Countering Your Inner Critic

Have you met your inner critic? Let me assure you, she’s there. She’s the little demon on your shoulder, the whisper in your ear, the voice of shame and self-judgment that gets in your face, especially on hard days.

Your house will never look that good, no matter what you do.

Why would she want to be your friend?

No way will you ever accomplish that–you don’t have what it takes.

You’re wearing that?

I spent years pretending my inner critic didn’t exist. But while I ignored her presence, I still heard her voice. You see, my inner critic knows all my secrets–the things I’ve tried to leave behind, the things I don’t want to talk about or write about or even acknowledge. The things that creep unbidden into my dreams, where I can’t control them. She’s the voice of every mean girl from my childhood, every boy who ever rejected me, every seemingly sinless Christian who would judge me by my past rather than my present.

I recently took a class on creativity, though, and one of the assignments was to spend a whole day on my inner critic–to identify her mantras, and then, to give her a name. I was skeptical at first, but then I started writing down all the things she says to me, and it was like a floodgate opened up. Her favorite weapon is what psychologists call impostor syndrome. You’re a fraud, she whispers. If anyone knew your whole story, your credibility would be zero.

Like I said, she knows all my secrets. She was there when I was five, and my dad remarried and stopped showing up for me. She was there on the playground in second grade, when a boy named Larry first called me fat, setting off a lifetime of body shaming. She was there when I went on my first diet and the other kids made fun of the contents of my lunchbox. She was there when I was the first girl in school to wear a bra, the first to get my period. She was there when I bled through the back of my skirt and mean girls wrote about it in chalk on the playground asphalt. She was there when my best friend made a new best friend and abandoned me–every time. She was there when my clothes were never quite right. She was there when I didn’t have a date for every dance in middle and high school. She was there when my first boyfriend, whom I’d married out of fear of never getting another opportunity, turned out to be gay. She was there when guys used me emotionally and physically, and I allowed it because I couldn’t see through their actions. She was there when I lost weight but regained it after my first pregnancy.

She’s there now, too, when I doubt my husband’s love and yell at my daughters and make mistakes at work and struggle to cultivate friendships and judge people unkindly.

To this day, every time I fail or feel shame or get hurt, she is there taking notes. Her core refrain is always some version of, You’re not worthy. Not worthy of love. Not worthy of friendship. Not worthy of respect.

What I had to realize, though, is that Jesus has always been there, too. And he has reminders for me as well.

Join me over at The Glorious Table to read on.

Image by mcredifine from Pixabay