A Self Intervention / Excorcism

For about 30 years now, I've had depression. It has had its extreme low points which have been scary for me, my friends and my family. A part of my depression is as a result of not knowing how to cope with my critical voice. I would try to be strong, but this critical voice would overpower my ability to recover, to nurture, to self regulate. I was beaten down. A recent new practice, however, has given me hope. So far, it has been really surprising and positive.

Over the years, that critical voice has grown in monumental proportions. And as it grew, I shrunk. As it grew, it got louder, more powerful. The louder it got, the more I responded by believing every word it said, withdrawing, and compartmentalizing. I'd believe it so much that I didn't want to hear it, didn't want to hear me. I'd cover my ears and eyes and shake my head like a kid saying, "I don't hear you. I don't see you." But instead of allowing myself to hear it, and acknowledge the feelings, I pushed them down. I stopped them. I cut them off by watching TV or reading a book, or some other distraction. It was just too painful to hear it all the time. The ironic thing is that, I often feel I struggle to be heard by others. Or, at least, I have felt unheard at times. I have felt insignificant. Its a sensitive point for me. And when I do try to speak up, sometimes I don't feel I'm taken seriously (or I convince myself that I'm not). I feel discounted, silly, and irrelevant. Not so coincidentally, I imagine this is how that part of me was feeling when I tried to push it away.

Recently, I reached a point where I had hit the wall - I'd had enough. I was cornered, buried, drowning and being smothered by stress and this critical part of me that wouldn't let go. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't function. I didn't want to wake up and be picked apart. I didn't want to be present in my life. I didn't want to hurt. All my life, this "voice" or "ego" or critical part of me, has been in my head. I never actually gave it a voice. Its always been this semi-silent abuser in my head. My only power, I felt, was to distract it. To not allow it to reach me. But it always did. The critical voice always fought back harder and harder. It was relentless. For so long I heard it over and over and didn't respond. I felt I couldn't. And I bought into it. I shrunk more and more, my fear of it grew, and my world became much smaller, as a result. "It can't be this hard to get through a single day!" I thought. Why me? It seems that I'm the only one struggling like this so this critical part of me must be right. I must deserve this. And it had reached a point where I felt desperate, hopeless, and unworthy of existing at all.

At the end of this particularly stressful week, I realized that I needed to quiet the world around me, and allow this part of me to voice itself. To get it out in the open. To stop pushing it away. To stop supressing it. I was tired of compartmentalizing - there simply was no more room. I needed to verbalize all that I was saying to myself in my head because it was continuing to swoop and fly around like a mother bird protecting its nest. And I kept shooing it away. I decided I'd set aside some time to go to the beach, to one of my favorite places where the water and sand are close to the living quarters. I had a hard time convincing myself to do it, because the place I would stay wasn't perfect and it was expensive. It wasn't the setting I felt I needed - it didn't have the preferred prefect view. But it was right on the beach, if not closer than any other location. I realized I was applying the standards I have for myself to other areas in my life. I don't accept myself unless I'm perfect. I almost didn't go because the view wasn't perfect.

So I went. When I arrived I couldn't wait to get on the beach. I shoved everything in the room, grabbed my lawn chair, and marched out toward the sea with determination. I was showing up. I breathed in the salty air, the sound of the waves, the brightness of the sun, the heat of it beating down on my face, the wind through my hair, the sand between my toes. I could only breathe in deep, deliberate, like a fish when its out of the water. It felt scary. But I was proud that I made this decision and that I was there. It was the right thing to do. I needed this. WE (me and my critical voice) needed this.

The place was wonderful. A furnished condo. It had a chair with an ottoman next to a big window for me to look out of, a nice kitchen, and easy access to the beach. There was a TV and DVD player in the room, but I didn't want to watch any TV. I didn't want to escape. I came here to meet myself, head on. It was just me and me, one on one. I knew what I needed to do. And it was going to be tough.

First, I created a safe space for myself by allowing myself to be present, to meditate, to appreciate this experience I'm about to give myself. As one instructor puts it, to recognize it as an act of love. This alone made me cry. I find it hard to give gifts to myself as well as to receive them. Second, I would be as honest as I could, even though I knew it was going to hurt. Third, I would make sure to observe and appreciate my surroundings as often as I could - the beauty of the ocean, its vastness, the sun set, the sound made when the waves crash on the beach. I would try to be present in whatever I was doing. Finally, I set the intention that this experience was intended to open a dialogue with myself. It was not intended to beat myself up. I knew I needed to be careful not to attach myself to what was being said, that could turn out disasterous for me. Instead, the intention was to honor this process of just saying the words I've been saying internally so they could be realized, to be heard, so we can hear each other like two separate people having a conversation.

