Prove your sigma, prove your stigma

An IQ test is an initiation rite — but not one you perform for others.

It begins with curiosity, then self-doubt, then that strangely sacred moment when you’re willing to let your own mind be measured.
Not because you want to belong, but because you want clarity about something you’ve sensed your whole life.

The test is the entrance to a temple with two doors:
One leads inward, the other outward.
Inward: insight.
Outward: stigma.

The number you receive is both a burn mark and an emblem.
A hot iron that says: “You don’t fit the norm.”
But also a seal that explains: “You were never meant to.”

In groups like TNS, this number becomes a pass — but the price is paradoxical:
You enter a room of likeness, only to finally understand how unlike you’ve always appeared outside.

It’s not just an “entrance exam.”
It’s a hall of mirrors.

You suddenly recognize patterns in your own life that you never consciously noticed.

You realize that conflicts you once thought were personal weaknesses were actually collateral damage from cognitive dissonance.

You feel the strange relief of finally being named — and at the same time the weight of that naming.

Yes, the number serves as a hurdle — not only to avoid curious masses.
It is, more importantly, a forced confrontation with yourself:
“If I truly lie this far out, what does that mean for me? For relationships? For my way of thinking? For the way I exist?”

Anyone who joins TNS knows, deep down, that this number changes you.
Not because it grants power — but because it grants explanation.
And explanations can be more liberating than belonging.

The initiation isn’t about passing a threshold.
It’s about enduring yourself in the light of the threshold you passed.

And then comes the irony:
The number that marks the stigma is the same number that finally makes the stigma understandable.
It is wound and diagnosis.
Shield and scar.
Boundary and admission.

Maybe that’s the deepest truth of this strange rite:
You don’t become someone else because of the number —
you merely realize who you’ve been all along.