When Doubt Strikes

Jody Brooks 0:00

There's a particular moment that can catch you by surprise. You've been moving forward, perhaps not quickly, perhaps not with a soundtrack and a clean pair of trainers, but forward. You've found something out about yourself, you've admitted a truth, you've taken one small step in a direction that feels more like home, then just as you're beginning to believe the road may actually go somewhere, an old feeling rises up and asks whether you're absolutely certain you're allowed to continue. This is messy midlife, it's not a crisis, it's a calling to connect. I'm your host, Jodie Brooks. Welcome to season 3, Trust. It can happen in the space of a breath. A meeting invitation appears and your stomach drops. Somebody asks what you think and your mind goes blank. You're about to choose something for yourself and suddenly you're defending the old way as though it is a beloved family heirloom. The case is already being heard.

The Court of Self Doubt

Jody Brooks 1:02

The court is sitting and this week I've been thinking about what stands guard at the filing cabinet when you reach for the file that says your old verdict might not be the final word. Welcome back to Messy Midlife. This is our Friday closer for the first week of trust. And what a week to begin with. On Monday we found the court. We realise that our self-doubt is not merely a vague bad feeling or a character flaw we should have grown out of by now. It is the barrister for the prosecution, standing up with its files, calling its witnesses, and presenting the familiar case against you. We found out that that trial has been running for years, perhaps for most of our adult lives, and nobody ever called us to attend. You did not lose the case because you were never called. That sentence is not there to make you feel cross with your past. It's there to offer a little room. If the verdict was handed down before you had a grown up voice, then perhaps it's possible to hear the evidence again, not rush to a conclusion, not dismiss what hurt, just let the adult you have a seat at the

Wes Towers and the Grip

Jody Brooks 2:16

bench. And on Wednesday I spoke with Wes Towers. Wes is forty-seven and the founder of Uplift 360, a digital and SEO agency in Australia. He is clearly a man who knows how to build, how to lead and how to keep a business moving. But he also spoke with remarkable honesty about the cost of holding a life together so tightly that there is no room left for the person living inside it. If you found yourself this week gripping an idea, a role, a belief about yourself, a relationship, a job or a version of your future so hard that your whole body feels braced, today is for you. If you've been saying this is just how I am, this is how it has to be, I cannot possibly change that now. Today is for you. And if a part of you is quietly thinking I do not even know what I'm gripping, only that I am tired, then today is most definitely for you too. Start with your body before your story. Where do you feel the grip? Is it in your jaw? In the hand you did not realise was clenched, in the chest that seems to have less room than it did a moment ago, or in the way you rehearse a conversation before it happens, just in case somebody needs to be persuaded that you are fine. You do not need to solve it, just notice it. The body often knows there is a court sitting before the mind has got its wig on. Wes told a story that stayed with me. About four years ago he found himself crying under his desk, almost convulsing before a meeting about the biggest contract his business had ever pursued. He gathered himself, went into the meeting, presented and closed the deal. Just let that land for a second. From the outside that could be told as a success story. Pressure, courage, big meeting, deal done. If you were putting it on LinkedIn, you could have a picture of a mountain and a phrase about resilience. But Wes looked at it more honestly. He described it as helpful in the moment, but not helpful for the long term. That is the core underneath a functioning adult. A person can be capable and overwhelmed at the same time. A person can close the deal and be in distress underneath the desk just beforehand. A person can be praised for coping while a whole part of them is sending an alarm that says something needs attention here. More than one thing is quite often

More Than One Thing

Jody Brooks 5:01

true. That phrase came from Wes 2. More than one thing is true. It is one of the most useful sentences we can carry through this season because it keeps us out of the trap of turning our inner world into a simple fight between right and wrong. The protector may be right about what happened then, it may be right that something was painful, unsafe, humiliating, uncertain, or too much, but it can be wrong about what the present requires. It can recognise a shape and then offer an old response as if nothing else has changed. That does not make the protector dishonest, it just makes it old.

