How do you know you’re good when your brain says you’re bad?

If you’re human like me, you’ve probably at one point – if not consistently – battled with a bully living in your brain. A little asshole of a consciousness that’s sole purpose is to shame you. For some of us, that voice can grow so loud that it feels like it’s the only one in there – the only truth – and we begin to believe it. 

As someone who has been obsessively devoted to understanding the human psyche – where my psych majors at? –  a few things have become clear to me:

1. The mind clings to what’s familiar – even if it’s hurtful
2. What you feed the mind, it will continue to seek
3. That voice telling you you’re a piece of shit isn’t actually you – it’s your fear

So how do you turn it off? And more importantly, how do you stop believing what it says? Because that’s what causes the real harm. Beliefs are the catalysts for our actions and the building blocks of our reality – and I don’t want a life built by a bully. 

I’ve found, at times, the only way to stop this negative freight train in my mind is to hijack it with evidence that it’s heading in the wrong direction. But when you’ve allowed these negative thought cycles to go on for so long – “you’re not good enough”, “you always hurt people”, “you’re so lazy” – it can be really hard to see anything positive in yourself. 

When I was there, unable to find any big impressive proof that I was a good person, I had to look for something smaller. Embarrassingly small. And here it is y’all: I’m nice to bugs. 

That’s it! That’s my thing. 

The other night, a daddy long-leg spider crawled onto my arm while I was in bed (ah!). I watched him for a while, then took him over to the window sill. I let him live. Maybe a younger version of me wouldn’t have done this, but this version did, instinctively. 

I was once on a hike and found a worm wiggling her way across the track. I moved her over to the grass so she didn’t get stepped on. I like to think she’s composted a whole forest by now. 

And when I was a young girl, I held a funeral for a cicada named Tom that got squashed – death by dog paw. I’m pretty sure he’s one of my spirit guides now. 

Listen, I know how silly this sounds – I can literally hear the bully in my head right now saying “girl that’s so stupid”.

It may not be obvious or objectively meaningful – but it’s evidence. Evidence that when no one is watching, even in the quiet moments when I don’t even think before I act – I can be kind.

Not because I’m hoping for reward, but because that’s a part of who I am. And that part matters. 

The bully in my brain loves to shout at me about the times I’ve failed, the people I’ve hurt, the ways I’ve let myself down – things I wish I could but can’t take back. They’re hard to look at, because, yeah, they’re real. But they’re not my whole story either. 

If I truly were the horrible person it makes me out to be, would these gentle parts of me exist at all? I don’t think so.

So when the bully starts being an asshole again, I remind it of the times I was kind, the times I valued teeny tiny lives because I felt it in my heart to do so. 

And with each and every bug memory, my brain starts to shift. It begins to recognize the positive. It even starts to believe in it. Because here’s the thing: the brain will always try to prove what it already believes. If you believe you’re a shithead, it will gather evidence to support that – and unfortunately, it will find it. We’re only human. It will provide you with a relentlessly convincing argument. 

But if you give it even the smallest piece of proof that you’re good, it will start to search for that too. With a brain that is learning to believe you’re a good person, it becomes a lot harder to act otherwise. Not because you’re faking or forcing yourself to be better – but because you already are. So your actions start to follow. 

You begin to show up intentionally. You soften where you used to put up walls. You make choices from love instead of urgency. You smile at yourself in the mirror. And you believe you’re worth it. 

And maybe we can take this one step further. Maybe we can be kind to the bully in our minds. 

Because I used to believe mine had some kind of personal vendetta against bugs…but I’m starting to think it’s just afraid of getting stung. 

So yeah – I’m nice to bugs. For now, while I’m figuring out the rest, that’s enough proof for me.