Befriending Your Inner Critic

So much has been written about the inner critic - that voice in your head that says you aren't good enough. Cognitive therapists use the term, "shame busting," to describe how they approach the inner critic. And many of the other psychological theories advocate some variation on this same theme - silence the inner critic, tame the gremlin, etc.

But most of my clients, like me, have inner critics that do not want to be killed off. Many therapists would call this "resistance," or some kind of self-sabotaging impulse. I disagree.

As an adult attachment therapist (I look at how early attachment in our families shapes our self-image and world-view), I learned that my inner critic developed to keep me in alignment with the values and needs of my family, peers, and teachers at a time when I was too little to survive in the world alone. Being so young, I could not know that many of the values and needs I was trying to conform to were unhealthy. They arose out of the insecurities of those around me, and they created insecurity inside of me.

I have written here about my dad and his abuse history, but my mom's insecurities were far more damaging. She is a classical narcissist, whose primary objective is to procure admiration from others. When I reflected well upon her, I was treated kindly, even celebrated. If I needed her (especially if I needed something she was not good at providing), I was ignored or rejected. I was constantly compared unfavorably to my sisters, cousins, even strangers. I spent a lot of my childhood depressed, but didn't know it. Depression was my normal. I turned to food for soothing, even though the price was more disapproval and rejection from mom, who needed thin daughters that people would admire.

As I began to understand this dynamic through my adult eyes, so did my inner critic. As soon as I stopped trying to kill her off (my inner critic, not my mother), she became my ally and took on a new job. Instead of keeping me in line with people who are not healthy for me, her job is to let me know when things don't feel right. Instead of yelling at me to conform or be "good enough," her job is to remind me that my life is for me, not others. I am no longer tiny and vulnerable. I can say "no" or walk away from anything that is depleting, diminishing, harmful - or even vaguely not-quite-right.

When I was little, I had no choice about who surrounded me. Today, I actively choose friends, clients, colleagues, and extended family who are healthy, safe, and loving. My inner critic is AWESOME at detecting narcissists, psychopaths, and other icky folk and sounding the alarm so I steer clear of them. I LOVE her in this role.

She also keeps me company now when I am alone. She knows this was the lynchpin for me - the thing that kept me stuck in one-sided relationships far too long. Now, instead of buying into the notion that my aloneness was my own fault, she reminds me that there are lots of people in the world who are compassionate and caring, who love and accept me as I am, warts and all. She also reminds me that she is with me now in the best of ways. I will always have her loving, supportive presence within. And that inner safety and sweetness is more than good enough.

Father's Day, Grief, and Healing

Not all of us have dads who were our heroes, our protectors, our cuddly-human-jungle-gyms. Some of us have dads who left. Some of us have dads who stayed but were scary, dismissive, judgmental. Some of us have dads who were unable or unwilling to stand up to scary mothers on our behalf. Not everyone is qualified to be a parent. But there are no tests to pass, no licenses to apply for.

For those of us with abusive or absent fathers, a forced, Hallmark holiday like Father's Day can be torturous. At the least, it's a reminder of what we didn't have. At the worst, it's a reminder of what we did have that wasn't so great. And if your dad is still living, you might be in the terribly uncomfortable position of having to (or feeling like you have to) get the obligatory card, do the obligatory celebration, even though you know (and he knows) it's not really true. Year after year, I call my sister from the greeting card section of the drug store and lament that there is no card that says, "So That Happened."

For many years, I soldiered on, as though having a painful relationship with my dad was just part of the package. More recently though, I've been unpacking the memories - good and bad. My dad made the best scrambled eggs and wore the best smelling aftershave. But he was (and is) also a lifelong alcoholic who could fly into terrible and unpredictable rages. My dad was a great hugger and the best back-rubber. But he was a racist and a sexist who basically looked down on everyone. He was highly intelligent and spoke many languages. But he alienated people all the time. He would take me bowling or miniature golfing, but we always had to stop at my grandparents house where he would have a loud, angry fight with them in Yiddish, while I sat on plastic-covered furniture and waited.

My dad comes by his addiction and anger honestly - tons of childhood abuse and neglect. But I didn't know this as a kid. The depth of humiliation he suffered made it impossible to reveal himself to anyone, including himself. So therapy was out of the question. Yet he managed some level of self control. Just before I was born, he and my mom decided to stop spanking (as they had my sisters). And he stuck to that (which, given his impulsivity, is rather miraculous).

Knowing that my dad's odd and scary behavior comes from trauma, helps me in the ongoing process of my own healing. I know more details of his abuse now than I used to. I can imagine how frightened he was as a kid. I get that being tough, feeling superior, and cutting people loose before they hurt him was the only way he knew to feel safe in a very unsafe world. And these days I can hold that compassion without letting him hurt me. I keep a safe distance. I call early in the day, before he has a chance to get high, when he is mostly clear-headed. I keep our talks short, and hang up before he can spin into a spiral of negative thinking.

What helps even more is healing my own trauma. This means grieving the fathering I never got to have. And then out of that grief finding within me the protective, fun, mentoring, fathering energy that I needed. I hold the younger parts of me close and let them know that my adult self is here now, to give them what dad couldn't. I will keep them safe. I will always be kind and respectful. I will speak to them gently. I will celebrate their successes and comfort them when things go wrong. I will lay in the grass with them and marvel at the shapes of clouds. I will provide, protect, and cherish.

Recently I've found that I can do this for the little boy inside my dad too. And that has proved amazingly healing. He never deserved to be abused. Under all the anger and emotional armor, he's really a very vulnerable and lonely child. It sucks to be him. I can love that kid. And I can hold the whole truth. Parts were wonderful. Parts were awful. Even though there is no Father's Day card for that.