Marie
You know that voice in your head – the one you didn’t invite, don’t like but somehow gave a lease and a spare key to? The one that whispers, “What if (insert potential catastrophe triggered by something as innocent as a 3 p.m. coffee)”? Yeah. That one. Aren’t they just the most worst?
One of the first things I ever told my therapist – on repeat, like a broken record dipped in panic – was: “I think I’m okay… and then this voice goes: ‘what if, what if!’” Or “I make a decision, feel good about it and then: ‘what if this, what if that, what if everything crumbles?’”
Eventually, my therapist just asked, “Does this voice have a name? A face?”
And just like the first time I saw my little black dog curled up in a box on my kitchen floor – where, for reasons still unknown, the name Harrison Ford popped into my head (do I love Harrison Ford? No. Do I hate him? Also no. It’s not that complicated and I digress) – the first name that came to mind was Marie.
Yes, Marie. The little white cat with the pink bow from The Aristocats.
Do I remember the plot of that movie? No. Could I quote a single line? Also no. But somehow, she materialized as the face of that voice. Regal. Cute. Merciless. Marie. All attitude and eyelash batting. And here’s the kicker: I later found a photo of 8-year-old me at the Disney Store, hugging a stuffed Marie like we’d been ride-or-die since birth. So, apparently she’s been around longer than I thought.
So I did something I didn’t expect: I started trying to like her. Not ignore her. Not banish her. But dress her up in things I could stand. I’ve been trying to befriend this inner Marie. Personify her. Make her… bearable. Maybe even a little cute. I mean, sure, she’s a kitten on paper – but in my head, she’s Regina George with a megaphone.
Still, I started small. I bought a few pink-bow things: a white crop top, some rings, a hair clip. I got a Marie mug (which my dad insists on calling a “cauldron” due to its size – not its dark magic, thanks), a poster and even a makeup brush holder. That poster? It’s Marie looking up all wide-eyed and innocent, like she didn’t just plant the seed of existential dread in your morning meditation.
And here’s the wild part: it’s kind of… working?
She’s still sassy. Possibly the sassiest. But she’s also becoming less of a tyrant and more of a frenemy. A concerned party. A tiny kitten screaming, “Don’t do that, Sugar. You’ll regret it.” Not the worst company, all things considered.
Which brings me to this: maybe those demons in your head reallyyy aren’t demons (as we’ve explored in another article. Maybe they’re just scared versions of you, dressed up like villains because they don’t know how else to get your attention. Maybe your Marie – however she shows up – isn’t trying to destroy you, she’s trying to protect you. Badly. In bows.
And sure, you could keep avoiding her. But let’s be honest: has ignoring your shit ever made it go away?
So: be nice. Be kind. To yourself. To your Marie.
And when she pipes up with her signature line – “What if…?” – I don’t always spiral now.
Sometimes, I nod and go, “Thanks, Marie. But I think I got this.” And then I order the coffee anyway.
That voice is still you – just wearing an anxiety hat and holding a caution sign. And if kindness works on the world, maybe it works in your own head too.