Is Your Inner Critic Still Torturing You?

If you can name her, you can tame her.

Have you named your inner critic?

We all have one. She might be a version of yourself, your mother, a school teacher who criticized you, an old nun who shamed you…or even a man who insists you behave a certain way.

Identifying and naming our inner critic is the first step to conquering, banishing, or putting her in her place. I’ll use ‘her’ here for simplification, but your inner critic might be male or even an it.

Mine looks like an old schoolmarm. She’s tall and thin, bony and harsh. Hair pulled back in a Victorian bun, clothed in a black turn-of-the-century high-necked dress.

She’s uptight, bitter, angry, and void of joy. The exact opposite of what I want to be.

When she’s in control, she hovers over me, looming larger than life, pointing her bony finger in accusation and shame.

I sit, a young girl, curled into a ball on the stool of shame, being called out on the carpet for every indiscretion.

You’re so prideful, who do you think you are, you messed up again, you said the wrong thing, can’t you be more friendly and thoughtful?

She cackles when others add to the mound of criticism and shame; she helps me internalize every word and take them personally.

I don’t have a name for the inner critic, but she’s vivid in my mind. She’s been with me forever. I guess if I had to name her, she’d be called Shame.

I wasn’t always consciously aware of her, and that pleased her. She could do her work in secret, controlling my mind and heart, maintaining her powerful stance over me while I grew up on the outside but shriveled and hoveled under the weight of her accusing finger on the inside.

Seeing my inner critic and how she had controlled me for so long was a revelation. Understanding that her accusations did not come from God, but from Fear, was my first step toward freedom.

Sitting up and straightening my spine on my stool of shame, I looked her in the eye, and she leaned back; her finger dropped to her side, and I realized: I could control her!

As I stood to my feet, she stepped back, mute for the first time in 50 years. She began to shrink, growing smaller as I grew taller.

My confidence and boldness shrunk her, reducing her to a tiny, cranky woman, head dropping toward her chest.

“Sit. Stop talking,” I told her. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m not deserving of constant shaming.”

You have no right to accuse or criticize me.

The inner critic never goes away, but she’s now in her place. She grew out of control because I hadn’t stepped into my destiny or embraced myself in love.

She filled a void that I left open. She had no boundaries, so she took liberties.

Sometimes she lifts her head to make a peep. One stern look back at her keeps her in line.

Left unchecked for so long, she’s had so much control that I can’t let her contribute. She’s addicted to criticism, and like an unruly weed, she’ll take a mile for every inch.

She sits there as a reminder that I should prefer excellence and can do better when I’m whining about limitations.

Maybe one day she’ll be able to help, but she’s held in check for now.

Inner critic, do I even need you? Or can I bid you farewell, set you free from yourself, and watch you fly away like a thousand butterflies scattered in the wind?

Thanks for reading. I’m no longer allowing Shame and the heavy weight of criticism to define me. I’m letting go of perfectionism too, and I’m redeeming the time the inner critic stole from me!~Mary