How to talk yourself into doing stuff

On realizing I'm a whole of parts, identifying those parts, and talking to myself.

Aug 07, 2024

I may put my writing sessions on my calendar and feel very put together when I do that—look at me, taking my writing seriously and making an appointment as if it was an important job meeting I can’t miss.

Then time rolls around, and here is the day and the hour that I’m supposed to go to my laptop and start typing and…

I don’t feel like it. Instead, I notice that the dishes need to be put in the dishwasher. Or that I have a bunch of messages to answer to. Or that I could play video games instead.

The figure of a middle-aged stern and nagging version of me conjures up in my head and reminds me of what I wrote in the calendar, that we must follow the plan, that I should write, and that this is exactly the kind of behavior that doesn’t accomplish anything, and blah blah blah and I’m not generally the rebellious type, but oh boy is it easy to be rebellious towards myself.

The stern version of myself tries to evoke a sense of guilt in me and if it manages it, great, now I’m a failure of a human being and feel too bad to write. Other times, Naggy-me just fires up my defiance and spurns me to tune her out and close her up in a little hidden cellar in my mind, as I go about my day—you guessed it—without writing.

Other, trickier times, I engage with Naggy-me, telling her that I know what I put in the calendar, but there are other important things to be done that I hadn’t considered beforehand. Honestly, the kitchen is a mess, and leaving it like that isn’t very adult-like. Also, I really should answer these messages, they’re long overdue (of course, I avoid any mention of video games).

Naggy-me likes these arguments very much. So here I go, proudly doing other productive things that aren’t writing.

Different parts of me

If I don’t yet, I may sound like a nut-job in this next part.

The thing is, I wrote a bunch about spreadsheets and calendars and made some really smart references to books or newsletters on productivity1. They all sound so very intelligent remarks, but I’d be lying if these were the only methods I use to bring myself to write.

No. Most of the time, to convince myself to sit down at my desk and write I, well, talk to myself. Part of myself.

It’s weirdly helpful to think of me as a whole made of parts. I’m rarely just one thought, one emotion, or one action: I’m a conglomerate of those. I believe that one of the things we’re best at as human beings is just that: being complicated in what we feel, think, and do.

I can be relieved and sad about something at the same time, for example. A friend suddenly can’t come over as planned? Well, that’s sad, because I was looking forward to spending time together, and at the same time that’s great because I had some stuff to do and suddenly have the time to do it.

I tend to think that a part of me is relieved, and a part of me is saddened. It may be just semantics, but it helps me to perceive myself in a way I can understand better.

Naggy-me is also me. It’s not all of me (thank goodness), but it’s definitely me. I know she has my best interest in mind, and her intentions are mostly good. It’s not great following her to the letter, though—it’s better to understand where she’s coming from, instead.

Talking myself into writing

That’s all good and well, but how does this help me write?

In the days when time rolls around and I don’t feel like writing, it helps me to think that a part of me doesn’t feel like it.

Another part of me still wants to be a writer. It’s not that all of me suddenly doesn’t want it. It’s just that right now, in this moment and place, part of me doesn’t.

Then, I try to understand which part of me doesn’t want to write. And then… well… I talk to her.

Productive-me: So! Time to write!
Child-me: [frowns] Mhmhm noooo, I don’t want tooo!
Productive-me [turns into Kindergarten-teacher-me]: Oww, we don’t feel like it?
Child-me: NO.
Kindergarten-teacher-me: That’s a pity. Because… [smiles] do you know what you could do if you were to write?
Child-me: [wary, but curious] …what?
Kindergarten-teacher-me: You could turn on that scented candle you really really like that is next to your laptop on your desk.
Child-me: [eyes go big] Scented candle…
Kindergarten-teacher-me: Shall we go sit at the desk at your laptop and turn your scented candle on?
Child-me: YAAAAY

Identifying correctly which part of me doesn’t want to write is extremely important because depending on who doesn’t want to write, I’ll need to summon a different part of me to talk to them. Sometimes I need a distraction that tricks me into writing; sometimes I need to haggle with myself; and some other times I need to fully engage with whatever is stopping me.

Understanding what part of me needs to be addressed and by who is the most delicate part of the process. It requires a huge load of patience towards myself.

Productive-me: Time to write!
Teeny-me: Nah.
Productive-me [turns into Haggler-me]: Oh. You don’t want to?
Teeny-me: …
Haggler-me: Okay. Got better stuff to do?
Teeny-me: Not really. I mean, sure, I could do other stuff, but… I dunno.
Haggler-me: [trying really hard not to roll her eyes] Alright. How about we write for 5 minutes?
Teeny-me: [very obviously rolls her eyes] I know that trick, you want me to start writing for 5 minutes, so that then keep on going for 30—
Haggler-me: No, really, I just mean 5 minutes.
Teeny-me: [suspicious] No you don’t.
Haggler-me: Seriously, I swear, only 5 minutes. And then you can close your laptop and call it a day. You can waste it away for all I care.
Teeny-me: For real?
Haggler-me: For real.
Teeny-me: I can write for 5 minutes and then, let’s say, play 5 hours of video games?
Haggler-me: Sure.
Teeny-me: …’mkay. [Goes to write]

There’s no point in judging parts of me. Of course, there are some of which I’m more proud of than others, but… it’s all me, after all. Hating myself isn’t only unnecessary, it’s detrimental. It stops me from understanding myself, where I’m coming from, and how to nudge myself in the direction I want to go.

Writing aside, I believe we dismiss parts of ourselves way too often instead of listening. It’s a pity because they all can give us so much insight into what we want or need.

But it’s tough. Gauging with whom we are talking and how to approach them takes wisdom that needs to be trained through time, trials, and errors.

Productive-me: Welp, time to write!
Tired-me: Ah… right.
Productive-me: What? Something the matter?
Tired-me: I, uh… I don’t feel so well.
Productive me [turns into Friend-me]: Not a good day?
Tired-me: I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just… [sighs]
Friend-me: Do you feel like you need a break?
Tired-me: [gets teary] But we really need to write—
Friend-me: [soothing] Hey, hey… One day makes no difference. Really. We’re here for the long run, right? So, we can rest for one day.
Tired-me: [hesitates] But what if we never get back to it? What if one day becomes two, and a week, and…
Friend-me: We’ll for sure stop if we burn ourselves out, won’t we? Resting is exactly important for that reason, to make sure that we keep on going.
Tired-me: Yes… I guess you’re right.
Friend-me: Also, if we slack off too much Naggy-us will come to remind us how displeased she is. She’ll make sure we go back on track.
Tired-me: Hah! That’s true.
Friend-me: Very well. So, do we need sleep? Food? Time to chill? Write a friend?
Tired-me: Not quite sure, I still need to figure it out, but… Friend-me?
Friend-me: Yeah?
Tired-me: Thank you.

So, please tell me, am I the only one who does this? Is this a method you could see yourself using?

If you have any thoughts on what I shared, let me know by simply replying to this email or leaving a comment! And don’t forget, be kind to yourself ;)

Take care,

Rye Youbs