Borrowed Beliefs Exposed

Jody Brooks 5:46

Wes grew up in a controlling religious background that he says most people would define as a cult. He spoke about coming to see how much of what he thought was his own belief had been placed there by other people. The conflict that opened things up for him was between the teaching of the church and a gay mentor he respected. He found himself knowing deep down, hey, this is not what I believe. This is not who I am. I'm not going to place myself inside Wed's exact story. It is his and he tells it with his own clarity. But I think many of us know a quieter version of that moment. You suddenly notice that a rule you've been obeying may not even be yours. It may have entered through a family, a school, a workplace, faith, community, a friendship group, a culture, a disappointment, a fear. It may have been handed to you so early that you never even thought to inspect or label it. Then something happens, a person, a question, a feeling in your own body, and a part of you says This is not what I believe. This is not who I am. Now that can be liberating, it can also be frightening, because the moment you pull at one thread, the old system notices. The court sits, the barrister says objection, the committee that still believes the edge of the world is nearby begins rustling its papers. Wes did not only talk about the breakdown point, he talked about what came after. He got a psychologist, he rebuilt friendships that had lapsed, he called social media the artificial substitute for real friendship, he began to pay attention to how he regulated himself through breathwork, cold plunges, and going to the gym most days, and looking after his weight and long term health, and something else shifted. Once he stopped over investing himself in the business, the business flourished at a level higher than ever. He invited his team into the conversation about AI for the first time and said I should have done that a whole lot earlier. There's so much generosity in that admission. Not I got it all right, not I had the perfect answer, just I could have shared the uncertainty earlier. A business valuation had told Wes that his whole industry was vulnerable to AI. The valuer's point was that people do not buy uncertainty, so the valuation was lower than it could have been. That's a hard thing to hear when you've built something, and we can all translate it beyond business. People do not buy uncertainty. We do not always buy it in ourselves either. We prefer the old certainty, even when it's painful, because at least we know how to live it. And in fact, we know it hurts, so there are no surprises. But the old certainty may be a court ruling written by people who were not asked to live your current

Holding Loosely

Jody Brooks 8:59

life. Wes gave us a line that I think is the first piece of evidence for the defence this month. He said sometimes you fight for things not because you think them to be true, but because you're not really quite sure. That is a line, isn't it? Sometimes you fight for something, not because you know it's true, but because you are not sure. The harder you're gripping a belief, the more it may be measuring your uncertainty around it. This is not an accusation, it's not me saying if you care deeply about something you are secretly unsure. It's an invitation to get curious about rigidity. The place where you find yourself insisting, over explaining, defending a decision before anybody has questioned it, refusing to let any new information in, the place where your language goes from I think or I feel to it is just a fact. It's always been this way. End of discussion. That may be a place where the court is in fact sitting, and then where's offered the softer half. When you're more solid and secure, you hold things more loosely. I love that because it gives us a picture of where we're heading without demanding that we arrive there today. The opposite of gripping is not flinging everything away, it's not having no convictions, no values, no boundaries, no beliefs. The opposite of gripping is holding something loosely enough that you can look at it. It's having enough inner ground beneath you that a question does not feel like an attack. When you're more solid and secure, you do hold things more loosely. You can hold your view and hear another view. You can hold your history and allow a piece of new evidence. You can hold a dream and alter the root. You can love the person you've been, while allowing the person you're becoming to make a different choice. You can hold an old file without letting it run the whole building.

My Own Control Pattern

Jody Brooks 11:09

For me, that was the little extra layer I could see in my own story this week. I spoke on Monday about the way self-doubt did not always stop me. Often it drove me to lead, control, speak first, make a plan, make the room safe by being the person with the answer. I used to think that was simply competence. Some of it is competence. More than one thing is true, remember. But when I held that tendency more honestly, I could see the grip. If I had to be the person who was certain, I did not have to feel the uncertainty beneath it. If I could organise the room, perhaps nobody could organise a verdict against me. If I was useful enough, perhaps I was safe enough. That is not a confession that leading is bad. It's a distinction. Am I leading because I'm free to bring something useful? Or am I leading because the barrister has whispered do something, Jodie, before they all decide you do not belong here? The question changes the feeling in my body. I can feel it in my chest, that quick tightening that says take charge. The old reaction is immediate, but now there can be a second response. Ah, there is the grip. I do not have to drop everything. I can hold it more loosely. I can wait one breath before I speak. I can allow another person to have the first answer, and I can discover that the room does not collapse. That is not a grand transformation, it's not a lightning bolt. It's a sunrise, a little more light, enough to see the next bit of road.

