Is Your Inner Voice a Liar?

There is an idea out there that we should listen to our feelings. Pay attention to the “voice inside.” Let our intuition guide us. Our natural instincts are wise and connected to the harmonies of the Universe, we are told. Follow them.  

But I’m here to tell you: Sometimes that voice inside is a liar. And sometimes, it’s just mean. The voice currently talking in my head is a good example.

For the last several weeks, I’ve been laboring over rewrites on my novel. My agent felt the first few chapters weren’t working, so I made a serious overhaul, cutting large sections, rearranging others, and writing a bunch of new stuff. It was a challenge—and a lot of hard work. But when I finished, I was pretty sure I’d done a good job. In fact, when I emailed the new sections to my editor, I thought I’d nailed it.

It took my editor less than a day to get back to me, and the news was not good. Nailed it? Hardly. She felt the new material was muddled, my protagonist’s motivations weren’t clear, and there wasn’t enough tension. “I know you want the truth,” she said, and she was right: I did, even when that truth stung.

Let me make something clear: I trust my editor. And I don’t just mean with my life: I mean with my novel. As soon as I read her comments, I realized she was at least 90% right. I had some serious work left to do.

Like most writers, I go through life with a jumble of voices yammering at me. Some tell me I’m an undiscovered genius; others say I’m wasting my time.The smart ones fall in the middle, cautiously optimistic and encouraging.

But after getting my editor’s response, I heard exactly one voice, and she was straight from hell. I could see her clearly, sitting behind a desk in an expensive suit, every hair in place. She tapped her lacquered nails on her desk. “I’m sorry, Jill. We’ve given you every chance, but you’re just not working out. We’re going to jettison this project and send you down to the mailroom. Nothing personal, you understand.”

I listened hopefully for a different voice. The one that was supposed to be standing up for me. “Don’t you talk to her that way!” she should have been saying. “She’s had a bad spell is all. She’ll be back on her feet in no time! You’ll be amazed what this woman can do.” But that voice was nowhere to be found. Off getting drunk in a bar, no doubt. Hooking up with some guy she just met. Limping home the next morning in last night’s clothes, with a hangover and a broken sandal strap. I was facing the evil voice all on my own. And I had nothing.

Nothing, that is, except for my brain. The brain that can shut out  “inner voices,” and operate from intellect, rather than intuition.

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My point is that “gut-feelings,” “instincts,” “the voice inside”—whatever you want to call those mysterious hints and urges that push us in one direction or another—aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be. They might sometimes show us the way we need to go, but they can also send us down blind alleys and dead-end streets. Sometimes they need to be listened to—and sometimes they need to shut up.

Most of the week I couldn’t hear anything in my head but that voice telling me I was hopelessly stuck. I couldn’t turn it off. I couldn’t drum up a response. I couldn’t hear anything else. All I could do is choose not to listen.

So, there I was with my hands clapped over my ears going, “LA LA LA LA! I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” and, just as I knew it would, my inner voice finally got bored and left to bother someone else. Not listening to it was the best thing I could have done. Because, no matter how loudly my “gut” might have been telling me my situation was hopeless, my mind knew better.

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