In the Fragments, We Find Ourselves: The Incomplete Picture of Life
In an age obsessed with clarity, purpose, and perfection, Jón Kalman Stefánsson’s words strike a quiet but radical note: “Maybe there is no complete picture. Maybe life is found nowhere but in the fragments.” This statement challenges our deeply held belief in linearity — that life must make sense as a cohesive whole, as a journey with a clear beginning, middle, and end. But perhaps, more than in perfect stories or neatly ordered lives, we find meaning in the scattered, broken, and seemingly disconnected moments — the fragments.
Since ancient times, humans have sought meaning through narratives. From mythology to modern biographies, we’re conditioned to think in arcs — rising action, climax, resolution. But life rarely obeys that structure. Despite our efforts, the totality of one’s experiences often resists coherence. People face unexpected loss, unresolved trauma, and shifting identities. What if this lack of a complete picture is not a flaw, but the very essence of human life?
Psychology supports this idea. Research in narrative identity — the internalized and evolving story of the self — shows that while humans naturally seek coherence, they rarely find it in full (McAdams & McLean, 2013). In fact, fragmented or non-linear narratives are more common in people who have experienced adversity, yet they still build resilience and purpose through selective meaning-making (Adler et al., 2016).
Fragments as Cognitive Reality
Neuroscience offers further evidence. The brain itself does not store memories as a continuous reel but rather in fragments. According to research published in Nature Neuroscience, the hippocampus and neocortex consolidate memories in pieces, reactivating and reconstructing them during recall (Dudai, Karni, & Born, 2015). This explains why memory is fluid, unreliable, and often emotional rather than factual.
Our perception of life, then, is not a seamless whole but a mosaic of moments — bright and dark, clear and obscure. These fragments carry emotional weight, and in many ways, they form a more honest reflection of existence than a polished narrative ever could.
Trauma, Healing, and Fractured Selves
In clinical psychology, the concept of fragmented experience takes center stage in trauma research. Trauma disrupts the ability to process events into cohesive memory. Instead, individuals remember trauma in disjointed sensory fragments — sounds, smells, sensations — often without a clear narrative. Renowned psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk writes in The Body Keeps the Score that trauma “compromises the brain area that communicates the physical, embodied feeling of being alive” (van der Kolk, 2014). Healing, therefore, does not come from reconstructing a complete story, but by reintegrating the fragments, slowly and gently.
This reintegration is not about forcing wholeness, but accepting and understanding the pieces. Life may never feel like a complete picture again after loss or suffering — but in the fragments, one can still create meaning, resilience, and connection.
Art, Literature, and Fragmented Meaning
Artistic expression has long reflected this fragmented nature of existence. Modernist literature, such as the works of Virginia Woolf or T.S. Eliot, deliberately embraces fragmentation to mirror the disjointed human experience. Visual artists like Picasso or Braque used Cubism to break apart form and perspective, offering multiple truths simultaneously.
Contemporary studies in art therapy support the value of fragmented expression. A 2017 study in the Arts in Psychotherapy journal found that engaging in non-linear creative processes helps individuals externalize inner chaos and regain a sense of agency (Haeyen, 2017). Through fragmented forms, people often find catharsis — a redefinition of their own identity, especially when linear narrative fails them.
The Fragmented Self in the Digital Age
Modern life, accelerated by technology, has only made the experience of fragmentation more visible. We switch between roles rapidly — from professional emails to casual selfies, from grief in one tab to humor in another. Our digital selves are edited, filtered, and sliced into highlight reels and disappearing stories. Philosopher Byung-Chul Han calls this the age of “the atomized subject,” where depth is replaced by constant, surface-level engagement (Han, 2017).
And yet, even in this seemingly fractured identity, there is potential. Each version of ourselves — the daughter, the manager, the writer, the survivor — is not false but partial. Together, these fragments tell a richer, more complex story, if we are willing to read between the lines.
