Not today, Darla

Whether you're being chased by a tiger or you've lost your cat, it's important to know who's boss

Hi friends. Meet Darla.

Darla is my brain. And she is one wacky, mercurial, overly optimistic, unreasonably negative, extremely sensitive, excited and exciting mass of neurons that reside in my head.

I haven’t gone mad.

Naming my brain, personifying it and giving it an identity separate from who I am as a human being, has been an effective way to address the world in a healthier, calmer, more realistic way.

I don’t think I’m alone when I tell you my brain, while helpful most of the time, can be a bit of a troublemaker.

I understand that Darla is wired to protect me from the dangers around me. When a tiger is chasing me and Darla says “RUN,” for sure I’m going to run.

If the mountain whose shadow I live in starts to rumble and spew ash, Darla is the boss and I’m going to do exactly what she tells me to do.

But when I wake up in the morning and the first thing I hear from Darla is, “Ugggghhhhh. It’s going to be a hard day”? Unless my house is on fire or the IRS is knocking on my door, Darla’s message is not helpful.

When I have an unpleasant interaction with a neighbor and her unkind words lead Darla to tell me that nobody likes me and I’m a loser? Not today, Darla.

Probably because we needed these messages to keep ourselves safe in different times, we are wired to think the worst. Even when the worst is not inevitable or even likely.

My daughter, Maev, a young adult with lots of legitimate adult worries on her mind, called me yesterday morning with some anxiety. It seems one of the outdoor cats she’d been pet-sitting hadn’t returned the night before. She’d walked through the neighborhood calling for the cat. She’d left the back door open so the cat could easily return home. But the next morning before she left for work?

Still no cat.

It was clear from her voice over the phone, the worry about the cat was going to supersede all other worries on this day. Considering the things our young people have to worry about these days, this didn’t seem like an effective or efficient use of my daughter’s energy or time.

Hearing Maev’s concerns (and knowing that Maev’s brain is named Claire), we had the following conversation:

Maev: Mom. One of the cats didn’t come home last night.

Me: What cats?

Maev: The cats I’m pet-sitting.

Me: How did he get out?

Maev: Well, he was already out. He’s an outdoor cat.

Me: He’s an outdoor cat and he didn’t come home last night? Maev, can you please put Claire on the phone?

Maev: (A bit confused) Ummmmm. Yeah.

Pause….

Me: Hi, Claire. It seems like you’re worried about the cat Maev is caring for.

Claire: Yeah. The cat we’re watching didn’t come home last night.

Me: The outdoor cat?

Claire: Yes. The outdoor cat is still outdoors.

Me: So, what is the problem?

Claire: The outdoor cat is outdoors.

Me: Yes. Claire, are you okay?

Claire: Yes. The outdoor cat is outdoors. He’ll probably come back for dinner.

Me: Exactly. Can you please put Maev back on the phone?

The outdoor cat we speak of returned for lunch that afternoon. Problem solved.

I can’t say that my new relationship with Darla will eliminate all my needless worries or anxieties. But hopefully, as I learn to assess situations in my life and determine Darla’s role in those situations (ie: Am I being chased by a tiger or is the outdoor cat outdoors?) I’ll be better able to exist and thrive in this funny, sad, happy, sometimes dangerous, mostly wonderful world around me.