I haven’t even finished Dr. Becky Kennedy’s book “Good Inside” yet, and I’m already recommending it to everyone. Although it’s labeled a parenting book, I’d argue it’s a disguised relationship and neuroplasticity book! And not just romantic relationships, but the relationship you have with yourself and the way you were raised.
There are so many meaty yet easy-to-read concepts in there, but one of the biggest (yet simplest) takeaways that I’ve read so far, is a way to rewire our brains from this destructive narrative:
I’m a bad person.
I’m a bad student.
I’m a bad partner.
I’m a bad friend.
I’m a bad mom/dad.
I’m a bad employee.
I’m a bad daughter.
I’m a bad ______.
Each time we “mess up” (for my post on failure: click here!) , a good percentage of us automatically label ourselves as “bad” without realizing it. She goes into the science of it, but basically: labels that are attached to our identity are the hardest to catch and rewire, because they are so ingrained in our everyday self-talk. Believing we are “bad” is often the catalyst of emotions like: guilt, shame, anger, embarrassment, etc. It’s sooo hard to forgive ourselves and move on from a mistake if we inherently believe we are bad.
Instead, Dr. Becky Kennedy suggests we catch and change the outer and inner dialogue as such:
I’m a bad person.→ I’m a good person going through a tough time.I’m a bad student.→ I’m a good student going through a tough time.I’m a bad partner.→ I’m a good partner going through a tough time.I’m a bad friend.→ I’m a good friend going through a tough time.I’m a bad mom/dad.→ I’m a good mom/dad going through a tough time.I’m a bad employee.→ I’m a good employee going through a tough time.I’m a bad daughter/son.→ I’m a good daughter/son going through a tough time.I’m a bad ______.→ I’m a good _____ going through a tough time.
This sounds simple, but when kids make mistakes, have temper tantrums, or “act out” in other ways, it’s common that they’ll be labeled as a “bad kid”, even if this is unintentional. This will help you have more compassion for yourself and the story that you aren’t “good enough” that you might have internalized as early as a parent yelling at you as a toddler.
It goes the other way too. Maybe when someone hurt you, they were actually a good mom/dad/partner/ex/friend, going through a really tough time without the tools to deal with it better. Again, acknowledging this doesn’t mean that you now have to rekindle a toxic relationship, but sending them some love and forgiveness from afar helps bring peace to your own life.
[Disclaimer: Obviously there are always rare exceptions. Please always see a professional for any trauma and use your discretion on how best to handle your mental health.]
There are so many layers to this that Dr. Becky Kennedy explains so much better than I am, so please read her book for all the research and wisdom packed in there! In the meantime, I thought sharing that little reframe: “I’m a good ______ going through a tough time.” might help someone be a little gentler to themselves this week❤️!
I will leave you with this poem I wrote about a mom and their child that was published in SAD Mag a few years ago, called “Dust Blown Down”. You’ll have to download the PDF for the best quality and full experience, but I’ll also include the text below!
mama placed me on her knee in front of her vanity with dollar store mirrors and second hand lipsticks strewn on the table next to cracked blush and mascara-stained q-tips. she buried a kiss in my red hair and a whisper in my ear you came from the stars, dust blown down from heaven i love you, doll. be good for mama pullin on her cowboy boots and jean jacket both a greeny blue just like my eyes she said and flashed me a smile her cheekbones glowin, screen door to our trailer smashin and bouncin, wavin her goodbye the smell of cigarettes and hairspray was soaked into our five furry pink pillows and scratchy toilet paper mama was always there. she was always with me. most nights i wore her nightgown cold silk on my sticky skin wonderin how long i had the place all to myself til the sun had slipped so far beneath the earth, that cold would touch the air? or til i had used up all the ice cubes the next afternoon, and be greeted with pancakes from the diner down the road. she would hug me tight smellin like his deodorant havin a good day, baby? i looked at the clock on the microwave 10:02 one hour and seven minutes off. i was the first kid in class who could tell time miss. denver says you’re real great with numbers, hon! i couldn’t wait for fall. flickin on the radio i drowned out the screams two trailers down. friday night they played mama’s dance songs in the bottom cupboard was bourbon, mini fridge white wine, i grabbed a glass pourin a bit from each mama let me get my ears pierced last june i sipped a little fire racin down my throat and nestled into the vanity chair tossin a bra aside it wouldn’t fit for a while yet. i traded my studs for some hoops of gold and turned the curlin iron on people tell me to get a haircut but mama says i can grow it as long as i want i knew all the words to the radio not just the songs but the adverts too. hours later i turned it down and stepped outside slippin a smoke in my mouth sometimes you just need to blow out the day, baby. my fingers wrapped around it like hers did, poppin the unlit cigarette from my lips with a sigh it worked better in the winter when you could see your breath honey, babydoll. i turned around. black tears had fallen from mama’s face onto her breasts. dirt covered the rhinestones on her boots. i held the hand she placed on my cheek and put the cigarette from my mouth into hers. she sank into the lawn chair with me on top twisted gently so our bodies could rest together i looked up. an uneven breath and quiet whimper into the dark sky remember mama, you came from the stars. dust blown down from heaven. she turned my face to hers and traced my freshly dressed red lips with her hot pink nails you are the apple of my eye, little guy. i wish all men were like you. fresh tears fell, and the sadness in her eyes spread to love in the corners of her crow’s feet. if you have to see your mama cry, i think that’s the best way it could be.
