There’s something I want to name that for many, many people is highly relevant these days. It’s the idea of getting certain people out of your head. That critical parent. An ex who’s just this constant hassle. Or the ways some of the greatest minds of our generation are trying to get into our heads on purpose, through social media, getting us to want to buy stuff, getting into our heads politically too.
A quick note before we get into it: if any of this lands, I'm running a live Setting Healthy Boundaries workshop on September 19th, where I’ll go much deeper into this same territory. Use the code substack10 for 10% off if you register this week.
I’m not talking about putting our head in the sand like the proverbial ostrich, ignoring the facts. I’m talking about something more like, how much rent-free real estate do we want to keep providing them, or their behavior, or whatever the latest thing they did was, inside our own heads.
Bad enough they’re out there running the show one way or another, like a landlord you’re furious at. A no here says: not in here. You don’t get to invade my mind. That’s a no.
This isn’t only about other people. Just as often it’s a thought of our own. Something that comes along, while we’re meditating or in life in general, that wants to carry us away. Often, because of the brain’s negativity bias, it’s a resentment of some kind, or a regret, or a worry, or a grievance, or a case we’re building against somebody. We can start to recognize when that’s happening. The conductor is calling, all aboard. Or we notice we’ve already been on the train for the last few minutes, if not more. At that point, can we say no? Nope. Not going to follow after this. The muttering may persist for a bit, but I’m not going to feed and fuel it. I’m not going to follow after it.
Sharon Salzberg has this lovely way of describing mindfulness. In some ways it’s like being in a nice meadow. Flowers, butterflies. There’s an awareness that pain exists, but you’re present, you’re there. Periodically a train goes by that wants to call you onto it. But you stay in the meadow. Then at some point you notice you’re on the train after all, in the middle of the rumination, the distraction. And the moment you realize it, you get to make a choice. Keep going, or come back, come home, to the meadow. Very often, the moment you realize you’re on the train, you’re already halfway back to the meadow.
What I want to get into next is more personal. There’s a particular no I had to build inside my own family, around my own anger, and what I found underneath it once I actually built it. And there’s a much gentler no, one that sounds less like a boundary and more like a blessing, for the voice in your own head that won’t let you off the hook.