I sat with a microcassette recorder and introduced myself as that critical voice. For over 90 minutes I told myself all the criticisms I could think of that I say to myself and in the most natural way I could. I tried not to analyze what I was saying. I just let it flow. It was a bit of an out-of-body experience. It was honest and brutal. But I wanted (needed) to give these thoughts a voice. This was how I chose to release them from years of confinement.

Afterwards, I transcribed the tape. It took hours. And as I did, I realized for the first time, just how abusive I am to myself on a regular basis. I mean, I knew I was hard on myself, but I never heard it as if it was another person saying it to me. This time it was different. I didn't like this part of me at all. It was cruel, beligerent, and abusive. If someone else had heard these things being said to a child, they'd have to call in Child Services. I had never heard myself this toxic, demeaning, and belittling before. The words and tone weren't new, it was just hearing it this way it sounded more piercing, more personal. I was shocked and also really, really saddened. I didn't deserve to be talked to like this. And I knew it. I felt it for the first time. And now that this critical part of me had a voice, I felt I could respond, like I would if someone else I cared about was saying these things to me.

Along with surprise and sadness, after transcribing, I also felt a foreign sense of relief and pride. Wow. This was a tough thing to do and I chose to make this part of me more real. It was like awakening a monster and bringing it to life where I'm in its path and the only thing it focuses on but I was facing it head on in order to save myself. While I was relieved to have finished the transcription, I waited a full day to respond. I didn't actually want to respond. I hate conflict and this was too scary. But I also wanted to organize my thoughts after giving it time to sit with me for awhile.

The next day I typed out my response. It also took hours. My first reaction was to be defensive. My second reaction was to cut off this part of me altogether. Who needs it, right? But as I was typing my response, I realized that my critical voice is mean and abusive - I don't need to reciprocate, to reject it, and be at that level as well. Instead, I knew I needed to show compassion. Love. I apologized to myself for not hearing this critical part of me earlier in my life, for rejecting it and pushing it away all these years. I tried to understand where it was coming from, opening my heart and acknowledging all that it said. I used active listening skills, and itemized everything I heard it say to me, to validate it. And in the end, I wrote a response as if I was talking to, and sitting across from, someone I care about who has poor communication skills and they never learned how to express themselves effectively or compassionatley. With all this being nice, I was also careful not to play victim. This was not saying I accept and believe all that was said or that I thought it was okay. Rather, just that I heard it. Actually, I felt tremendously empowered by taking this approach. It reminded me of the meditation practice of being aware and not judging. Simply acknowledging and being present. The relationship between myself and this critical voice was changing by doing just that.

I told this critical voice that its existance was important to me. That I loved it and needed it around, but that we needed to change our dynamic. I explained that I was going to be paying more attention now, so it didn't need to be so abusive and loud. I explained that I do, however, need it to speak up in times of danger or high alert, but not to criticize everything I do and mislead me. It needed to understand that I was not going to be perfect and it would just have to accept me this way, because I WAS going to make mistakes and I WAS going to get hurt. It couldn't protect me from everything, otherwise I would experience nothing. I felt like I was the mature parent talking to a child, a bully. And I was.

Today, I continue to read that dialogue as a reminder of where I've been and where I'm going. I still have depression. But I realize that I was able to be compassionate with this side of me even though it went against everything I felt I was supposed to do in order to protect myself. My critical voice is still there. It will always exist. I think that's normal.

Its a struggle, but every day I am trying to be open to hearing that critical voice (instead of trying to shut it down and stop it altogether). I'm trying to recognize my attachments, and give them some space and attention. By practicing being aware of my body, the sensations, thoughts, feelings, and being willing to sit with them with an open heart, I think (I hope) I'll be better able to investigate and acknowledge all parts of me (and others, for that matter) without judging, discounting, or rejecting myself. I'm so grateful that I had a positive experience with this "intervention". It was amazing! And afterward, I was so proud of myself for being attentive to my needs, something I'm not used to doing. Paying attention is a gift, an act of love, we all deserve. This is so new, but I hope to make this awareness stuff a daily practice.