In the past year, I’ve lost two women in my family from cancer. I’ve felt the searing loss and pain that these deaths have brought, in part because I am in remission from cancer myself. Twice. Seventeen years apart.
Because of that I know a lot about how my mind works with anxiety and fear. I’ve learned to recognize different voices inside my mind; some voices that contribute to freedom and happiness and some that bind me up in a prison of my own making.
Last year, just before my beloved cousin/sister/daughter/friend Jenny died, I recognized that I would need help to prepare for Jenny’s death. She and I had walked her cancer journey together and I was in a bad way. Also Jenny was eleven years younger than me and I struggled with anger and feelings of injustice about life and death. I know many of you are not strangers to that experience.
I sought help with a grief counselor named Lyn Prashant at Integrative Grief Therapy.
Lyn began our session in a particular way. She challenged me to listen exclusively to the needs of my grieving body, and not what my mind thought I should be feeling. She said: “The body doesn’t know how to lie.” Your body will give you more accurate feedback about what you need to heal and move forward.
And then she told me a story to illustrate what she meant.
Lyn’s story was recounted to her several years ago by author and teacher, Ondrea Levine. Stephen and Ondrea Levine are internationally known teachers of conscious living and dying.
Here is the Scene: A sunny day in beautiful northern California.
Ondrea is walking along the street window shopping while waiting to meet up with Stephen in a half hour for some dinner together.
Ondrea’s inner voice #1: I want an ice-cream cone.
Inner voice #2: no, it’s only a half hour to dinner, can’t you wait?
Inner voice #1: well, sure, but it’s warm out—a lovely day—an ice-cream cone would hit the spot.
Inner voice#2: you’ll spoil your dinner.
Inner voice#1: who cares, I want an ice-cream cone, I really do.
Ondrea thoroughly enjoys her ice-cream cone.
Now this is key. A new voice speaks up inside Ondrea’s head, a know-it-all voice. It says quite clearly: “I wouldn’t have done that if I were you.”
Can you picture it? You’ve just enjoyed your ice cream and some little piece-of-work in your head says: I wouldn’t have done that if I were you.”
As Lyn recounted it, it was an ah-ha moment for Ondrea. This is the kind of junk the mind throws at you—just because it can. Because it wants to be right. Because it loves soapboxes and giving lectures. Because—if exposed—it will fight an even more ridiculous fight, a broken record of justifications, repeating it’s stories over and over again. This is when Ondrea realized that the mind was not her friend. Was the mind a magnificent tool? Capable of learning foreign languages, physics, getting a Ph.D. or doing your taxes? Of course! But a friend? No. Lying comes very naturally to the mind because of ego.
When I heard this story it was an ah-ha moment for me too. As someone who has facilitated writing workshops, I recalled the tools we often use when we write—that of naming the voice inside us that is constantly critical and self-sabotaging. Sometimes we call that voice “The Critic.”
But in this case, while enveloped in fear and anxiety about cancer, I decided to give this inner voice a particularly strong name, so there would be no question as to her identity. I named her The Anxiety Hag. During my cancer treatments in 2008, I kept a journal everyday and on one especially bad day, I found a sentence I had written:
Anxiety is a hag who will jump on any synapse that will have her.
It helps me to remember exactly what I’m dealing with when I hear that tone in my head. It helps me to remember that the anxiety hag is not clever and smart (although she is sure she is.) Rather, she is joy-killing, shame-making and fear mongering. I remember that the marvelous mind I have been given is—nonetheless—a delivery system for her; a constantly moving ticker tape at the bottom of my mind screen. I remember that I don’t have to do anything about this, because it is impossible to stop anyway. Shining a light on the process is enough.
Postscript: A few months ago, my oncologist suggested that I go through some genetic testing because of the familial connection with female cancers. I went ahead and ordered all the material and when it arrived—all twenty-five pages of it—I began to fill out the detailed questionnaire. After completing a few pages, I stopped. What exactly is this going to do for me, I asked myself? I don’t have children with whom to share these possible risks. I know that this is the way that cancer treatment is going, but the science may not be all there yet. And in the meantime, this will surely increase my anxiety.
