Detaching from Negative Self-talk

The other day I was cleaning up following an afternoon of yard work. As I was drying my hands, I realized that I had intentionally not looked at myself in the mirror. Now I am someone who has spent his entire adult life – indeed the majority of my conscious awareness of living – with a fairly consistent if not extreme sense of body dysmorphia. I've gone through long periods of time struggling with the image of who I see in the mirror. The exact roots behind where this sense of self-loathing comes from are unclear but I have no doubt that the celebration of the rail-thin, cocaine-chique look that was ever present during my adolescent and teenage years certainly didn't help with my self-image; I have always been someone with a propensity towards chubbiness, with an unfortunately slow metabolism that encouraged comparisons to the character of Chunk in the movie Goonies when I was roughly the same age and cut a similar silhouette as that kid doing the “truffle shuffle” for the amusement of his friends and movie audiences. This has been a struggle I've dealt with throughout my entire adult life with the pros and cons of engendering an eating disorder and cycling me through periods of obsessive fitness and nutrition goals that have landed me in moments where I feel great about the way I look and even feel comfortable within my own skin – always with the underlying thought that such moments of time are fleeting.

So having noticed that I was once again employing my age-old habit of avoiding any glimpse at myself in the mirror, I was intrigued. As far as I was consciously aware, I was not engaged in a period of body dysmorphic self-loathing nor was I experiencing the attendant general dis-ease and discomfort of being within my own skin. And yet here I was actively avoiding looking at myself in the mirror. Curious.

 As an experiment I intentionally turned back around flipped on the overhead lights to force myself to look at myself in the mirror. What I saw looking back at me was a big dumb head, melting face, cross-eyed goon looking back at me under the uncomfortably bright bathroom lights. However, unlike the countless times in my life I've seen this same strange and unappealing face looking back at me in the mirror, I noticed that this time, I wasn't engaging with the feelings of self-loathing and self-hatred that were cropping up and sitting on my chest. Indeed, I was simply watching myself look at myself. I was seeing myself experience the stream of ugly, negative self-talk, the tired and familiar old tape of self-repressing monologue that has played in my brain as far back as I care to remember. And I was able to see it as being nothing more than some peculiar expression of my brain working to bring me down for no good reason. And from the perspective of seeing it rather than being inside of it, I found I was able to kind of laugh.

 “What the hell is wrong with you,” I said out loud to my brain, forcing my eyes to fixate on themselves in the mirror despite this swirl of crow’s feet tempting me to squint away and look down at the sink. “None of this is true,” I thought to myself. I actually look fine, I actually feel fine, I am simply watching my brain try to tell me otherwise. “This is amazing! It's like my brain hates me!” I laughed to myself a little bit. And the more I noticed that I was simply having the experience of negative self-talk, that I was simply having the experience of self-loathing towards the man in the mirror directly in front of me – the more I noticed I was experiencing these sensations without sitting in them, that I wasn’t attached to the self-loathing and dysmorphic disdain, that these weren’t now filling my conscious experience of being me – the more I also noticed a sense of comfort or at least calm; I'm just a person having a momentary sense of disdain and self-loathing for no apparent reason. I'm not caught up in this, I'm simply watching myself experience it.

This was a freeing moment. I was experiencing the sensation of having these feelings, experiencing the familiar creep of disdain and dis-ease with myself while also recognizing that not only was I not attached to it, not only was I not caught up in it but in a very real way I never have to be.

 To test this sudden sense of detachment and unexpected comfort within the familiar moment of self-disdain, I lifted up my shirt to expose my torso to the light. This is an action that is absolutely forbidden by the inner monologue when I am caught up in the malignant disdain for the way I look and the way I feel about the way I look that as a rule accompanies this entire running tape of disdain. And as I expected, there was my old friend: hatred of my body. There was my brain only enabling me to see the flaws, to see the lingering remnants of the 40 lbs of unnecessary weight I was able to shed a few years ago, the sagging skin and areas of poor muscle tone. And just as I was experiencing moments before, I found myself laughing at my brain. This is just my brain trying to tell me I'm a piece of shit, trying to remind me that Dylan hates Dylan's body, a tape that has played no matter where I have been in my physical fitness regime throughout my life. I remembered the brief interlude with abdominal definition I experienced in my early 30s – a moment which was of course followed by my brain reminding me that I am still just a short man even if I now look good strutting around the beach.

I let my shirt fall back down and flip the lights off shaking my head to myself. Thanks for that brain, I said to myself. Whatever's going on I guess you just wanna remind me to not be too happy. Thanks again, you really know how to step in and get in the way of my having a nice day.

And then I went upstairs and fixed myself some lunch.

This mirror experience reinforced that detachment offers me a clearer perspective. I could see my self-loathing as just another part of my mental landscape, not the entire picture. This awareness brought a sense of freedom. For a moment, I was free from the grip of negative self-talk and could witness my thoughts and feelings with calm objectivity.

 

Detachment is about stepping back and observing our experiences without becoming enmeshed in them. This perspective helps us navigate our inner world with greater clarity and less distress. By detaching from my negative self-talk, I could see these thoughts as just thoughts, not truths.

 

This detachment does not eliminate negative thoughts and feelings, but it diminishes their power. It allows us to live more fully and authentically. Instead of being consumed by self-loathing, I could acknowledge it, thank my brain for its misguided attempt to protect me, and move on with my day.

 

Detachment is about creating space between ourselves and our thoughts. It’s about recognizing that we are not our thoughts, and we don’t have to act on them or let them define us. This realization is a powerful tool for managing distress and enhancing well-being. My mirror moment vividly illustrated how detachment can transform our relationship with our inner world, offering a fleeting sense of freedom and peace amidst life’s tumultuous storms.

 

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Embracing Self as Context