Everyone has a part of them that checks up on them. This critical part is intended to help us humans belong to a group in order to have our survival needs met. It wants us to do well and succeed. Unfortunately it seems that for the majority of people, this part has got out of hand; it develops into a harsh voice which actually causes suffering. The critic can model itself on messages we received from unkind others. It works tirelessly running in the background to pull us back.

So what can we do? I have found that the first step to free ourselves from its tyranny, is to recognise the voice and get separate from it. IT IS NOT US. If we can separate ourselves from it, we can decide how to relate to it. Perhaps you could draw an image or write a piece describing its character?

I named my inner critic Barbara and I wrote this piece. (The idea came from Tara Mohr  – https://www.amazon.co.uk/Playing-Big-practical-guide-brilliant/dp/0099591529 )

INTRODUCING BARBARA

Barbara has one of those deep handbags that things get lost in, only she never loses anything. You could say she’s well-equipped, with a stash of make-up to give the right impression. Impressions are paramount, she says. In the bag she has a little knife to poke me with if I get out of line which she can also use for peeling fruit. She has a shed load of my most personal memories in there too – I don’t know how she got access to those – but they’re heavy enough to clobber me with. Over the years, she has condensed them into one-liners and now has them on a kind of voice recorder; it plays back nasty comments people have made about me whenever she deems it necessary.

Barbara’s job title is ‘Assessment Officer’. She constantly compares my performance with that of others. They’re all better than me, obviously. She is really hot on it, but I don’t think she was ever trained. I would love a peek at her CV. I reckon she has a colourful work history. The other day a colleague saw a lasso poking out of the top of the bag, would you believe? Well it does make sense in a way.  One of her skills is roping me into things I don’t want to do …  for the sake of the company, she says. I reckon she must have worked in the wild west at some point, breaking in horses, as she cannot tolerate any form of wildness; she stamps on the slightest hint of originality. Barbara calls it insubordination.

This woman is always at her desk. I don’t know how she does it. She sits there eating her lunch which is the same every day. An egg and cress sandwich on whole meal bread and a banana. If I try to befriend her, offering her a bag of cheese and onion crisps, she says,’ don’t be ridiculous. Crisps are bad for you and little bits can drop into your computer keyboard.’ She likes her coffee strong and says it keeps her focused. I know she works late into the night and never takes a holiday. (If only she would!). Barbara believes she is a good role model. Apparently she has no family and tells us, ‘you are my family’. But none of us can really be ourselves when she is around. I feel sorry for her really. I suspect she is just a lost, undeveloped kid in a scary- looking woman’s body, trying to keep things under control.

The other day she gave me a whole list of rules to add to the ones I have already – like this:

• You can only have the heating on for fifteen minutes in the morning.
• Rest is not permitted. You have to override your tiredness. (To be honest that one has been on the list a while but she printed it in bold capitals this time).
• There is no such thing as a virus (except for computer viruses) so you must not use illness as an excuse to shirk, otherwise there will be repercussions.

… that kind of thing. Can you imagine working for someone like that? She even does surprise visits to check on you at home. It’s like being inspected by Ofsted but there is no advanced warning. She calls unannounced to make sure you are not moving away from the laptop. Then she starts on the rest of your environment, like a detective, pretending to need to use the toilet whilst checking out the state of your bathroom.

All aspects of your life have to be vetted. She says the firm has to be vigilant as standards must not drop. She’s accountable to HR and they will be onto her if she lets things slip.

But Barbara doesn’t understand my work. She never read my original job description and does not realise there is an updated version. According to Barbara my individuality has to be restrained. Being different is not permitted.

My soul is dying here. I wish I could leave but I am afraid of handing in my notice. She’d probably start playing one of those voice recordings, they’re so realistic. They make me feel I am in trouble, like the time in infant school when I was in Mrs Taylor’s class and I wet my pants.

One day when she’s not looking, maybe when she’s on the toilet, I’ll empty the contents of Barbara’s bag all over the carpet. Then maybe I will discover who she really is, and where she came from.

 

I wonder if you recognise any of these characteristics?

What name would you give your inner critic? Why don’t you try a free-write and see what emerges? Have fun!