Sometimes it’s just one voice, sometimes it’s a whole chorus…the crazy-making inner dialogue.

The Committee has many voices. Sometimes it sounds like an authority figure from the past or present: my mom, my boss, my pastor. Maybe it takes on the voice of that super judgy relative or neighbor. I know I’m in trouble when it starts to sound like my sponsor.

And it tells me horrible things. Sometimes quietly, sometimes at full volume, it tells me every reason to hide under the covers and never come out again. It rubs my nose in every mistake and tells me what a crappy excuse for a human being I am. It rips at my weak spots, heaps shame on me. It tells me to give up.

It’s merciless with the instant replay button. It cripples me with fear and then smothers me with regret. It regularly reminds me of all the reasons why this planet would be a better place without me.

Before I came into the program, I thought I was the only person with all these crazy voices in my head. So it was a huge relief to listen to people share about “the Committee” and realize, Whoa, I’m not the only one? And these people look so normal!

The inner Jerry Springer

Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, and this post is not intended to diagnose or treat any mental or physical disorder. But for most of us, the “itty bitty sh!tty committee” isn’t a symptom of mental illness. It’s one of those good ol’ outdated survival mechanisms that comes from living with the effects of another person’s alcoholism.

Finding out I wasn’t the only one with a Jerry Springer show going on in my head all the time was a lifesaver. But the real issue is: How do you get them to shut up?

There’s a million great ways, and they all start with acceptance: accepting that this is my current mental state and that it’s my responsibility to do something to help myself. That’s good news, because it means I’m not helpless over the monkeys in my brain.

Here’s a few that have helped me, passed down through the experience, strength and hope of many others.

Move the body, calm the mind

My sponsor’s standard advice when I text her feeling crazy: Go for a run. Or a bike ride. Or a swim. Stuck at work? Can you go up and down the stairs a few times? Just get moving!

The first time she told me this, can I just say that my expectations were the problem? I was looking for sympathy, and maybe some reinforcement of the idea that I’m a very special snowflake and my problems are unique among humankind. Or, at least, some profound mystical words of wisdom.

But, people pleaser that I am, I obeyed, and it worked. Getting out and getting moving helps. It helps so much that within a year I went from couch to triathlon, not with any fitness goals in mind, but just for my mental health. Breaking a sweat shuts the Committee right up.

It doesn’t have to be a triathlon workout either, although intensity does help. Taking a walk works, too. Almost anything that gets me moving can get me out of my head. David at Raptitude reminds us that we can only focus on one narrative: either what’s going on in the mind or what’s going on in the body. Make something happen in the body, and the mind quiets down.

Clean the bathroom

Rage cleaning chases away the demons just as efficiently as a workout. Hence the classic advice from the secret sponsor playbook: “Go clean the bathroom and call me back.” Ha, ha! I wonder how many sponsors have been fired over that one, when actually it’s great wisdom. Even if I don’t feel better afterwards, I still end up with a clean bathroom!

Tasks that are mindless and physical, like yard chores or scrubbing, work better than chores that involve decision making (like sorting items to give away). Cleaning out my closet in a fury has led to a few regrets!

Air it out

Ever hear the saying, “You’re only as sick as your secrets?” Guess who’s in charge of keeping things hush-hush? Yup…the Committee. Don’t give them the cover of secrecy. Air out those horrible thoughts. Yes, say them out loud. To another person.

Calling a sponsor or program friend can bring blessed perspective and help us see where our self-talk is out of line with reality. Writing it out and seeing it on paper can create that space too. Bringing those thoughts out into the light of day exposes them for what they are: disease symptoms, not reflections of reality.

Don’t want to admit you’re thinking crazy? That’s a sure sign you need to unburden. And don’t worry that the other person will think you’re a terminal weirdo. We all have irrational thoughts and need help untangling them sometimes. I’m finally learning that calling a friend for help blesses them, too. They get a chance to practice Step 12, plus the gift of my trust.

Now, usually just imagining saying those crazy thoughts to another person can usually bring me back to center. But there are still days I can’t talk myself off the cliff. That’s okay. That’s why we need each other. This is a fellowship, not a self-help program.

Give it a name

A wonderful program friend named her inner critic “Voldemort.” That’s genius on so many levels. First of all, it creates a degree of separation between that voice and herself–it’s part of her disease, not her true self. It adds some humor, and it gives her a handle, a way to talk about that inner dialogue with others.

And it’s a subtle but serious reminder that the Committee is not to be trusted. That inner voice is not your friend. It tells lies. Its goal is to keep us isolated and ashamed. It’s the voice of the disease, not the voice of truth.

Get grounded

One day I texted my sponsor from work feeling absolutely crazy, needing spiritual first aid. Her advice? Get somewhere you can take your shoes off and walk around outside barefoot.

Do what? I need help, not some woo-woo Mother Granola crap!

Guess what? She was right. I have no idea why this works, and it feels a little silly, but it helps. Laying down flat on the floor when I’m extremely upset has magic powers too. It’s just enough to keep me from exploding. It takes about a full minute to start working, but it has saved jobs and relationships.

Visualize

No one does this better than Anne Lamott. In her book Bird by Bird, she shares in detail how she shrinks her inner critic to mouse size, puts it in a jar and shakes it around, and then puts it in the back of the freezer. It still makes me laugh out loud every time I read it.

The sillier the mental picture, the better. I visualize putting my inner critic in a teeny tiny airplane, like the ten-cent ride outside the drugstore when I was a kid. I drop in a coin and watch as that plane slowly taxis away and takes off, the horrible voice fading away in the distance.

I sometimes picture putting all my rehearsal demons to sleep in a row in one big bed, like the Whos in How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I tuck them in tight, and when they jump up and start running around again I tuck them back in. And then I hold the pillow over their faces and press it down nice and hard until they stop kicking. It’s very gratifying. And it distracts me long enough to break the cycle of repetitive thoughts.

Come up with your own mental picture, add a lot of detail to it, and use it. Assault-trained T-Rexes? Firing squad? Rabid squirrels? Express mail to Siberia? It’s all good.

The mental image of picking up a remote control and changing the channel in my brain works too. But then I have to follow up with action: get moving, get busy, and change the story I’m telling myself.

Direct assault

The most effective prescription for dealing with the Committee: Ask your Higher Power to show you the next right action. Something will present itself. Do it.

Ask again. Do again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Do that for the next 24 hours, and you’ll make it. Sooner or later, feelings will fall into line.

What’s your favorite way to shut up the Committee? Share it with us in the comments!

Keep coming back!