When Your Inner Critic is Too Loud, Ask Your Soul Instead.
Also: my plant wrote me a letter 🪴
Were you surprised when you received an email about a live book talk with me earlier this week? Me too! I wanted to try out the live feature, but did not plan to send an email to y’all. Ooops. We’re now back to our regular schedule—one post per week, on Fridays. I hope you enjoy this one.
You know that Goldilocks sensory environment with just the right amount of stimulation that allows your thoughts to flow freely and creatively so you have a sense of clarity?
For me, that’s in the shower.
Fragments of ideas had been floating in and around my head for days and finally it is all coming together; the path is clear, I know what to do. I try to stay in the right headspace as I step out; I hold on to the idea, visualizing me documenting it in my journal in a few moments to prevent it from floating away. I rush through my after-shower routine, not worrying about what I’m going to do with my hair. Once dressed, I grab my journal and pen and get to work.
The inner critic
As soon as I start putting pen to paper, though, the magical moment has vanished and my inner critic appears:
You’re not good enough
Nobody wants you anyway.
You will sound needy.
You’re not original enough.
You don’t even have anything to say or contribute.
You don’t have what it takes.
You’re not good enough.
I ignore it for a while, shoving it down, but those inner critics are persistent little fuckers, aren’t they?
I try to not listen to my inner critic;
I try coaxing it into backing off by saying “yes, yes I know you’re just trying to protect me; I got this.”;
I try to put it in its place: “Will you just shut the fuck up already?!”
A different voice
I considered writing about inner critics and how to keep them in check, but if you ask me, that inner critic gets way too much attention as it is. Let’s try something else instead.
What if, every once in a while, you asked that inner critic to take a seat in a comfy chair, grab a book and a cup of tea, and relax; and you asked a different voice to step forward?
Maybe the one that has been patiently waiting in the dark corners of your inner world to be invited to speak?
You could ask that loud, emotional, big voice that has lots to say but gets silenced pretty quickly?
What about the one that doesn’t really want to talk much, but wants to paint a picture instead; the one who simply wants some space to think without constantly being interrupted? What would she say in her few words?
Your soul
And how about this idea: What if you asked your soul? What would your soul want you to know? I bet she’s wise and loving and kind, and I bet you’ll cry when you read her words. And so you might be afraid to ask her, because you know she’ll tell you the truth and that will feel like love and a big hug and like relief; and that might be too much to handle, at least right now.
How do I know, you ask? Because I’ve asked mine, and I’m barely holding back my tears as I’m re-reading what she wanted me to know1. I’m telling you, this is some powerful shit!
So, if you’re willing to go there, be my guest, friend! It will be worth it.
Here’s your prompt:
Write a letter to yourself from your soul. Begin like this: Dear [your name], I want you to know…
Your plant
If, however, this sounds a bit too much and too deep, and you want to ease into it with small steps, with a bit more distance, here’s a fun and playful (and still revealing!) exercise my therapist once invited me to do:
Write a letter to yourself from your desk plant 🪴(yes, you read that correctly!) Start your sentences with the these phrases: I see, I know, and Please...
I’d love for you to give it a try. Any piece of paper will do; set a timer for 10 minutes and write whatever comes to mind.
My plant
Here’s what my plant wrote to me:
I see.. mostly the back of your head as you’re working. I also see the people you talk to over Zoom; I see how you make them feel - understood and heard. I see how much you care and how engaged you are, reflected in the expression of gratitude on their faces. I see that you don’t spend all day here, and I’m happy to know that. I see that sometimes, you cry, and sometimes you laugh, but mostly, you’re listening to others or you’re in your own thoughts. I see you think a lot. It’s not a bad thing, no, but it’s true. I see not one thing, but so many different parts of you that all add up.
I know… that you doubt yourself a lot; and I also know that you work hard, that you are trying to put all of the pieces together, that you’re taking action - with intention and kindness and being gentle. It’s paying off.
Please… talk to me and your soul more often - we see and know things that you seem to forget sometimes. And please, please, please water me a little more often; I am thirsty.
What perspective are you choosing today? Whose voice are you inviting to speak?
P.S. If this all sounds familiar, you may have heard about Letters From Love with Elizabeth Gilbert.
P.P.S. The inner critic makes frequent guest appearances in coaching conversations. I’m always surprised when clients think they are the only ones who have such a loud inner critic. I wish it wasn’t so, but it seems to be part of the human experience. If you’re feeling stuck on something because your inner critic keeps getting in the way, let’s talk!
If I find the courage, I might share some of it in the future. We’ll see.
Your letter from your plant was so lovely! It felt really tender and kind. 🧡
Being a lapsed botanist (I have a degree in it but from a loooong time ago and didn't pursue a career in that discipline), I loved the letter from your plant - thanks for the idea.
It reminded me of an exercise I did as the pandemic unfolded. An art student I know asked people to help her with a project as part of her degree. She wanted to explore how our thinking and outlook changes as we stop using digital means of communicating, as she thought they isolate us at the same time as connecting. The idea was for people to write a letter using pen and paper from a future version of themselves back to the current self from a year in the future. She suggested it could outline how things had turned out, a very topical concept given the uncertainties we faced in lockdown in March 2020.
I did that, and then put it away until the requisite year had passed. On re-reading it then, I was struck by how most of the "good" things I had hoped for had been realised. When writing the letter these were little more than faint hopes which I didn't expect to come true. But the effect on my mood, my positivity and self confidence from seeing that my hopes gad turned into predictions then reality, was quite palpable.
It didn't last forever, but I never went back to quite the same starting low point.... so its effect was enduring in a way.
I am now contemplating writing a letter to myself from my plant 1 year in the future, combining the two ideas. 🤗