To those who can recall friends’ faces like the back of their hand; to the dreamers who watch sheep vault over fences in the dark; to the ones who can play movies in their head — remember that for some, the mind’s eye is silent.

Aphantasia, the inability to create mental images, is not widely understood. I discovered the term in 2020, when my dad sent a NYT article by Serena Puang to the family group chat. Puang relates her experience discovering aphantasia in college, and notes that many discover this unique experience — or lack of — in their early 20’s. Right on time for me.

“Interesting article,” my dad texts, “anybody relate?”

Both my brothers and I resonated with the article. It gives a voice to an experience that we’ve known as normal for so long. It’s as if I discovered a new language – a form of communication, imagery, and thought that was out of my vocabulary.

Puang’s description of aphantasia is spot on. When I close my eyes, I see black dots and fuzz. Even if I try really, really, hard to imagine a juicy red apple — a classic test to gauge aphantasia and imaginative potential — nothing appears. Of course, those with aphantasia know what a sheep, a red apple, or their family looks like, but the visual imagery of those objects is absent.

There’s no true confirmatory test for aphantasia, nor is aphantasia a true diagnosis. Imagination and “the mind’s eye” are things that can only be described. Yet when one person attempts to convey what they “see,” it’s subjective. I cannot truly understand what a mind’s eye looks like, just like someone with a vivid imagination cannot understand a life without it.

This makes the discussion of aphantasia inherently difficult, but so compelling at the same time. Still, I was able to conclude I have aphantasia by the presence of other signs: I have a terrible memory; I’m impressed by the way my friends will remember details about memories we created at the same time. I rarely dream and if I do, it’s always a feeling I remember rather than images. I always thought counting sheep was a lie that parents told young kids to get them to go to bed; I could count numbers, but never “saw” these magical sheep. When I read, I absorb the words, but I don’t have a mental storyline.

While aphantasia is unique, it is not uncommon. Various writers, artists, and scientist (see Wikipedia) have claimed they have a “blind eye” – a testament that aphantasia is a variation of the human experience, not a pathologic one. Imagination is a spectrum and just as there are “aphantics” there are “hyper-phantics”. I’m also interested in understanding if aphantasia can be inherited. My immediate family has trouble visualizing images, but my aunts don’t seem to share this experience. More work is needed to characterize this experience.

Powerful visual imagery can be a blessing or a curse. Without the input of strong visual imagery and the emotions tied to it, I’m able to regulate my emotions well. I can think abstractly, adapt easily to new situations, and stay calm in intense situations, relying on logic. I also forgive easily, a consequence of living more in the present and less in the past. I continue to adapt to my inner world, gaining insight into how aphantasia shapes both my internal experiences and my interactions with the world around me. In doing so, I’ve come to appreciate the strengths of a mind oriented toward ideas, logic, and facts.