Thanks mind, I heard you the first time you said I was shit

I have this somewhat bipolar little person living inside my head.

She’s definitely a woman because she overthinks, doubts her abilities, gets offended easily and her emotions are up and down as if you’re riding horrible roller coaster that you just can’t seem to get off.

Fun, no?

Sometimes she’s nice as pie. As if she’s stroking my head and lets me celebrate my little ‘wins’ at life, letting me think that MAYBE, yes MAYBE I might be brilliant.

Other times, its like she’s found my childhood diary and she’s stalking around the walls of my head, sarcastically reading out all the vulnerable and vom-worthy shit I’ve written — cacking to herself at my lameness.

Here and there I’ll have a little ‘win’ and I’ll feel total pride and happiness for a full 5 mins before she chimes in with a —

You don’t really think you earnt that do you? It was a fluke you vain girl!!

This happened recently when some kind stranger left a comment on one of my published articles online. It said:

“Wow, I’m so glad I found you here. You’re a great writer, and I’m excited to read more of your work! Wish you all the best”

At first, when I saw the comment on my article I thought — hallelujah, someone other than my mum is actually reading my writing. I grinned so hard my cheeks started to hurt.

3 mins later that all familiar voice chimed in:

“No, mate. It’s an automated spammy message. He’s really clever with technology and he’s got some nifty app that lets him comment on hundreds of different stories a day saying the same thing.

It’s about exposure for him, you see his comment, stalk his profile, comment back. Exposure.

PS you’re a twit”

And then:

“Also — You’ve been writing on Medium for months now and you’ve only had a handful of comments and interest. Terrible if you ask me.”

I felt totally shot down by the little f*cker.

STANDARD MIND SHENNANIGANS.

Back and forth I went, is it genuine, is it not?

Then I realised I was getting sucked into the story my mind was creating just to keep me caught in the drama.

It loves drama.

I smiled and immediately unhooked myself from the cycle and appreciated the comment for what it was. Guess I’ll never know, But I choose to believe it was genuine and allow myself the little win this time.

Ever noticed how your mind does this?

I’ve named her, Nance, and yes, you should immediately name your mind.

I symbolically broke up with mine approximately two years ago and now we just kinda co-exist, like roommates, who occasionally yell at each other for borrowing the other’s things without asking and then crying on the couch over a shitty, prick ex-boyfriend.

I love her, mostly.

Even when she’s being a bi-polar witch.

See, I went behind the madness in there and when I opened the door to Nancy’s private inner workings. I realised there was all this evidence of FEAR that was making her act out like a mad woman.

Fear of getting burned, fear of failing, even fear of succeeding.

Then, right by the fear, I saw all the big ugly skeletons from my past and noticed she’d hung ‘warning’ signs above them all, like: Don’t do this, don’t do that, make sure you don’t say things like this, remember to always dress like that or X, Y, Z will happen again — like last time, remember?

She remembers shit I hadn’t even thought I’d filed away there and has programmed my body to sabotage great stuff in future because of it.

I’m talking about limiting beliefs and we all have them.

Her life is totally based in the past, stuck in old memories OR racing ahead to the future, confabulating future scenarios and getting all anxious and overthinkery.

She’s rarely present — where there are no problems and Nance can’t safely exist.

When I am being present, she’ll try to bring me back to the past again, like:

Remember that time you gave modelling a go and nearly everyone wanted to just pay you in photos or their shitty goods, but never actual real money? That’s because you weren’t good enough and you were too shy and a little bit gangly and pimply — and they saw that. Not good enough.

Or

I know your bf says he loves you and all but yet, where is the goddamn ring Rebecca? I mean, 5 years on and still a bare hand, you know what that means? Doesn’t love you. Not good enough.

I’ve worked out what the repetitive stories are that she keeps coming back to like a broken record — you aren’t good enough, you don’t deserve to own nice things, etc etc and I’ve named each of them.

It’s a technique I learnt through mindfulness.

Each time she tries to gun me down with insult or anxiously warn me about something that hasn’t happened yet (but most definitely will soon) I name the story and acknowledge what’s happening.

Then I come back to what it is I’m doing. Being Present; sitting on my bed, my fingers drumming away at my laptop as my soul excitedly conjures up a story — perfect. Bliss. No problems, just me and my laptop. Aint no problems here my friend.

This is where I try to dwell, mostly.

It’s good to plan and dream, but once you’re done, come right back to the present moment, where you can turn down the volume of the whiney inner dialogue, that is your mind.

Next time you notice it happening, think:

I see you there, Nance. Scheming & I’ll have none of it.

(Nance should obvs be interchanged for your own name for your mind)

X Bec

www.myroommatenancy.com