talking to yourself
My southern California-bred mother used to be very calm during earthquakes. The house would rock and the dishes would rattle and she taught me--I was about five years old--to say, "Okay, earthquake, stop now. Just stop moving," and as ridiculous as it sounds, it gave me the happy illusion that I had control over the uncontrollable. Since the earthquake did eventually stop, it was a reasonable supposition. Research has found that little kids do better when they talk to themselves in many circumstances, and that rather than squashing this external self-talk or considering it weird, it should be encouraged.
Recently I resorted to self-talk again. I am famous in my family for not being a "thrower-upper" and can say with confidence that the last time I lost my cookies was in 2008 when I went deep-sea fishing with my friends off the coast of Florida. But last week I fell prey to a flu bug and my entire being was swept up into a fierce vortex of being sick. All night. I was helpless against the force of my body's shenanigans. Pema Chödrön talks about cultivating unconditional friendliness toward whatever arises, but I wasn't feeling very friendly toward what was arising.
Feeling completely out of control and miserable, I started talking myself through the long night of lonely misery. "Oh, honey, you're doing so well...this will pass." And "Don't you feel better now? I think you'll be on the other side of this soon." And "Nope, looks like we're going another round! How about a nice icy cold washcloth?" And "Really, you're doing so well. You're doing just what you're supposed to right now." And "How about a little nap now? Just rest here on the cold tile floor with your robe over you." And, eventually, when it appeared I was getting dehydrated, "Y'know, I think you need a cup of tea. C'mon, just move slowly and you can do it!"
By morning I was exhausted and shaky, but the storm had passed. I was left with a new date for my record-keeping, throwing 2008 out with the night's exertions (a five year streak of good tummy health!) and a renewed appreciation for the value of talking to myself. Sometimes the best person to comfort and guide you is ...well, you. Hearing comforting words out loud was reassuring to me in some childlike way, even if they were my own words. There was some part of me observing the whole operation with common sense, humor and kindness.
Try it the next time you're in misery of some kind. Or even when you have a project that demands your attention and you--like a little kid--want to wander off and do something else. On returning to the office this week, there were many competing commitments and a few important deadlines to cope with. I fought my terrible distraction by closing the door (no use promoting the idea that I'm crazy!) and talking myself through the next steps. I can't guarantee it, but I suspect the power of hearing your own compassionate words focusing and guiding you might be a surprising source of calm empowerment. Give it a shot!