Personal Growth Through Fragmentation
When it comes to creating your better you, it is often in these very pieces — of failure, vulnerability, confusion, and detour — that real transformation begins. Growth does not follow a blueprint. Self-development is not a straight ladder but a collage. One breakthrough in a moment of crisis. One realization during a quiet walk. One insight from a poem or memory long forgotten.
Psychological flexibility, one of the core components of mental health according to Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), involves embracing the present moment — with all its inconsistencies — and committing to actions aligned with personal values (Hayes et al., 2006). In other words, wellbeing is not about having a seamless narrative, but about holding space for the fragments without judgment.
The Beauty of the Unfinished
To believe that life must make sense, or that one day we will finally see the full picture, is to chase a mirage. Instead, Jón Kalman Stefánsson invites us to live among the fragments. To notice the glint in the broken glass, the warmth in a single memory, the beauty in an unresolved chord.
We are often taught to chase perfection: the complete plan, the finished story, the definitive version of ourselves. Yet life rarely plays by those rules. It unfolds in fragments — moments of clarity followed by chaos, triumph followed by loss, and connection tangled with confusion. The human experience is not a straight line but a mosaic of jagged and beautiful pieces. In fragments, we find our humanity — raw, vulnerable, and deeply real. When we accept that life is incomplete, we can stop striving for perfection and start embracing presence. In doing so, we unlock something truer than any finished story: the art of becoming, one piece at a time.
We live in a world that rewards neatness and narrative: complete résumés, clear goals, Instagram-worthy milestones. But our internal lives rarely mirror this outer order. Grief, doubt, growth, and healing all come in waves. Philosopher Søren Kierkegaard once said, “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” Our understanding comes in retrospect — and even then, incompletely. Life in the present is mostly fragments: a shared glance, a half-remembered dream, a deep breath during a difficult day.
Accepting incompleteness is not defeat; it is liberation. It allows us to release the impossible task of perfection and instead find presence in what is — not what should be. Clinical psychologist Kristin Neff emphasizes this in her research on self-compassion: those who accept their imperfections, rather than criticize themselves, experience higher emotional resilience, less anxiety, and greater overall wellbeing (Neff, 2003).
Neuroscience affirms that the mind itself is designed to operate in fragments. Memory does not function as a continuous video reel; instead, the brain stores experiences in fragmented clusters. The hippocampus records pieces of time, location, and emotion separately, while the amygdala tags emotional significance (Phelps, 2004). We reconstruct our past during recall — often imperfectly.
This fragmented architecture of memory is not a flaw but a feature. It allows us to focus on emotionally salient events and learn from them. According to McGaugh (2015), emotionally charged experiences are more easily retained, suggesting that the “highlight moments” we remember might be the brain’s way of telling a story through key fragments rather than exhaustive narrative.
The notion of wholeness often becomes central in healing — especially after trauma. But research shows that healing rarely comes from “solving” the past or creating a complete story. Rather, it arises from integrating fragments: flashes of memory, emotions, sensations, and meanings. In trauma therapy, modalities like EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) focus on desensitizing the fragmented memory loops, not “completing” them (Shapiro, 2018).
Bessel van der Kolk, in The Body Keeps the Score, writes: “Trauma is not just an event that took place sometime in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on the mind, brain, and body.” The path to recovery is often nonlinear. We heal one fragment at a time.
When we no longer seek to fit life into a perfect narrative, we open ourselves to presence — the act of truly living in the now. Mindfulness-based therapies, which encourage people to accept thoughts and emotions without judgment, have demonstrated significant effects on anxiety, depression, and even chronic pain (Kabat-Zinn, 2003). These practices do not aim to “fix” the self but to be with the self — fragmented, uncertain, yet alive.
As Jon Kabat-Zinn says, “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” Life’s incompleteness does not need to be a burden. It can be a teacher, a guide, and a mirror for our evolving humanity.
We often ask, “Who am I?” as if the answer should be singular and constant. Yet identity is fluid, layered, and evolving. Psychologist Dan McAdams, in his theory of narrative identity, suggests that people build their sense of self through a “life story” composed of various episodes — not all of them coherent or resolved (McAdams & McLean, 2013). Even those who suffer from identity crises or life disruptions can rebuild new narratives by embracing fragmented, nonlinear versions of their lives.
