Discover more from oldest wisest self
My oldest wisest self is calm and grounded.
She is empathetic and accountable. She holds emotion and reason at the same time. She sets boundaries and honours them. She cares deeply for others but not at the cost of herself. She asks for help when she needs it. Forgives herself when she’s wrong. Takes pride in herself when she works hard. She knows she’s loved and valued even if people don’t articulate it all the time.
My “oldest wisest self” is a concept my psychologist shared with me. It lets me acknowledge that, even at the worst of times, I am powerful. It keeps me accountable. It reminds me of my past and the skills and knowledge I have now because of it. But I can’t always access my oldest wisest self.
This has been a challenging year (more on that later, maybe) and I often feel like I’ve regressed. My symptoms are worse and I am hugely insecure in all of my relationships (a common problem for those with borderline personality disorder).
I feel very far away from my oldest wisest self, and I want to manage my symptoms better than I am managing now. So how do I find my oldest wisest self? How do I bring her out and listen to her?
(I’m aware this can sound a bit “hippie” and spiritual, which is not for everyone, but it doesn’t have to be. To me, it feels grounded and almost factual. I prefer to think of it as an acknowledgement that I have what it takes to get through hard moments. That some part of me somewhere is able act effectively and safely. This is just a way for me to articulate that.)
I’m starting with this: writing my way through my thoughts as a way to sort, process, challenge and validate them. Journaling has always been helpful for me but I often neglect it so I don’t have to confront challenging emotions – even if I know I will feel better afterwards.
For various reasons, I’ve lost the safe space that therapy offered me. I am hoping that regular journaling will allow me to have that space again, even if it is different.
"For me, writing is all about the empowerment that comes from articulation. I write to better understand my own thoughts, to untangle whatever is knotted in my head. Whether a free-write or a poem or a journal entry, the process of applying words to an experience or emotion is cathartic. It doesn't matter if you share it with someone else or rip it up and throw it away-writing is a form of exhale. Its practice allows you say, 'This is what I know and this is what I don't know. I felt this. I was here!'"
Poet Sierra DeMulder on how writing poetry has helped her recovery
It’s easy to look back in hindsight and see the logic I missed when I was in the thick of it. I can even look back and see the trigger and the jumps I made and why I made them. I can reason with the small scared parts of me. I can feel empathy for them. In those moments, without realising, I am my oldest wisest self.
The more I engage with this thought pattern, the easier and more natural it should become. Maybe in the future I will be able to calm myself in those distressing, emotionally dysregulated moments.
Why am I sharing this? A few reasons.
It’s natural: I have been sharing and publishing writing about my mental health for years now.
It will keep me accountable: if I say, to you, that I am doing this then I am more likely to keep it up.
It’s treatment: I’ve been avoiding and ignoring my feelings this whole year and it has proved unhelpful (how surprising), so I am trying the DBT skill of opposite action, where instead of dismissing and staying quiet, I am unpacking out loud.
For you: the people who ask to read more of my writing, who enjoy reading candidly about mental health and treatment.
Once a week, I will send out a substack about what’s on my mind and what I am learning from my oldest wisest self .
It might be messy. It might be conflicting. It might be funny and sad and joyful and grounding. I am hoping to learn a lot about myself and, through that, the people around me.
Thanks for being here. I’ll see you next week.