A Complete Guide to the Science

of Self-Talk
How to stop rumination, compulsive thinking,
unrealistic rule-following, and negative self-talk

Brian Pennie
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May 9 · 16 min read

Listen to an interview with the author about this article on

the Better Humans Podcast.

For the past five years, I’ve been obsessed with language and
self-talk, and how they relate to emotion. This obsession grew
out of the realization that self-talk and anxiety drove me
toward a life of chronic heroin addiction. Tormented by the
voices in my head, and the stories that I told myself, I was
completely unaware of how they controlled my behavior.

Addiction brought me to the very edge, but I was lucky.

Pounded into submission by the most painful night of my life, I
received a gift. Call it what you will — a perspective shift, an
awakening, or simply dumb luck — this also became the most
important night of my life.

I had fought long and hard to keep my addiction alive, terrified

of facing reality without drugs, but through the pain of this
night, I finally surrendered. In doing so, I released my vise-like
grip on the story that I had been telling myself, the one that had
protected my addiction. My mind went quiet, and my new life
began.

Captivated by this experience, I soon went to university to study

the source of my suffering, and I am now doing a Ph.D. It was
there that I met Professor Yvonne Barnes-Holmes, a wizard of a
therapist, and world expert in the field of language and
cognition. Yvonne has since guided me on my journey, both
personally and professionally, and now we have written this
article together.

A Theory of Language, Self-Talk, and Emotion

The symbolic nature of language
The arbitrary nature of language
The generative nature of language
Language as a vehicle for emotionChange Your Self-Talk, Change
Your Life
1. Reframe your self-talk
2. Challenge your self-talk
3. The power of metaphor
4. Practice self-observationConclusion

A Theory of Language, Self-Talk,

and Emotion
“The limits of my language are the limits of my world” —
Ludwig Wittgenstein

Negative self-talk, rumination, compulsive thinking, and

unrealistic rule-following are parts of most forms of human
suffering. Maybe you can relate to this. One powerful
explanation of why we engage in these harmful behaviors comes
from relational frame theory (RFT), a novel account of
language, self-talk, and emotion.
At its core, RFT argues that language and self-talk are relational
in nature, where “relating” is a type of covert behavior that
involves responding to one stimulus in terms of another. Take
this sentence: “A seat is the same as a chair.” In this case, “seat”
and “chair” are related to one another as similar. This is the
simplest form of relation, but stimuli can be related in a variety
of different ways.

For example, look at the sentences “Feeling sad is the opposite

of feeling happy” or “Mindfulness is a type of meditation.” The
latter is a hierarchical relation, where mindfulness is contained
within meditation. There are also comparative (e.g., “more
than” or “less than”) and spatial relations such as “Whiskey is
stronger than wine” and “The chair is beside the table.”

These relationships get more complex as they are combined. For

example, “Yesterday was a lousy day for me, but today is
better.” In RFT, “me” denotes a self-based relation coordinating
the word “me” and the actual person making the statement. This
sentence also includes a temporal relation between yesterday
and today, as well as a comparison relation (today is better than
yesterday).

It’s important to note several things here. Some of these

observations come from existing theories of language, while
others are a little different.

First, in RFT, language and self-talk (i.e., thinking) are the same
types of behavior. That is, they are both relational. That means
that rumination, compulsive thinking, unrealistic rule-
following, and negative self-talk are also all the same type of
behavior.

Second, language is symbolic (i.e., it relates words to real

things). For example, the word “seat” is something we have
chosen to represent an actual seat. Thus, the word and the
object are relationally coordinated, and you are reinforcing that
coordination when you use the word “seat.”

Third, language is generative. This means we can learn new

relationships without being directly told, or even being aware, of
them. For instance, if you know whiskey is a strong liquor, and I
tell you that poitín is a type of whiskey (i.e., they are now
related), what you know about whiskey will transfer to what you
know about poitín, even though you have only just heard about
the latter. This is a key facet of how we think and learn.

Fourth, the relational nature of language provides a vehicle for

emotion. That is, emotions travel through words and
thoughts. As a result, rumination, compulsive thinking,
unrealistic rule-following, and negative self-talk — all forms of
relating — are key vehicles for emotional and psychological
pain.

The symbolic nature of language

Ludwig Wittgenstein was one of the most influential thinkers of
the twentieth century. He produced two major pieces of work,
both of which had an enormous impact on the sciences, and still
do to this day.

