Alexithymia Test

Questions: 22Time: ≈ 5 min

Read each of the 22 situations and pick the answer closest to your own experience; your first reaction is the one to go with. It takes ≈5 minutes, and at the end you see your level of alexithymia signs, from minimal to marked, with a short write-up.

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A person sitting cross-legged on a rug at night, looking at a glowing iridescent orb held in both hands, with a moonlit window behind

Once a rough moment is over, how clearly can you say what you felt during it? Walking out of the meeting, you already know it was humiliation, and you could say so to anyone who asked. While brushing your teeth that night you replay the afternoon, and after a minute the word lands: disappointment. Asked the next day what that was, you answer that it was unpleasant, and no sharper label comes however you turn it. You sit down with a notebook to name what hit you in the corridor, and the page ends up holding one word: bad. A colleague says you looked shaken on Tuesday; you believe it, yet the memory holds nothing you could call a feeling.

When two unpleasant feelings arrive together, can you tell which is which? Your sister cancels the trip, and in the same breath you can say that part of you is hurt and part is irritated. One beat of attention after the phone call, and you can see guilt on one side and resentment on the other. Untangling the embarrassment from the disappointment after the failed pitch takes deliberate effort at the kitchen table, but you manage it. Is the knot in your stomach more anger or more dread? You make a guess and have no way to check it. Everything unpleasant lands in you as a single block of bad, with no edge where one feeling would stop and another start.

Does a mild version of an unpleasant feeling get a different name from a strong one? A late reply makes you annoyed, being talked over in a meeting makes you furious, and you would defend both words. The small one you call irritated and the big one angry, though if asked where irritated ends, you would only shrug. Small sting or heavy blow, you reach for upset, and the heavy one just gets the word said harder. The sleepless night after the row with your landlord and a morning of stubbed toes both sit in your head under the label bad. You can’t say whether what is in you is large or small, or what kind it is, only that something unpleasant is there.

When your mood sours hours after something happened, can you link it to what set it off? Your mood sours over dinner, and you connect it to the remark your boss made at noon before the first forkful. Halfway through the dishes you stop: the gloom began with that parking-lot argument, and it took a minute to find the thread. On Sunday evening you suspect the heaviness traces back to Friday’s conversation, though it stays a guess that doesn’t feel settled. You go through your day hour by hour, hunting for whatever turned your mood, and nothing solid turns up. A friend points out that the sulk began right after the argument; you hear it as news, and the two still refuse to join up.

As an unpleasant feeling starts, how fast does its exact name arrive? You stop and concentrate on the feeling while it is happening, and all that comes is a general sense of bad. In the elevator after the call, you keep pushing at the feeling until, a few floors later, the word comes: jealous. You pause for one breath, and the word turns up: resentful. Your face goes hot at the cashier’s remark, and the word embarrassed forms before you have paid. A colleague announces the promotion, and with your first twinge the word is already there: envy.

When two good feelings arrive together, can you tell them apart? At the wedding toast you feel proud and grateful at once, and you could point to which is which. Handing in the report, you give it a moment, and relief comes apart from pride. To sort the excitement from the contentment of your first vacation morning, you have to sit down and work at it on purpose. Pressed on how much of the good evening was joy and how much was amusement, you offer a guess and distrust it. After a great concert your good feelings are one warm glow, with no seam anywhere in it.

How early do you notice a good feeling while it is building? On the doorstep, before anything has even happened, you catch the first faint warmth of a good mood. A few minutes into the walk it hits you that you are happy, long before the feeling gets big. You realize you are delighted once you catch yourself grinning and humming on the bus. Laughter is already shaking your shoulders at the end of dinner when it dawns on you that you were enjoying yourself. The next morning a friend asks about the party, and only then do you see it was a good night, the glow long gone.

When a good feeling is only just forming, how early do you name it? You are already laughing out loud at the party when it finally occurs to you to name the feeling: glad. On the drive home from the lake, with the feeling solid and near its peak, you find the word: contented. By mid-afternoon the lightness has grown past a flicker and you tag it: cheerful. Over coffee, with the lightness still mild, you think, oh, I’m pleased. The first faint loosening in your chest when the sun hits your desk gets a name on the spot: happy.

When you feel good for no obvious reason, do you recognize it as a feeling? Waiting in line on an ordinary Tuesday with a lift in your mood, you think, I feel good, and leave it there. A moment after the lift appears, you tell yourself, this is gladness, though nothing special happened. Something light flutters in your chest at the bus stop; you can’t place it, and you wouldn’t call it a feeling yet. A neighbor remarks that you seem cheerful, and only then do you register that you are. It passes through as a sensation you don’t examine, and it doesn’t occur to you to call it a feeling.

When you tell someone how a bad moment felt, how specific are your words? Asked how the interview went, you answer straight away: I felt belittled, then angry about feeling belittled. You search for a second or two before telling your roommate it felt like being brushed aside. Explaining the day to a friend, you get as far as awful, and nothing sharper turns up. Even a flat stand-in word such as rough is hard work to produce; your friend watches you hunt for it. You open your mouth, wave a hand, and end up with something’s wrong, because no word comes.

