I have a posse of—apparently—Ivy League-educated prosecutorial lawyers in my head sometimes. But I’ve noticed lately they don’t hold the same power they used to. I also have another voice that could be described as a trusted friend. Instead of telling me I’m worthless and incapable, like my lawyers do, the voice of my trusted friend listens and responds with gentle reality checks and measured encouragement.
I don’t think I’m alone. At least I hope I’m not. We all have an inner voice—except for those who have anendophasia—but that’s not the focus of this post.
Of course, when I refer to my lawyers, I’m referring to my negative self-talk. But how exciting—or accurate—is it to call it merely negative self-talk? That label doesn’t even come close to capturing the nasty, vicious things my lawyers bring forward as evidence. I could call them the I.B.S.C.—the Itty Bitty Sh*@#y Committee. But again, they don’t feel so teeny weeny when they’re shouting from their bullhorn.
Their volume is in stark contrast to how my trusted friend works. She is mostly quiet—strategically so. She patiently listens to the reasons why I think the lawyers are right. Then, with a calm voice and balanced opinion, she offers observations and simple suggestions. No toxic positivity coming from a squad of inner cheerleaders. God bless their misguided exuberance.
I heard about the inner lawyer concept from somatic practitioner Sarah Baldwin. We each have inner self-protectors trying to prevent us from getting hurt. I now use it as a jumping-off point to understand what’s happening internally.
However, I could never understand how cruel comments, like those from my lawyers, could be a form of protection. But then I realized the job of these seasoned, highly trained lawyers isn’t to make me feel bad; it’s to keep me safe.
They use everything in their power—threats and criticism—to convince me to stay put and not take a risk my nervous system has learned long ago to interpret as dangerous. Even when, in the present, it isn’t. Maybe it’s sending a sales email, delivering a new keynote, or writing a memoir—all of which I’m in the process of doing. On days when stress and lack of sleep have caught up with me, or an old wound has been triggered, my team of malicious lawyers might pop up and start haranguing me. Their tirades can be defeatist, threatening, critical, or catastrophizing.
But in all cases, one thing I know for sure: if I argue with them, I won’t win.
Instead, I get curious. Why have they shown up? What are they trying to protect me from? The more I understand, the more my nervous system calms and the quieter the lawyers become. That’s when my wise, trusted friend who has been listening throughout can finally make a difference.
It’s okay. Things are difficult right now. But you’ve gone through hard things before, and you’ve moved through them before. You’ll get through this. You might not feel it, but you are capable, strong, and you have the power to choose. What’s the next best step?
She doesn’t give me useless, saccharine statements: Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Trust life. Why don’t you give yourself a break and watch some TV?
I’m not saying self-care doesn’t have its place. It does. I’m a big fan of binge-watching Little House on the Prairie like the next person, but not when the best option is action; even if that action is a small step. Because often tiny is big and slow is smart.
What to Do When Your Posse of Lawyers Pipe Up
- Don’t argue; get curious.
- Ask: What danger are your lawyers trying to protect you from?
- Observe what happens in your body.
- Listen for your trusted friend’s perspective.
- Choose one action inspired by your trusted friend—despite your lawyers.
For example:
Lawyers: You’re an irrelevant keynote speaker. Your material is so dated. You’re never going to get hired again.
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Don’t argue.
Me: Well, that’s not true. I may be working less, but that doesn’t mean I’m irrelevant…
Instead, get curious.
Me: Hmmm, I wonder what they’re trying to protect me from? They probably want to keep me from getting rejected if I put myself out there by making sales calls or presenting new material. I can understand that.
My body starts to relax, and my lawyers begin to quiet, because I’ve listened.
Then my trusted friend comes online.
Trusted friend: I know being vulnerable is scary, and you might not get the answer you want. But you’ll survive if you get a “no.” And if you do, you can pivot and try something new.
When my attorneys start up, I don’t need a splashy rebuttal. I need a strategy—and momentum. My lawyers try to keep me frozen and immobilized, and sometimes they succeed. But more often than not, after I’ve gotten curious and listened to what’s underneath the rants, my trusted friend comes alongside me, holds my hand, and helps me choose the BAM (bare-assed minimum) next step.
It’s not trendy. It’s not glamorous. But it is effective. The lawyers don’t always shut up. Sometimes they keep jabbering while I connect with my trusted friend and take action anyway.
© Victoria Maxwell
