Befriending the Inner Child
We've all come to believe in some particular way that we are weak, slow, defective, ugly, unlovable or just plain, "not enough." We mistakenly believe that if we're mean or cruel enough, somehow we will slough off our bad habits. Instead, we're practicing being cruel to ourselves, sending us into a depression that deepens the hole we're already in.
One of my clients describes this experience she had in grammar school. Being the chubbiest and slowest of the other kids performing wind sprints in Mrs. Wahlberg's P.E. class, my client would often come in last. Already tired and overwhelmed from being beaten, Mrs. Wahlberg would make her run several more wind sprints on her own while been scoffed at by the other kids. To this very day she pulls out her own Mrs. Wahlberg when the tax bill hasn't been paid; the bags from last weekend's vacation haven't been unpacked; and, oh yes, when she has totally forgotten to write a thoughtful response to that person who emailed her last week. As the "to do's" build up, so does the overwhelm.
The anxiety can be so debilitating that it swirls inside of her, almost like a lava lamp. Throughout most of her day, she anxiously wonders to herself, "What have I let slip through the cracks? Am I doing 'the right thing' at this moment? Am I on the right track?" Secretly she wonders, "Will I ever know what 'the right track' is?"
Instead of gathering her wits about her, my client invites Mrs. Wahlberg and the kids in her class to mock her: "You're chubby. You're slow. You're weak. You're lame." All the while, my client mistakenly believes that this will somehow motivate her to get unburied from the mountain of tasks, known and unknown, that await her.
This may sound like someone else's story, but it's actually all of our stories. We've all come to believe in some particular way that we are weak, slow, defective, ugly, unlovable or just plain, "not enough." We've gathered plenty of evidence that validates our insufficiency. When we find ourselves yet again in situations that confirm our flaw, we beat ourselves up.
Here's the kicker. We mistakenly believe that if we're mean or cruel enough, somehow we will slough off our bad habits. Instead, we're practicing being cruel to ourselves, which stimulates the stress hormone, cortisol, into our blood, sending us into a depression that deepens the hole we're already in.
Below the self-loathing and the accompanying longing that we'd just get this part of ourselves handled is a deep and old wound. It's the kind of wounding that can happen in Mrs. Wahlberg's P.E. class; when dad married the bitch that wished I hadn't existed or; as in my case when my brother took his life and nobody knew how to help.
These experiences leave exquisitely tender marks on the mind, body and spirit. To make contact with these imprints can be like putting our hand on a hot stove. They burn. We don't know how to keep these parts of ourselves company; in fact we've spent a lifetime wishing they would just go away.
There comes a point for many of us, however, when we stop running from them, when we stop attempting to beat ourselves into submission. Maybe someone shows up who can help us, or maybe we end up completely overwhelmed and can no longer keep up the facade. However it happens, instead of running from them, we turn around and look. We find a gentle and tolerable way to keep these parts of us company. When we do, we begin to discover that instead of needing to be excised, these parts of ourselves are actually hidden with treasures of insight, compassion and wisdom.
As my client learns to keep this underlying pain company, to welcome it, to have compassion for herself, she's starting to discover that when she's triggered, she can use it as an invitation to come back, come back to the chubby, little girl being abused in Mrs. Wahlberg's class.
"Above all else," she says, "We don't abuse children. Above all else, I don't abuse myself."
Keeping Company with Yourself
There is a powerful antidote to the Inner Critic, but you will need to learn how to cultivate it: self-compassion. The more warmth you can give yourself, the less the Inner Critic needs to take over.
Compassion means to suffer with. When a small child breaks an arm, you don't decide to feel for them. You hold their hand, you say something steadying, and it takes a little off the edge of it. You can't stop the pain. You stay near it.
Self-compassion is that, turned inward. Keeping company with yourself when you're the one suffering. Most of us were never taught to relate to ourselves at all, let alone kindly. We assume the kindness has to come from someone else.
The inner critic is suspicious of it. It is sure that if you go easy on yourself you'll go soft, cave to your worst tendencies. So it keeps the pressure on.
But self-compassion isn't self-pity, and it isn't a pint of ice cream. It isn't letting yourself off the hook or turning on other people. It's refusing to abandon yourself at the exact moment things hurt.
And it isn't earned. The kid with the broken arm didn't do anything to deserve your kindness. Neither do you. The idea that you have to be good enough first, that comfort is a reward for performing well, is the same contract the critic runs on. Compassion doesn't wait for you to measure up.
The parts of you that get shamed, told to shut up and get it together, don't leave when you attack them. Demanding they pull it together has never once worked, has it.
If being kind to yourself feels foreign, it's worth practicing on purpose. The loving-kindness meditation from the mindfulness tradition is one way in. You sit, and you turn a few plain wishes toward yourself. May you be happy. May you be safe. May you be well. For a lot of people this feels awkward at first, even irritating. That isn't a sign you're doing it wrong. It's a sign of how long you've gone without.