When someone asks what you feel, do you answer with a feeling or with a sensation in your body? “I’m jealous,” you tell your friend, and that is the whole answer. Heavy chest is the first phrase in your head, but you set it aside and say disappointed. “My shoulders are tight,” you say; only after a nudge, and with some effort, do you add that you might be embarrassed. Tight chest, hot face, you report, and when your friend asks what that adds up to, you have nothing. Asked how you feel, you list the churning stomach and the headache, and naming an emotion doesn’t come up.

After you pick a word for a bad feeling, how well does it fit? You tell your friend you’re disappointed, and the friend nods: that is exactly it, and nothing is left unsaid inside you. You text your sister “disappointed” and hit send, though the part about being let down by yourself stays in your head. You write “frustrated” in your journal, look at it, and know a good chunk of what happened today isn’t in that word. You say upset, hear how thin it sounds next to what is inside, and a large part of the feeling is missing from it. You have tried angry, sad, hurt and tired, and each label sits next to the feeling without touching it.

When someone asks you to say more about a bad feeling, how much more is there? Your teammate asks, “Meaning what?” and you add three specifics, down to what the silence in the room did to you. After a moment you find a line or two more: it felt like being left out of the loop. “I was upset,” you say, then “really upset,” then “very, very upset,” and nothing new has been added. You start to elaborate and run out of road after the first clause. “It was bad” is your answer, and when the question comes a second time, it is still your answer, since nothing stands behind it.

How readily do you put a bad feeling into specific words for another person? When your cousin asks what’s wrong, only “something’s off” comes out, however many tries you take. Your roommate asks what’s wrong, and after three false starts and a long breath, “I feel overlooked” comes out. You stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, hunting, and then you find it: “I’m discouraged.” A short search, and you can tell your friend, “I’m disappointed in how it went.” “I’m hurt that you didn’t call” is on your lips the moment your friend asks.

When you feel good, can you say more than fine? After a great day you can explain why it was good: the quiet morning, what your colleague said at lunch. Good is the first word out, then, after a moment’s thought, you add that it was the lunch with old friends. Nice is all you offer, and when they ask what was nice about it, you have nothing to add. At the dinner table you fumble for even a plain word like nice while the others wait. Something good is happening inside you, and you can only nod at it; no account and no word comes.

When you feel good, how quickly does a catch-all word like happy push out the exact one? A neighbor hands you a bouquet and touched is your word at once; happy doesn’t even cross your mind. Happy flits through your head, then touched arrives and takes its place. The gift gets an enthusiastic happy from you, and it takes working at it on the bus home to realize it was closer to relief. You tell the whole table you are happy about the news, and for the rest of the evening no sharper word turns up. Whether it was a good grade or a good hug, great is the label you stick on it, and nothing more precise is within reach.

When you feel something specific and good, how readily does the exact word replace a catch-all one? Pride, delight or relief, you can’t tell which: good is the only word you have for all of them. After a long rummage past good and great, you finally land on proud. You think great, nudge yourself further, and land on relieved. Great flickers by, and you are quickly onto delighted. Stepping into the garden, you think serene; nice doesn’t cross your mind.

When someone asks what exactly is good about a good feeling, how far can you take it? You give three reasons with details: how the light fell across the table and how your shoulders dropped. It takes a beat, and then you add one thing: you were trusted with the keys. Your friend asks what is so great about it, and you answer with a bigger smile and the same two words. You look off to the side, say you would have to think about it, and the topic dies there. You nod, smile, and leave it at that; no further word about the good feeling is waiting.

When someone asks how you feel about something, where does your answer go? Asked about the move, you talk only about the sinking feeling in your chest and what it means to you. You say how the move sits with you first, and tack on a line about the van afterwards. A sentence about the knot in your stomach, a sentence about the contract, back and forth, with neither side winning. “Tense, I guess,” you say, and then three minutes go on contracts, boxes and the van. “How do you feel about the move?” “The van comes at nine,” you answer; the whole reply is the schedule.

How strong does a reaction have to be before you notice it? As you open your inbox, a faint tug of unease registers, long before it could interfere with anything. On a call, an edge of irritation becomes noticeable to you while it is still too small to disturb much. You notice what you feel only after you have reread the same paragraph three times without taking it in. The reaction reaches you when you are losing words and dropping things, and carrying on has become a struggle. It takes you having to stop mid-sentence and sit down before you notice there is a feeling at all.

When a feeling shows up in the middle of a task, what do you do with it? You put the spreadsheet down and ask what the tightness in your throat is telling you. You register the pang, give it a moment, and return to the spreadsheet. “Oh, annoyed,” you think in passing, and the work carries on, the feeling an afterthought. You tell yourself it can wait, and push it aside so the deadline gets met. Whatever flares up while you are busy is a nuisance to be swatted off, with nothing in it worth a look.