In fact, mental well-being is linked not to having a perfect life story, but to the ability to make meaning from life’s turning points — even painful ones (Adler et al., 2016). This means that it’s not wholeness that defines us, but our capacity to create coherence from chaos — to find the thread that runs through our fragments.
When it comes to creating your better you, the path is rarely straight or smooth. Growth doesn’t come from achieving perfection, but from integrating pain, joy, confusion, and insight. We evolve through ruptures and repairs, through fragmented understandings and renewed commitments.
There is beauty in knowing that we are not finished — and never will be. The “better you” is not a destination but a process. Each piece — each mistake, each spark of insight, each lesson — builds something new.
Psychological flexibility, the cornerstone of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), emphasizes this point: those who adapt to life’s unpredictability and accept fragments as they are tend to experience greater psychological health, resilience, and value-driven living (Hayes et al., 2006). Life does not have to make perfect sense for it to be deeply meaningful.
Perhaps the greatest freedom we can offer ourselves is the permission to remain incomplete. To let go of the finished story. To inhabit life moment by moment, piece by piece. In fragments, we find the stuff of real humanity: honesty, fragility, depth, and transformation.
We are not puzzles waiting to be completed. We are mosaics in motion, constantly shifting, reflecting the light from a thousand broken edges. And in those fragments — not despite them, but because of them — we begin the true work of becoming.
McAdams, D. P., & McLean, K. C. (2013). Narrative identity. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 22(3), 233–238. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721413475622
Adler, J. M., et al. (2016). Meaning-making in narrative identity predicts psychological well-being. Developmental Psychology, 52(3), 370–380. https://doi.org/10.1037/dev0000095
Dudai, Y., Karni, A., & Born, J. (2015). The consolidation and transformation of memory. Neuron, 88(1), 20–32. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neuron.2015.09.004
van der Kolk, B. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Penguin Books.
Haeyen, S. (2017). Strengthening the reflective functioning of patients with personality disorders through art therapy. The Arts in Psychotherapy, 55, 111–119. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.aip.2017.05.004
Han, B.-C. (2017). Psychopolitics: Neoliberalism and New Technologies of Power. Verso Books.
Hayes, S. C., Luoma, J. B., Bond, F. W., Masuda, A., & Lillis, J. (2006). Acceptance and Commitment Therapy: Model, processes and outcomes. Behaviour Research and Therapy, 44(1), 1–25. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.brat.2005.06.006
Phelps, E. A. (2004). Human emotion and memory: interactions of the amygdala and hippocampal complex. Current Opinion in Neurobiology, 14(2), 198–202. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.conb.2004.03.015
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Phelps, E. A. (2004). Human emotion and memory: interactions of the amygdala and hippocampal complex. Current Opinion in Neurobiology, 14(2), 198–202. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.conb.2004.03.015
McGaugh, J. L. (2015). Consolidating memories. Annual Review of Psychology, 66, 1–24. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-psych-010814-014954
Shapiro, F. (2018). Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy: Basic principles, protocols, and procedures. Guilford Publications.
van der Kolk, B. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Penguin Books.
Kabat-Zinn, J. (2003). Mindfulness-based interventions in context: past, present, and future. Clinical Psychology: Science and Practice, 10(2), 144–156. https://doi.org/10.1093/clipsy.bpg016
McAdams, D. P., & McLean, K. C. (2013). Narrative identity. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 22(3), 233–238. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721413475622
Adler, J. M., et al. (2016). Meaning-making in narrative identity predicts psychological well-being. Developmental Psychology, 52(3), 370–380. https://doi.org/10.1037/dev0000095
Hayes, S. C., et al. (2006). Acceptance and Commitment Therapy: Model, processes and outcomes. Behaviour Research and Therapy, 44(1), 1–25. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.brat.2005.06.006
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