The Voice

I don’t know if everyone has this, but I’ve got an internal voice telling me the story of me. A lot of times it’s mean. Sometimes it’s a liar, or at least selective in the facts it uses to prove its point. Spending the last 14 years with someone who loved me for exactly who I am did a good job at throwing a monkeywrench into that voice’s constant haranguing and critique. No, it never fully went away, but it was pretty wonderful to have someone use facts, logic, and love to hold up a different mirror.

For the last few months, I’ve been scrambling to figure out how to combat that voice and have leaned pretty heavily on friends and family when ultimately it’s my job. And so I remember my toolbox (I love this apropos visualization that a counselor gave me years ago.) What helps is creating and sharing beauty–art, flowers, baked goods, poetry; telling jokes; lending a listening ear. These parts of my story are true, too. And finally, when the voice tells me I’m weak, incapable, lazy, I remember I can do hard things.

Many will chuckle in recalling my yearslong battle against black plastic and river rock around the house. This was a job I took on myself and asked Bryan not to help me. I wanted to prove to myself, to that awful inner voice, that yes, I can do hard, mundane, dirty things and accomplish something beautiful. As much as it hurts to think about, I took care of my sick husband the very best I could and have tried to take care of subsequent tasks too. This is also proof to that terrible voice, I can do hard things and the story of me is more than the narrative that internal critic would try to make me believe.