I talk to myself all the time. Sometimes out loud. I always have, and didn’t think too much about it until graduate school. My degrees are in psychology. Yeah, that’s right, the major that gives names to everything you do. So when I got into school I did a lot of contemplation on just who am I talking to when I speak to myself, and who is driving the bus I call Kelly?
A little background: shrinks that focus on the physical brain call this part of us the primal brain, or the reptilian brain. It’s really old and concerned with our survival. When you pull your hand away from a hot stove that’s the old ‘gator mind in action. It can also show up in more subtle ways, like distrust of a stranger. You can kind of see its point in Neolithic times; better to run or take the first swing than to risk your own head getting bashed. Psychologists who focus less on the brain itself and more on that fuzzy concept, the mind, call this part of us the inner child, the id (Freud), etc.
I think it’s all the same. Whatever you want to call it, most people in the field would agree that 1), it’s ancient, and 2), it’s concerned about your welfare. Unfortunately, sometimes that inner voice doesn’t always mesh with what you want in your life; instead it chatters away about unreal threats, tempts us down an easier path, or can be downright mean, all in the name of protection.
Writers can feel this acutely. Constantly have one’s work evaluated and rejected can take a toll on the most resilient inner child. So here’s what I’ve done; I’ve named mine. His name is Dude. He looks like a cross between Carson from the Queer Eye TV show and Felix from the Odd Couple (TV show from the 70s for those of you too young to remember). Dude is constantly berating me for not writing enough, not editing effectively, he worries that I may never have huge sales, and comes down hard if I make a mistake like sending something twice to the same agent. He wants me to be perfect, because perfection will make me safe.
NOTE: Not that either of these two would ever do such a thing, they are simply the images that popped into my head of what Dude looks like.
When he gets on my nerves I tell him so. I start out nice: thanks Dude, but I got this covered. I progress to a bit more firm if he keeps it up: Dude, get a grip! If he still persists I say Dude, SUCK IT UP AND MOVE ALONG. I rarely have to get to level three.
Actually, we get along pretty well. The reason for that is I acknowledge Dude is just trying to help. And he does get my butt in gear if I’m having a pity party and he helps me consider how I could have done something better. All in all, I appreciate him, but just as I respect Dude, Dude has to respect me. Which is weird, because Dude IS me.
So anyway, my sister and I were talking about our inner person and she named hers too and said it helped. I had several more conversations with my husband and some friends and they were all delighted with the concept. So…I thought I’d throw it out there for all of you. Try it and see. What’s your inner child’s name? What does he or she look like? Sound like? What does your person say about your writing? What’s valid? What’s not?
And BTW, it doesn’t have to be a human. My sister’s isn’t. But it does have teeth.
:-)
