I'm learning to silence my inner critic

I sat in on a Zoom call last night. It was a free online learning, an introduction to the course Crushing Your Inner Critic. 

The facilitator is the owner of a yoga studio that is much more than a yoga studio. She has wide range of classes developed to enrich both body and mind. I’m not a regular at her studio but I do enjoy the classes I’ve taken there.

So, with no hesitation, I signed up for the class. There was some really good learning, some dynamic conversation as to why we were there. Self-compassion, love, forgiveness. For me, anything that helps with crushing, muting or even dialling down my inner critic would be a stroke in the win column. It’s something that’s been a life-long learning but it’s hard to know just how far I’ve come at shutting up the bitchy girl inside.

To be clear, I know I have the power and ability to close down the negative inner voice. It’s learning how to minimize her impact and negate her words with different tricks that I will always be open to. And it’s also realizing the damage her words have caused over my life and telling her, “No more.” 

I grew up with a critical Dad. I’ve written about it enough. But bottom line is that he was never critical of my body but, at times, deeply critical of my mind. “Stupid” and “fucking dumb” were two of his favourite phrases. To counter that, though, was a Mom who was the opposite. Encouraging and supportive. I’m not placing blame; just stating facts. It’s proven, though, that sometimes sharp words don’t just sting at the time but can be something that is carried forward consciously or unconsciously. I did.

My inner critic came with me when I left home at 18. She whispered in my ear from time to time,  and told me I didn't measure up to the other girls in college. Whether it was looks, brains or personality, there would always be something wrong with me. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t walk around enveloped in a fog of insecurity but, when other girls had guy troubles, they thought there was something wrong with the guy. I always defaulted that there was something wrong with me. And that’s pretty fucked up. 

It remained that way until I met My Favourite Husband (MFH). I was 29 and resigned to being single and, therefore, my inner critic had a rest. She rarely made an appearance with friends. I was sporadically connected to my Dad and so I pretty much just did my thing and was fine. 

When I met MFH, she left me alone for a good chunk of my marriage but did show up on occasion. Sometimes I'd lock the bathroom door when I showered in case MFH wanted to come in and visit. I was too embarrassed of my curves. Or making love with the lights off. Or making love with my squishy parts on display. God, I shake my head at the nonsense. I remember, at the start of our marriage, messing something up while helping him work on the race car in the garage and then cringing and steeling myself for the verbal barrage that I was positive was coming. The barrage that never came. Oh, he wasn’t happy but to make me feel incompetent wasn’t how he rolled. 

Did it shut my yapping inner critic up? A little. But I still hated how I looked pictures. I still didn’t always fully speak up. And I was still braced for words that never came. So much wasted time spent in preparation for a battle I didn’t have to fight. MFH thought I was beautiful, inside and out. I just didn’t fully buy into it.

Then came the day I was on my own. And truthfully, there’s been times that I haven’t had the time to berate and belittle myself and that’s taken the steam out of the evil witch. I think I’ve confused her. There are days I don’t like a damn thing about myself. But there are many, many more days that I either love myself or don’t care about the opinions of others and simply live life.

It’s interesting to look at a few different experiences that have happened over the last four years and see my growth. 

For example, I got a bit twisted in “like” with a man and ignored more red flags than is humanly possible. When seeing each other crashed abruptly, I apologized and accepted complete blame. I hashed and rehashed all of the things I had done wrong. My inner critic was fully unleashed and she was merciless and cruel. But time has gifted clarity and I now see that the man had not even begun to deal with years or past wounds. He had not even begun healing so he only knew how to hurt, intentionally or not. So I hushed that inner voice and told her to stop. I released her from blame. I released him from blame. 

That instance, along with a few other pivotal events, has shown me that I am strong, confident and capable — more than capable. Attending events alone, trying new things — all of it makes my inner chatter positive and, when I do have challenges, I can look at them more clearly and make decisions that are kind and compassionate towards myself.

My friend that disconnected our in-person meetings when our one collaboration ended? I was able to silence my inside voice from negative chatter. I was hurt but I was able to look at the situation objectively. I was clear that putting forth meeting options was in their court (multiple times), they never came back with ideas and the decision not to make that decision was a very clear decision. In the not so distant past, I would’ve let this hurt consumed me and let my inner critic find fault with me and the kind of friend I am. But I’ve worked through that and gently but firmly shut her voice down. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with them. It’s a decision that was made and I refuse to beat myself up for it. 

The chef that I found interesting a few weeks ago? My wing woman went back for a meal again and gave him my number. He hasn’t called. He probably won’t. Not that long ago, I would’ve deemed myself unworthy to date. Found fault primarily in my looks. But now I simply shrug. I don’t judge because I don’t know. Whatever is happening in his life now is not the time for me to be in it. 

I had a medical procedure done the other day. The nurse took my height and weight. I looked at the number on the scale and, the same as I’ve done all my life, I began to apologize for it. Justify what I was doing to change it. She looked at me and shushed me. “Don’t," she said. “You’re perfect."

I stopped mid-sentence. Took a deep breath in. Let that breath out. Looked again at the number and realized that it was actually lower — and not just a little — than the last time I stood on a scale.

I closed my eye and told the negative internal voice to shut it. I, in that moment, crushed my inner critic. You see, I am perfect to the only person who matters. 

I’m perfect to me.