Have you ever noticed that some people believe negative things about themselves others don’t see at all? Ex: A pretty woman who thinks she is not attractive or a thin woman thinks she is fat. A man thinks of himself as a failure, even though he is already wildly successful? A friend puts up with a toxic situation that others clearly see they do not deserve. Why? Where do they get these notions from? Why don’t they see their worth and the beauty we see in them?
‘Some’ of those people are you. ‘Some’ of them are me. How did we end up believing something about ourselves so opposite from the truth? How can we begin believing what is true vs. what we thought was true? These questions are what inspired me to begin writing ‘A 4 Year Old Is Running My Life. Here is an excerpt from the first few chapters that may offer some insight and direction:
I’m frantically running around the grandparents basement, looking for a lost pair of tennis shoes. Was it under the bed? No. Behind the old tin wash bucket? No. On top of the mason jars? No. Where could they be? Were they hiding behind the baskets we use to collect the green beans in? I must find them!
It was 1966 and my grandparents owned a farm near the outskirts of a little town in Arkansas. It was a quiet town, filled with southern charm, right o the I-40. We moved there when I was a baby and were at my grandparents farm often. I remember driving down a long highway until we’d finally make a right turn and head up their long steep driveway. As we crested the top of the driveway their house was the first thing in sight. Parked in front was a well worn, reliable old car. As we walked past the car we’d head up the steps to the shaded front porch and into the house with the (3) front doors. Deciding what door to enter through depended on what was going on that day. I was sure to enter through one of the doors, skipping happily through the threshold, as children do. As an adult, I often wondered why they had so many front doors, but as a child it seemed as natural as the corn growing in their backyard.
The 1st front door led into the ‘guest’ bedroom, so if I was staying the night I’d go there first and plunk down my pack filled with babydolls and pajamas. The middle front door led into my grandparents bedroom, and directly into the long stretched out kitchen and pantry, where my grandmother stored her canned vegetables in the familiar mason jars. If I was hungry I’d go there first and see what the warm, cozy kitchen had to offer.
My grandmother was a quiet and sweet woman, with surprising nerves of steel. She often took my sister, brother, and I out for a walk around the lake. In her left hand was a basket full of apples from the tree in the backyard, and a small paring knife she would later use to slice apples for an afternoon snack. In her right hand was a big walking stick. We’d walk around the pond in the back part of their property, then out to the big red barn to chat with the milk cows, and later we’d stop for a while on a fallen log nearby to dine on the delicious apples from the basket. She would peel the apples so carefully that when finished there was only one long string of apple skin left over. It was a fun game she would play with us, and we squealed every time the apple skin was skillfully left in one piece.
I often wondered why she carried the big walking stick, until one day we came upon a large water moccasin, a very poisonous snake, near the edge of the pond. My grandmother saw it first and motioned us to move behind her. She then took that big stick and scared the daylights out of that ol’ snake, sending it packing back into the pond, venom and all! She seemed taller to us that day, and always would!
Back at the house, the last front door led into a spacious family room where grandfather always seemed to be perched in his recliner across from the television. My grandfather was fairly old by my 4 year old standards, and seemed to be slightly grumpy most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t curt by any means, in fact he rarely spoke at all, but housed a mild grimace on his aging face, which led me to the grump conclusion. Supper time, trips to Church on Sunday morning, working in the garden, nary a word. In retrospect, he must have spoken more than I recall, but somehow I don’t know when? Until one day….
As usual, our family enjoyed afternoon dinners (that’s Southern for lunch) at my grandparents house after Sunday morning services. It could have been the heat of the day, the tilt of the moon, or the flowers in bloom, but whatever it was my grandfather seemed to be in quite the good mood! His face was rather pleasant with an uncharacteristic smile on display, in fact everyone seemed to be having a great time! Unexpectedly, my grandfather announced he was taking us kids out for ice cream!!! “Everyone, grab your shoes and meet me in the car” he said on his way to grab the keys! Excitement filled the room, as we all scurried to fulfill his spontaneous request, each of us dreaming about the homemade ice cream at the country store up the hill!
