Taming the Inner Critic A Journey of Self-Kindness

It’s kind of amazing how often I catch myself saying things I wouldn’t ever *actually* say to another person. Like, if my best friend said to me, “You’re probably going to mess this up,” or, “You’re not really that talented,” I’d be like, *what?* Seriously? But that’s exactly the kind of stuff that runs through my head sometimes. It's not some dramatic villain in my brain, more like a persistent, low-level hum of disapproval.

I think it started around freshman year, honestly. It was all about trying to be… something. Something other than just *me*. There was this intense pressure, mostly self-imposed, to be good at everything I did. Perfect grades, perfect band practice, perfect… everything. And when I inevitably failed at something (which happens to everyone, obviously), the voice would swoop in, ready to deliver the verdict. It felt like a protective mechanism at first, a way to preemptively manage disappointment. But it just became another source of it.

The National show a couple of years ago was a weird turning point. Being in that crowd, surrounded by people who *got* it, who were genuinely moved by the music… it made me realize that my internal critic wasn’t doing anyone any favors. I started thinking about the stories I was telling myself, the narratives I was constructing about my own abilities. It wasn’t that I suddenly became sunshine and rainbows; the negative thoughts are still there. They’re just… less powerful.

It’s like this: when I was writing that piece about Phoebe Bridgers, trying to capture the way her lyrics made me *feel*, there was a moment where I almost scrapped the whole thing. I kept thinking it was too amateurish, too clumsy. But then I remembered what my mom had said – not the enthusiastic, "That's so good!" kind of encouragement, but the quiet, steady "I’m proud of you for trying" kind. That small shift in perspective, focusing on the *effort* instead of the *outcome*, actually made it possible to finish.

Reframing, I guess you could call it. Not in a cheesy, motivational poster kind of way. Just… finding a different angle. Instead of, “I’m going to fail this audition,” it became, “This is a chance to learn something, even if I don’t get it.” It’s not about denying the possibility of failure, because that’s ridiculous. It’s about changing the *meaning* I attach to it.

My dad's always been pretty straightforward, which, depending on the day, can be a blessing or a curse. He doesn’t do the whole "rah-rah" thing, but he *does* point out that most things are just temporary. "This too shall pass," he'll say, sometimes with a sigh. And it’s surprisingly helpful, actually. It's a reminder that even the really brutal internal monologues aren't permanent fixtures. They’re just moments, like a chord change in a song.

It’s a slow process, this re-writing. Some days, the voice is louder than ever. I still catch myself using that same harsh language, berating myself for not being "good enough." But now I also have the tools to recognize it, to question it, to gently nudge myself towards a more compassionate narrative. It’s about treating yourself like you would treat someone you care about.

It’s not about eliminating self-criticism entirely. That's probably impossible. It’s about building a foundation of kindness and understanding, so that when those critical voices do surface, they don’t have the power to knock you off course. It’s about recognizing that everyone is just trying to figure things out, and that includes you.