Have you ever noticed how many emotions live within you at the same time, especially in your mind? The moments when emotions rise, thoughts follow, and suddenly your inner voices start speaking all at once?

Some years back, there were moments when I woke with all these thoughts and emotions present, and often, before I’d even opened my eyes fully, a part of me was planning the day, another was afraid of all the things that could go wrong, and another just wanted to stay in bed and disappear into a book. It felt as if I had stepped into the cast, taken a back-seat role, blended in, listened to the other characters, and believed their stories. It felt like a small theatre in the mind, with many characters gathering backstage, all waiting impatiently for their turn to step into the spotlight.

My assumption as I write this article is that, for many of us, life sometimes feels like a stage with a full cast of characters:

The Visionary, full of ideas and possibilities
The protector, cautious, alert, and sometimes afraid.
The tired one, who wants to stay in bed, chill, and read
The hopeful one
The creative advisor, with brilliant imagination
The ambivalent one who loves and resents, doubts and believes, feels energetic and drained, strong and weak
The one with a long memory, who learned early how to survive.

......Name it.

And then there is that daily cast that shows up the moment the alarm rings. Lights come on early in the morning, long before you are fully awake, and the cast is already gathering backstage. Each character arrives in style, with their own script, tone, and sense of urgency.

The Planner stands centre stage, majestically holding a black-and-white clipboard, reminding you of everything that could go wrong at any moment.

Next to him is the Protector in red gowns, scanning the room for risks and whispering warnings at the speed of lightning.

Right behind them, the energetic dreamer, full of ideas, vision, and possibilities.

Next to the dreamer is a critic, self-assured, sharp-tongued and relentless- convinced that pressure equals progress.

They are all striving for excellence in their roles, determined to take the lead. Eventually, one of them steps into the director’s role, majestically.

Though this may sound dramatic, it is how most of us live.

Before we speak, act or decide, one character takes centre stage and begins narrating the story. Blair Singer calls this the Little Voice—that inner dialogue that sounds convincing, familiar, and protective, yet often stems from fear rather than truth. The problem is how quickly we identify with these voices. More often than not, we mistake the loudest character for the whole cast, and for ourselves, for WHO WE ARE.

Over the past 13 years of living between cultures, I have sharpened my awareness of this inner dynamic. You see, I grew up in Kenya and rebuilt a life in Austria as an adult. In the process, I quickly realised that what feels naturally familiar is often not “WHO WE ARE” but what was learned, rehearsed, and conditioned in our formative years. This includes certain ways of speaking, behaving, and reacting. The same is true within our minds. Our inner characters were and continue to be shaped by our experiences. They learn their scripts, lines, and style early in childhood and later through lived experiences such as family expectations, cultural norms, successes, failures, traumas, and transitions. Over time, when awareness is absent, these characters begin to repeat the same scenes again and again: the protector tightens the script in unfamiliar situations, and the tired one appears when life requires us to expand. Eventually, these repeated scenes become unconscious patterns that dictate our decisions, behaviour, and way of being.

I assume most people (me included) are not lacking in intelligence, ambition, or discipline to change the whole situation, but rather in the authorship to consciously choose who is directing the play. Instead, we allow the strongest cast of characters to improvise or take the lead without a director. We are the directors who need to step up and silence the characters in our heads. To do that, we first have to be aware, to notice without judgment, to observe. If we don’t, we risk fusing with one or more character-voices, which we then mistake for the full truth.

Picture this:

When a critic storms the stage and stands in the spotlight before a presentation, we don’t just hear it; we embody it, become it, and listen to it—“I am not good enough. I am unprepared. I will fail…”

When the protector takes the stage in a new country, job, or relationship, we feel it rather than notice it as a character: It’s too risky. I can’t do this—better stay where you are.

Blair Singer’s work on “Little Voice Mastery” highlights this dynamic. He says the little voice feels familiar and protective, yet often acts from fear. When we step back from the whole cast, we create just enough space to notice when the Critic storms the stage, recognise when the Protector tightens the script, and allow the Dreamer to speak without immediately shutting them down. From this place, we are no longer inside the character but are very much aware of them. Blair Singer puts it beautifully: real change begins when we stop trying to silence the cast and start watching the performance.

To me, this means we don’t necessarily have to fire the actors, erase the critic, or banish the protector. Instead, we can step back into the roles of observer and director, and from that place, the whole situation changes. When we step back from the cast, we create space for awareness, which in turn creates enough distance to make a choice. Let’s look at it this way: when we are no longer fused with a single inner voice, our decisions become clearer, our emotions more regulated, and our actions more intentional. We end up thinking, feeling, and acting differently from a place of alignment rather than from impulse.

We NOTICE, RECOGNISE, and ALLOW.

In simple terms, “Awareness creates distance, allowing us to realise that the voice is not our identity. This distance gives space to choose whether we want the voice to lead right now or not, and that choice changes behaviour to either respond impulsively or in alignment.”

In daily life, directing the cast looks surprisingly quite ordinary:

Pausing before reacting: feel the anger, fear or shame, but give yourself three breaths before replying, sending an email, or walking away from a conversation.

Letting emotion pass through the body without turning it into identity: “I feel anxious” instead of “I am anxious”

Noticing, hearing, and experiencing fear without necessarily obeying it.

When we become more aware, our thinking becomes more precise because thoughts no longer dominate or direct. We take the driver’s seat, take the lead, and become more present, aligning our actions with our aspirations.

So how about...

You notice who walks onto your stage, when, and what story they are telling!

You question whether the story is true!

As a director, you choose what's next!

You asked what you want to do with the story!

Perhaps simply recalling that you are the director is enough, instead of rewriting every script or attempting to control every character.

And maybe, just maybe, that is the most important conversation we can have with ourselves when the voices in our heads are speaking loudly.

Are you acting in the play, or are you directing it?

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