The Self and the Coach Are Drawing a Forensic Sketch
The Self and the Coach Are Drawing a Forensic Sketch
Mindfulness Myth #2: Self-Discipline versus Self-Bullying
I decided recently to write a series of stories or essays about what I find are the most common misconceptions related to mindfulness. Why? The way mindfulness is oversimplified (in my view), it creates clichés, which lead to disappointment, or to undeserved snubbing.
Mindfulness myth # 1 argued that our inner coach aims to build self-discipline in mastering our minds, so that we can focus on constructive action.
This, however, begs the question: is self-discipline always constructive? Are all seemingly coaching voices truly our inner Coach?
The Self was frolicking through the woods on the way to nowhere. What a glorious day! Birds humming, flowers blooming, the sun shining, and nothing to do but bask in this glory.
“I might just as well pay the Coach a visit, maybe there’s still some cider left from the other day, and we can sit on the porch chatting about sweet nothings”, the Self thought.
So she headed to the Coach’s hut, across the woods, in the glade by the pond. When she got there, holding a few daisies which she’d picked on the way, she knocked on the door.
“Who’s there”, she heard a voice.
Funny, the Coach asking. She’d just open the door wide without querying.
“It’s me, Coach, are you all right?”
There was a brief shuffle and the voice came again.
“Come in, sure I’m fine, aren’t I always?”
The Self pressed the door handle.
Right, maybe there’s no cider today, but if she’s here, she might just as well say hello. Just briefly, then go again, back in the sunshine.
She walked in, and for a few moments, she wasn’t sure what was different. The curtains were drawn, keeping the merry sunlight out of the place. The Coach was lying in bed, the head barely sticking out from underneath thick covers.
“Are you ill, Coach? What’s the matter?”
“Of course I’m not”, she heard the Coach’s voice snap.
That was new.
“What’s wrong with your voice, Coach? You don’t sound like yourself”, the Self asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with my voice, kid”, the Coach replied. “You’re imagining things. But what is it you want, in the middle of the day? Don’t you have things to do?”
The Coach used to be happy and friendly every time she visited, never checking what time it was.
“Oh, I just happened to be nearby, and I thought I’d check on you, you know, maybe — well the lovely weather — say, Coach.. what’s wrong with your eyes?”
The Self couldn’t help noticing that the Coach was gazing at her with cold, piercing eyes, with a somewhat menacing frown.
The Coach laughed sarcastically.
“Well now you think you know my eyes, too, don’t you!”
The Coach stood up from the bed and slowly shuffled around the room with a crooked smile on her face. The Self was frozen. What was she going to be told any moment now? Was the Coach going to pounce on her? Or maybe, even more frightfully, going to stab her with those words?
The Coach came round and stood still behind the Self, almost breathing on her nape.
“And what do you think you’re doing, idling your day off, I can tell you this leads to nothing good, take it from me, kid! You know I want your best, but the way you’re acting?”
The Coach gave a faint snigger.
“Coach, what’s wrong with your laugh? You used to laugh out loud, joining me in the mirth, not snubbing me!”
“What’s wrong, what’s wrong?”, the Coach mimicked the Self mockingly. “Nothing’s wrong, kid, except your constant daydreaming and idle loitering — oh, what a glorious day!”, the Coach went on mimicking the Self. “Oh, how lovely the woods and the sunshine, Oh, Coach, let’s have another cider and sit down in the garden, Oh — get a life, kid, for goodness’ sake!”, the Coach switched back to the snappy voice. “When are you going to grow up?”
The Self stood frozen, eyes to the ground, afraid even to breathe. What else was coming?
“How many times do I have to tell you that you need to get your feet on the ground and finally — FINALLY! — know your limits. You just have to be realistic, trust me, I know what I’m saying. So stop coming over all the time, get yourself some real work and then your mind will stop wandering and spending time with useless thoughts! And then you’ll need no coach or other nonsense.”
From where she kept standing, motionless, the Self could hear the Coach’s subdued, hissing voice, which was, however, articulating the ripping words with astonishing clarity. So close, and yet so alien. So faint, and yet so piercing.
There was suddenly a shadow outside, darting across the window. The door was pulled open and sunlight dashed in.
“What do you think you’re doing here?”, she heard the old, familiar voice.
The creature on her back gasped and vanished. The Self heard quick steps and then she saw the old, familiar face of her Coach standing before her, keen to make eye contact.
“Are you all right?”, the Coach enquired, holding her shoulders and gazing at her earnestly.
“What was that?”, the Self whispered, shivering.
The Coach shook her head briefly in concern.
“You mean, who was that!”
The Self mustered the courage to turn her head an inch or two.
“Where is it?”, she asked, still shivering.
“It’s gone”, the Coach answered. “But it might get back, mind you!”, she added.
The Coach helped the Self take slow, careful steps out on the porch. The Self sat down on the long chair and the Coach grabbed the old bottle of cider on the shelf.
They spent a few moments saying nothing.
Then the Coach started talking, in a quiet, even voice.