Defenders of the Cabinet

Jody Brooks 12:52

Last season we found the filing cabinet. We opened drawer after drawer with a bit of patience and the gentle why, along with some courage. We found the archaeology of the self. We carbon dated an old reaction, and we began to see that a sudden flood of feeling did not always belong to today. There was a file somewhere with an earlier date on it. This week I want you to picture what happens when you reach into that cabinet and pull out a file which has been controlling more of your life than you realized. The moment you reach to shred it, someone steps in front of the drawer. There they are, the defenders of the filing cabinet. Now they're not always dramatic, they can be very polite. They may say now are you sure you want to be looking at that? It was a long time ago. Everybody had a difficult childhood. You're making a fuss, you're overthinking this. You should be grateful. You've done perfectly well without opening this. Put it back. Or they may be more forceful. They may send the tight chest, the sudden distraction, the urge to eat, scroll, work later, tidy harder, argue, perform, or run. They make you decide that the very thing you are about to examine is proof that you should not examine it. And we can understand why. These defenders have a job. They believe the file contains a danger which must be prevented at all costs. They do not know that you are not trying to destroy the past. They do not know that you are an adult now with a chair in the core and a hand on the drawer. There is another important truth here. The file cannot be shredded anyway. You can hide it, you can store it at the back of the cabinet, you can build a very busy life in front of it, you can become brilliant at the kind of coping that impresses everyone around you, but the file has a way of appearing. At strange times, it may turn up in a relationship, in a promotion, in a business, in a moment of rest, in a disagreement that somehow feels like a threat to your whole identity. So the work is not to get rid of the file, the work is to read it properly, to know what it says and to update the part of you with the information that is from today's date. That is why the protectors belong in the court. The prosecution has not appeared from nowhere. It has been defending the filing cabinet. It has been keeping a record of the moments it thinks prove the old ruling, and it's been trying to stop you from falling off the edge of the world. That it still believes is flat. And if you argue with it, it often digs in. Nobody likes being told that their whole job was based on an old map. Your protectors do not need defeat, they need mediation. Thank them for their care. Listen for what they're warning you about and explain the decision to go another way. And repeat, because the file updates slowly through experience. The truth of the past is still the truth. You do not need anybody else to validate a memory for it to have shaped you, and you do not have to make your truth an accusation against anyone else in order to take it seriously. You can simply say this is what happened inside me. This is the conclusion I made. This is the rule that has been running, and I am here now to hear it. Bring your attention back to something current. It might be a belief about yourself. It might be I'm the reliable one, I'm the strong one, I'm the difficult one, I'm not a creative person, I can't cope with uncertainty, I must never let people down, I must always be needed, I have to do it alone. I'm too old, I'm too late, I've missed my chance. Do not choose the biggest belief just because you think you ought to be brave. Choose the one that is already knocking about this week, the one you've repeated a little more firmly than usual. Where do you feel it in your body when you say it? Not whether it is true, where does it live? In the back of your throat, in the curl of your shoulders, in the hard, ready feeling in your belly. Perhaps you feel tired before you've even started, because you feel nothing at all. Numbness can be information too, and you do not need to make it perform. Now ask yourself as gently as you can, where am I gripping hardest this week? Let your answer be concrete. You may be gripping a calendar, an outcome, a role, an apology you never received, a way you think another person ought to behave, a belief about what a good parent, partner, work friend or adult looks like. You may be gripping the idea that you need to know before you begin. Then ask the second question Could the grip be measuring where I am least sure? This is not a trick question. You're not being asked to give up your belief. You're not being asked to announce that you were wrong. You're only noticing the hand around it. You can keep hold of the thing, just notice whether you're holding it or whether it's holding you. And if your whole system says, no thank you, not today, listen to that too. You do not need to pry open the cabinet. You can place a chair near it and say, I know there is a defender here, I'll come back at my pace. This is not a race, it is a journey.

