There she is again.
That damn voice. Sometimes she sounds like me. Sometimes she takes the form of my angry mom voice. Sometimes, she resembles a younger, less experienced me. Sometimes she sounds like my judgmental and logical Dad. But ALWAYS, she is a damn seductress.
Often times, she doesn't stand a chance. Not even her shadow can get in the door. On other occasions, I invite her in, and like that one hippy friend we all had in college, she makes your couch her home, eats all your food, and douses the place with patchouli. (I had more than one of these friends actually, because Santa Cruz)
Then, after you realize that she's got to go and you give her the boot, a month later, you're all snuggled up on your couch, burrowing your face in one of the pillows...almost at peace. Almost because you are still huffingthat damn patchouli oil. (Sorry to any patchouli lovers out there. I'm more of a nag champa or insert-any-hawaiian-flower-here kind of lover)
Of course, how I have dealt with Mistress voice continues to morph and change throughout the years.
My teen angst self wrote poems about her, cried endlessly to her lullabies, attempted to drown her out with theatre and music- The Cure and Smashing Pumpkins usually did the trick, and, sometimes, I was able to talk her into exiting stage right.
My 20's self was so busy - school, work, practicum, booze, partying, travel, perfourmances, getting married, acquiring a masters degree and my license, birthing a child, and becoming a mother, that she only made cameo appearances in my life. But those brief visits were like CAT 5 storms, strong enough to decimate a large village, pushed to the brink of no return.
I think my 30's and current self struggle with her the most. She has now turned into a bi-polar voice of sorts. Often times, she affirms the confidence I feel in myself as a wife, mother, woman, daughter, and creative. Others, she is a RAGING B.
When she is great, she's like my inner, little me- the one that is not my ego or attachments, but the unchanged, has-existed-forever-as-simply-light, me. Much like a Snuggie, a warm cup of tea, your favorite pair of jeans, or that one song that just gets you...and she absolutely sounds like Luna Lovegood from Potter- affirming, yet melodic, always there to offer some sound advice.
I recently stumbled upon a conversation between Brene Brown and Oprah regarding shame and the idea of our shadow- judgment, fear, shame, that voice. The premise is that in order to move, we must have our shadow in front of us- "Keep the shadow up front, it can only take you down from behind."
If only I had a Marauder Map of my own brain, body, and spirit so I could see that voice coming and catch her off guard- "Stupefy!", I would yell whilst madly waving my wand.
Funny thing, it wasn't until after I wrote this piece that I realized the song that was stuck in my head all the while was Peter Gabriel's, That Voice. Although it is a song that I vaguely knew most of the lyrics to by heart, I took a gander at them and realized that he and I were talking about one in the same- that voice.
One of his lyrics stood out to me the most- Only love can make love.
*Cue the aha-moment music.*
Pardon me, my brain was full of wrackspurts, but good ole Luna came to the rescue yet again. Know it, own it, befriend it, love it, hold hands with it, and for the love of toast, keep it in front of you...after all, it is us...just as much a part of us as our skin, blood, hair, bones, heart, or toenails.
So, grab your little me and call it by it's name- that voice, shame, guilt, anger, or good ole fashioned judgment, then, once the goo goo eyes and footsy are through, look that voice straight in the eye and repeat after me- you have no power over me.