My Imaginary Friends Grew Up. Now They Give Me Advice.

I’m Going to Tell You Something a Bit… Weird (But It Works)

This week’s newsletter is different.

It’s personal. And honestly, it’s the kind of thing most people wouldn’t share because it sounds a bit..… unhinged!!

But it’s also one of the most practical tools I’ve ever used for overthinking, values-checking, and those moments where you feel overwhelmed and you need to come back to yourself.

So here it is: I have an Invisible Council.

A group of “mentors” I consult in my head when I’m stuck.

And yes — I know how that sounds.....

Before you decide I’ve finally lost the plot, let me explain.

Imaginary friends aren’t “just cute” — they’re a tool

I’ve always believed in the power of imagination.

We talk about kids having imaginary friends like it’s just adorable and harmless — and it is. But I also think it’s a tool. A brilliant one.

I remember having imaginary friends when I was little. And now I see it with my child, and I’m even more convinced: it’s not “delusion.” It’s rehearsal. It’s emotional regulation. It’s creativity. It’s a way of making sense of the world when you don’t have the words yet.

Kids use imaginary friends to practise courage, practise conflict, practise comfort, practise belonging. They create a safe space where they can try on different versions of themselves.

And when you think about it like that… an Invisible Council is basically the adult version.

Not because you’re pretending someone is literally there — but because you’re giving your mind a structured way to calm down, zoom out, and access a wiser perspective than the one you have when you’re spiralling.

It starts with breath (because when you’re spiralling, logic doesn’t work)

When I’m overthinking, I’m not actually looking for more information.

I’m looking for regulation.

So the first thing I do is simple: I breathe. I slow down. I go for a walk. I get out of the noise.

Because you can’t make a clean decision from a panicked nervous system. You just can’t.

And once I’m calmer — once I’m back in my body — that’s when I bring in the tool that’s helped me for years.

The book my dad made me read (and the one chapter that stayed with me)

Many, many moons ago, when I was roughly 12, my dad convinced me to read Napoleon Hill (Think and Grow Rich).

Wonderful book that I have reread dozens of times..!

There’s a chapter in it about a technique called the “Invisible Counselors.”

The idea is basically this: you create an imaginary advisory board — made up of people you admire — and you mentally consult them when you need clarity and perspective.

When I first read it, I remember thinking: “This is either genius… or completely insane.”

Spoiler: it’s genius. And yes, it’s also a bit insane.

But I connected with it instantly — because I realised I’d been doing a version of it...

And that’s important: it wasn’t like I read the book and thought, “Right, I’m going to start doing this now.”

I was already doing it — I just didn’t have language for it.

The book didn’t create the habit. It gave me a framework for something I’d been instinctively using for years: borrowing perspective from people I admired when I didn’t yet trust my own.

My first “counselor” was Geri Halliwell

I grew up with the Spice Girls. And for me, Geri Halliwell (Ginger Spice) wasn’t just a pop star — she was an energy.

Bold. Loud. Unapologetic. The kind of woman who walks into a room like she owns it.

And it wasn’t that I wanted to be her. It was more personal than that.

I saw myself in her — same fire, same intensity, same “I’m not here to be quiet” energy — except she was older, cooler, and already living it out loud.

So during my teenage years, “What would Geri do?” wasn’t a cute thought. It was literally how I navigated life.

When I felt insecure, when I felt judged, when I felt like I was too much or not enough — I’d borrow her boldness. Her unapologetic presence. Her permission to take up space.

That was my first real experience of mentorship… even if it was unofficial, one-sided, and happening entirely in my head.

Then later, Angelina Jolie joined the table. Different vibe. Different strength. More depth. More edge. More “I’m going to do what I believe is right, even if you don’t like it.”

And that’s when I started noticing something important:

It wasn’t about copying anyone.

It was about having different voices — different lenses — so I could stop being trapped inside my own head.

The dinner question became something else

You know that question: “If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive…”

For years I knew my answer: Michael Jackson.

And that’s where this stopped being a fun hypothetical and became a real tool.

Because when you answer that question honestly, you’re revealing something: you’re revealing the kind of mind you want near you. The kind of standard you want to live by. The kind of energy you want to borrow when yours is running low.

So I thought: why keep this as a fantasy dinner?

If I admire someone enough to want their perspective at a table, then I can bring that perspective into my decision-making now.

