My doctor once explained to me that the mind was like a river and our thoughts were like the water; effortlessly flowing in the direction of the current.
Brain research suggests that over 90% of our thoughts are the exact same every single day. Meaning that the river of our mind is deeply entrenched, continuing to flow in the same direction and with the same ease, day in and day out.
But what happens if the water in that river is toxic? What happens if the direction of that current causes us suffering?
Then what?
If our thoughts and responses are ones of fear and self-doubt, and those thoughts happen effortlessly because we’ve spent years allowing the water to forge a path, then it becomes harder and harder to change over time.
In more formal terms, that river is our neural pathways and those thoughts become so habitual that we don’t even realize they are happening. And just like that, we get swept away by the current of our own thinking.
Those who wrestle with especially anxious thoughts on a regular basis, their river can be even more dangerous because the current is that much stronger and can easily take you under. Keeping my head above water has been a very real part of my life over when the River rages.
That being said, our brains can be reprogrammed. Our neural pathways can be changed and reshaped. And the more we practice doing so, the easier it becomes. A new habit is being formed.
But it means taking something that has been rushing forth for decades and asking it to move four feet to the left where the terrain is a bit gentler!
A huge part of this healing season for me revolves around changing the path of my river. Creating gaps between the outer world and my inner world. Using language and intention to carve out a new direction. Questioning my thoughts and reflecting on the patterns that have led me down turbulent paths.
Does shame actually belong here? (Hard no.)
Is it really my job to live up to other people’s expectations of me? (Nopey nopey nope.)
Do I truly have a reason to feel unsafe in my body? (Surprisingly, no.)
It’s a strange experience to witness your own thoughts and to push back against them when they have spent the better part of your life running the show.
But I believe this is where healing and transformation live—in the questions—in the awareness—in the confrontation of the things that make us deeply uncomfortable. The transformation is in the understanding that we always have a choice about which story to write.
I’m not going to lie though; most of the time it feels like I’m sitting next to the Nile, trying to dig a new trench with a teaspoon. I tend to gravitate towards the familiar—even if the familiar is the same water that is slowly poisoning me.
Healing really is a combination of both deep beauty and deep pain. I hurt a lot of the time. I fight off doubt a lot of the time. I grieve a lot of the time. And yet, I also feel slivers of freedom shining through. The softening of calcification that has happened through the experience of life. Intuition beginning to override trauma and fear.
It’s very slow and it’s incredibly hard at times. And on days like today, it brings me to my knees.
But the time is going to pass anyways.
So I will continue to sit here, teaspoon in hand, on the banks of a river that I’ve spent a lifetime creating.
And as a friend gently reminded today… if I’ve done it before, then I can do it again.