His first work, the Tractatus Logico-Philosophocus, addressed a

central problem in both philosophy and science: how language
and thought are related to reality. He proposed that for thoughts
and language to make sense, they must be represented in the
form of pictures—an objective reality, if you will.
Photo by Hutomo Abrianto on Unsplash
In the photograph above, there is a man sitting in a chair with a
table between his legs. There is a book on his head and a ladder
leaning against the wall.

Each of the statements in these sentences can be represented in

reality and therefore be made to make sense. That is, when you
hear the words of these sentences, you can paint a picture of
what they are describing in your mind. It is this relationship —
between words and reality — that underpins the symbolic
nature of language. RFT is consistent with this theory but sheds
greater light on how objects, pictures, and words are related.

RFT also aligns with Wittgenstein’s later work,

the Philosophical Investigations. In this book, Wittgenstein
argues that human language is a type of social game, in which
the meaning of words can only be found in their use.

The arbitrary nature of language

Language, for the most part, is arbitrary and socially defined.
What does this mean? For any word, someone at some point in
history made it up and gave it a specific meaning. Did you ever
wonder why the word “window” refers to the thing you look out
of and not to a dog instead?

This is true of all words. They might have evolved differently in

other languages, but at some point in time, words were simply
plucked out of thin air.

There’s another level on which language is arbitrary. Think of

how the word “table” resembles an actual table. You can’t, of
course, because there is simply no resemblance between the
word and the object. The relationship is completely arbitrary
because the spoken or written word “table” looks nothing like a
table. That’s why we say that language is symbolic.
It’s this arbitrariness that’s believed to be the reason why
animals can’t think in the same way humans do. Animals (and
nonverbal humans) can only relate stimuli based on their
physical properties; they cannot relate them as
arbitrary entities.
Photo by Juan Rumimpunu on Unsplash

The generative nature of language

When children are about two years old, psychologists and
linguists often talk about a language burst. This occurs when
children begin using new words and sentences that were never
directly learned seemingly out of nowhere. A common
manifestation of this phenomenon is children’s use of bad
grammar. For example, it’s not unusual for toddlers to use
words and phrases like “mouses,” “I runned,” and “I gived,”
which they would not have learned from adults (well, I hope
not, anyway).

We can think of this as an illustration of the generative nature of

language. But while this aspect of language is crucial for our
development, our ability to generate relations so quickly also
has a downside.

Imagine you meet the man/woman of your dreams. For

argument’s sake, we’ll say it’s a man called Bill. Your whole body
flutters at just the sound of his name. Then along comes a friend
who tells you that Bill was seen leaving your best friend’s house
in the middle of the night. All of a sudden, your heart is in your
throat, and your mind is filled with uncertainty, worry, and
anger.

How did this happen? Through the generativity of language. In

simple terms, your friend created a relation between Bill and
your best friend, and your mind added relations to deception,
lost love, and a lack of future. But remember, you never even
saw this apparent “cheating,” and neither did your friend, so you
don’t even know if it happened. This is the dark side of
language, and it reveals how its generative nature can cause
emotional pain.
Language as a vehicle for emotion
From this cheating example, you can see how language is a
vehicle for many of our emotional experiences. RFT provides a
novel way of explaining how this process works, an explanation
that is fully supported by scientific data.

When stimuli are related, they acquire each other’s

corresponding psychological properties. For example, if you like
oranges, and you’re told that clementines are like oranges, the
psychological properties of “liking” will transfer to the
clementines.

Research also shows how this process operates at a biological

level. If you salivate when you think of a lemon, and I tell you
that a “something” is like a lemon, you will salivate when you
encounter the “something” because you now relate it with a
lemon. You couldn’t stop yourself from responding like this
even if you tried. Just like relating, this transfer of psychological
properties often occurs totally outside of your awareness.

To illustrate this more clearly, consider my own personal

experiences when I was addicted to heroin. Through arbitrary
relations, the spoken word “heroin” held many of the same
psychological properties as an actual bag of heroin. Even during
severe withdrawal, by simply hearing I was about to get a fix, my
functioning would dramatically improve.
Source: The picture on the left is two years before I hit rock bottom. The picture on the right
was taken in 2017, four years after I reclaimed my life.

On one occasion, I remember feeling fine until I realized I had

forgotten to take my methadone. Within seconds, my stomach
was upset, I had begun to shiver, and sweat was streaming down
my cold body.
Change Your Self-Talk, Change Your
Life
“I am, by calling, a dealer in words; and words are, of course,
the most powerful drug used by mankind.” —Rudyard Kipling

I was instantly taken by the science of self-talk and emotion, but

one instance in particular blew me away. During my first year at
college, Yvonne was head of the Psychology Department, but
she soon moved to Ghent University, and we lost contact for
several months. When I eventually emailed her, she asked me if
I wanted to chat via Skype. As much as I wanted to, I was
terrified of Skype and declined.

