"Delulu" and Defensive Pessimism Are Harmful Strategies

Thinking irrationally isn’t synonymous with being wrong, although they’re obviously related. Unlike the latter, irrationality isn’t normally open to reason (i.e., the use of good evidence and arguments to shape beliefs); it’s a fixed system, which provides some sort of emotional relief for its captive. While there’s much discussion about harnessing its power, it tends to take on a life of its own, spreading as a virus might.

Popular psychology glamorizes emotionally based strategies for motivation, stressing the significance of willing oneself to believe. “Delusional Optimism” is promoted by startup types, who emphasize the need to believe in oneself despite the evidence. The mindset seeped into Gen Z culture when it was repackaged with the term “delulu.” Looking for internal motivation, these types argue that an almost baseless sense of confidence is an integral part of the foundation of success (how ironic), without which we can’t seem to function on a high level. While delusional disorder is a serious ailment marked by rigidity and fear, here a clinical concept is co-opted for an apparent good.

On the other end of the spectrum, we have “defensive pessimism,” which is the wielding of negative predictions (sometimes even catastrophic ones) to motivate oneself to avoid them. Here, the understanding is: If I convince myself of how bad it’s going to be, I’ll motivate myself to be better. While this is considered to be a coping strategy rather than a personality trait, it’s important to note that according to the American Psychological Association, “Most individuals lie somewhere on the spectrum between the two polar opposites of optimism and pure pessimism but tend to demonstrate relatively stable situational tendencies in one direction or the other.” (Arguably, since some people are genetically predisposed to either extreme, they should be more mindful of engaging in these thought patterns.) This is a meaningful insight because, in general, dividing coping strategies, especially soothing yet ultimately harmful ones, from personality traits becomes murky when exploring how often they’re used, their emotional payoffs, and their rigidity. Like smoking cigarettes, you normally don’t just utilize them once in a while; you tend to become addicted.

What’s fundamentally irrational can’t just be turned off.

In therapy, people quickly learn how difficult it is to change unfounded beliefs, those that serve some particular purpose despite their long-term harms. While our patients often tell us they know what they’re supposed to believe or know “what’s logical,” more often than not, they exhibit a stubbornness to changing their minds, sometimes even holding conflicting ideas together while acting on their more familiar beliefs. An example is an athlete looking for an edge against his competition and being unable to turn off his chronic resentment of others off the court because he’s helped reinforce a stubborn habit that, in turn, has helped him thrive.

Irrational habits are automatic and since, because of general decision-fatigue and the weight of our responsibilities, we tend to mostly live on autopilot, it becomes difficult to consistently remind ourselves to avoid falling into the traps of our habits. Besides, does one more time really hurt?

For many of our patients, pessimism is a way of life. Sometimes, it aids them in the way noted above. At others, it gives them a reason to avoid disappointment by avoiding engagement. If defensive pessimism indicates a strong belief in some negative outcome, which helped produce a more positive one, even intermittent reinforcement will tend to sustain and exaggerate the tendency because it’s effective—hence our perfectionistic patients' tendency to chronically find ways to discount their achievements, emphatically noting how they could have done better. For defensive pessimism only works when you either forget or disqualify past success. As you can imagine, this must be a difficult way to live.

On the other end, delusional optimism entails an unwillingness to give up, despite any low probability, because doing so is akin to giving up on oneself—it feels personal. Optimists may be happier than pessimists, but they tend to make bad, life-altering choices, remaining in situations they should have abandoned, even if not often, often enough for it to matter. And they may profoundly struggle with the self-esteem blows of failure, particularly when their rosy-perspective starts to crumble.

The aspect of these coping strategies that makes the least sense is the belief that they can be used at command. This means that we can know they’re irrational and use them anyway. Unfortunately, the mind becomes averse to contradictions when they’re brought to awareness. Even the patients who act with conflicting beliefs on what to do, at bottom, believe only one; they just express doubt about it. Normally, once our minds accept that something is irrational, in this respect that it’s too optimistic or too pessimistic, they can’t just unlearn that. And if they don’t accept that their strategy is irrational, well then it’s a personality trait, and no need to “manage it.”

I argue instead for an existentialist perspective, one through which we learn to live with our anxiety. Both of the abovementioned methods are, instead, used to quell it. But, some anxiety can be good and can motivate us as well as those methods can, especially when combined with passion and an accurate assessment of our past achievements. (In the long run, a tendency to discount past glory makes it more likely that we’ll avoid taking risks.) What’s more rational isn’t as open to being misused. And, I believe we owe it to ourselves to learn and attempt to live up to our fullest potentials, even though we obviously can’t. I often ask my patients, “Do you think you owe it to yourself to discover who you really are and what you’re actually capable of?” A full life, to me, has to be one that’s genuine, where self-knowledge, of both good and bad, acts as the light in the lighthouse bringing us home.