Essay 146: Recognizing the voices within

Last month, I decided to start writing again and I set a goal to publish weekly as I used to do several years ago. I’ve met the goal four weeks in a row, an encouraging start. It was even easier than anticipated. Inspiration had been close at hand. But today, it doesn’t feel easy. In the past hour, I’ve changed my topic three times and I’m still unsure about what I want to share exactly. 

I didn’t get to sleep until 3am last night and I’m tired. I went straight from bed to my home office this morning to deal with a website emergency. I skipped breakfast and ate a hurried lunch so we could be on time for my daughter’s speech and debate club. Mental clarity is not at this rendez-vous.

A little voice inside has already tried to talk me into quitting several times. “You can miss a week, no big deal.” “You’re tired, that’s not your fault.” “How about surfing the web for a little to give yourself a break?” 

I ignored the voice each time, and continued to move my fingers on the keyboard, determined to finish another essay today. 

So the voice grew louder and when its feigned understanding didn’t work, it became mean. 

“What does it matter whether or not you write today?” “Does anyone even read your essays?” “Think it makes a difference that you’re writing or not today?”

That’s when I recognized the voice. It was not the voice of reason firmly rooted in truth and honesty, nor the voice of intuition whose gentle kindness has always been a trustworthy guide. It wasn’t even the quiet voice of reasonable doubt. It was undeniably not the voice of a friend.

This was the voice of a fiend. Specifically, the voice of insecurity. I picture it as a shapeless, spineless creature, who feeds on doubts and fears. If we have done the work to mine our best selves, we’ve conquered this monster and relegated it to the deepest recesses of our being where it is incapable of affecting our actions. Unfortunately, even though we can starve it, we cannot kill it. When we let our guard down, it floats back up to the surface, masquerading as advisor, supporter, benefactor. It cajoles and coaxes gently and expertly. A master manipulator. 

How do we distinguish between the voices within? How can we tell whether the voice is genuinely friendly or pretending to be?  How do we know whether or not to heed its message?  In my experience, although different voices can sound the same and say the same words, the path each is leading me towards is clearly different. 

A friend wouldn’t want to distract me from what matters. A friend wouldn’t allow me to settle for a mediocre version of myself. A friend would NEVER exhort me to give up on my goals.

There could come a time, when not publishing an essay will make sense but today is not that time. Today, because I am sleep deprived, not well nourished, and a bit stressed by work, this voice spoke up with a vengeance. But I had managed to shut it up before and I did it again.

With practice, it becomes easier and happens faster. Here’s my mental process: 

1: What is the voice saying?
If your brain is like mine, there’s constant chatter happening in there. But every so often a voice becomes louder. When that happens, I make sure to listen attentively. I might even write down what it is telling me.

2: How does the voice make me feel?
Even before I consciously try to understand the meaning behind the voice’s words, I will become aware of the feelings it triggers. Is the message making me feel more peaceful or more agitated, more hopeful or more discouraged, more excited or more subdued? Would my best friend tell me to do this? 

3: Is the voice bringing me up or dragging me down? If I were to do what the voice is telling me to do, would I be marching towards my best self? Would I feel proud or ashamed? Would my future self thank me for having listened to the voice? When I struggled with severe depression, the voice rejoiced in telling me that living was worthless, too hard, and that I should put an end to it. Had I not learned to recognize the voice of depression, I may have believed its lies. 

Isn’t it ironic that the voice who tried to stop me today unwittingly gave me the content for this essay?

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