Barking Up the Right Tree: My Journey to Inner Silence
New Rhythms for 2024
I love this cartoon by Rick Detorie, the comic strip One Big Happy creator. I remember being struck by this cartoon in 2003 when I read the paper in its organic format, always starting with the comics, followed by the advice columns, and finally, the news. The cartoon spoke to me so loudly that I cut it out and taped it on the wall above my desk. I could be that little girl in the tub. I was about her age when my first-grade teacher said, in a huff and with tone: “You’re so stupid. Can’t you do anything right?” Little six-year-old me had simply asked for help zipping up my chicken costume. Her words quickly became a mantra that I’ve wrestled to silence since. I think of that teacher every now and then, understanding as only an adult can, that she was probably hungry and stressed just minutes before we were to be on stage for our end-of-year play. I was likely the tenth kid to ask for help. Plus, it being the middle of June, it was probably hotter than hell in our school, which, like many schools in those days, didn’t have air conditioning.
This cartoon inspired me to try to stop talking to myself so much at one time or another in the 20+ years since it was published. Living as an adult with ADHD means my mind is always on the move, like a never-ending thought marathon. Stress and problems? Oh, they’re my VIP pass to the rumination club. I have become the world’s most dedicated overthinker, even if it means losing sleep. If you see me looking like I’ve just had a triple espresso, you know I’m deep into my ADHD thought spiral – tense, worried, and slightly on edge. 😅
My husband always knows when I’m silently talking to myself because my head will nod and shake, and my hands will move—as if I’m in a deep conversation with another person. This, in and of itself, isn’t such a bad thing. The problem is that, as the little girl in the cartoon so eloquently says, Sometimes (often in my case), I say things that hurt my own feelings.
The first time I tried to stop talking to myself, I was commuting to work by bicycle—sixteen miles one way, mainly on a wooded trail. Honestly, I didn’t need to talk to myself because it was fall, and the trees were vividly colorful—no words were necessary. But when I stopped my internal monologue, instead of peace, I felt panic, like I couldn’t breathe. I tried again on my commute home later that day. Same thing—I couldn’t breathe. Many other attempts failed, with me only able to hold silence for a few minutes before allowing myself to swallow a big gulp of words like air.
A few months ago, I read an article in the New York Times titled: The Beauty of a Silent Walk. The subtitle read: No talking. No podcasts. No music. Just some time alone with your thoughts. I generally don’t listen to podcasts or music when I run or walk, but I think. And thinking is often the gateway for me to start overthinking, which leads me to ruminate. And ruminating turns into my inner first-grade teacher, filling my brain with the things that cause me to say things to myself that hurt my own feelings. Nevertheless, I liked the concept of the silent walk so much that I decided to try it.
That day, while walking my dog, I took a deep breath and told myself to shut up (I said it nicely, I promise). It was hard, I’m not gonna lie. I felt the familiar panic creeping in. But instead of giving in and gulping down a handful of words to temporarily satiate me, I listened to the clicky-clack of my dog’s paws on the cold pavement. I stopped when I heard tapping above my head and noticed a Yellow-bellied sapsucker looking for breakfast in the crevices of a telephone pole. I zeroed in on kids laughing in the distance, and the particular swoosh of cars passing by.
I’m conning to practice this new rhythm of the silent walk, allowing myself a lot of grace if I mess up. But the minute I start saying things that hurt my own feelings, I tell “Mrs. Hawthorn” to shut the fuck up. 😅
