Noise reduction

The twenty-ninth newsletter is about internal chatter

All of the windows were wide open, yet not even the tiniest breeze managed to find its way through the house. I was sitting behind my laptop, writing. Wearing only shorts and a t-shirt, but they felt like a three-piece suit. It was finally summer. The air was still, resting, motionless.

What wasn’t motionless were my sweaty fingers on the keyboard. After mindlessly flipping through some youtubes in the name of ‘research’ and subsequently having a friendly conversation with my internal procrastinator (IP), I had finally started writing.

A few minutes in, I was slowly becoming aware of some noises outside of my window. What at first was a pleasant, summerly, murmur of street noises, had transformed into a shouting match between seemingly turf-protecting primates. Going to the window to take a look, it turned out to be a group of teenagers in a neighbor’s garden ‘celebrating’ the weekend. My brow furrowed, my jaws clenched, and my sweat glands doubled their output.

I’m sensitive to noise in general. Both of my parents are professional musicians, I’ve worked in audio for years, my ears are tuned to pick up the subtlest of sounds. I enjoy these superhuman powers most days, but not this day.

Telling stories

What strikes me is that I don’t mind some noises, while others bother me insanely. The difference between the two, I’ve discovered, is determined by the stories I tell myself.

When I feel that a noise is ‘inconsiderate’, ‘unnecessary’, or ‘respectless’, I’m instantly outraged. I turn into that old person with the broomstick banging against the ceiling. Only infuriating myself further by hissing through my teeth (telling myself a story): ‘these youngsters should shut that racket down’, ‘they’re only thinking about themselves’, ‘apparently, they don’t respect me’. You know, that guy.

But if it’s ‘random’ (i.e. sounds that are not deliberately made by supposedly inconsiderate humans) I couldn’t care less. Traffic, airplanes, or thunder, they pose no distraction to me. Even a crying baby falls into this category (it’s not their fault). It’s the story that fuels my annoyance, distraction, or anger, not the noise itself.

And here I am, compulsively listening to the noisy teenagers in the garden next door, deliberating to either stop writing, or close the windows and really start soaking.

So, what’s up with these stories? And who exactly is telling them?

Parts of us

We’re all multitudes. We all have different parts. These parts of us (or internal voices) are completely natural. They are part of us and we’ve always had them. And they speak to us. They tell stories.

For example, being presented with an interesting but perhaps scary opportunity, one part of us might feel excited straightaway while another is overwhelmed, usually simultaneously… Leaving us indecisive. When faced with a complicated decision, an enthusiastic part might say: ‘let’s dive in head first’, while another, careful, part of us pulls back and suggests thinking about it first. And they might both be valid.

As we go through our lives, we continuously have these inner conversations. Sometimes they’re constructive, at other times not so much.

It’s when we’ve had difficult experiences in the past (encountered traumatic events) that their stories become skewed. When they perceive a ‘threat’ that triggers them, they start exaggerating, making up ‘facts’, and trying to persuade us at any cost to prevent those past events from happening again.

In this case the ‘threat’ was a group of teenagers and the story was about their nefarious intentions.

The way to change those stories, funnily enough, isn’t to move away. It’s to lean in closer.

Through some simple but profound Internal Family Systems exercises I was able to meet, listen to, and build a relationship with the part of me that was overly sensitive to sound. I learned the origin of his sensitivity, which came from a traumatic event at a young age involving being startled and frightened by a loud sound.

This understanding changed our whole relationship. It doesn’t mean the sensitivity is totally gone, but the panicked response is. When a trigger arises now, the stories are different. Less hyped-up, over the top, and exaggerated.

The internal conversation we had felt like having a conversation with a friend who went through something difficult, getting calmer the more we sat together and talked.

What to expect

In the last newsletter I talked about how we can relate better to the people in our life when, instead of having expectations of them (thinking they should behave a certain way), we engage in a conversation about what we would like and possibly land on an agreement together.

When we want to relate well (balanced, kind, humanly, courageous) to the people in our life, it’s important to discern between expectations we have of them, and choosing to start creating agreements with them instead. Going from complaining to opening up a conversation about our concerns, wishes, and our grievances.

I’d argue this is even more important where our inner relationships are concerned. How do we relate to our inner parts and what kind of relationships do we have with them? If any…

This is where choosing agreements over expectations comes in handy. Just as we can open up the conversation with our external relationships, we can do so with our internal relationships.

Listening to my ‘sound-sensitive’ part and discovering the trauma behind his stories helped me figure out why some noises trigger me. Because I got to know this part of me, the stories about inconsiderate people lessened and my response to sounds improved as a result.

It all started, as so often (in this newsletter), with listening.