When nothing forces the choice, does your attention go to practical matters or to how you feel? Waiting for a train, your attention goes to the timetable and the to-do list, and how you feel doesn’t enter into it. You check the timetable and your phone, and a small awareness that your mood is restless tags along. On the platform you glance at the timetable, then at how you are doing, then back, with neither getting the longer look. You check in with yourself first, giving the timetable a glance only when something else prompts it. On the platform, before you look at anything else, you ask yourself how you are.

Your results are no accident

The classic 16-type personality test rooted in Jung's typology has been rebuilt from the ground up: a new CoreTypes methodology, and a far higher level of accuracy. These might be the most useful ten minutes you'll ever spend on yourself: you walk away with the key to your decisions, your relationships and your results — and it's yours for good.

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How this test works

Methodology

This test is built on the way researchers break alexithymia into parts. Two parts concern recognizing what you feel and two concern putting it into words; in each pair, one covers unpleasant feelings and the other pleasant ones. A fifth part looks at where your attention goes by default, toward practical matters outside you or toward what is happening inside.

Your 22 answers add up to one score on a single scale. Alexithymia is described as a trait that varies continuously, so everyone sits somewhere along it, and the six levels are our own cut of that range. It is a trait, and the major classification manuals do not list it as a mental disorder. The APA Dictionary of Psychology entry gives the standard definition.

Everything here rests on self-report. The result shows how you see your own emotional life today, which is not the same thing as an assessment by someone else.

Treat this as a tool for reflecting on how aware you are of your own emotions. It does not diagnose alexithymia or any other condition, and it does not replace a professional. If your result leaves you concerned, a conversation with a qualified specialist is the place to take it.

Frequently Asked Questions

Can an alexithymia test tell me whether I have alexithymia?

No. Alexithymia is something researchers study as a trait, and the standard diagnostic systems do not treat it as a diagnosis, so no test, this one included, can confirm or rule it out in a clinical sense. What you get here is a self-reported level across the areas the trait is studied through, and nothing more official than that. If the result worries you, a licensed mental health professional is the person to talk it over with.

Can you have signs of alexithymia and not realize it?

It is possible. Noticing your own emotional processing relies on the very skills involved, so a person who struggles with them may be the last to spot it. Nobody can promise either way, and a result on a page like this proves nothing in either direction.

How accurate is an online self-report alexithymia test?

It captures how you see your emotional life right now, which is useful as a prompt for reflection. Your mood on the day, how you read each situation, even the picture of yourself you would like to give can shift the answers. It is a snapshot of self-perception, not an outside assessment.

Can signs of alexithymia change over time?

Patterns like these are talked about as something that can shift over the years, so today’s result is one snapshot rather than a permanent label. This test says nothing about how or why such changes happen. If you take it again later, you will simply see where you stand then.

References

Preece, D., Becerra, R., Robinson, K., Dandy, J., & Allan, A. (2018). The psychometric assessment of alexithymia: Development and validation of the Perth Alexithymia Questionnaire. Personality and Individual Differences, 132, 32–44. doi:10.1016/j.paid.2018.05.011
Preece, D., Becerra, R., Allan, A., Robinson, K., & Dandy, J. (2017). Establishing the theoretical components of alexithymia via factor analysis: Introduction and validation of the attention-appraisal model of alexithymia. Personality and Individual Differences, 119, 341–352. doi:10.1016/j.paid.2017.08.003
Bagby, R. M., Parker, J. D. A., & Taylor, G. J. (1994). The twenty-item Toronto Alexithymia Scale—I. Item selection and cross-validation of the factor structure. Journal of Psychosomatic Research, 38(1), 23–32. doi:10.1016/0022-3999(94)90005-1

Author: Lex Tarrel, personality type expert Reviewed by: Igor Lyadskiy, PhD

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Alexithymia Test

Clear Glass Your answers show minimal signs of alexithymia.

Passing Cloud Your answers show mild signs of alexithymia.

Half-Tuned Radio Your answers show moderate signs of alexithymia.

One Loud Corner Your answers show elevated signs of alexithymia.

Outward Compass Your answers show pronounced signs of alexithymia.

Lantern in the Fog Your answers show marked signs of alexithymia.

Your results are no accident

Your result card

How this test works

Methodology

Frequently Asked Questions

Can an alexithymia test tell me whether I have alexithymia?

Can you have signs of alexithymia and not realize it?

How accurate is an online self-report alexithymia test?

Can signs of alexithymia change over time?

References

Alexithymia Test

Clear Glass Your answers show minimal signs of alexithymia.

Passing Cloud Your answers show mild signs of alexithymia.

Half-Tuned Radio Your answers show moderate signs of alexithymia.

One Loud Corner Your answers show elevated signs of alexithymia.

Outward Compass Your answers show pronounced signs of alexithymia.

Lantern in the Fog Your answers show marked signs of alexithymia.

Your results are no accident

Your result card

More tests like this

How this test works

Methodology

Frequently Asked Questions

Can an alexithymia test tell me whether I have alexithymia?

Can you have signs of alexithymia and not realize it?

How accurate is an online self-report alexithymia test?

Can signs of alexithymia change over time?

References