The Ripple Effect: How Major Life Events Shape and Shift Core Beliefs

By Yazan Weshah

People can spend years, even decades compiling the character we believe defines us—shaped by where we’re born, how we’re raised, who we meet, and what we consume. But much of what we stand for might be nothing more than a mosaic of circumstances and conditions, stitched together by chance. We mistake that patchwork for purpose, we adopt the traits we were told were desirable, we internalise the narratives of our families, cultures, and generation. Even rebellion often happens within accepted confines of certain boundaries. Most of the time, we move through life not as authors, but as actors—reciting lines handed down to us, often without realising we’re performing it.

"Much of what we stand for might be nothing more than a mosaic of circumstances and conditions, stitched together by chance. We mistake that patchwork for purpose"

But every so often, a rupture occurs, a fault line opens beneath the foundation of our constructed identity, and in those moments, we experience bursts of grief, loss, collapse, and separation where we are confronted by the parts of ourselves we didn’t choose, didn’t challenge, and mostly don’t understand. Few experiences can unravel belief systems similar to divorce. In many cultures, marriage is the social pinnacle, the proof of emotional maturity, responsibility, and belonging. It’s not just personal; it’s collective. Families gather, communities validate the union and slowly, two lives blur into one timeline, one orbit, one shared version of who they are meant to be. That fusion isn’t necessarily a lie, rather a negotiation of sorts—a quiet bending of preferences, habits, and expressions. What they once loved gets packed away. What we once valued gets diluted, “That’s just part of being married,” they say, until one day, it ends. 

Now the rupture isn’t just a legal or emotional one but soon becomes an existential one. In this case a person isn’t just losing a partner, they’re losing a structure, and a routine. Nothing is immune to this change, lifelong relationships and friendships are rearranged, rhythms are disrupted, and in many cases belief systems especially about love, duty, role, and about oneself and one’s identity do not survive the fallout. But in that disorientation a powerful opportunity arises. Often the case with divorce as many examples of dismantling and disintegrating experiences hold the potential to reveal what was true and what was performative, it’s not always a tragedy, but an opportunity for a reintroduction, and a reintegration of newly surfaced realisations, beliefs, and narratives.

"But every so often, a rupture occurs, a fault line opens beneath the foundation of our constructed identity, and in those moments we experience bursts of grief, loss, collapse, and separation where we are confronted by the parts of ourselves we didn’t choose, didn’t challenge, and mostly don’t understand"

This is the essence of post-traumatic growth, where Tedeschi and Calhoun (2004) describe it as having the ability to use adversity as a springboard for greater insight, deeper authenticity, and a more aligned life. When we grieve consciously, we don’t just lose—we learn, and in that space, something new can emerge. The same phenomenon plays out in the career realm. We often deeply and unconsciously use our professional personas as an ingrained part of our identity, deeply enmeshed with other identity fragments. We say, “I’m a designer,” “I’m an analyst,” “I’m a manager” as if our job titles are synonymous with our soul, and in a system that rewards output, productivity, and relevance, it’s easy to tie our self-worth to the performance of a role. But what happens when that role is stripped away through layoffs, burnout, or the simple realisation that this isn’t all there is? What happens when the path that once felt like a calling starts to feel like a prison?

An accountant may discover they’re wired more for people than for spreadsheets. A high performer may realise they have the skills for leadership, but not the heart for hierarchy. A marketer may suddenly feel the misalignment between storytelling for profit and a deeper yearning for impact. These epiphanies aren’t career crises, but opportunites for deep awakenings with great psychological significance and a stimuli for surfacing the unconscious and a painful put important realignment. As Jahoda (1981) explained, work is not just about economic survival—it shapes our time, our sense of purpose, and our place in the world. Remove that, and you confront an emotional vacuum that forces you to ask the harder questions: What do I believe in? What am I really good at? And what do I want to give the world? These turning points and disintegrating experiences like divorce and loss of jobs and even careers aren’t necessarily special just because they can be deeply painful and disorienting, but they are immensely powerful because they have the ability to drown out the noise long enough for us to listen to ourselves again, if we allow it.

"What happens when the path that once felt like a calling starts to feel like a prison?"

Trauma has the power to deeply transform us, but we don’t necessarily need it and shouldn't wait for it to undergo significant transformations. Ancient symbols like the Ouroboros—the serpent devouring its own tail—remind us that rebirth is possible through self-reflection, not just destruction. While the phoenix demands fire, the Ouroboros suggests evolution through inner digestion—continual learning, shedding, and reforming.

In modern psychology, this aligns with the idea that even emotions are not hardwired but constructed from experience and interpretation (Barrett, 2017). If that’s true, then so are we. If we can unlearn inherited behaviors, question assumed truths, and explore uncomfortable insights, then we can surely grow without having to fall apart first. If we approach our beliefs, identities, and routines with the same curiosity we reserve for crisis, we might not need the crisis at all. We could edit the script before the climax, we could become new—not out of necessity, but out of choice. Because in the end, transformation doesn’t begin when things fall apart, it begins the moment we stop pretending they’re holding us together.

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References:

• Barrett, L.F. (2017) How Emotions Are Made: The Secret Life of the Brain. London: Pan Macmillan.

• Jahoda, M. (1981) ‘Work, employment, and unemployment: Values, theories, and approaches in social research’, American Psychologist, 36(2), pp. 184–191.

• Tedeschi, R.G. and Calhoun, L.G. (2004) ‘Posttraumatic growth: Conceptual foundations and empirical evidence’, Psychological Inquiry, 15(1), pp. 1–18.