So, I tossed the pages in the nearest round can. They landed with a satisfying thump. In that moment, I felt a lightness in my body, a gut-sure reaching for freedom and wholeness and a rejection of fear.
And then guess what? The anxiety hag said: “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
What does your anxiety hag say? Does he/she have a unique name? How do you manage to avoid self-sabotage in the day-to-day work of being a human being in a hard world?
Photo credit: Bryan Gosline via photopin cc
I LOVE your identifying the anxiety hag. Just what I needed to read today. Kudos to you for throwing out the 25 page questionnaire because it was causing more anxiety. And for having the stillness inside to actually hear and identify your own anxiety hag. I’ll start looking for mine now, thanks to your inspiration. And the next time I enjoy a nice helping of my favorite ice cream, I will remind myself that I survived bilateral breast cancer and I have learned to enjoy life, instead of always being on the watch for the next difficult situation or encounter that life invariably brings. Carpe diem has been my motto since finishing breast cancer treatment, and your identifying the anxiety hag just removed another layer that separates me from enjoying those things in life to truly enjoy, and that really matter. Thank you. Your anxiety hag also reminds me of the “voices” that Mary Oliver refers to in her famous poem, The Journey.
I am a visual artist and have worked the book the Artist’s Way a couple of times. In that book, the author calls what blocks our best work “the inner critic”. I observe this critic all the time when I am trying to learn a new technique in my art, or take on a new subject matter. This critic tells me over and over that I’m no good, that this is a waste of time, etc, etc. It’s gotten to the point that I simply expect her to appear when I’m struggling and we are making peace with each other. And when I am finally drawn into the “flow” of observing the beauty and wonder of the smallest of details in my subject, she goes away. Poof 🙂
Thank you for your lovely writing.
Hi Mary, Thank you so much for your kind words and understanding of how the critic in all of us works. It is interesting to try and do creative work and realize that we require a critical eye and a good editor (in my case), yet there is a big difference between that and self sabotage. It will be fun to share a common language while we are carpe dieming at the pool!-:) The expose’ of the anxiety hag–hooray, we all stand to benefit. Take care.
The mind can be so amusing and entertaining and thoughtful and deep and ‘smart’ and competent; for some of us it seems it takes a big trauma or crisis to break through the trance it creates of being the last word, the master of our destiny, control central. That is when it turns on you, just as you say, when the fear and pain threaten to overwhelm. I like the way you have named the voice that turns on you, that helps not be ambushed so often I bet.
I am so sorry you have had to face the scare of cancer twice. I have been spared that trial so far, though I went through it with my late husband. For me, the trauma that shook me out of my belief in and reliance on my mind was the intense emotional burn of an intimate betrayal. First thing that happened in response to the pain: I lost ‘control’ of my mind, and it became a dangerous place to be, just like you say. The pain drove me into long periods of meditation just to keep a tiny tether of sanity as my mind galloped away, trying to put me back together, tormenting me, obsessing over what happened and why.
It has been a long haul, and I still try to figure things out; but now, bottom line, my mind no longer holds seduces and holds sway over me the way it did. I no longer trust WORDS, those noises in my head, like I used to. My motto now when my mind starts up on me: “warmth over words,” and my focus drops down to the beating of my heart, wondering what do you have to say?
Thanks, Susie, for getting me thinking (haha) about this!
Thank you, Sandy, for your thoughts which come out of a lot of experience with this process. I think the phrase “that is when the mind turns on you” is really apt and just what Ondrea noticed. She noticed something smug and obsessive and called it for what it was. It was a great lesson for me, since I often live (too much) in my head. For readers interested in Sandy’s subject of intimate betrayal, she has a new book coming out soon–just google Sandra Lee Dennis–and a blog called Calling Down Grace. (Just a little plug for you my friend!) Love to you, Susie
I have never considered the Hag and will have to think about this more…I need to name her…she says lots of unkind things but there is another reasoning voice that seems to out shout her and quells the Hag…it says why are you judging this or that…why do you care about this or that and many times I am able to stop the madness…I work with an acupuncturist who has helped me with my health, both physical and mental…amazing healer.