A Gentle Bench Practice

Jody Brooks 18:44

Let us spend a few minutes on the bench together. You do not need a notebook, a platin, or an answer worthy of an inspirational fridge magnet. You only need one small place in your life where the road has become clear enough to scare you a little. Maybe an opportunity has appeared, maybe a relationship is asking for a truer conversation, maybe your children need something different from you now. Maybe you're approaching a birthday that's made time feel less theoretical, and maybe you have worked very hard to become good at a role and you are beginning to wonder whether you still want to live inside it. Choose one edge. Keep both feet on the floor if you can. Feel the contact beneath them, whether that is carpet pavement, the edge of the sofa, your shoes in a car. Notice the weight of your body. You are here, not back in the old scene. You're not in the projected disaster here. Now bring the thing you're gripping to mind. Do not start with the story, start with the physical signal. Where does your body brace? Is your jaw hard? Are you holding your breath without meaning to? Is there a twist in your stomach? A humming in your arms, an ache behind your eyes? Do your fingers want to make a fist? If you're willing, unclench them by one percent. Not a dramatic release, just enough to show yourself that you have choices in your own hand. Say silently if it helps, I can feel the grip. Then picture the filing cabinet from understanding. It's not a sinister cabinet in a horror film. It's just a cabinet, perhaps old, metal, perhaps wood, perhaps one you remember from an office or a school. It holds the records your mind has kept in order to help you make sense of the world. You open one drawer, you don't pull out every file. You find the file that seems connected to the belief in your hand. Maybe the label is not a date, maybe it says be useful, maybe it says do not be difficult, maybe it says do not let them see you unsure. Maybe it says people leave, maybe it says do it perfectly, maybe it says you do not need to do too much. Reach towards that file and somebody steps in front of the drawer. Notice them without deciding whether you like them. This is one of the defenders of the filing cabinet. They're trying to stop you from doing something they believe is dangerous. You may feel them as a thaw, a rush of anxiety, a blankness, an urge to change the subject. You may hear this is silly, you may hear get on with it, you may hear you are fine, you may hear nothing at all. You do not have to push them. Instead, say thank you for trying to keep me safe and pause. You do not need to mean it perfectly. You may fall cross with this part of you. You may be tired of the grip. You may be thinking if you have kept me safe, why has it been so hard? That is allowed. Thanking the protectors is not. Approving every outcome, it's acknowledging the care underneath their strategy. Then ask, what do you think will happen if I loosen my grip just a little? Let the answer appear if it wants. It may be a word, embarrassed, alone, rejected, seen, unprepared. It may be an image, it may be the memory of somebody's expression, it may simply be a feeling in your ribs. There's no need to follow it all the way down today. If you receive nothing, that's fine. The question has still been asked. The court has still heard that the defence is present. Now remember Wes' phrase, more than one thing is true. Maybe it is true that your belief helped you once, and maybe it's also true that it's holding this tight grip that is exhausting you right now. Maybe it's true that you become very capable because you had to be, and it may also be true that you are allowed to let someone else carry a piece of the load too. Maybe it's true that uncertainty feels dangerous, and it may also be true that you can survive not knowing every answer before you take a small step. And maybe it's true you love the old version of your life, and it may also be true that you've outgrown it. Let those paired truths sit beside each other. You do not need to force them to agree. A mediation is not an argument with a winner, it's a room in which nobody has to lose their place in order for something new to be possible. Bring your attention back to the grip. If your hand is genuinely clenched, you might open it a little. If the grip is in your jaw, you might let your teeth separate. If it's in your stomach, you might simply put a hand there and say, I know this feels uncertain. Then offer your defender a sentence from the adult you. I hear why you are worried. I have seen the file, I'm going to hold this more loosely today. Not forever, for today. That is enough. Now look at the small current situation again. What does holding it more loosely look like in one small movement? Perhaps you let someone else give their opinion first. Perhaps you tell the truth without writing a ten page defence of it. Perhaps you research for fifteen minutes rather than for four hours, and perhaps you sit with a question instead of rushing to a conclusion. Perhaps you accept that a business, a family, a body, a role, a friendship or a plan can be uncertain without being doomed, and perhaps you do nothing visible at all. Perhaps you simply notice the court sitting and decide not to hand the barrister the judge's gavel. Now that is a profoundly different thing to do. If shame appears, notice it. Shame often wants to tell you that you should have known better. You should have seen it, you should not still be affected, but you were a person making the best sense you could with the information and power you had. The file formed for a reason. The defender stood in front of the drawer for a reason. Your job today is not to punish either of them, it is to let the adult you take a chair in the room. You did not lose the case, you were never called. And you're being called now not to defend yourself against your whole history, but to be present for the hearing. You are the defence, you are the jury, you are the judge, you can hear the prosecution and still choose what happens next.

