One Sentence I Can’t Get Out of My Head
Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash
You are doing it wrong.
Some days are harder than others.
It is unclear to me why some days are harder than others, but a recent weekend was especially so. I simply couldn’t get away from the one sentence that played on a loop in my head. I thought it would crush me.
You are doing it wrong.
You are doing it wrong.
You are doing it wrong.
For some reason, this is my ultimate sin, doing things wrong, and it is the central theme of an overarching system that rules me. The weekend in question started with the persistent murmur of this sentence early Friday. By Saturday evening, it was nearing a crescendo.
Some simple, benign thought would come into my mind, and then suddenly it would be attacked like a rocket launch.
I’d rather watch TV than grade assignments right now. You are doing it wrong.
It’s a Saturday night and we don’t have plans. You’re doing it WRONG!
My son is spending his evening with a nice family on YouTube. YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG!
If it’s in my head, it must be true.
Why these things are wrong is not important because somewhere back in my history I accepted that whatever this system says must be true. The messages are to be believed and not questioned. If the voices in my head say I’m doing something wrong, then that is the gospel truth.
Yes, this dynamic is deeply flawed.
And sometimes, the system in my head seems impervious to the tools and strategies I have collected over the years; tools like meditating, going for a walk, slamming my fifteen-pound smash ball on the ground.
But, like a tenacious parasite that once embedded clings to its host for dear life, the message continues to play.
You are doing it wrong.
You are doing it wrong.
You are doing it wrong.
It is an insidious system.
Sometimes it changes language to launch its attacks from multiple angles constantly keeping me on my toes, dodging the one-two punches. Another sophisticated element of this system is that it has buried itself deep in my unconscious, from where it shoots darts of anxiety through my stomach and chest.
Suddenly, it is hard to breathe.
The dynamic is so ingrained, so habituated in my head that I will take in data and immediately feel heaps of judgment pile on top of me, skipping the step that explains why I’m being judged in the first place.
You are doing it wrong.
You are doing it wrong.
You are doing it wrong.
And no amount of arguing will convince the voices otherwise.
Only one thing seemed to offer real help.
Over the difficult weekend, some meditating helped for a minute. Deep breaths and a short walk brought a little relief. But the one tactic for exposing the system and dulling its power was writing about it.
Writing about these noxious messages brings them out into the light. Writing illuminates how unreasonable they are.
I write, hoping I won’t just send them back scurrying into the corners of my mind, like cockroaches across a kitchen floor, but that I will weaken them, shrink their potency until they are minor nuisances I can laugh at, and move on.
I am slowly, very slowly accepting that this system won’t be obliterated completely. But perhaps I can debilitate it a little and stop believing everything it says. Writing helps.
When I describe the system here on the page, it loses some of its power. And this is a helpful reprieve.