Hearing Voices
“You, too, have a voice within you, and it knows your name. It sees your hidden, holy heart. It knows exactly who you are, and it is telling you that you are loveable, lovely, and beloved. It speaks the language of worthiness because it knows no other tongue. Amid the fire of your shame, it comes as a gentle, constant whisper”
I hear voices.
Not the scary kind. Well, not only the scary kind.
There is a very loud, very mean voice in my head that carries all the wounds of the past and is quick to remind me of all the ways that I fail, that I suck, that I flat-out ruin lives. I’ve thought of that voice as an angry little man fuming from a tattered armchair in a filthy, dark corner of my brain.
I put on a flowered dress and the Voice says, "Wow, it really accentuates the contours of your gut."
I feel like my tummy jiggles less when I move and the Voice says, "But the scale hasn't budged in weeks/months/years."
I'm dancing somewhere other than my living room and the Voice says, "That's sooooo not attractive with all those wobbly bits; you don't want anyone to vomit, do you?"
I go for a walk and the Voice says, "You didn't walk far enough. You'll never walk far enough. Melissa (my friend) could run up that hill."
Lately, I’ve been hearing…something else.
In the hours leading up to my last Reiki session of 2023, my mood started crumbling. My son had been sick with one leaky, messy, awful thing or another for almost a month, the latest being a sinus infection and pink eye in both eyes that made my poor, goopy kiddo look like he’d been punched in the face. The holidays were winding down, but the stress of travel still tingled in my veins and my house was strewn with toys and food like a lingering Christmas hangover. Desperate for rest and a reset, Reiki couldn’t come fast enough.
But first, I needed plow through the green crust in my kiddo’s eyes and his own stubborn defiance against taking his medicine to squeeze his drops in his eyes. Nothing—and I do mean nothing—triggers my anger more than my son’s refusal to listen to me (…so says every parent everywhere). On this day, I raged.
I hate the things that came out of my mouth and how loud they were. I’m frustrated that I lost control of my emotions, that I was so furious my hands were shaking and the blood rushed to my face. I’m sickened that I couldn’t even force the melody from my mouth when my son begged me to sing his favorite song.
As I retreated to my bedroom for a time-out, the angry man hollered from his armchair: Give up. What’s the point?
Give up. Shut down. Close off. It’s what I always do. First I fight. Then I fold.
His words were taking root when another softer voice offered: You can’t give up. Giving up isn’t an option when it’s important.
I lifted my head and felt a small amount of courage settle over me.
The angry man wasn’t done. He countered with the ever-popular: You are the worst mom.
I know. I know. I know.
I closed my eyes, set to cry in shame, knowing that I am the worst mom, when the soft voice said simply: You’re a good mom that’s having a bad moment. You don’t have the skills yet to cope with this anger.
The angry man shut his mouth and I opened my eyes.
Later, as I was driving to the Reiki session, still buzzing with guilt and shame and disgust over my actions, the angry man chimed the familiar: They’d be better off without you.
He hadn’t even finished his sentence when the other voice said: No they wouldn’t. No one would be better off without you.
I called home from the road and apologized to my son and told him I loved him, because I am a good mom having a bad moment and he loves me unconditionally. And I know in my heart that most of the time I make his life better.
The angry man still has plenty to say, but at least now he’s not the only one.