when I am thinking only to protect myself, not to understand. I want to notice when I use my intelligence to control the situation, instead of using it to grow.

Because intelligence without self-awareness can still lead to wrong choices. History is full of brilliant people who made foolish mistakes. Knowledge alone does not save us from ourselves. What matters more is how honest we are about our motives, and how willing we are to face our own hidden emotions.

Reading this book gave me a mirror. It made me see that I was not as rational as I thought. I was not always the strategist I believed I was. Many times, I was just a scared person wearing the mask of intelligence. That realization was not easy, but it was freeing.

It is freeing because now I can practice a new kind of rationality. A rationality that does not deny emotions, but includes them. True rationality is not about removing feelings. It is about understanding them, respecting them, and letting them guide me alongside logic.

For example, if I feel jealous, I can pause and ask myself, why do I feel this? What is the fear under it? Instead of quickly saying, “I am fine, I do not care,” I can admit, “Yes, I feel insecure.” That admission is not weakness. It is strength. It is the first step to real growth.

If I feel sad, I do not need to hide it with stories of strength. I can sit with it, accept it, and allow myself to feel. Then I can use logic to ask, what can I learn from this sadness? What action is healthy for me now? That balance between feeling and thinking is what makes rationality complete.

This shift is slow and not always comfortable. My habit is to explain quickly, to stay calm, to stay in control. But I am learning that control is not the same as wisdom. Sometimes letting go of control gives me more clarity than holding on to it.

I used to believe that intelligence was my biggest strength. Now I see it can also be my trap. If I use intelligence to run away from pain, it becomes my prison. But if I use intelligence together with self-awareness, it becomes my freedom.

I do not need to be the smartest person in the room. That is not my goal anymore. What I want is to be the most honest person with myself. Because honesty opens doors that logic alone cannot. Honesty brings healing. Honesty brings balance.

This is the lesson I carry from The Intelligence Trap. It did not just teach me about dysrationalia. It showed me the limits of my own mind. It held up a mirror and made me see where I was lying to myself. That is why this book is important to me. It changed the way I see my own intelligence.

Now when I make decisions, I ask myself not only, “Is this logical?” but also, “Is this honest? Am I facing my feelings or hiding them? Am I growing, or am I protecting myself?” These questions help me create a new kind of rationality, one that is not only about the mind, but also about the heart.

And maybe, that is what true wisdom is. Not just to think clearly, but to feel clearly too. Not just to make arguments, but to face emotions. Not just to be right, but to be real.