Grief and Gladness

Jody Brooks 25:40

There's one final image from this week that I want to leave you with because it helps us make room for the emotion that can arrive when we begin to lose an old belief. Wes said, I dissolved, I broke down, it was for the best because I could rebuild in a way which was more truly, authentically who I was. That is his sentence and his experience. I'm not suggesting anybody needs to dissolve in order to become themselves. I'm interested in the truth it carries. Sometimes a life that has held together very tightly has to admit that holding has a cost. And when something changes for the better, you can still grieve what you are leaving. Wes described it like this. Imagine your moving house. The new house is genuinely better, it has more light, it's a place where you want to live. Perhaps there is a room for things you have wanted for a long time. Every box is packed, the new keys are in your pocket, you're glad to be going. And then you walk through the old house one last time. It's empty, the familiar marks on the wall are still there. The room sounds different without furniture in it. You stand in the kitchen and remember the ordinary mornings. You look at the corner where something difficult happened, and the corner where something beautiful happened, and neither cancels the other out. You feel something and go. You can be glad and sad in the same room. That is not confusion, that is maturity. It is this season's paradox made physical. Grief and gladness can sit together on the bench. The protector is not wrong about the past, it's simply holding the past as if it fits the whole address. Some of you are grieving a version of yourselves nobody has given you permission to grieve. The always capable one, the people pleaser, the controller, the person who stayed small enough to feel safe, the person who worked very hard to earn their place. Those variations of you got you through. You do not have to despise them in order to move. You can walk through that old house with tenderness, you can touch the door frame, you can say thank you, you can close the door and you can carry the keys to the new place without pretending it means you felt nothing when you left. Wes also said Even if today's chapter is tough, today's chapter is not your final chapter. Now that is not a promise that every chapter gets easier. It's something better. It is a reminder that the court does not get the last word merely because it spoke first. The old file is not your full story merely because it has been stored the longest. The road can still be misty at your feet and you can still be walking

