Usually when we say those words to someone, they have a critical, blaming tone. Especially if the word “Just” comes in front of the phrase. Our intent is to reduce another person to their rightful size. Wake them up to their true inadequacy that they must have forgotten.
And there is another meaning here. More literal and direct. Really, who do you think you are? What thoughts do you carry around about yourself? And what makes them true? Most of my work with my clients now is all about this self-awareness. I often invite them off the stage of their life to sit with me in the audience and see themselves up there. What do they see? What is that person thinking about themselves right now? And what do you “think” about those thoughts?
Our goal is to not just see but to see how we see. Steve Hayes, one of the parents of a movement called Acceptance and Commitment Therapy tells us that language can be our friend and our enemy. The words we carry within us all day long can lead us to profound peace or to the edge of a cliff, desperately wanting to die. Words can be like a loving caress on a soft cheek or a loaded gun nuzzled up to our own ear.
Words, the particles and pieces of language that populate our brains by the billions are like bacteria. How do we control them? We can’t! So don’t try. Just notice them. Notice them. See them. See your thoughts without judgment. See how you see.
You have been using language all your life. Words are squiggles on a page like these symbols your brain rapidly decodes, cracking them open like walnuts to get to the meaning inside. And words are electrical impulses in your brain that never stop. Try to get quiet inside and you’ll see what I mean. Your brain is a thought-generating machine that goes all day and all night forever. It can’t help it. Your brain thinks like your heart beats. You can temporarily stop your breathing but you can’t stop your thinking. The minute you try, there’s that thought wondering if it worked.
Your thoughts can kill you. Literally. Every suicide victim got there via language. Powerful stuff these words. They can speak truth and they can tell us lies. And most of us are lousy at telling the difference. Many of us are plagued with negative thoughts about ourselves that we dwell on incessantly. They make us feel bad but we invite them in and let them lead. Sometimes we argue with them which makes it worse. You could think, “I’m a good person,” but your brain will instantly pull out an elephant-sized encyclopedia of You, the A to Z compendium that enumerates and elucidates and illuminates your every flaw and failing.
When people give us a compliment, many of us cringe because the kind words wake up the beast. Inside we can hear, “Yes but…” And sometimes they spill out our mouth: “Oh, it’s nothing.” As if it’s a sin to feel good about who we are. We don’t dare. We know all our secrets and we work hard at keeping them quiet. We try to anyway.
So what’s the answer? Something called defusion. Your spell-checker won’t like this word. It comes from the idea that you have fused your words with the things they represent. We want to get some separation. Words are useful tools but we don’t want to be a tool.
In my last piece, I said I was an “idiot.” Now on one level I believe that to be true. I can be a fool. I can make mistakes. I can be a clown. I am OK with that. It is a part of me. And I accept all my parts. They are all welcome. But too often we use those words globally. As in “I am a total idiot” or “I am a complete failure” or “I am such a loser.” And if we aren’t careful, some other part of us will listen to that and believe it to be literally true. And then we feel like a failure. And then we feel depressed. And then that depressed part invites all her friends to make us feel worse. We feel like crap because we think we are crap. Our words fuse us to the thing they represent.
So, who do you think you are?
Doug Craig graduated from college in Ohio with a journalism degree and got married during the Carter administration. He graduated from graduate school with a doctorate in Psychology, got divorced, moved to Redding, re-married and started his private practice during the Reagan administration. He had his kids during the first Bush administration. Since then he has done nothing noteworthy besides write a little poetry, survive a motorcycle crash, buy and sell an electric car, raise his kids, manage to stay married and maintain his practice for almost 25 years. He believes in magic and is a Sacramento Kings fan.
