Opening: When You Keep Saying the Same Thing

Maybe you've noticed what you say about yourself.

"I'm so bad at this." "I never finish anything." "I always mess things up." "I'm too much." "I'm not enough."

The same phrases. Over and over. Like a soundtrack running in the background of your life.

Last month I caught myself saying "I'm terrible with money" for probably the thousandth time. And my friend—bless her—stopped me mid-sentence and said: "Celina, you've been saying that exact phrase for the three years I've known you. Is it even still true?"

And I realized: I have no idea. I just... say it. It's become a refrain. A story I tell about myself so automatically I don't even hear it anymore.

But here's the thing: What we say about ourselves? We start to believe it. And what we believe about ourselves? We start to become it.

The ancient yogis knew about this. They understood that sound—especially the sound of our own voice speaking about ourselves—has power.

The Power of What We Speak

In Hindu philosophy, there's this concept of Vak (VAHK)—divine speech. The goddess of words and sound. The creative power of what we speak.

And shabda (SHUHB-duh)—sound as reality. The idea that the universe was spoken into existence. That words aren't just descriptions of reality—they CREATE reality.

My teacher once said: "You're always casting spells with your words. The question is: what are you conjuring?"

What are we conjuring when we say "I always fail" or "I'm not the kind of person who..." or "I'll never be able to..."?

Today we're going to a place where we can actually hear what we've been saying. Where the walls echo back our own words. Where we finally listen to the story we've been telling.

Before You Begin

(Find your seat. Get comfortable.)

(Take a breath. Let your shoulders drop.)

Think about what you say about yourself. The phrases that come up again and again. The stories you tell so often they feel like facts.

(When you're ready, settle in.)

...

Entering the Cave

We find ourselves standing at the mouth of a cave.

It's dark inside. Not threatening—just deep. The kind of darkness that holds sound. That reflects it back.

We can hear something inside. An echo. Faint. Like someone speaking in the distance.

We step forward. Into the cave.

The walls are smooth stone. Cool to the touch. They curve around us, creating a natural chamber.

And we realize—the echo we're hearing? It's us. Our own voice. Bouncing back from deeper in the cave.

We walk further in.

...

What the Walls Remember

The cave opens into a large chamber. And the walls here—they're speaking.

Not speaking exactly. Echoing. Reflecting back words. Phrases. Things we've said about ourselves. Some recent. Some from years ago. Some from so long ago we'd forgotten we ever said them.

"I'm not good enough."

"I always do this."

"I'm too sensitive."

"I never know what I'm doing."

"I'm such a mess."

Our own voice. Our own words. Echoing back.

Some of the echoes are loud. Recent. Things we say all the time.

Some are quieter. Older. Stories we used to tell that maybe we don't say as much anymore but still believe.

(What do you hear? What phrases echo back? Just notice.)

...

The Two Kinds of Echo

There are two distinct sounds in this cave.

One echo is harsh. Cutting. The voice of judgment and fear and old conditioning. The things we were told that we started saying about ourselves.

The other echo is softer. Truer. The voice underneath the story. The things we actually know but rarely say out loud.

Both are here. Both have been speaking all along.

(Which one have you been listening to? Which one have you been believing?)

...

What You've Been Saying

We sit down in the center of the chamber.

The echoes continue. Some fade. New ones surface. The walls holding everything we've ever said about ourselves—the good, the bad, the unconscious, the true.

And we realize: We've been listening to these echoes our whole life. Believing them. Living into them. Becoming what we say.

But we can also change what we say.

We can speak new words. Create new echoes. New stories.

The question is: What do we want the walls to remember?

...

Speaking Something New

We take a breath.

And we speak. Out loud or silently. A new word. A truer word.

Not affirmations that feel fake. Not forcing positivity. Just... something more honest than the old story. Something that honors what's real.

"I'm learning."

"I'm trying."

"I'm here."

"I see myself."

"I'm enough as I am."

The walls catch it. Hold it. Echo it back.

And we hear it. In our own voice. The new story beginning.

...

Coming Back

The cave begins to fade.

(Feel your body. Your breath. Come back to this room.)

But we carry the awareness: We're always speaking. Always creating echoes. Always telling ourselves who we are.

The question is just: What do we want to say?

(When you're ready, come all the way back.)

Integration: What You've Been Saying

(Grab your journal. This is where the real work happens.)

Part 1: The Echoes You Heard

What phrases did the cave walls echo back? Write down at least 5 things you say about yourself regularly. The actual phrases. Word for word.

Where did each one come from? Who said it first? Was it you, or did you inherit it from someone else?

Which echo was the loudest? The one you say most often, believe most deeply? Write it down. Look at it. Is it actually true?

Part 2: The Two Voices

The harsh echo—what does it sound like? Whose voice is underneath your voice when you say these things? (A parent? A teacher? An ex? Society?)

The softer, truer echo—what was it saying? What do you know about yourself that you rarely say out loud?

Why is the harsh echo louder? What makes it easier to believe the criticism than the truth?

Part 3: The Story You're Telling

If someone only heard what you say about yourself for a week, what would they think about you? Write their impression based solely on your self-talk.

Is that who you actually are? Or just the story you're telling?

What would change if you talked about yourself the way you talk about someone you love? Try it—rewrite three of your harshest self-statements as if you were talking about your best friend.

Part 4: The Evidence

Pick your most frequent negative self-statement. Now list three pieces of evidence that it's NOT true. Force yourself to find them. They're there.

What are you getting out of this story? How does believing "I'm bad at this" or "I always fail" serve you? (Protection? Low expectations? Familiar identity?)

What would you lose if you let this story go? (Sometimes we're more attached to the story than we realize.)

Part 5: Speaking Something New

What's one TRUE thing about yourself that you never say out loud? Something you know but don't acknowledge. Write it. Say it. Let the walls hear it.

What's the smallest shift you could make in your self-talk? Not "I'm amazing" when you feel like garbage, but maybe "I'm trying" instead of "I'm failing"? What's one honest upgrade?

For the next seven days, every time you catch yourself saying something harsh about yourself, pause. Ask: "Would I say this to someone I love?" If not, don't say it to yourself. Write down what you say instead.

Part 6: The Practice

Set a timer on your phone for three random times tomorrow. When it goes off, write down: "In the last hour, what did I say about myself?" Just notice. Don't judge. Just witness your words.

At the end of each day this week, write: "Today the loudest echo was..." and "Tomorrow I want to speak..."

Who in your life reflects your truest echo back to you? Who reminds you of who you actually are when you forget? Tell them. Ask them to keep doing it.

The Real Question:

A year from now, what do you want the cave walls to echo? What story do you want to have been telling? Write it. In present tense. As if it's already true.

What would have to change about what you say—starting today—to make that echo real?

A Final Note

Vak—the goddess of speech, the power of what we speak—isn't some abstract concept.

It's what you said about yourself today. Yesterday. Last week. Every time you spoke yourself into being small, or incapable, or broken, or too much, or not enough.

And here's what I'm still learning: I can't control every thought. But I can choose what I say. What I give voice to. What echoes I create.

The cave is always listening. The walls are always remembering. Our own words are always shaping us.

So what do we want to say?

Not some fake affirmation we don't believe. Just... something a little truer than the old story. Something a little kinder. Something that honors who we actually are instead of who we're afraid we are.

May you hear what you've been saying.

May you choose your echoes wisely.

May you speak yourself into being something closer to true.

Next in the series: Volume 11: The Garden of Letting Go

Where we practice the art of release.

🕉️