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Self Talk is a Conversation


in the background fuzzy polaroids of people in the foreground a mouth with a tongue sticking out with a typewriter on it. A hand outstretched with a heart.


I find the concept of good self talk annoying. When I'm in a bad mood I mock my attempts at good self talk. I feel like a baby - a little baby stupid person who has no idea what she's doing, who needs to talk down to herself in a kindly sarcastic voice. I make faces, stick out my tongue and grimace. Mealy mouthed mleh mleh mleh BS.


I've recently realized I struggle to give myself the benefit of the doubt. I feel intensely uncomfortable seeing how I resist kindness and care. When my parents visited for lunch last Sunday and my mom told me how nice it was that I cooked for everyone, that she feels proud of me for being me...like nails on a chalkboard. She noticed my obvious discomfort.


I felt my insides running away from her love, frantically searching for an escape route while I tried to maintain the proper relaxed, grateful expression. My self talk pleaded


Get me the fuck OUT. OF. HERE.


But I also felt something else - a part of me wanting to sink into my mom's kind words, to fall into them like open arms. That part remained still, watchful, while the other part scrambled to escape. That observant voice asked


What if we stopped running?


 

My self talk flows one way. I let self talk speak at me. Self talk tries to do its job - to narrate my experiences. I need to do it more nicely. Ugh. As a life coach, I am totally in favor of good self talk. I support giving yourself the benefit of the doubt. Logically I know how much easier things become when your life's narrator isn't constantly acting like a judgmental asshole. Life flows more smoothly when someone isn't constantly telling you that you suck.


So I've worked on my self talk, even though it sometimes feels completely dumb. Most of the time now, my self talk maintains a neutral voice. I count that as a win. But I struggle hardest when I need myself the most. I'm skeptical of any self talk that shows patience during stress, welcomes me during dissociation, or understands me during dysregulation.


 

I started seeing Kristen Waters, a somatic practitioner, last July. In our latest session I let tears well up powerfully without fighting them. My self talk pounced like a dog on a bone, wrestling away my vulnerability, trying to bury the tears back in their hole


Shut. it. down. Now.


Kristen gazes at me compassionately. Embarrassment floods me. Shame wells up as I continue to cry. I watch her watching me feeling out loud. She offers a suggestion with gentle words I can't fully remember now - explanation and observation. My self talk rushes in to manage me while she speaks


I already know all this, I already know, and here's what I know, and if she stops talking I can tell her what I know and she will see...


Then from somewhere this emerges:


Wait. See if you can listen. She's here for you. You don't know everything. You can learn from this. Try to listen.


I watch the thoughts bounce back and forth like a tennis match, repeating:


I already know this...

wait...

I already know...

see if you can listen


Kristen notices my internal wrestling match. I tell her what's happening. She suggests a practice called Voo-ing (which we've done before) and nervousness creeps in. When she suggests Rawr-ing after the Voo, I completely shut down.


I will not make any noises out loud in front of anyone.


Fear grips my whole body. I feel uncomfortable, trapped. Part of me wants to just make the damn noises - after all, I'm a grown 53 year old woman in a cozy slate blue room with just one other person in an otherwise empty building. What scares me so much? I mean


Really Amy?


I start forcing myself to do it, then stop.

I can't.

I won't.


 

This brings me to why I came to somatics in the first place. Years of forcing myself to do things has created a huge disconnect between me Self and my self talk - a gap so wide I mostly hear the curt barks. But now I understand: self talk isn't talking at me, we're having a conversation. Self talk means selves talking.


I am not the audience. I am a participant.


 

Kristen discusses options - like saying no, or doing just a little. She reminds me about the dimmer switch- it doesn't have to be all or nothing. I feel an urge to stand, leave my chair, move away from the sorrow sitting with me. Usually I would squash this urge and focus on doing what to me is the "right" thing - being obedient, agreeable, normal, foldable.


Don't stand up. You'll look stupid.


Oh, let's stand up, let's walk away from this chair.


I realize how forcing myself to sit means ignoring what my body says without words - when it speaks through urges. My focus on appearing smart and composed, on having all the words words words, has made me miss this crucial other part.

Self and self talking. To each other.

I stand up.


Self talk encompasses more than words - it includes sensation, instinct, impulse, discussion, and intuition. It forms a complete voice, weaving thinking and sensing into a back-and-forth that creates life experience.


It creates conversation.

Self talk is a conversation.


 

I sit across from Kristen- nope, not going to make sounds just because she asked me to- my body said no, so I listen. I let tears come, and go, then stand and walk four steps from my chair. I turn back and sense the imprint of me, my sorrow, invisible but real, still there.


I ask

What's making you sad?

and wait for her answer.



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© 2024 by Amy Knott Parrish

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