9 Childhood Programs Running Your Adult Life, and a 5-Step Guide to Finishing Them
You do things you don’t want to do. You don’t do things you want to do. That’s not because you’re broken. It’s because something got installed in you a long time ago, and it’s still running. Here’s a super simple guide to help you break free from it that even a 5-year-old can understand. If you have read The Bullshit Machine: Hard Reset, it’ll be even easier.
This guide helps you find it. Every program has the same five steps.
- See it. Find the thing you do.
- Name it. Find the feeling underneath it.
- Let it out. Say it, move it, cry it. Whatever your body wants.
- Sit with it. Breathe and keep the feeling company until it gets quiet.
- Say it, then do it. Say one small thing you’re going to do. Then do it.
These are nine programs that ran in me. Yours might look different. Your map might have a different number. You might have programs I didn’t, like being abandoned, being the golden child, or being smothered instead of hit. A few of mine might not fit you at all. Take what’s true for you and leave the rest.
The Room
What it sounds like: “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Don’t make it worse.”
What you might do:
- Your stomach goes hollow when someone raises their voice.
- You forget what you were going to say in important moments, even when you know it cold.
- You freeze instead of speaking up.
- You hold your breath without noticing.
- You go quiet and wait for a bad moment to be over.
- You feel restless in your body but can’t figure out why.
- You shake, or feel jittery, after an argument is already over.
What’s underneath: Fear with nowhere to go. When you were little, your body got ready to run or fight, and then you weren’t allowed to do either. The energy got stuck. It’s still in there.
Let it out: Move first. Jump, shake your arms, walk fast, do anything for at least one minute. Let your body finish what it started a long time ago. Then say: “I wasn’t allowed to move, but now I’m an adult and I make the decisions.”
Sit with it: Breathe into your belly for four seconds. Breathe out for eight. Do it five times. Notice your stomach. Notice if it feels a little less hollow. You don’t have to do anything else.
Say it, then do it: “I’m going to take a walk around the block.” Then take the walk. Your body moved because you told it to. Nobody locked the door.
Baseline Emergency
What it sounds like: “Something bad is about to happen.”
What you might do:
- You check your bank account over and over.
- You jump at loud noises or when someone walks up behind you.
- You sit facing the door.
- A small problem, like a flat tire, feels like the end of the world.
- You can’t relax on vacation.
- You replay conversations in your head at night.
- You read texts looking for what’s wrong.
- You need a drink, a smoke, or your phone to feel calm.
- You don’t get too attached to anything because it could be taken away.
What’s underneath: Fear that never got to stop. When you were little, scary things kept happening and nobody ever said “it’s over now.” So your body never learned that it’s allowed to rest.
Let it out: Say: “It was never safe, and nobody told me it was over.” Say it again until something in your chest moves.
Sit with it: Lie down. Put a hand on your belly. Breathe until your hand rises. Then breathe out slowly. Look around the room and name three things you see. Tell yourself: “Right now, in this room, everything is good and nothing is wrong.” Check if it’s true. It usually is.
Say it, then do it: “I’m going to sit and drink a glass of water slowly.” Then do it. No phone. Just the water. That’s what an all-clear feels like.
The Problem Is Me
What it sounds like: “What’s wrong with me?”
What you might do:
- You say “sorry” when someone bumps into you.
- When something goes wrong, you assume it was your fault before you know what happened.
- You call yourself names, like “idiot,” when you make a small mistake.
- You skip meals, skip sleep, or skip the doctor.
- You eat or drink things you know make you feel bad.
- You stay with people who treat you badly because it feels normal.
- You wreck good things before they can go wrong on their own.
What’s underneath: A belief that you are bad. When you were little and got hurt over and over, the only answer that made sense was “it must be me.” That wasn’t true. It was just the only answer a kid could use.
Let it out: Say: “It wasn’t me. I was a kid.” Say it to a mirror, and look at your own face while you say it. If it makes you angry or sad, that’s good. Let it come.
Sit with it: Put your hand on your chest. Breathe slowly. Say “I love you” quietly, over and over, until your body says something back. It might say “I’m tired.” It might say “thank you.” Then just listen.
Say it, then do it: “I’m going to put salt on my food.” Then put salt on your food. Small things you do for your body tell it you’re on its side now.
