Taming Gremlins: A Story of Presence and Power
Photo taken in Akureyri, Iceland by Heather Wong in June 2018.
To my first coach/teacher/cheerleader/queer ally, Buck Dodson: thank you for reflecting my light, holding space, and guiding me through somatic practices that didn’t just shift my thinking—they changed the entire trajectory of my career as a healer and coach.
For context: this is a self-reflection that came out of my fieldwork after my first coaching session with Buck.
Taming Gremlins: A Story of Presence and Power
Let’s get honest: I’m a firm believer in seeking support when the answer isn’t clear or the need is heavy—but that wasn’t always true for me. It takes courage to ask for help, especially when that help requires vulnerability and letting go of control.
And let me tell you, I like control. I’m the kind of person who micromanages every little detail—sometimes even other people’s details (yikes). I’ve had to learn to name and tame what I now call my thought gremlins.
Thought gremlins are the voices that jump in with fear disguised as logic or protection. Picture a blinking, heart-shaped red light saying, “STOP! RISK AHEAD! I’m just looking out for you, boo.” These internal messages often show up when I’m about to expand—when I’m inching toward more truth, more visibility, more impact.
One of my OG gremlins is anxious and cautious: “You sure you want to reach out to them? This could backfire…”
Another one sounds like a buttoned-up, hyper-rational lawyer: “You’ve spent a lot on self-care this month. Is this responsible?”
Those two? Very white. Very masculine. Very much trying to “manage the optics.”
I’ve got a whole cast of gremlins—different ages, races, energies—but let’s not forget my loudest one: the bully. Let’s call her Karen. Karen is judgmental as hell and hits below the belt:
“No one really likes you. They just tolerate you. Why would they care about your ideas?”
Juvenile. Petty. And unfortunately, persuasive if I’m not paying attention.
But I’ve also got another voice—the one I’m learning to trust more deeply. My gremlin-slayer. She’s fierce, femme, powerful. She’s the Nicki Minaj energy I didn’t know I needed: unapologetic, magnetic, wildly wise. She storms in like a hurricane when I remember who the hell I am.
She’s who I want to embody more often. The version of me that doesn’t ask for permission. That shares freely. That doesn’t apologize for taking up space.
But the truth is: I don’t always trust her. She’s still learning to live in my body. And every time I inch closer to her voice, one of the old gremlins pulls me back toward safety, toward smallness.
This blog is part of my practice. It’s how I get closer to her. Not perfectly. Not all at once. But post by post, breath by breath, I am learning to turn the volume down on Karen and up on the voice that knows my worth. But here’s the real work: not killing off the gremlins, but noticing them. Honoring them. And choosing—again and again—to respond from the most expansive, embodied version of myself.
That’s the practice. That’s the coaching. That’s the way through.
