The Simultaneous Selves Theory
What if you were able to sit with your past self, and tell them everything you wish you’d been told? What if you could meet your future self, and find the answer to all of your questions?
We may not have this luxury in reality, but through this practice, you might just be able to find a little peace in the unknown, forgiveness to the person you once were and freedom to start living in the present moment, with a trust that your future is taken care of.
The Theory
I like to think that our past or future selves can be called upon, at any given moment.
They aren’t erased from our lives as we move through time, they just shift places, standing somewhere nearby, quietly influencing the way that we live.
When I picture them, they aren’t ghosts or memories; they’re companions.
The older version of me stands steady, calm. The kind of presence that says: “you’ll get here, there’s no rush”.
The younger one looks fragile, still learning how to survive.
And me, standing in between, looking to both for reassurance and guidance.
Finding Peace
The idea of the Simultaneous Selves came from a guided meditation I did years ago. It woke something inside me and I’ve since adopted my own version as a way to calm my anxiety. A way to stop treating my past and future as strangers, and start seeing them as parts of a single, continuous being. It’s not about striving to “become” my future self; it’s about realising that they’re already with me.
That image takes away so much fear. I feel reassured that no matter what happens, it will all fall into place eventually. And so I can stop worrying about whether I’ll make it, and start focusing on living as if I already have.
Of course, philosophers and psychologists have been trying to make sense of this concept for decades.
Ricoeur talks about the “narrative self,” stretched across time, while Markus and Nurius describe the “possible selves” we imagine becoming. Therapies like Internal Family Systems suggest we’re made up of inner parts, each holding its own story.
But what I’ve found is something slightly different: these selves don’t feel like metaphors or checkpoints on a timeline. They feel present. They sit with me, not behind or ahead of me. Time is abstracted from the whole idea. It’s like we all sit together, looking down at the timeline, from a common space.
My Future Self
She lets me know that I don’t need to worry about the future. She’s got it covered.
It’s not a passive idea; it doesn’t remove agency.
My future self isn’t a guarantee; she’s a guide.
When I lose my way, she’s there saying, “you know how to get to me”.
Not offering certainty, but direction.
And in that, I feel driven, challenged and encouraged to follow my dreams, and take full control of the person that I want to be.
My Past Self
My past self plays a different role.
She’s a symbol of everything I have learned. A reminder that we’ve survived before, and will again.
Sometimes she is a small child, full of hope and joy. Other times she is young adult, fighting for her life and feeling so lost.
When I look back now, I see that younger version of me not as weak or naïve, but as brave. Trying, often in the dark, to find a way forward with what little she had. I no longer resent her, I feel for her. I want to protect her.
And when I show compassion to her, I realise that I deserve the same compassion now - because one day, my future self will look back on this moment and feel the same.
Finding Balance
It’s like parenting both ends of time: caring for the child who once was, and trusting the adult who will be.
That’s what creates balance.
It keeps me grounded in the present, not obsessing over what’s gone or what’s to come, but aware that both are here with me, shaping the person I’m still becoming.
Because the goal isn’t perfection. It is presence.
The past teaches compassion, the future teaches trust, and the present learns patience.
Together, they form a kind of wholeness; a loop of understanding that keeps you anchored, no matter how much you change.
And while many have theorised versions of the “possible self” before, this constant reminder of all that we have survived and reassurance of what is to come, feels a little different to me.
Maybe growth isn’t a straight line at all; not plowing forward and erasing everything that came before.
Maybe it’s a quiet conversation across time: between who we were, who we are, and who we’re still becoming.
And if you can learn to listen, you’ll find that nothing was ever wasted.
Every version of you has a voice in the story you are still writing. Let them in, and you might just feel a weight lifted.
Do you have a similar practice to calm your inner worries about the past or future?
If you decide to give this one a try, let me know, I’d love to hear how you get on!
