Your Thoughts Are Trying to Help You
Inner conflict shows up with me the way it does for everyone. We battle with the voices in our minds. My battles used to be tough and plentiful, like it was my default state to be at odds with my own thoughts.
I used to believe them, but I didn’t want to believe them so I’d fight to prove them wrong anyway, fail, and internalize their message in the end. Defeat me as they may, I only gave them so much attention because some part of me knew, these thoughts are everything I have, in a way.
Then a few years ago I started therapy. I learned to get curious about these thoughts. These voices.
Over time I learned where they came from. I learned who they were. I learned to get vulnerable with them, understand them, build trust with them, partner with them, lead them, and make peace with them.
Almost every client I have comes to me to help with the warring voices in their minds and I help them build these same skills.
If you want support with breaking your old patterns (and the inner conflict that drives them), click below to learn about my coaching style.
We call it reparenting. We call it shadow work. We call it parts work. I don’t care what we call it, the majority of this work boils down to sorting out inner conflict, some of which are carried on by strong, raging and despairing voices.
My clients tell me “this is my mother’s voice.” I point out while it sounds like their mother’s voice, it’s coming from inside of them, which makes it their own voice.
I tell them I thought mine was my mother’s voice too. But that didn’t help me relate to it or work with it well. It really just reinforced the conflict, because I kept repeating the war with my mother.
I learned to see it as my voice speaking my mother’s language. This I could work with.
They tell me the language means to harm them. I ask them if they’ve investigated this assumption. No one has told me they have already investigated this assumption. Not a single person. So we investigate it together. And when we do, we see where our assumptions fall short.
We don’t always know what our mothers mean to do to us in their own voices. Maybe they mean to harm us. Maybe they mean to love us. Maybe it’s a bit of both depending on circumstance. But our own voices are a part of us. They come from our own mind. And our own mind is well aware that its survival relies on our survival. It’s wellbeing relies on our wellbeing.
It is never trying to hurt us because it is never trying to hurt itself.
On the contrary, we’ve always found that these voices and thoughts are here to protect us, even if we don’t understand how. Even if we don’t get along with them or like how they protect us, usually when we get curious and investigate our way to the root of the thoughts and voices, we learn that in their own sometimes twisted ways, they have our backs and best interests at heart.
The same is not always true for our mothers. Which is why I find it important to note that this voice is not your mother’s, your father’s. Or anyone else’s. This voice comes from your mind. It belongs to you.
Our minds have a habit of protecting us in languages we don’t understand. Languages we have some muddy history with. Sometimes painful, hateful, grieving history with. Some old battles with that we haven’t wrapped up yet and don’t yet know how.
But they are always trying to protect us.
In a community meeting tonight (as I write this) one of my voices perked up. It sounded pessimistic, telling me not to try a thing. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Another voice bit back, critical, noting how annoying and defeating this is. “What’s the point in doing anything with that attitude?”
My voices were fighting, but I was neither of these voices. I was myself. Being myself gave me the freedom to detach. I could agree or disagree. I could form my own opinion. I could remain calm.
I didn’t have to internalize it or identify with it.
I decided to do nothing before I had all the information. I decided to tune in, listen, and observe.
The translation happened on autopilot during my observation.
These parts of me spoke freely in the language of my parents, my teachers, my ancestors. They didn’t have to script a thing for me. Feeling calm, curious and detached helped me hear them clearly through the old languages I used to war with.
I observed “The Pessimist” wanting me to be realistic with myself to avoid disappointment. Disappointment hurts. Disappointment is something I need to be ready for or it can really knock me off balance. This part was trying to keep me safe and regulated. In a way, by avoiding disappointment, I can protect the part of me that is willing to hope by picking its risks wisely so it’s not wrecked by the wrong disappointment.
I observed the part being critical of The Pessimist wanting me to hope without hindrance. A lot of our joy is found in unadulterated hope and that hope being fulfilled. We’d never strive for anything as a species, as individuals, if we never got our hopes up about a thing. The Critic wanted me to be happy. It knows this requires the risk of hoping.
I observed both parts wanting good things for me. Things I want for myself. I want everything they’re offering: to be safe, happy, hopeful, realistic and discerning. All at the same time.
I want these things for me. They want these things for me. We are on the same team.
Speaking different languages doesn’t mean we don’t have the same goals.
I noticed The Pessimist feel a little guilty and misunderstood. It started to translate itself and over-explain, “I just want….”
And I—as myself—cut the conversation there. In place of The Critic, I whispered my own response to The Pessimist:
“You’re okay. I get it. Keep an eye out, and make space for both.”
That was it. They understood exactly what I meant because we’ve done this a million times. My message is consistent and easy to translate:
We’re on the same team. Find the middle ground.
The voices silenced. The tension lifted. Calm restored, I got back into my life.
I don’t mean to be ambiguous about the details. I honestly don’t remember any more than what I’ve told you. It was over as soon as it began. That’s how working with the voices usually goes these days.
This relationship with myself took time to build. One where I wouldn’t be triggered by the sound of my own reflection. One where I could observe and translate what was going on with me in real time while staying regulated. One where I could trust my inner guidance instead of questioning it. One where I could speak back and be trusted as the decision maker for my body and mind.
It took time. It took a lot of practice. And I highly recommend the work.
Rooting for You,
Tori
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