Why I’m afraid to let my inner critic go

As toxic as it is, I don’t know who I’ll be without it

My inner critic is a shithead.

Whatever I do, the inner critic says it’s wrong, or on a better day, not good enough. This inner critic tells me I’m stupid, fat, ugly, worthless, always wrong, crap at everything, unloveable, won’t succeed at anything. If anything ever goes well, the inner critic just smirks and watches and waits for me to screw it up, as it tells me I inevitably will. And usually, I do, because that’s what defective, broken people do, isn’t it — they screw up. Their screwing up is what makes them defective and broken and mentally ill.

All my problems, according to the critic, are because I have screwed everything up all my life, since childhood.

Changing the record of your self-hatred is not easy, even when you want to, because a deep-rooted inner critic can be as sneaky and manipulative as the worst kind of abusive partner.

I want to get rid of this critic, I really do. I know it’s bad for me. I know it stops me from functioning normally. I know I must, must, must, shrink this critic and reduce its power over me in order to move forward with my life, heal myself, become whole, learn self-compassion.

Self-compassion, says the critic, is dangerous. All that does is give you excuses for screwing up. You’ll screw up more, because you’ll feel entitled to screw up, because you’re allowed to forgive yourself for it instead of mentally bashing yourself over the head with everything you’ve ever done wrong.

Only now am I realising that the critic exists and that it is poisonous. I am so beaten down by years and years of it that I can no longer see where my responsibility for something begins and ends, because as far as I’m concerned, if something goes wrong, there’s a 99.999% chance it’s my fault, it’s because of me. If I receive criticism from others, the critic will amplify it by several hundred decibels and add its own into the mix.

It’s exhausting to listen to it, but still more exhausting to challenge it. When I challenge the critic, the voice grows louder, still more abusive, harder to drown out, so it’s sometimes easier to back down, for a quieter life.

Like the abuse victim who tries to appease their abuser, I often fall back into this, agreeing with what it says, resigning myself to it. Yes, I’m a failure. Yes, I’m nothing. OK. If I just say yes to everything, will you shut the fuck up for a minute?

Like the victim who returns, compliant, I return to quiet compliance with the critic’s incessant berating.

If I had the option to have an operation to cut the critic out, perhaps that would make it easier. But you can’t do that when the critic doesn’t really exist except for a toxic voice inside your head. And deep down I’m scared — I’m so used to that critic, it’s part of me now. It’s part of who I am. Even if I could have it cut out, I’m scared I’d only be half a person, so much of me has been eaten alive by this thing.

I’m also scared that deep down I am a terrible person and the only thing keeping me from inflicting the full force of my awfulness on the world is the critic.

I want it gone, but I’m scared there won’t be anything left.