At Home with our Inner Self
In the darkest part of night, no star or moon to light the home, Johnathan is abruptly woken by the bark, bark, barking of his young pup, Oliver. Alarmed by the sound, still not fully awake, he stumbles from his cozy cabin bed and briskly heads to the front door where Oliver is on guard, hair standing on end. Snow has blanketed every nook and cranny of outdoor life and continues to fill the night sky, making it difficult to see further than the dimly lit porch. Not fully coherent, yet heart pounding out of his chest and ears throbbing, Johnathan’s thoughts cascade to the dreadful depths of unknown prospects. What, or who, may be lurking just beyond the safe haven of the home he transformed into a sanctuary for his wife and kids? How can he protect what matters most and what he has assiduously crafted over years of meticulous effort?
Like the foundation of our house, our brain is the structural frame of our world, making meaning out of approximately 3lbs of substance with the consistency of Jell-O. Thoughts of the mind become things of the brain. A barking dog or kitchen cleaning after dinner can be events with little meaning or become loaded events that can shake stability. We are all architects of our inner and outer world where we sculpt our Jell-O-like brains into artistic design or into mush. The infrastructure stabilized by the nuts and bolts of neural circuitry whose complex connections form a web of meaning through lived experiences. We develop the structure of our brain in childhood, primarily through our parents or caregivers, then continually remodel our inner home by caring for and updating our inner life. Color, sound, food preferences, body image, cravings, contentment, awe, fears and resentment, all stem from and are altered through change of perception over time, and tending and mending what has been weathered and worn. The value assigned to our home lies in the eye of the beholder. Reality is subjective, formed and modified through our perception. Knowing we are the creators of our world, why would we choose one ripe with anxiety, fears, pain, and aloneness? Might we desire to redesign for connection, love, joy and awe?
Just as it takes a lot of material to build a home, a tremendous amount of energy goes into making us who we perceive ourselves to be. Vision, for example, is not created through what we physically see. It is a private sensation deep within the brain, with each and every scene being unique to the designer. This doesn’t mean an external world doesn’t exist, but rather it’s comes alive through the meaning we assign of all the parts. What we see is a mirror of the mind. Optical illusions, such as M.C. Escher’s mind-bending artwork, captivates onlookers by playing games with this internal world and has provided inspiration for shows such as The Simpsons, Labyrinth, and Inception. “The only things we can ever perceive,” stated George Berkeley, after whom the university and city were named, “are our perceptions.” A barking dog can be a warning of lurking danger, a demand to be fed or to be let outside all based on our interpretation. Similarly, a racing heart can be a sign of threat and we respond with anger, fear, or freezing or interpreted as excitement lending to increased motivation and energy to act. One response can be crippling while the other can result in accomplishing feats others have only dreamed.
During middle school, Johnathan returned to an empty home one afternoon to find the front door was off the hinges and lying on the front porch. The house missing rid of belongings, his dog, Bernard, missing, and he was feeling alone and afraid. Fearful of his safety, he ran nearly a half mile to the closest neighbors. From this event, Johnathan developed a story that home was only safe when you remained on guard and safety could be violated if you let your guard down. If everything in the environment is a creation within ourselves, how can something like a broken in home occur? With this, we open a Pandora’s box about what we can control. Yet, much of what we do occurs without our having to control it. For instance, breathing, digesting food, and sleeping are events that happen without a need for control. We develop an innate desire for control over ourselves and our environment to provide safety, stability, order, and predictability. Yet, much of what we think we have control of is an illusion. When we feel out of control, our inner chatter takes over and we pursue any semblance of order and structure we can find. Some people take this order to an extreme, as seen with obsessions, compulsions, and rigidity. The very thing that we desire, control, cripples us. When we replay negative scenes or discussions over and over, like a broken record, we become stuck in the story we have created. This story we tell ourselves can be self-sabotaging. We relive wounds, distresses, worries, and feelings of being violated, unheard, misunderstood, or unaccepted manifest. We even come up with worries for the future. These thoughts taint experience and block our ability be vulnerable and connect with others. Over the long haul, this internal negative mental stream impacts our mood, performance and health. When we zoom in on negative stories, we lose perspective. Since we are the creators of our world and we can alter our story, might we vow for shapeshifting our reality. We can turn adversity into adaptation and resilience. Transforming our thinking and changing the stories we have with ourselves and others can pull us from spiraling negative thoughts and we can begin to think more clearly.
How can we shift our inner world and tend to our home of the brain? One of the easiest ways of remodeling perception is by distancing ourself from the challenge and looking at the situation from a broader lens. Similar to using a camera to capture a mountain scene, we can adjust focus for a panoramic view. Instead of thinking about how we have been slighted or violated, we can enhance our perspective by including the gifts and lessons learned that came from the experience. The mind takes its shape in the brain based on what we focus upon and the more we focus on it, the stronger the wiring grows. We become attached to our own point of view and, like a fighter pilot, lock on to defend our stance. When we distance ourselves from hyper-focus and attachment, we free up space for thinking through and responding adaptively. Another way to create distance between the event is by imagining advising a friend in a similar situation. Compare the circumstance to similar experiences and how they were handled. Think about what we recommend to someone else and apply this advice to ourselves. Try to conceptualize why this distant self is feeling the way it is. This detaches us from intense emotional feelings of the experience and provides space for adaptive reinterpretation for insight and closure.
Language is a powerful player in the world of illusions. What is outwardly expressed commonly reflects what’s internal lived. A person who gravitates toward anger and judgement, may live in a home overflowing with self-loathing. The way we talk to ourselves and others can be extremely hurtful and severely damage relationships. In the heat of a situation, we can change our language with ourselves from “I”, “me,” or “my,” which has been linked to increased negative emotions and a good predictor of depression, to using “you,” your name or giving that part of the self a nickname. Just like naming your car “Bessy,” you can name your self-critical characteristic “Bossy.” This second- or third-person perspective decreases brain activation associated with rumination and promotes increased performance under stress; it broadens perspective and decreases negative emotions. Knowing that excess internal dialogue usually occurs when we interpret something as a threat, we can promote increased awareness of our internal environment and gain a sense of agency by stepping outside the immediate emotions and implementing distant self-talk.
Johnathan had developed a story that home is only safe when putting up numerous cameras he could watch from his phone, keeping a weapon nearby for defense, and having a watchdog on guard. He became hypervigilant. His desire to gain external control came at the expense of inner safety. Experience lends to adaptive learning when we reflect on our story in an open and non-attached manner. By reframing the situation as a challenge rather than a threat provides a sense of agency to overcome rather than waddle in adversity. After grabbing his weapon, Johnathan stepped out on the covered porch to get a closer look for a possible intruder. To his right, curled into a wooden rocking chair was his little girl, Milo. Johnathan put down his weapon and scooped up Milo’s shaking cold body, wrapping her in his warm arms. Still alarmed, Johnathan asked what she was doing outside. Milo said, “Daddy, I wanted to see the snow, but the door wouldn’t open when I tried to get back in. I knocked, but only Oliver heard me. I was scared.” Johnathan’s love for Milo seeped from him and she soaked up his caress. Johnathan discovered despite his efforts, he cannot fully control what matters to him most. What he can do is share his love during good times and challenges.
