It’s like that meme with evil Kermit the Frog. Except it’s not encouraging me to create evil chaos.
It’s like a horror movie, where the evil presence is right behind you. Or when the call is coming from inside the house.
Mostly, it’s a sense that the other shoe is going to drop. Or, like an Acme Anvil is going to drop right on my poor little Wile E. Coyote head.
In nursing school, I learned that “sense of impending doom” is a symptom of pulmonary embolism. “Oh! This is how I feel every day!” Except I could breathe. As far as I knew, no traveling blood clot was racing to take me down. It only felt like there was. Maybe all the way in my big toe, but it was coming to take me out.
The Impending Doom, ID for short, needs me to consider how shitty I am. It’s the anxiety that makes me rush through things that would be better with forethought. It urges me to do the easy thing just to get things over with. It reminds me that I always avoid the hard things. It lets me know that I can’t take feedback, even though it always reminds me that I’m awful. “You’ll take that feedback, bitch.”
ID reminds me that I’m incapable. I’m getting a little “woo” in middle age and experimenting with tapping into my intuition. ID will stop me before I start. Because everything I think is wrong. Unless I intuit that something bad is going to happen. Then, ID tells me, it probably will.
ID loves to serve a good hot meal of shame. It reminds me of the time in college my advisor told me that no one cared to read about my thoughts, lest I decide to try to get paid for my writing.
It helpfully strangles self-righteous rage, reminding me of my part in any argument, somebody done me wrong situation. ID reminds me of my place. Under its thumb. Where it squashes me until I remember that I’m never right.
If I try to make a forward movement, or think I deserve something, ID is quick to pull me back and remind me of all the reasons why I shouldn’t…mostly because I have a good life and shouldn’t need to strive for any more. It mentions that I’m lazy. And that I write in the passive voice, and that I don’t deserve anything because I haven’t worked hard for anything.
It reminds me that even its essence of darkness is fraudulent, because I haven’t even had the trauma to let me make suffering into a badge. It also wants me to know that I’m inconsiderate, that I would never go out of my way for others unless I was being paid for it.
ID also helpfully reminds me of how old I am, and how little I’ve done. Do I know how much Josh Allen makes? Do I know about the kid who invented soap that prevents skin cancer? A kid. Did I know that our local district attorneys are in their 30s? Literally, what have you done with your life.
Can you believe I live with this jerk? Can you believe she is a part of me?
I have learned some things to make my internal life easier. First off, ID is wily. You can try to fight her straight on but she doesn’t roll that way. She just keeps popping back up, especially when I’m comparing myself, and I’m rarely not comparing myself. She’s mystical, skilled in come ancient warrior style that I don’t quite understand. The Wu-Tang sword style, possibly.
I could argue with her, and I do, repeatedly. I could present her with evidence, good evidence. Like, I’ve lived this long and things are just fine, but that feels like courting disaster. It would take forever to formulate an argument that she could believe and, did she mention I’m lazy, and impatient?
No, the way through this is to befriend her. After all, like that Yacht Rock tune says, she’s the deepest part of me. For those of you interested, the befriending is part of Internal Family Systems therapy, which suggests that you are made up of a bunch of internal parts (not physically, psychically). And the parts have a specific role to play, mostly to do with protection of your essential Self, the wise one who knows all. I know just enough about Internal Family Systems to be dangerous. One of the things that keeps me from knowing more is that the founder of this technique is a guy named Richard Schwartz, who calls himself Dick, so it’s hard to concentrate on the details.
Anyway, the annoying, shitty parts are always clamoring for attention and working very hard to try to protect the Self, however, as we grow we need them to work differently. Their love language is Words of Affirmation, so I need to express my gratitude.
So, guess what my ID bestie? I’m going to stop talking and start listening. I’m going to appreciate you for keeping my ego in check. Eventually we’ll walk off into the sunset like two really good friends finished with an exhausting adventure, and my Wise Self can take over from there.
Now, let’s grab a coffee and get to know one another.
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