She started out her. A babe. Without much consciousness.
Then the world's gift to her — parents, family, church, home town, teachers, books, music, art, friends, TV, all that she encountered — shaped her.
But was that really her?
It's like the real her, the naked babe, was given scales to put on one by one, year by year. Each scale was a piece of armor, for protection and for control. Society is the armor manufacturer.
If a person is fortunate, over time, consciousness grows and she begins to discover the real her under the armor. If she's very fortunate and determined, she begins to pick off the scales like scabs. One by one they come off, sometimes bleeding when done too quickly. No longer does the armor define her. Now she begins to live in society aware, wanting to be clothed only in the minimal self-accoutrements necessary for survival, enjoyment, authentic identity.
Is there a different light from such a person? Daily she picks at the little scales covering her still, which could be untruths, not who she is, not what she really believes if she lets her heart and mind know and understand what lies beneath "facts" and "right" and "wrong."
This can be exhausting work. But over time, with simple awareness (it doesn't have to be complete), she can sense a scale forming in its early stages. Then she examines it by picking at it, asking questions about it, meditating on it, and either tearing it off or seeing that it really is hers.