Ever since Monday’s discovery, I’ve not allowed my mind to slip. I’ve been hardcore working out my mind muscles. Trying to set new muscle-memory…new neural pathways…new default settings for my state of mind. Calling out that voice of my saboteur…and countering her with the voice of–here it comes–my MOM! And in just about every situation you could think of, too. I’ve been calling on that voice of hers. She is the only one to counter the saboteur because my Truth came out that hers is the exact foil to my saboteur. So, naturally, she is it’s antidote. She is the antibiotic to the saboteur infection.
Prior to this, I’ve been beating myself up trying to beat this midget bitch self-sabotaging voice in my head. And that has/had not been working. Like hitting my head against a wall. Like making that same wrong turn onto a dead-end street…refusing to admit I was lost–refusing to ask for help.
It’s funny how I’m reaching outside of myself by reaching so much further into my own depths. But that is exactly what I feel like. I’m seeking my mom’s help. And for the first time, it doesn’t require me to call her in tears and expect her to fix it.
No, I’m ‘fixing’ (don’t like using that word but can’t think of a better one right now) it. But she is still helping me. Helping me more than she ever has. I just have to go back about 10 or 12 years to find her and her voice when the saboteur’s voice began to manifest. And, well, that’s not that far for me since I’m still quite young. It’s actually astonishingly vivid.
And so I’m using that voice. My mom’s. Then. Bringing her back up. And instead of attempting to shut up the voice of self-sabotage, I am shutting up my own voice.
Just for the time being. And just for experimental exercise purposes.
I’m shutting up my voice because it’s easier and I can…and that is the only way I can then hear my mom’s voice–what she would say. Because another thing I’ve discovered is that who I am now is not who is really affected by the midget bitch voice. She aims at held-onto feelings that I am choosing now to go back and actually feel rather than leave them in the toxic sludge of suppression.
And, oh boy is there resistance. But, I’m reaching outside of myself by reaching into my depths…down deep in my gut. I have helpers there. Not all past feelings are bad. Not all voices are demonic within me. I pulled up one of the angels in my Gestalt on Monday. And instead of sending her back to my inner dungeon of darkness and neglect, I have chosen to keep her around.
(: I finally have that angel on my shoulder to counter that devil. 😉
Wow! I just discovered that image. I like it!
But my angel/demon dichotomy isn’t a picture of me in white with a halo v. a picture of me in red with horns. Right now I have a little angry gnomish/dwarfish goblin at my feet (reminds me of the demon figure of the ego upon which Shiva dances in many depictions) and the image of my mom during my early adolescence stroking my hair and telling me I am beautiful and smart and oh-so talented…telling me I can be anything I want and that she loves me more than I’ll ever know.
It’s the words I hear her say when I picture this that send daggers through the saboteur with much more precisions than my choice to find my own logically thinking method of exterminating the little bugger. Feelings, I’m continually discovering, often trump thoughts…9 times out of 10.
So, from the little things to the big things…henceforth and indefinitely, I am quieting my own thoughts and allowing the feeling of my mom’s words to come through
…like this morning at CrossFit while running my last timed 400 (those took me back!), and my saboteur would have had me slow down just a bit or cheat a little here or there or not finish fully…and I made the decision to just put the words “Tough as Nails” on repeat.