Thank you for reading and expressing your thoughts. It *is* worth listening and it sounds like you do. I was thinking today that I have such compassion and gentleness with my self after cancer and in a way, my article is about protecting myself from less compassionate parts of my own psyche. Again, just shining a light on them and saying, hey, I see you. You can’t get away with this anymore. I’m sure with you about acupuncture. What a gift.
Susie, your words are so much more eloquent than what I am able to blubber out while trying to describe anxiety to somebody who does not suffer from extreme amounts of it. I admire your grace.
It must be hard to explain this idea to someone who has never known anxiety and dang, if there aren’t those lucky people out there! I was thinking about your work on the board of Baby Blues, and the special case with all the ‘new baby’ hormones thrown into the mix. I bet there are times when it means the world to a new mother just to have someone listen; really listen to them. It would help them know that they are not alone experiencing anxiety and depression. Thank you, Katie, for your kind words.
I spent most of last year letting the Anxiety Hag inside my head become the predominant voice, and, man, did she ever do a number on me. It wasn’t until the beginning of Fall that I realized I was stronger and smarter than her, and that she really didn’t know as much as she thought she did. I like to call her the Anti-Ivy, because the true Ivy is positive and happy, and realizes that she has the ability to offer lovely things to the world – only at her own pace, and in her own time. This year I have made a vow to be nicer to myself, as I truly believe that only positive energy can bring positivity, and the self-deprecating thoughts I was having before were a breeding ground for negativity and stagnancy. And, really, who has time for that?
Ivy, I’m so glad you wrote in about this because we had talked about it. Yet to see it in writing is something that others can relate to as well. I especially appreciate knowing that you really started growing your own business in this past year and maybe the increased confidence helped. What I really like about your comment is the idea that you offer things ‘at your own pace and in your own time.’ I think that is golden.
Interesting…my daughter (psychologist) thinks I should see a grief counselor, but the breast cancer is just another thing…yes a big thing, but I have been coping with MS and the anxiety the unknown brings for some time..but I do have the little voice..something to think about….thank you for being so open…Michelle
Hi again Michelle, Reading your comment reminded me that sometimes I have to ask myself: “Can you live with a puzzle piece missing?” Meaning can I live fully without knowing when cancer or something like it could come back at any time. Everyone has the unknown to deal with, but most people don’t know it as intimately as those of us do with cancer or a chronic disease. It is just the way it is.
saw this post at the bottom of your current one. We’ve also been thru that 3 sisters of 4 have had breast cancer. One wanted the genetic tests done for her grandchildren – but we didn’t do them. Angelina Jolie’s preventive double mastectomy is not appropriate for anyone in our family. She set a lot of women rethinking their options.
Yes, you really have a strong family propensity for the disease, but the thing is–you don’t have to believe it will happen to you. It has taken me a long time to overcome fear because I did NOT have the risk factors, yet here I am. But I didn’t need a mastectomy either and my prospects look good. I admire what Angelina Jolie did. It’s all about options and understanding risk, which requires a clearheaded view. What I’ve learned about cancer now would fill a book, but what concerns me most is the younger women being diagnosed with higher stage disease. That tells me our world is out of whack. We live in a world where the tipping point is right there–for all kinds of things. As my physicist husband says “we live with marginal toxicity.”
You have experienced more loss recently, Susie, than most of us do in a lifetime. Well, then I remember that Dad died in spring one year, my brother died in February the next year, and my mother died in spring the next year. Three within the span of 2 years. I don’t recall any Hag making me think I might be next, but I do often wonder if the Alzheimer’s of my mom is destined for me? Can’t worry about it, though, because I’m bound determined to experience every square inch of this new life in the Netherlands while I have it. Thinking about any other alternative hasn’t enter my mind…yet!
Hi my friend, you are so kind to write in twice! (I posted this for FB and clearly I don’t know how it works yet!) “Liking” it on FB is very helpful for me, thank you. For some reason, I thought these responses would show up there. Ah, so much to learn, keeping my brain young, eh? I LOVED LOVED LOVED your latest post. All the color there–how glorious.
Beautifully written and so very insightful. I am all too familiar with Ms. Hag, but we aren’t on speaking terms at this moment, perhaps in a moment or two…;)