Ordinary Self Trust

Jody Brooks 28:37

it. There is a small distinction I want to offer you before we close because it can save you from turning this work into another thing to perform perfectly. Holding something more loosely does not mean you have to make a big decision this week. It may not mean changing a job, ending a relationship, moving house, confronting anybody, or revealing the deepest thing you've never said aloud. Those choices may come one day, or they may not. The first movement is much smaller. It's allowing yourself to notice that the belief in your hand is not necessarily a command. You can say I have always believed I must earn rest. You do not have to say therefore I'm never working again and will shortly be living in a yurt by the sea. Although if you do, please make sure the yurt has decent insulation. You can simply notice the grip and take ten minutes without earning them. You can say I've always believed I need everybody to understand my decision. You do not have to start an argument. You can practice explaining less. You can let a sentence end before it becomes a closing speech for the prosecution. You can say I always believed I must know what happens next. You do not have to leap blindfolded into the unknown. You can allow yourself to know the next sensible thing and leave the seventh sensible thing for another day. This is self-trust in ordinary clothes. It's not always dramatic. It is the moment you notice you are about to apologize for an entirely reasonable need and you pause. It is the moment you allow a compliment to arrive without batting it straight back over the net, and it is the moment a familiar feeling tells you to take over and you decide to listen first. It's the moment you realize that uncertainty is in the room, but it does not have to sit in the judge's chair. If you would like another way to picture it, imagine you're holding a bird. Hold it too tightly and you hurt it. Open your hand completely and it flies before you're ready. Holding it loosely means you have enough steadiness to make room for its life as well as yours. A belief can be held like that. A plan can, a version of yourself can. You do not need to crush it in order to keep it near. Go back for a moment to the place where you feel the grip in your body. You may not feel it in one clear place. You may only know that your thoughts speed up when you approach a certain subject. That is enough. Put one hand somewhere that feels kind, perhaps your chest, perhaps your arms, perhaps just against the mug in your hand. Take a breath, take the breath you have, not the breath you think, and a calm response. Take the breath you have, not the breath you think a calm response ought to have. Ask yourself what am I trying not to feel if I keep this belief exactly as it is? You may hear an answer, you may hear nothing, you may notice the lump in your throat, and decide that is plenty for today. Give yourself permission to stop there. You're allowed to close the filing cabinet drawer gently. The point is not to force it open, the point is to know there is a drawer, a file and a defender doing its best at the front of you. Then ask a different question, the one that lets the adult you sit a little closer to the bench. What do I know now? But the younger me did not know then. Perhaps you know you can leave a room, perhaps you know people can disappoint you, and you can survive it. Perhaps you know your worth is not decided by a single reply, a single meeting, a single financial number or a single person's expression. Perhaps you know you can be loved and still be misunderstood. Perhaps you know that being uncertain does not make you incapable. You do not need to say those things until you believe every word. The court may scoff, the barrister may ask for documentation in triplicate. Let it. The defence is gathering a different kind of evidence now, not by shouting but by living one small choice at a time. That is why the hold matters. Each time you hold something slightly more loosely, you show the protector that the edge of the world does not arrive. You show it that a new map can be safe enough to use not perfectly safe, nothing living is, but safe enough for the next step. This week when you catch yourself insisting, defending or over explaining, take under ten minutes to notice where you feel the grip and ask what I might hold a little more loosely today. And if you do not do it, nothing bad happens, no gold star, no failure, no need to report back to an imaginary panel of people with clipboards, just an invitation to notice the defender by the draw and to remember that it is protecting something even if its method has become a bit over enthusiastic.

Closing and Next Week

Jody Brooks 33:50

We began the week within the court already in session. We met self doubt as the barrister for the prosecution. We saw how the other protectors can defend the filing cabinet because they fear what happens if an old rule is questioned, and Wayz gave us the grip and hold. Sometimes we fight for a belief because we're not really quite sure. When we are most solid and secure, we can hold things more loosely. That is where this month is going, not a world in which nothing ever hurts and nobody ever hesitates, to a world in which you can hear the old case without automatically obeying the verdict. To a world in which your protectors are thanked, listened to, and no longer left alone to run the whole building. You're not falling apart, you're waking up. You're walking out of an old house with its memories intact towards a place with more light. You are allowed to feel something as you go. Now, a gentle content note before we close. This week has included discussions around suicide, a controlling religious upbringing, described as a cult and a breakdown. Please listen at your own pace. If these subjects leave you feeling unsafe or at risk of harming yourself, please contact the emergency services or a crisis service where you are. Next week we move on to the protectors with the question who is talking and what are they protecting? We'll begin naming the voices in the court, not to make them ridiculous, although there may be a little affectionate casting involved, but so they stop sounding exactly like you. And if you miss Wednesday's conversation with Wes, you can watch it as well as hear it on Apple, YouTube and Spotify. And also all episodes and the detailed episode pages are available at Messymidlife Podcast.world where you can also join the Messy Midlife community if you'd like a warm, judgment-free space to keep exploring this. It's where the free tools from the season live and where you can be in the company of people learning to hold their own lives with a little more kindness. So, until next time, stay curious, stay kind, and keep coming home to who you really are. Thank you for spending this time with me on Messy Midlife. If this episode resonated, please subscribe, leave a review and share it with someone who might need to hear it today. You can find the show notes below and more resources at authenticcoaching.me. And just a little gentle reminder, Messy Midlife is here for information, reflection and personal growth. It isn't a substitute for medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, therapy, or any other professional healthcare support. If you have concerns about your physical or mental health, please reach out to a qualified professional. Until next time, take good care of yourself. And remember, midlife might be messy, but it's not a crisis, it's a calling to connect.