That’s when Michael Jackson joined the council — not as a celebrity obsession, but as a symbol of something very specific: commitment to craft, creative discipline, and the kind of relentless follow-through most people talk about but don’t live.

When I’m stuck, I consult the council

I use my council quite frequently.

Not because I can’t think for myself — but because I know what my brain does when I’m overwhelmed: it loops. It spirals. It tries to solve everything at once. It wants certainty before action.

So when I’m facing something big — a decision, a crossroads, an offer — I bring the council in.

Recently, for example, I was headhunted and offered something genuinely interesting.

That’s exactly the kind of moment where my brain can turn into a courtroom: presenting evidence, cross-examining itself, spiralling into a thousand “what ifs.”

So I did what I always do: I went for a walk, I took notes, I breathed… and I consulted the council.

I picture a table in my head.

And I ask: if these people were my mentors, if I could call them and ask for advice, what would they say?

Not because I think they’re literally in the room.

But because I know them well enough — their values, their backbone, their patterns — to predict what they’d challenge me on.

Why the mix matters (and why it’s not celebrity worship)

The whole point is that it’s not one perspective.

You don’t want a council where everyone tells you what you already want to hear.

You want contrast.

You want someone who pulls you back to integrity. Someone who reminds you to be brave. Someone who tells you to stop romanticising and look at reality. Someone who asks: “What’s the cost of this choice?”

That’s why my council isn’t just pop culture. It’s a mix.

Sometimes I need Greta Thunberg energy — moral clarity, urgency, the refusal to be “reasonable” when something is wrong.

Sometimes I need Norman Finkelstein energy — intellectual honesty, truth-telling, the willingness to be unpopular if you believe you’re right.

Sometimes I need Nelson Mandela — patience, long-game thinking, dignity under pressure, the ability to hold your values without becoming bitter.

And yes, sometimes I need Malcolm X — the voice that says: stop performing. Stop begging for approval. Stop diluting yourself to make other people comfortable. Tell the truth and stand in it.

And then there are moments where I need the lighter voices too — the ones that remind me to be bold, to be playful, to take up space, to not shrink. That’s where Geri still matters.

I’m not saying any of these people are perfect. I’m not idolising anyone.

I’m borrowing perspective from people whose backbone and values I respect — so I can stay aligned with my own.

Invisible Council

The real benefit: it stops the spiral

This is what it does for me:

It interrupts overthinking.
It regulates emotion (because it moves me out of panic and into perspective).
It forces a values check: “Is this aligned with who I want to be?”
It helps me make decisions I can respect later — not just decisions that reduce anxiety in the moment.
It reminds me I’m not powerless. I have options. I have agency.

And honestly? It also helps me feel less alone with my own thoughts.

Not because I’m outsourcing my life — but because I’m giving myself the kind of support we all need sometimes: clarity, challenge, and compassion.

This is mentorship — when you can’t access the mentor

I would love to have certain people as mentors in real life. I’d love to sit across from them and ask them what they think.

But most of us are making big decisions without a board, without a mentor, without a wise person on speed dial.

And even when we do have people around us, they’re not always the right people for the moment. Some people love you, but they project their fear. Some people mean well, but they give advice based on what would make them feel safe. Some people just don’t have the lived experience to guide you through the specific thing you’re facing.

So the council becomes a way to ask for mentorship without outsourcing your life.

It doesn’t replace real support — but it bridges the gap between “I’m alone in my head” and “I need a wiser perspective right now.”

And because each “counselor” represents a different quality, it stops you from being trapped in one voice — especially the anxious one.

If you want to try it (simple version)

If you’re curious, here’s the simplest way:

Pick 5 people you admire (dead or alive, famous or personal).
Write next to each one: what quality they represent for you. (Courage, discipline, integrity, creativity, truth-telling, compassion…)
Next time you’re stuck, breathe first. Regulate first.
Then ask: “What would this person say to me right now?” “What would they challenge me on?” “What would they remind me matters?”
Take notes. You’ll be surprised how quickly clarity shows up.

My council right now has roughly 25 people. I’m not sharing the full list — because it’s personal — but I am sharing the idea because it might genuinely help you.

Your turn

If you had your own Invisible Council… who would be at the table?

And more importantly: what would you be borrowing from them?

Love and truth,

Emma