A mind capable of looking at itself
Few human capacities are as difficult to explain as the ability to turn inward: to think about thinking, to feel that one is feeling, and to recognize that this internal flow belongs to me. It is a field shared by psychology, neurology, and the philosophy of mind, where questions abound more than certainties. We call it self-awareness, and it constitutes the core of what each person names as their “Self.”
This capacity does not appear all at once. It is built in early childhood—around three or four years of age—when a child begins to clearly distinguish what they do as a subject from what happens to them as an object. From that point on, the brain does not merely record the world: it interprets it, labels it, and, above all, includes itself within the scene.
It is precisely on this plane—that of self-consciousness—where some psychoactive substances, cannabis among them, can produce striking effects. Not because they “create” unprecedented experiences, but because they temporarily deregulate mechanisms that normally operate in silence.
Corollary discharge: knowing that I am doing this
When we move a leg, we know that we moved it ourselves. If someone else moves it for us, we notice that, too. This difference, which we take for granted, depends on a brain mechanism known as corollary discharge (or efference copy): along with every movement, thought, or sensation, the brain emits an internal signal that “signs” that action as its own.
This signature is processed in regions associated with the sense of self. Research points primarily to the limbic system and the insula, as well as a particular type of cell, Von Economo neurons, linked to self-awareness and emotional integration. When this system works well, we attribute our acts and thoughts to ourselves without effort.
When it fails, the result can be unsettling: one’s own thoughts or movements felt as alien, an experience that in psychopathology is associated with certain hallucinations and delusional interpretations (the sensation of being “moved” by something external). This is not the norm, but it illustrates to what extent the sense of “Self” is a fragile construction and not an immediate datum of reality.
Cannabis alters cerebral neurochemistry and, in some cases, can touch precisely this register. Sometimes it amplifies it: the person perceives their internal processes—heartbeat, breathing, muscle tension—with unusual detail. Other times it modifies it qualitatively, opening a different mental state that the person may experience as interesting or unpleasant depending on the context, their prior state, and how they manage it.
Depersonalization: “this isn’t happening to me”
The reverse of this amplification is depersonalization: the sensation of losing one’s sense of self, that “I am not doing this” or “this isn’t really happening to me.” It implies an alteration of the areas that sustain self-awareness, and produces strange experiences of unreality or distance from one’s own experience.
It is not a phenomenon exclusive to drugs. It appears, for example, when waking up abruptly, in that interval where the brain has not yet fully coordinated “wake” mode and “sleep” mode. Both modes are usually kept separate by what is called reciprocal inhibition—while one functions, the other shuts down—but when that separation relaxes, they coexist and the perception of the world becomes distorted. In disorders like narcolepsy, this can lead to very realistic hallucinations upon falling asleep or waking up, accompanied by paralysis.
It is also a common experience in moments of tension: someone speaking in public gets nervous, interprets their own physiological activation as a threat, and experiences it as something that “doesn’t seem to be happening to them.” Cannabis can induce this same sensation of disconnection between the experience and the sense of reality. The difference between it being a bad time or a fleeting curiosity depends heavily on the person’s mood, environment, and personal history.
Body awareness: a practice that needs no substances
The original article that inspired this text suggested “working” on self-awareness under the effects of cannabis. A major nuance is in order: the techniques that truly train this capacity—observing sensations without labeling them, following the cycle of breathing, noticing the difference between physiological activation and mental response—do not depend on any substance. They are, in fact, the core of proven practices such as mindfulness and Jacobson’s progressive muscle relaxation.
The underlying idea is simple and valuable: the brain tirelessly interprets what the body feels and puts a label on it—”this is fear,” “this is danger.” Learning to observe that process, instead of reacting automatically, helps create space between the sensation and the response. That skill can be cultivated while sober, and that is precisely why it is robust.
Adding a psychoactive substance to the equation does not guarantee a deeper experience; it frequently introduces noise, distraction, and, in people who are inexperienced or using high doses, episodes of acute anxiety. If someone goes through one of those moments—tachycardia, the feeling that “something is going very wrong,” the urge to ask for help—the useful tools are the usual ones: a safe environment, trusted company, remembering that the effect is temporary, and returning attention to the breath. This is harm reduction information, not an invitation to consume.
Matter, consciousness, and “over-inclusion”
Behind all this lies a classic problem in the philosophy of mind, which authors like Paul Churchland have discussed in depth: how is it possible that a brain made of the same atoms as the rest of the universe generates the vivid sensation of a “Self” separated from all that matter? The answers move between two poles. One maintains that self-awareness emerges from the high degree of organization of cerebral matter. Another resorts to the idea of a soul that coexists with the body, with all the doubts that entails regarding what would happen without a physical substrate.
In this context, over-inclusion is often cited: the tendency to relax the boundaries between concepts and to combine data and situations in novel ways, something associated with both creativity and certain altered states. Substances like cannabis or psilocybin have been described as facilitators of this unusual connection between brain areas that normally inhibit each other. It is a suggestive hypothesis, but it should be treated as such and not as an established fact.
Critical review
Much of the above mixes reasonably well-established neuroscience (the cerebral basis of self-awareness, Von Economo neurons, reciprocal inhibition between wake and sleep states) with more speculative interpretations regarding the role of psychedelic substances. It is worth distinguishing between the two planes.
The original article argued that cannabis does not by itself cause conditions like schizophrenia, and that many associations reflect self-medication rather than causality. There is some truth to this—the direction of cause-and-effect is a real debate—but current evidence is more nuanced: in people with prior vulnerability, intense and early consumption is indeed associated with a higher risk of psychosis. Denying this outright is as unrigorous as claiming that cannabis “causes madness.” Prudence, here, is not moralism: it is reading the data without falling into either apology or alarmism.
Nor is it advisable to idealize depersonalization as an improvised therapeutic resource to “separate” oneself from trauma. Distancing oneself from a painful experience may provide short-term relief, but as a repeated strategy, it tends to make the distress chronic. Work on the sense of self, when sought for health purposes, belongs in clinical contexts and proven practices, not in solitary experimentation.