“You have to watch yourself better”, and she looked straight into the Self’s eyes. “This ghost — if it’s been here once, it’ll be back. Only you can stop it from trying to show up again.”
“But how? What have I done wrong?”, the Self asked in a wailing voice.
“Don’t wail,” the Coach replied gently. “I’m giving you no reason to pity yourself. You’ve done nothing wrong, but these ghosts do try their luck.
“Look, just for the future: you’ll need to pay more attention to the thing that’s talking to you in my name. I may be out, like today, just to gather firewood, and who knows who you might be running into, thinking it’s me, just because this is my hut.”
“But how will I know?”, the Self now almost broke into tears.
“Listen to me carefully”, said the Coach in her gentlest voice. “You need to go back with me now and recall what’s just happened. You’ll see how it can help in the future.
“So think back, and next time you’re running into someone claiming to be your Coach, look and listen carefully, and check these little things:
“How did the voice sound?”
“Terrible!”, the Self cried out.
“Terrible, how?”, the Coach went on probing.
“So… snappy. And false, as if pretending to be friendly. And half furtive, but half sarcastic, too.”
“Good, keep that.
“Now how did it laugh?
“Was it haaaahaaaa, echoing you, gushing and flowing, or rather small and chittering, hihihi, more like sniggering?”
“Sniggering, yeah. A laugh tucked in the fists, held between the jaws.”
“Good. Now, my voice is always clear and straightforward. Most of the time I sound neutral, but sometimes if you’re in great pain, I can choose to sound gentle and soothing. I laugh with you, echoing your laugh. I never snigger and I never press my laugh into my fists or squeeze it between my jaws.
“How did it look at you? What about their face, their eyes?”
“Well, it only looked at me briefly, but it had cold and piercing eyes, with a frown arching over. And then it somehow came behind me and kept talking from there, so I couldn’t see its face. The voice — yes it was almost a whisper, but a cutting whisper, sharp like a blade.”
“Excellent. Now, me, I always look you straight in the eye, and I never frown. Why should I, what’s there to frown about? You’re an adult, self-determined person, there’s no room for frowns.
“You can always see me right here, in front of you. Whether we stand or sit together your eyes and mine meet in a straight line.
“But here’s the most important thing:
“How did it make you feel?”
The Self sighed and held back fresh tears. The shiver was going away, but it could still come back in fits.
“Terrible. I felt like a good-for-nothing, like I’m never going to mean anything on the face of the earth. Like I’m never going to learn how to do the right thing.”
The Coach nodded and nodded, waiting for more. When it was clear the Self had said everything, she asked:
“And what do you feel it was trying to do?
“Was it trying to teach you, to bash you, to stop you from doing something?”
“I guess it was trying to make me feel small, to crush me. Not sure why. Do you think it had a motive?”
The Coach smiled and poured another glass of cider.
“These things rarely have motives. Because they’re not real in the first place.
“About these emotions. If it makes you feel small, helpless, clumsy, good for nothing; if it’s shame, fear or guilt you feel — then this is not me. That’s not what I am.”
“Not even if you’re opening my eyes to something wrong I’m doing? You may not mean it, but I might still feel guilty or ashamed, precisely because you’ve done your job so well opening my eyes.”
“No”, the Coach smiled. “That’s not how it works. You see, I never tell you this is right, this is wrong. I only ask you what you really want, and if you think that what you’re doing serves that. Honestly? I have no idea what’s right or wrong for you. I’m here just to help you work it out. You have the eyes, I have the questions.
“The trouble about these ghosts, though, is that they seem to know it all, while you know nothing. They may claim they want to open your eyes and show you the way, but that’s a way of saying that the answers are with them, not with you. Me? If my presence ever helps you open up your eyes to a mistake, you’ll acknowledge the mistake and see what you must do next.”
“But that’s terribly, terribly hard to tell apart, it means that these ghosts can sneak into your place so easily!”
“Precisely. That’s why, be mindful of who you’re taking for your trusted Coach.
“Here’s another thing you can use to check who they really are.
“Try to picture a real person telling you all that, in that sneaky, or patronising manner; would you let them speak to you like that, would you cower in fear and shame before them?”
The Self shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes on the Coach’s face in wonder.
“Then why would you let that ghost do it to you?”
So often we mistake an inner bully for our inner coach, in the name of self-discipline and mastering our minds, or overcoming our weaknesses. That’s because we may think, deep inside, that the Coach is right to be harsh, because we’re too thick, too lazy, too hopeless.
But then again, it’s not as if the Coach only tells us you’re brilliant, while the bully is so mean by spotting our failures. The difference is in their agendas. The one is out to support us moving on. The other is out to bash us for having failed.
And you?
Are you sometimes visited by a voice that’s trying to bash you for not being good enough? Do you take it for normal, seeing that you have, indeed, failed? Does it ever cross the line, and if so, where do you draw that line?
If you hear such a voice, does it sound like someone you know? for instance, a parent, an elder sibling, a close friend? If so, what does this tell you about the voice?