Which Thoughts Do We Feed?

Have you ever had a thought that appeared in your mind and immediately thought, “Where did that come from?”

Perhaps it was a worry about something that hasn't happened. A memory you'd rather forget. A harsh judgement about yourself. An angry thought about someone you care about. Or simply one of those strange, completely random thoughts that seem to arrive without invitation.

We can sometimes assume that because we have thought something, it must mean something about us.

But a thought is something we experience, not necessarily something we believe.

And the same can be said about our feelings.

We don't always get to choose what we think or feel. But we can have a say in what we do next.

The Two Wolves

There is a well-known story often called The Two Wolves, which is sometimes attributed to Cherokee or other Indigenous traditions. However, its origins are uncertain, so it is more appropriate to treat it as a widely shared story rather than presenting it as an established Indigenous teaching.

The story uses the image of two wolves to represent different thoughts, feelings and tendencies within us. One is associated with things such as anger, fear and resentment, while the other represents qualities such as compassion, hope and kindness.

The question at the heart of the story is:

Which one becomes stronger?

The answer traditionally given is:

“The one you feed.”

It is a simple metaphor, but it raises an interesting question about the relationship we have with our own thoughts and feelings.

You don't choose which wolf appears

We don't get to decide which thoughts arrive.

You might wake up feeling positive and still have an anxious thought.

You might know that you have nothing to feel guilty about and still experience guilt.

You might love somebody deeply and still feel angry with them.

You might be having a good day and suddenly remember something painful from years ago.

None of this makes you a bad person.

Our minds generate thoughts. Our bodies generate emotional responses. Our past experiences, current circumstances, relationships and environment all influence what appears.

The first thought isn't always a choice.

But what happens after that thought appears can sometimes be.

Feeding isn't the same as thinking

This is where the metaphor of the wolves becomes interesting.

Perhaps feeding a thought isn't simply having it.

Perhaps it is what happens when we repeatedly give it our attention.

A thought says:

“I'm going to mess this up.”

We could notice it and move on.

Or we could begin arguing with it.

What if I do? What if everyone notices? What if they think I'm useless? What if this proves I'm not capable?

Suddenly, one thought has become a whole story.

The original thought wasn't necessarily the problem. The relationship we developed with it may have been.

This is why learning to notice our thoughts can be so valuable.

We can say:

“I'm having the thought that I'm going to fail.”

Rather than:

“I'm going to fail.”

That small difference creates space.

Feelings don't have to become instructions

The same applies to our emotions.

If we feel angry, we don't necessarily have to behave angrily.

If we feel anxious, we don't necessarily have to avoid whatever is making us anxious.

If we feel rejected, we don't necessarily have to push somebody away.

If we feel sad, we don't have to immediately make the sadness disappear.

A feeling can be real without being a command.

We can acknowledge it without allowing it to make every decision for us.

That doesn't mean suppressing emotions or forcing ourselves to be positive. Sometimes the healthiest response is to allow ourselves to feel exactly what we are feeling.

The choice comes afterwards.

What do I want to do with this feeling?

You are not your thoughts

One of the most important distinctions we can make is between having an experience and being that experience.

You can have an anxious thought without being an anxious person.

You can experience anger without being an angry person.

You can have a thought that you're not good enough without that thought becoming the truth about who you are.

You can feel overwhelmed without being incapable.

Our thoughts and feelings are part of our experience, but they are not the entirety of who we are.

There is a whole person sitting behind them. Someone who can notice, reflect, question, pause and choose.

Who is driving your bus?

One way I often think about this is to imagine yourself as the driver of a bus.

Your thoughts and feelings are passengers.

Some are helpful. Some are noisy. Some are critical. Some are frightened. Some may be telling you that you should turn around, stop or get off.

You don't get to choose every passenger who gets on your bus.

But you are still the driver.

You don't have to throw the difficult passengers off the bus before you can continue your journey. You don't have to convince them that they're wrong. And you don't have to wait until they become quiet.

You can acknowledge that they're there and keep driving in the direction that matters to you.

Sometimes the anxious passenger might be shouting from the back:

“Don't do it! Something will go wrong!”

You can hear them.

You can even understand why they're frightened.

And still keep driving.

Because the aim isn't to make every difficult thought and feeling disappear before we can live our lives.

It's learning that they can be present without being in control.

So which wolf do we feed?

Perhaps the answer isn't about defeating one part of ourselves and making another part win.

After all, difficult emotions have a purpose too.

Fear can tell us to pay attention.

Anger can tell us that something matters.

Sadness can tell us that we have lost something important.

Guilt can sometimes encourage us to repair something.

The aim isn't to starve ourselves of difficult emotions or force ourselves to feed only positive thoughts.

Instead, perhaps we can become more intentional about which thoughts we give our attention to and which actions we practise repeatedly.

If our mind tells us “I can't do this”, we don't have to argue with it until it disappears.

We might simply say:

“Maybe. Maybe not. I'm going to take the next step anyway.”

If our mind tells us “Nobody cares about me”, we can notice the thought without immediately treating it as fact.

If anxiety tells us to avoid something important, we can acknowledge the anxiety and still decide whether moving towards the thing matters to us.

The thought can come along on the bus.

It just doesn't have to take the driver's seat.

We can't always control what appears

Perhaps this is the most important part.

We aren't completely in control of our minds.

We can't choose every thought.

We can't prevent every difficult emotion.

We can't decide exactly how we will feel each day.

Trying to control all of that can become exhausting.

But we can begin to practise something different.

We can notice.

We can pause.

We can question.

We can allow.

And then we can choose.

Not perfectly. Not every time.

But often enough that, over time, our choices begin to reflect the person we want to be rather than simply whatever thought or feeling happened to arrive first.

There is a saying often associated with the Two Wolves story:

“A thought is just a thought, unless you feed it.”

Perhaps that's the part worth taking away.

Not because we should never have difficult thoughts.

Not because positive thoughts are always better.

And not because we can simply choose happiness.

But because having a thought is not the same as following it.

You can notice the thought.

You can feel the feeling.

You can make room for both.

And then you can ask yourself:

“Where do I want to drive my bus next?”

Because maybe that is where our real influence lies. Not in controlling everything that happens inside our minds, but in deciding what we do with what we find there.