I had never done a video call before, but there was another
reason I was fearful of it, one I was completely unaware of. How
we speak, especially when talking to ourselves, is grounded in
our history. That is, our decisions are reinforced by what has
worked, or what has appeared to work, in the past, and this
determines our future behavior. Staying out of sight had served
me well in addiction, and this was driving my fear of taking part
in the call. Yvonne realized this and sent me an email with a
hidden intervention.

Before she had gone to Ghent, we had spent many hours in her
office talking about language and emotion. These were some of
the most inspiring conversations of my life, and Yvonne used
them as the focus of her intervention. In what first seemed like
an overly repetitive email, she linked the proposed Skype call
with our previous meetings.

The email went something like this:

Hi Brian, don’t be worrying about Skype. It’s
easy. It’s just like our conversations in the
office. We’ll have a great chat about language
and emotion and it will be fun. Skype is so
simple when you think of it. It’s exactly the
same as our previous meetings. It will be just
like we are sitting in my office. We’ll be still
face-to-face. It’s so easy. It will be great fun,
exactly like our previous chats.

After reading the email, I thought to myself: “That sounds so

simple. What the hell was I afraid of? I can’t wait to Skype
Yvonne.”

As I stood up to put away my laptop, it hit me: “Holy shit! What

the hell just happened?” In the space of a few minutes, my fear
of Skype had not just vanished, but been flipped on its
head. “How is this possible? Is Yvonne some kind of wizard?”

When I sat down to read the email again, I recognized what she
had done. It was genius. In RFT terms, Yvonne had relationally
coordinated our office chats with the proposed Skype call. As a
result, the psychological properties of “easy,” “fun,” and
“relaxed” were transferred over to Skype.
My self-talk had shifted, and so had my
willingness to act.
This is a difficult intervention to implement on your own, and I
had a wizard to help me. However, below are four techniques
that can help you change your self-talk and, as a result, change
how you feel and act.

1. Reframe your self-talk

“I used to think that the brain was the most wonderful organ in
my body. Then I realized who was telling me this.” — Emo
Philips

We all have a story, and it is written with the words we use. If

you tell yourself you’re depressed, you’re going to act
accordingly. If you tell yourself you suffer from anxiety, it’s
likely that you will. It is therefore critical to choose your words
carefully, especially when talking to yourself.

In a world full of distractions, our stories about procrastination

have become particularly problematic, with many people
crippled by an inability to act. I’m certainly not immune to this
modern-day phenomenon, and as I sat in my kitchen writing
this article, I found myself struggling with this very thing.

The sections above took me over a week to piece together.

Distracted on many fronts — some important, some not — my
self-talk sounded something like this: “Maybe I should start
tomorrow,” “Maybe it’s best if I do X first,” “Am I hungry?,”
“Oh, I’ll just check my social media first. Then I’ll get back into
it.”

When this kind of internal dialogue goes unchecked, nothing

gets done. When you do catch it, however, it is vital that you act.
I simply switch all of the above with “Just do it,” or, if I’m
feeling less motivated, I’ll say “Let’s just make a
start.” Sometimes a start is all you need, and momentum will
take care of the rest.
Less obvious language that can stop you taking action should
also be avoided. For example, reactive words and phrases such
as “I can’t,” “if only,”“I must,” or “he/she made me feel like
that” should be replaced with proactive words and phrases such
as “I will,” “I choose to,” and “let’s look at this another
way.” This practice is empowering, and when you make the
switch, even your posture will change.

In challenging situations, you should also track the questions

you ask yourself. For instance, replacing “why me?” (head-
based) with “what can I do about this?” (action-based) will
instill in you a sense of strength, directing you toward corrective
action rather than being blocked by worrying about your
problems.

2. Challenge your self-talk

“The words you speak become the house you live in.” — Hafiz

I used to struggle with public speaking. For days before a

presentation, I’d fill myself with all kinds of anxiety-inducing
self-talk. “What if you faint on stage?” “What if you have a
panic attack?” “What if you can’t stop sweating?”

What do you think happened on the day of the presentation?

Damn right, I was crippled with anxiety. It was a self-fulfilling
prophecy, or, as Henry Ford once said, “Whether you think you
can or you think you can’t, you’re right.”

This experience is very different for me today. When irrational

self-talk enters my mind, I identify and dispute it immediately.
When I do this, it quickly becomes clear how irrational it is. I
have never fainted in my entire life. I’ve only ever had one panic
attack. And as for sweating on stage, who cares. Most people
wouldn’t notice anyway, and you can always wear black.
Source: Having conquered public speaking, this is a 90-second clip of my first big corporate
talk, during which I called out Russell Brand.