Sister Rosie was already tying her shoelaces. She knew exactly where her shoes were. Being the tidy one, her face and hands were never messy like mine, and she placed her things in the same spot, which meant she knew where to find them of course. As the older sister she always seemed to know how to do things properly, and as expected was ready and out the door in a flash. Arthur, my little brother, was barely able to walk, so my parents cleaned him up from dinner and surreptitiously began to escort him to my grandfather’s car, as would be expected. Me, on the other hand, hadn’t a clue where my shoes were and was busy making a mess in the bathroom, ironically while cleaning my face!
Soon after I left the bathroom, now itself in need of washing down, I seemed to remember playing in the basement before dinner and wondered if my shoes were still there! Scrambling around the musty basement for what seemed like only a few moments, the lost shoes were finally found! They were quietly hiding behind the overflowing bushel of green beans my grandmother would surely have me snapping the ends o of later that week. Tossing the tiny shoes on and tying them as best a 4 year old could, I ran up the stairs from the old basement, spilling into the backyard, I flew around the corner of the house with wings on my heels, licking my lips as I imagined the flavor of the day! Would it be ‘Vanilla Peach’? Oh, yes please! That was my favorite!!!
Almost out of breath, careening around to the front yard and across the lawn to the driveway, I stopped dead in my tracks. The car was gone. My parents and grandmother must have headed back to the kitchen, out of sight, and the car filled with my sister, brother and grandfather was gone. Did he assume I was in the backseat already? Did he know I wasn’t there? Surely my sister would have told him I wasn’t there yet. Why would he leave without me? As I looked around, the empty driveway and vacant parking spot loomed in front of me, I felt small and alone.
That’s when it happened. Nothing horrible or terrible happened mind you, but a terribly horrible decision was made that day, by a 4 year old little girl. A decision that would follow me well into adulthood. The decision: I must not be important and I’m way too much trouble. Why else would my grandfather leave me behind? You must understand that 4 year old’s don’t know how to be objective or how to discern a situation like that properly. 4 year olds think adults are the smartest, and know the right or best thing to do, they’re adults after all! So little girls (and boys) do the only thing that makes sense in silly or serious times like these, we make it mean something about us. In this case, I made it mean that I must not be important enough to wait for. Surely it means I must be way too much trouble for taking so long. Because no one helped me get ready, I must not be important enough to be bothered with. My sister was prepared, and I’m not ,which must mean I’m not as capable as her. On and on the story goes…..
Once we decide something significant about ourselves as a young child, it creates a belief in our neural pathways, regardless of its authenticity or validity. Once a belief is formed, any experience that could in any way support that original belief gets programmed into the new neural pathway as uncontested proof, making the belief stronger and deeper. Without contesting the information, it goes unchallenged and becomes a subconscious auto-response, thereby creating a firmly planted belief about who you are, what your role in the family is, and dare I say the world.
Perhaps, did you see yourself in that story? If you did, you may have beliefs about yourself that aren’t true or helpful. The good news is that there is something you can do about it! There are now a good number of holistic modalities designed to reprogram your subconscious mind to reflect a more knowledgeable and mature point of view. Hypnotherapy is one of the most effective and comfortable ways to allow for this level of therapeutic transformation. For example, what would you tell the little 4 year old about the situation she experienced? Would you tell her that in fact she wasn’t very important and a bit too much trouble? No, I highly doubt it. Would you tell her it was a silly mistake and that she was a wonderful and delightful child? Yes, you probably would. Would the belief that she was wonderful and delightful be more truthful and helpful? Absolutely.
Hypnotherapy can help you adjust the neural pathways in your subconscious mind to shift beliefs about yourself, others, and the world. A true leader in this type of work, Louise Hay, said “It’s only a thought, and a thought can be changed”.
If you have some thoughts you’d like to change, consider Hypnotherapy as a wonderful and relaxing way to spring clean your mind for a brighter and happier future. Remember, when you change your thoughts, you change your life.
Nancy J Chase, BA
Clinical Hypnotherapist
(951) 319-7819 Ext. 2433