There I was, with only a week to go, and I was no closer to finishing the assignment, a final requirement for my coach training and certification. The assignment was to present to my peers a physical representation of the “voice” inside my head, otherwise known as my Gremlin. “Everyone has one,” they told me in class. The goal of the exercise was to disempower our Gremlins and transform them into supportive “new friends.” nnFor months the class was frenzied as we tackled our demons. Some prepared life-size monsters, pictures, and paintings; some wrote and performed songs. Others created depictions of friends and family who had long ago imprinted negative messages in their heads. Everyone else seemed happy and eager to share their inner thoughts, but time was running out for me. I had spent hours talking about it with anyone “safe” that would listen. I tried drawing, listening to songs, searching magazines and books, but I was blocked. How would I really show this to my class? The bigger question was, could I really show this to my class? Could I really admit that I had a voice inside of me that constantly beat me up? The voice taunted me, “Come on, you’re supposed to be a coach. You’re supposed to have all the answers. You shouldn’t have a Gremlin!” No wonder I was struggling. nnI sat at my desk in my basement office, a safe place, out of the way. I got up to stretch and walked into the kids’ playroom. There they were, covering the floor: Barbies, Ken, a load of babies, assorted children, even the Volvo station wagon! I knew it instantly. It was as if they were all lying there laughing at me. Malibu Barbie and all her friends were barely clothed, and their hair was tangled and matted. Yet it didn’t matter. They all had smiles on their faces and still looked perfect! I sat on the floor and looked around. nBarbie was “the voice.” She lay on the floor, beautiful, with her tanned and exquisite body. Scattered all over was every prop and accessory to her many successful and multifaceted careers. She was a teacher, a doctor, an artist, a veterinarian, a business executive, even an astronaut. She was so smart that she could be any one of them, and she could change from one to another at any given moment. She was also a mom who did it all. She had babies, and amazingly, her body still looked the same—perfect. She was a “good mom,” and she and Ken were the happy couple. Everyone loved her and wanted to be with her. She had the house, the cars, and the vacation home. It was all perfection! nnFinally, the “voice” was in my hands. I knew instantly that Barbie represented my fears of not being good enough. Her perfect, plastic life was much like my own quest for perfection to prove the “voice” wrong. Like too many girls, I was raised to believe that girls can do it all. We were told that the world had changed and now there were equal rights. Girls believed they could be anything they wanted and, of course, the best at whatever they chose. This meant marrying “Ken” and having the perfect family with bunches of kids. They could be “super moms” that would cook, clean, do homework, chauffeur, play with the kids, and bake cookies (all with a smile), while simultaneously maintaining successful careers. nnMy anxiety mounted as visions of my former life ran through my head. My heart raced and my stomach turned as the “voice” taunted me. I supposedly had it all: the career, title, salary, husband, house, and babies. Perfect? Not really. Thoughts flooded me: the parade of au pairs and nannies, two-hour commutes, dreadful hours, guilt and shame from disapproving family members, middle-of-the-night drives home, arriving home to an ambulance or a fire started by the nanny. All this was commonplace; the stress and worry that resulted consumed me, and despite every success, I never felt worthy. In every facet I felt like a failure. This only chiseled away at who I truly was and why I was here. It was no surprise when eventually, this inner struggle manifested in an illness that no doctor knew how to treat. Ultimately, I was unable to get out of bed or care for my children. The “voice” had won, and this was what brought me to the basement floor where I now sat surrounded by this mess.nnFor all of us looking to improve our lives in some way we must take a hard look at this inner dialogue. The “voice” represents our conflicts and fears and is always deeply emotional. It is the biggest obstacle in creating any type of change in our lives. Therefore successful change will only result when we eliminate this negative banter. Doing so will reap huge rewards. It will not only impact your day-to-day living, but also your ability to cope with the larger challenges that lie ahead. In the end it will allow you to be kinder to yourself and, as in my case, even laugh at yourself. nnWho is your “voice”? Maybe it’s time for you to meet it. Just like Barbie, you can expose it by putting a face on it, a body, clothes, and, if you’d like, a name. What does your “voice” tell you? Many of us allow it to define who we are. It taunts us with what we can, ought, should, must, need, and deserve to do. Its words are so powerful that they can control our every action. Recognizing this self-heckling will uncover its purpose and bring us closer to eliminating it.nnOnce its purpose is revealed, we can examine how our actions are being affected. For example, some of us waste time and energy with procrastination. Others become trapped in the past or paralyzed with worry about the future. Many of us continually analyze ourselves and others. Some of us pretend to believe that the “voice” is protecting us from failure or hurt. As a result, we concede to its dominance and stifle our true desires. We walk gingerly through life, afraid to follow our dreams. We pretend that we are hoping for a different outcome, but inside, we know that will never come. The truth is that the “voice” is still at work, undermining our thoughts.nnConsider now all the wasted time and energy that has resulted from listening to the “voice.” Finally, let it go. Make the choice that Barbie and your own “voice” are no longer inside you. As for me, Barbie doesn’t live inside my head anymore. In fact, she is more of an acquaintance who lives all around me as a constant reminder of where I don’t want to go. Like me, you may never look at Barbie the same way again. Although I admit I like her much better now, most importantly, I like myself even more. nn** This article is one of 101 great articles that were published in 101 Great Ways to Improve Your Life. To get complete details on “101 Great Ways to Improve Your Life”, visit
http://www.selfgrowth.com/greatways2.html.