The Rules Are Unknowable
What it sounds like: “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
What you might do:
- You ask “is that okay?” about things that don’t need permission.
- You can’t pick a restaurant, so you say “I don’t care, you choose.”
- You watch someone’s face to see if you’re in trouble.
- You do what other people tell you, even when you don’t want to.
- You break promises you make to yourself, like “I’ll start Monday.”
- You feel nervous when you’re having too much fun, like something bad is coming.
- You don’t know what you actually want.
What’s underneath: Fear. When you were little, the rules kept changing, so you never knew how to stay safe. You learned to watch other people instead of trusting yourself.
Let it out: Say: “I never knew what the rules were.” Say it to your phone, a mirror, an empty room. If your body wants to move, shake it out. If it wants to cry, let it.
Sit with it: Close your eyes. Breathe in slowly. Breathe out even slower. Notice where the fear sits in your body: chest, stomach, throat. Don’t fix it. Just keep it company until it gets quieter.
Say it, then do it: “I’m going to pick where we eat tonight.” Then pick. You said it and it happened. That’s your compass working.
Growth Is Dangerous
What it sounds like: “Who am I kidding?”
What you might do:
- You buy a guitar, a course, or a gym membership and quit after a week.
- You don’t tell anyone about your idea because they might laugh.
- You say “it’s not for me” before you’ve really tried.
- You get bored or busy right when something starts working.
- You make fun of yourself before anyone else can.
- You don’t post the thing, send the thing, or share the thing.
- You say “I’m not attached to it anyway” right when it starts to matter.
What’s underneath: Fear of being laughed at. When you were little, trying something new got you made fun of. So your body learned that wanting more is dangerous.
Let it out: Say the dream out loud. The real one, not the safe one. “I want to start a podcast.” “I want to learn to paint.” Notice what your body does when you say it. That feeling is the old program. Let it be there.
Sit with it: Breathe slowly and notice where the “who am I kidding” voice lives in your body. Ask it: “Whose voice are you?” Just listen. You don’t have to argue with it.
Say it, then do it: “I’m going to practice for five minutes today.” Then practice for five minutes. Being a beginner and nobody laughing at you is the new data.
Truth Is What Gets Believed
What it sounds like: “Does that make sense?”
What you might do:
- You explain things three times when once was enough.
- You send a long text, then another one explaining the first one.
- You say “honestly” or “I swear” a lot.
- You practice conversations in the shower before they happen.
- You answer questions nobody asked yet.
- You watch faces while you talk, checking if they believe you.
- You change your story a little depending on who’s listening.
- You don’t trust your own memory or your own opinion.
What’s underneath: The hurt of not being believed. When you were little, you told the truth and got called a liar. So you learned that what happened doesn’t matter. Only what people believe matters.
Let it out: Record yourself on your phone saying something true about your day. Then listen back. Say: “I believe you.” Out loud, to yourself.
Sit with it: Breathe slowly. Think of one thing you know is true without anyone agreeing. The sun came up. You’re breathing. Notice how quiet true things are. They don’t need a defense.
Say it, then do it: “I’m going to say it once and stop.” In your next conversation, say your point one time. Then stop talking. Let it stand. Your word counts the first time.
Being Masculine Is the Offense
For me it was being a boy. For you it might be being a girl, being the oldest, looking like your dad, or anything else you couldn’t change. The program works the same way.
What it sounds like: “You’re just like your father.”
What you might do:
- You make yourself smaller around strong people.
- You let others take charge, even when you know what to do.
- You laugh along when people put you down in front of others.
- You feel embarrassed about parts of yourself you didn’t choose.
- You catch yourself doing the exact thing you swore you’d never do.
- You feel like your life is already decided, so why try.
What’s underneath: Shame about who you are. When you were little, someone was angry at somebody else and took it out on you. They told you what you would become. After hearing it enough times, part of you started to believe it.
Let it out: Say: “I am not my father.” Or whoever you were told you’d become. Say it strong. Stand up straight while you say it. Let your voice come from your belly, not your throat.
Sit with it: Breathe into your belly and feel your feet on the floor. Notice how much space your body takes up. Let it take up that space. You don’t have to shrink.
Say it, then do it: “I’m going to say what I think in the next conversation.” Then say it. Calm, clear, once. Every time you do, the old prediction gets a little more wrong.
