Why We Publish What We Do Not Know

Publishing what we do not know means keeping a public page that lists the open questions about microcurrent neurofeedback, including questions whose answers would not flatter us. It is maintained alongside the rest of the site and it is linked from the navigation, not hidden in a footer.

This is unusual and it is a commercial disadvantage. A visitor comparing two providers will find uncertainty on our site and confidence on the other one. We have decided to accept that.

What is actually on the list?

Questions about mechanism, questions about how long any effect lasts, questions about which sensor placements matter and why, and questions about how much of what people report is attributable to sitting quietly in a calm room for forty minutes.

That last one is the most uncomfortable and the most important. A session involves rest, low light, no screens, and undivided attention from another person. Any honest account has to hold open the possibility that those conditions do some of the work.

The page also records where the literature is thin. Small samples, short follow-up windows, and few comparisons against a credible control are common across this area, and pretending otherwise would be a choice.

Does admitting uncertainty cost you customers?

Yes, and we can see it. Some people read the page, decide the whole thing sounds unresolved, and leave. That is a rational response to accurate information and we would rather they leave than book on a misunderstanding.

What we get in return is a different kind of client. People who arrive after reading the limits arrive with calibrated expectations. They do not turn up on session three asking why a promise has not landed, because no promise was made.

Those conversations are easier for everyone, and the people who stay tend to stay longer.

Is this just a legal precaution?

Partly, and it would be dishonest to pretend otherwise. A wellness practice using a cleared biofeedback device is limited in what it may claim, and the safest way to stay inside those limits is to be systematically clear about them.

But a legal precaution would look different. It would be a paragraph of dense text at the bottom of a page nobody reads. Ours is a linked page written to be understood, which is a larger commitment than compliance requires.

The honest summary is that the rule started as a boundary and became a preference. It turns out to be easier to write a site where nothing needs walking back later.

How do you avoid uncertainty becoming an excuse?

By keeping it specific. Vague uncertainty is a rhetorical move that protects a provider from ever being wrong. Specific uncertainty commits you to something, because a named open question can later be closed.

So the page names what would change our position. If a well-designed comparison against a credible control reported no difference, that would matter and we would say so. If the same design reported a difference, that would matter too.

We also date the page. An uncertainty list without a date is a way of freezing an argument in place while the field moves.

What does this mean for what a practitioner tells you in the room?

The same thing, in speech. If you ask whether a session will help with something specific, the answer is that we do not know and we are not permitted to claim it, followed by what we can describe accurately.

Practitioners here are not clinicians and do not answer health questions. That boundary is easier to hold when the whole site already refuses to blur it, because nobody arrives expecting a different answer in person.

It also means a practitioner can say I do not know without it sounding like incompetence. That phrase is currency in a careful practice and dead weight in a promotional one.

Should visitors expect this from other providers?

It is a fair thing to look for. A provider with no visible limits page has made an editorial decision about how much certainty to project, and you are allowed to read it that way.

You can also just ask. What are you unsure about is a short question, and the shape of the answer tells you a great deal about how the rest of the conversation will go.

Our comparison and research pages exist to make that kind of checking easier, including on us. The point of publishing standards is that somebody can hold you to them.

What happens when we get something wrong?

We change the page and leave the correction visible in the modified date rather than reissuing the site quietly. Content lives in version control, so an edit has a history whether or not we advertise it.

That is the practical end of the same argument. A practice that publishes uncertainty has to be willing to publish corrections, otherwise the first page is just a posture.

How is the list actually maintained?

One person owns the page and revisits it on a fixed schedule rather than when it feels convenient. That sounds bureaucratic and it is, deliberately, because an uncertainty page that only gets touched during a redesign stops being current within a year.

When something new appears in the literature, the question it touches gets rewritten rather than deleted. Deleting a question makes it look like it was answered, and most of the time it has only narrowed.

Reader questions feed the same list. If someone asks something in the room that we cannot answer well, it usually belongs on the page, and several entries arrived that way.