I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life - and I've never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do. -Georgia O'Keeffe

I don’t know about literally every moment of my life, but I’ve definitely been terrified for lots of them. My ego must have an extra strong desire to keep me safe, because any time I think of something I’d like to do, I’m immediately given 20 or 30 reasons why it’s a better idea to just not. Resistance, fear, withdrawal, procrastination, doubt, and entrenchment are so deeply entangled in my psyche that it usually takes a systemic shock to get me to see outside of them. Just as deeply entangled in my psyche is an insistent, persistent, constant knowing that I must do the thing. Whatever the thing is that pushes me farthest outside of my comfort zone, that’s what I must do.

It’s odd that we contain so many different voices inside our heads. There are schisms. It can be scary to have directly conflicting desires, needs. and opinions. I think it was while reading Carl Jung that I realized I wasn’t the only one with these voices, these sub-personalities, all with their own agendas. Over time, and with lots of help, I’ve learned to give them a hierarchy. I’ve learned what works to quiet them and what doesn’t. I’ve learned that just because they’re loud, they don’t get to run the show. But they do all get a seat at the table.

The fear voice is the one who wants to stay in bed all day, the one who wants to be small, quiet, still, hushed, hidden. That one responds only to love. It responds to being treated like I would treat a scared child. I wrap her up in the warmth of my attention, and assure my little ego self that I will not abandon her, that I will protect her, and that I’m trustworthy. In order for her to believe me, and therefore allow me to do scary things, I have to be someone who won’t abandon her. I have to be trustworthy. And just like any child, she can smell bullshit a mile away. There’s no room for inauthentic half-kept promises. She holds in her recent and cellular memory all of our wounds, and she demands real deal devotion. The good news is that the moment I turn towards her, when I really see and acknowledge her, she yawns, stretches, and settles in for a nap in the safety I’ve created. She’s also, after all these years, forgiving. She knows where I can show up authentically, where I still have work to do, and that I’m doing my best. She gives me time.

There is an insistent, relentless, constant voice, pushing me outside of my comfort zone, which can only be quieted when I do the thing. That’s it. When I break inertia and move something. Even the smallest effort is rewarded with a moment of peace and usually some clarity. It’s a beautiful system that teaches me about real eudaimonia (my favorite new word!), and the benefit of a dopamine hit that doesn’t have anything to do with instant gratification. This is the voice that insists I crack open whatever shell I inevitably create, and move even just an inch closer to an unguarded life. This is the voice that tells me truth needs no defense, and there’s really nothing to fear.

There are the voices that are playing out old programming. They are often the loudest, and sometimes they repeat things I internalized from hard or traumatic experiences. They make everything feel like life or death, even when the stakes are pretty low. They speak at me from a second person point of view. “You. Who are you to do the thing? Why don’t you think about doing the thing later, after you get some rest. Lots of other people already do the thing, and better than you could ever. You’ll probably fail at doing the thing. Why haven’t you figured out how to do the thing already anyway? You’re too old to do the thing.” Etc. They get quieter if I ignore them. Sometimes it’s just a matter of breathing through them. They are kind of like bullies. They give up faster if they don’t get a rise out of me.

Finally, there are the quiet voices. They also speak to me from a second person perspective, but in order to hear them, I have to get very still and listen. They say nice, encouraging things to me. They are often lost in all of the other chatter. They are gentle, kind, and always on my side. These I think of as my higher-self voices, or guides. I should meditate more, and listen. They’re always available.

I don’t know what to say about resistance. Resistance and I are so close that it doesn’t bother to knock anymore. It pushes through the door, pulls up a chair, and like the Dude, fucking abides.

It’s confusing being human. As Ani DiFranco says, maybe the most that we can do, is just to see each other through it.

Tell me what you’re afraid of, what you want to accomplish, and what your strategies are. Tell me how you’ve hacked your resistance so that you can do the thing.