Odyssey
Hypnosis
Humanist

This voice that is never satisfied Remember the email you read over and over again… The one you edited, then re-edited, then re-edited again… and had such trouble sending… With that question echoing in your head: “Is this clear enough?” — and which had become, without your noticing: “Am I competent enough?” And then at last… after agonising over it for an endless stretch of time, you sent it. A few hours later, the reply arrived… You opened the message… with a sligh

When correcting yourself becomes condemning yourself You've written an email — simple, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a few lines. But it hardly matters. Because you read it back, once. You change a word, then read it back again. And that little voice in your head, asking: “Isn't that sentence a little too… direct? ” So you rework the sentence a little, you add a turn of phrase, then take it out, and you check the spelling for the eighth time, because that nagging

Being able, at last, to rest There is a kind of tiredness we rarely speak about, because it resembles no other. It is not like the exhaustion that follows a day that was too long, a physical effort or a sleepless night; it is quieter, slower, more insidious. It is the tiredness of never being completely at rest, of holding a constant, permanent vigilance. It is like never being entirely present, because a part of oneself is elsewhere, watching, comparing, anticipating,