Once upon a time, I was a lay leader at the Charlottesville Unitarian Universalist church. It was the custom then for the minister to take summers off from preaching and in their stead, the lay leaders took turns giving the Sunday sermons.
I loved doing it. I loved telling stories, inviting inquiry, and being part of a community of kindness. The first time, though, was a rocky mess.
My first sermon was called The Lies We Tell Ourselves and in it I offered a few common ways we stop ourselves, talk ourselves out of what we want to do, and generally get in our own way unnecessarily. Since many of these lies fly under the radar, I suggested that by supporting and encouraging each other, we could dissolve them and let them go.
Just before I stood up to speak, the congregation sang a one of my favorite hymns. Music is my kryptonite. The hymn hit me right in the feels; I got teary and my throat went tight.
These are, not surprisingly, suboptimal conditions for speaking in public.
I delivered the whole thing in a raggedy, almost-but-not-quite-crying voice. I was flushed with emotion and embarrassment and sweat. I hardly remember any of it.
Despite the minor trauma of the experience, one of the Lies I shared in the sermon has stuck with me for more than 20 years: The Broccoli Lie.
A Broccoli Lie is something that we think we don’t like and yet we’ve stuck with out of habit or fear. Maybe you had some boiled broccoli when you were 5 and it tasted bad to you. Now you’re 45 and you still won’t touch those green trees. Because once bitten, 40 years shy, right? But what if you got curious and tried it roasted or in a salad or with cheese?
It’s not just about food, of course, it could be about anything that we’ve written off for ourselves based on limited experience, fear, and habit. It could be your knee jerk reaction to anything: playing games, going to parties, having sex a different way, wearing lipstick...anything.
Busting a Broccoli Lie is about curiosity, not recklessness. If you’re allergic to shellfish, don’t eat it. If you’ve been in a traumatic situation, make choices that keep you safe physically and emotionally. This is not about throwing ourselves into things that are bad for us but rather getting curious about the many things we all do or don’t do just because that’s the way we do or don’t do them.
Recently, on the Ten Percent Happier podcast, Dan Harris talked with Robin Roberts about optimism and our internal dialog. One of her suggestions was to notice how we talk to ourselves and check out if any of that dialog is simply out of habit. “I never get what I want” or “I’m not smart or creative” or “I don’t wear shorts,” might be an old 8-track tape that is running simply because you’ve never thought to switch it out.
How to Know If You’re Telling A Broccoli Lie
Slow down.
If someone suggests something (or you have a thought about something) and you have a quick automatic response — either NO or YES — slow down. Pause. Breathe. Notice any sensations in your body. Get curious about whether your answer is a habit.
What’s underneath?
From this curious state, ask yourself what’s under the surface of your answer. What’s the story you’re telling? Is it really a hard NO or YES or is this your well-worn pattern? (Read about a time when I uncovered an old story that was driving my actions here!)
Is there another way?
Maybe you find that your answer really is a hard NO or YES that feels right and true. If so, that’s great information and good to know. If not, if the underpinnings of your response feel a little less clear, ask yourself if there is another way of approaching the situation. Could you just go to the party for 30 minutes? Could you wear long shorts? Could you put some cheese on that broccoli?
The thing about Broccoli Lies is that they are often so old that we don’t even realize we’re telling them to ourselves. We just get in the Broccoli Situation and default to what we’ve always thought, said, or done. It takes some courage and awareness to face the Broccoli. It is an endeavor that asks for gentleness, curiosity, and compassion and one that can deliver expanded experiences, new connections, and the chance to rewrite our story.
[AND if you are ever giving a sermon (or a toast or a presentation), talk to Kate Bennis (and read her newsletter). She is a genius for helping us speak authentically and effectively.]