Is Your Internal Monologue A JERK?

I just discovered that 50-70% of individuals don't have an internal monologue, and my internal monologue is screaming. What do these people do with all that free space in their minds all day? Do they word vomit every thought since they can't contain it within their heads? I can't even fathom what it must be like not to hear a sassy little brain parrot yapping away up there.

My internal monologue, let's call her Lisa, is a fast-talking, cut-to-the-point, always has the last word, kind of woman. Even when I myself am left speechless, she, a wordsmith of epic proportions, comes up with the kind of response that could shut down any opponent in court. It isn't always the wisest response, given common courtesy, respect, and the basic knowledge that you catch more flies with honey, so I often filter the microaggressions and put things in more pleasant terms. Does that mean Lisa is a jerk? Or am I the jerk?

For every not-so-nice thought Lisa blurts out, ten kind ones don't make it out of my lips. I'm human. I think all kinds of things at any given moment and sometimes it takes me time to work through my feelings in response to someone else's actions. I guess the best way to put it is Lisa is the filterless loudmouth who speaks before she thinks. Some of us have one, and some of us apparently don't. Mine has quite the sense of humor, too. She laughs at me; she laughs at other people, and she doesn't always care that laughter can be inappropriate in certain situations. She fights me pretty hard on that one.

I have to wonder if you don't have an internal monologue, then what exactly happens in your mind when your resting B face is activated? What are you thinking, and how are there not curse words flying around pushing buttons? Is it just more tidy up there? I'm picturing a closet organized with labels and matching white storage baskets, everything in its place within your mind. Words come in, you search for the coordinating drawer and pull out the appropriate response, as if Mary Poppins was asked for an umbrella from her magic handbag.

For those of us with Lisa, it's more like a dusty explosion of conflicting words clouding the room, and we have to sort through them all to piece together the best parts of her speech, tied together by our logic and a read on the room.

I wouldn't say my internal monologue is a jerk, but she can be spicy at times and doesn't exactly sugarcoat things. What can I say? I'm Latina. Sass is in my DNA.