Alright, so folks often ask me how I manage to juggle so many things, or how I seem to have different gears for different situations. It’s not some secret sauce I bought, you know? It’s more like I finally started to listen to the committee meeting that’s always happening in my head. I call it my “six in me” now, but it took a while to even realize there were distinct voices, let alone six of ’em.
Figuring Out the Internal Chaos
For the longest time, I just felt…pulled. One day I’d be super motivated, banging out tasks like a machine. The next, I couldn’t drag myself to do a thing, just wanted to stare out the window. Or I’d make a decision, feel good about it, and then an hour later, a wave of doubt would just wash over me. It was frustrating, made me feel like I was all over the place. Inconsistent, you know? I bet a lot of you feel that way sometimes. It’s like, who’s actually driving this bus?
I didn’t sit down one day and decide to “discover my inner selves” or any of that fancy stuff. It really came about because I was trying to get a handle on why I kept hitting these internal roadblocks. I’d make plans, big plans, and then some part of me would just…not cooperate. It felt like I was fighting myself more than any external problem. It was exhausting, to be honest.
Starting to Listen In
So, how did I even stumble onto this “six in me” idea? Well, it wasn’t a sudden lightbulb moment. It was more like slowly noticing patterns. I started to, sort of, step back and just observe my own thoughts and reactions, especially when I felt conflicted or stuck. I’d ask myself, “Okay, what’s really going on here? Who’s talking right now?”
And bit by bit, I started to identify these recurring characters, these parts of me that seemed to have their own agendas. It was like, “Ah, there’s that guy again.” I didn’t name them all at once, it was a gradual thing. I’d mess around with trying to understand what each one wanted or feared. It was a bit like being a detective in my own mind.
Eventually, I kind of landed on these six distinct aspects, or “folks” inside:
- The Planner: This one’s always looking ahead, making lists, strategizing. Super useful, but can also get totally stuck in analysis paralysis if I let it run wild. Wants everything to be perfect and predictable.
- The Doer: This is the part that just wants to get stuff done. Loves action, hates sitting still. Sometimes it jumps in before The Planner has a solid idea, which can be… interesting.
- The Critic: Oh boy, this one. Always pointing out flaws, what could go wrong, what I did wrong in the past. Its intentions are probably good – trying to protect me, make me better – but man, it can be harsh.
- The Feeler: This is the sensitive part. Picks up on moods, feels things deeply, worries about others. It’s where empathy comes from, but it can also get overwhelmed easily.
- The Kid: Wants to play, be curious, have fun, procrastinate on the boring stuff. Needs novelty. If this one doesn’t get some attention, it makes everything else feel like a drag.
- The Observer: This one’s quieter. It just watches, takes things in. It’s the part that helps me step back and see the bigger picture, the one that craves a bit of peace and quiet amidst the noise from the others.
Living With the Crew
Once I started to see them as separate (but connected) parts, things began to shift. It wasn’t about getting rid of any of them. I mean, how could I? They’re all part of me. It became more about understanding what each one needed and trying to get them to work together, or at least not actively sabotage each other. Like a slightly dysfunctional team that you’re trying to manage.
So, if The Critic is screaming, I try to ask it what it’s really worried about, instead of just letting it beat me up. If The Kid is throwing a tantrum because things are too dull, I know I need to schedule in some fun or a break. If The Planner is overthinking, I try to get The Doer to just take one small step. It’s not always easy, and sometimes they all talk at once. It can still be a racket in there.
The biggest thing I learned was to actually acknowledge them. To say, “Okay, I hear you, Critic,” or “Alright, Planner, what’s the plan?” It sounds a bit daft, I know, talking to yourself like that. But it’s better than just being swept along by whoever’s shouting loudest in my head at any given moment.
It’s an ongoing practice, this “six in me” thing. Some days the balance is good, other days one of them hogs the microphone. But at least now, I have a better idea of who’s who in the internal zoo. And that, believe it or not, makes a huge difference. It’s not about perfection; it’s just about a bit more understanding, a bit more internal negotiation. And frankly, a bit more peace, even when it’s noisy.