Other People’s Feelings Are My Job
What it sounds like: “Are you mad at me?”
What you might do:
- You feel someone’s bad mood the second you walk into a room.
- You think someone is mad at you when they’re just quiet.
- You can’t say no without feeling guilty.
- You change your plans so nobody gets upset.
- You feel responsible when someone you love has a bad day.
- You make jokes to fix the mood when things get tense.
- You can’t relax until everyone around you is okay.
- Or the other way: you blame other people for how you feel.
What’s underneath: Guilt that was never yours. When you were little, grown-ups said “you made me angry” or “look what you made me do.” So you learned that other people’s feelings were your job. But a kid can’t fix a grown-up’s feelings. Nobody can.
Let it out: Say: “Their feelings were never my job.” Say it again. Then say: “My feelings are mine. Their feelings are theirs.”
Sit with it: Close your eyes and breathe slowly. Notice the pull to check on someone, to fix something, to make it okay. Don’t follow it. Just feel the pull. Notice that you’re still okay even while it’s there.
Say it, then do it: “I’m going to let someone be upset without fixing it.” Then don’t fix it. They’ll be okay. So will you.
One good thing about this program: it can make you really good at reading people, at timing, at making people laugh. A lot of great entertainers learned it this way. Keep the skill. Just make sure you’re using it, and it’s not using you.
Shame Has No Finish Line
What it sounds like: “Who do you think you are?”
What you might do:
- When something good happens, it feels like you got away with something.
- You can’t take a compliment. You argue with it or change the subject.
- You feel guilty buying things for yourself, even small things.
- You apologize for asking questions.
- You say “never mind” when you wanted something.
- You keep feeling bad about mistakes long after they’re fixed.
- You treat yourself in ways you’d never treat someone you love.
What’s underneath: Shame that never got to end. Good shame has a finish line: you mess up, you fix it, it’s over. But when you were little, saying sorry was never enough. So the shame moved from “I did something bad” to “I am something bad.”
Let it out: Say: “I was sorry. It was enough.” Then say: “I’m allowed to be here.” If you cry, good. That’s the finish line finally showing up.
Sit with it: Put your hand on your chest. Breathe slowly. Remember this: you woke up today. Your heart beat all night without you asking. Something put you here on purpose. Just sit with that for a few minutes. You don’t have to earn it.
Say it, then do it: “I’m going to buy myself something small that I like.” A good coffee. A piece of fruit. Then buy it and enjoy it. No guilt. You wanted something, you had it, and nothing bad happened.
The Whole Guide on One Page
Keep this part handy. When you catch yourself doing something, find the voice in the middle column. The last column is your first move.
| Program | What it sounds like | Say it, then do it |
|---|---|---|
| The Room | “Just stay still. It’ll pass.” | Take a walk around the block. |
| Baseline Emergency | “Something bad is about to happen.” | Drink a glass of water slowly. No phone. |
| The Problem Is Me | “What’s wrong with me?” | Do something you said you’d do. |
| The Rules Are Unknowable | “Just tell me what you want me to do.” | Pick where you eat tonight. |
| Growth Is Dangerous | “Who am I kidding?” | Practice for five minutes. |
| Truth Is What Gets Believed | “Does that make sense?” | Say your point once and stop. |
| Being Male Is the Offense | “You’re just like your father.” | Say what you think in your next conversation. |
| Other People’s Feelings Are My Job | “Are you mad at me?” | Let someone be upset without fixing it. |
| Shame Has No Finish Line | “Who do you think you are?” | Buy yourself something small you like. |
And the five steps, every time:
- See it. Notice what you’re doing.
- Name it. Find the feeling underneath.
- Let it out. Say it, move it, cry it.
- Sit with it. Breathe and keep it company.
- Say it, then do it. One small thing. Done.
Last Thing
None of these programs are you. They showed up after you did. They were a kid’s best guess about how to stay safe, and they worked well enough to get you here.
You don’t have to fight them. You don’t have to fix your whole past. You just have to notice, feel, and do one small thing on purpose. Then do it again tomorrow.
Every time you say something and then do it, your body learns a new fact: you’re the one in charge now.
You were put here on purpose. Treat yourself that way.
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