But of course not all self-talk is irrational or off-the-wall. Before

a presentation, my internal chatter might say: “This is going to
be nerve-wracking,” which is often true. When this occurs, I use
a form of reappraisalin which I replacing “nerve-wracking” with
“exciting.” This tactic works well in many stressful situations, as
it’s often our interpretation of events (i.e., the language we use
to describe them) rather than the event that determines our
emotions and behavior.

3. The power of metaphor

“Unless you are educated in metaphor, you are not safe to be

let loose in the world.” — Robert Frost

Metaphors, which refer to one thing by mentioning another,

provide an excellent tool for explaining difficult concepts. For
example, when explaining how atoms work, you might say
that “an electron circles around a nucleus in the same way that a
planet circles around the sun.” From an RFT perspective, we are
relating (as similar) a well-known entity (the solar system) to a
lesser-known entity (an atom) to better describe how the latter
works.

Metaphors can also be used on a psychological level to explain

abstract concepts such as anxiety, acceptance, and suffering.
When used correctly, the psychological properties of one
reference point transfer over to the other, thus providing people
with a more concrete understanding of their problems.

Here are two examples. First, a person struggling with anxiety

will often try to fight back against it. But this only creates more
anxiety. A great metaphor for this is a tug-of-war with an
anxiety monster. You have one end of the rope, and the monster
has the other. In between you, there’s a bottomless pit. You pull
as hard as you can, but the monster is stronger and pulls you
closer to the pit. You’re stuck. What should you do?
Drop the rope.

Yes, the monster’s still there, but you’re no longer in a struggle

with him. It’s the same for anxiety. When you stop struggling,
you rob it of its power.

That brings us to our second example. Many people resist

change. They might genuinely want to change, especially if
they’re struggling, but persist in the very behavior that caused
their problems in the first place. Think, for example, of an
alcoholic who continues to drink or someone with social anxiety
who refuses to leave the house.

The “person in a hole” metaphor describes the situation such

people encounter best:

A person aimlessly wanders into a field full of holes.

Disoriented by past experiences, he falls into a big one. The
sides are steep, and he can’t get out. But he’s lucky: he has a
toolbox with him. Without thinking, he takes out a shovel and
tries to dig himself out. This obviously doesn’t work, so he
starts digging with greater intensity. But this just leaves him
deeper in the hole. Feeling dejected, he gives up. Suddenly, like
a blessing from the skies, a person walks by with a ladder and
throws it into the hole. Finally, some luck. But what does he do?
He picks up the ladder and tries to use it to dig himself out of
the hole.

For individuals stuck in such situations, this metaphor can help

them to better understand their problems and, hopefully,
change their ways.
See this link for a list of metaphors used by therapists and a
practitioner’s guide used in Acceptance and Commitment
Therapy (ACT).

4. Practice self-observation

“Dialogue is about creating awareness through self-

observation; it starts from the inside out, not the outside in.” —
Oli Anderson

Instead of trying to change how you think, sometimes it’s best to

practice self-observation. This simply means mindfully
observing how you think and feel.

For example, if I asked you to observe your bodily sensations,

you might take a step back and focus on a specific area, such as
your breath. If I asked you what you were thinking (i.e., about
your self-talk), you could observe this too. You might be
planning for the week ahead, worrying about money, or doing
something else; regardless of what this internal chatter might
be, it’s possible to take a step back and observe it. It’s the same
for feelings. If I asked you how you felt, you could take a step
back and observe this.

The point is, you can take an observer’s perspective of your self-
talk, feelings, and bodily sensations. However, when you do this,
you must simply observe, without engaging. Like the blue sky
watching clouds drift by or the person on the riverbank
watching the leaves float past, you watch your thoughts come
and go, without engaging in them. This is important. Be the blue
sky. Be the observer.

When you practice self-observation regularly, you will create a

sense of detachment from challenging self-talk and emotions,
and when they do arise, they will no longer consume you.
Conclusion
Self-talk is powerful. It has a huge impact on how you act and
feel.

If you tell yourself that you will suffer, it’s likely that you will.
The same is true of many of your psychological experiences.

But you don’t have to suffer. If you want to change how you act
and feel, you do have a choice. You can reframe your self-talk.
You can challenge your self-talk. You can use metaphors to
better understand how you think, act, and feel. And you can
mindfully observe your self-talk and accept how you feel, rather
than engaging with it.

By practising these techniques, self-talk will lose its potency,

and it will no longer consume you.