The Art of Making Peace with Your Inner Critic
Written by Aliya Banks | Category: Persona Essay, Self-Growth, Mental Health | 8 Minute Read
Fuckin' Perfect by P!NK
You're so mean/ when you talk/about yourself/ you were wrong
Change the voices/ in your head/ make them like you instead
I'm an artist. I know about the inner critic. She's mean. She's hateful even. The queen of self-sabotage.
I have wrestled her to the ground for most of my life. It's only in flashes that I've been able to wear the crown of victory and visibility. Each time I snatched that crown back, I got a little bit stronger.
But believe me, it wasn't always that way.
At the age of nine, I began to write poems, short stories, and songs. I was alive when I wrote. I wasn't shy about sharing with my mom and dad, or their friends when they would visit. The praise of such mature content and wisdom beyond my age gave me a full sense of pride. I took every type of dance class you could think of, all the way through to my 20s. I played the viola in high school, sang in the school chorus, and even spent one summer in community acting classes.
I was born to be creative and self-expressive.
My tween years brought doubt and confusion, as they often do, and the 'baby weight' never disappeared. I moved from Queens to Long Island, NY. There was a neighbor from California, 'Coby', who I was in love with but rejected me at every turn.
I've never been a slender girl, and man, did he and all the other boys at school remind me of this. All through high school, I would hear things like "You have a pretty face but…"
I chased them, but none wanted to be caught by me.
There was a point in high school when I kept to myself. My insecurities about my weight doubled, and I didn't feel lovable. My self-worth shriveled, and so did that brazen little girl who loved to show off her work.
I still wrote but it stayed in speckled black and white notebooks I would only visit from time to time.
🖊️📓As the love of writing followed me through my adult years, I created more, worked on an actual novel. I remember going to the library and striking up a conversation with a man about writing. I remember telling him how it needed so much work and that I could never compare to others and all the things that were wrong with it, till he stopped me and said, "Why are you so hard on yourself?"
Surely, I had no answer.
That moment stuck with me. That single question lingered, and so did the doubt.
There were moments when I didn't even write because I thought I could never be as great as my writing idols. What did I have to say that hadn't already been said? Why write when no one's gonna listen?
That became my inner dialogue, for years. My inner critic had a voice and damn it she roared.
What I didn't understand at the time was how my self-worth was tied to my output. My inner critic literally kept me from creating more, from sharing, from the consistency I deserved. I didn't understand that my inner critic shut down my destiny, leaving me to feel like I'd never be the writer little me wanted to be.
One son, at least 3 heart-broken relationships and a shit-ton of weed later, I found myself in therapy.
Therapy was a god-send. My therapist-an angel.
It was in therapy that I began to learn about my 'parts'. As a whole, I blamed myself for everything. I've always had a weird relationship with 'responsibility,' and I definitely took responsibility for why my writing never took off. In this case, it was really more like blame. That one part of me blamed me for the whole of what went wrong in my life.
🧘🏾My sessions began with meditation, and being a very visual person, this practice helped me get clear. In the meditation, I would separate myself from just that one part of me that was depressed, that was angry, or hurt. I would talk to that part of myself, see it as a friend who had something very important to tell me. I would give this part of me literal space in meditation and allow it to speak. It was my job to just listen.
What I was learning was that my inner critic was not my enemy but a 'manager' of sorts doing its best with the tools I had at the time. My inner critic was acting as my protector. We are pleasure-seeking creatures who try to avoid pain at all costs. As humans, this manager seeks to avoid pain that we've either experienced or think we will experience.
I was working with the psychotherapy system called IFS, or Internal Family System, which says that the mind has subpersonalities and a core 'self' that is the natural leader. Within this family are your parts that act with the core self, all with positive intentions. It is also acting off of trauma and pain, protecting that core self, despite the methods used, like avoidance, anxiety, or focusing on unrealistic standards.
❤️🩹☮️Through this steady work, I began to reframe how I spoke to myself. It took work. It took a deep listening—more than anything, it took compassion, compassion for myself.
Little Aliya isn't so mean anymore. She was ignored for a very long time. In fact, she's pretty happy these days.
I used to think that being an artist was like accepting a toxic relationship, just live with the inner critic. It was almost a badge of honor I wore because that's how artist were supposed to create their best work, right?
My inner critic still stands up and pounds on my consciousness to be heard. I'm not impervious to self-doubt. It's just now I breathe. I take note of my true feelings. I soothe myself in healthier ways. My inner critic and I actually get along because I understand where she's coming from. I know her true intentions.
She's no longer my enemy. She's my reminder to be kind to myself.
I thank her for protecting me. Always.
