Book an initial consultation
Contact me via messengers or send me an email: mailto:annadeynega@mail.ru
BLOG
Freedom from the shadow of the inner critic
We are wired in such a way that any evaluative judgment about ourselves is received with a certain emotional tremor. At least, this is our first natural reaction. Only afterward do we begin to reflect: do we actually agree with the judgment coming from outside, is it fair? But at first, a person usually expects nothing good from a critic. This human vulnerability is familiar to each of us.
At the same time, we are deeply interested in fair and well-reasoned judgments about ourselves — unless, of course, what we need in that moment is mercy. It is as if we need "external mirrors" to better understand who we are, or who we have become. That is why other people exist in our lives. Yet, frustratingly, there are so few wise judges among them.
If we look at our lives — both present and past, even our childhood — we might ask ourselves: Have I met people whose judgments about me were truly fair? Not indulgently high, not dismissively low, but the kind I could rely on in a difficult moment to understand something about myself? Do I have such people in my life today?
For many, this question brings a feeling of sadness or confusion. There are so few who can speak honestly about our shortcomings without irritation or arrogance — and without wounding us.
In this way, we encounter a profound shortage of criticism that is both fair and thoughtful on the one hand, and expressed in a form we can accept on the other.
We are built in such a way that in the gaze of a judge — if that judge is truly wise — we are searching not only for an answer to the question, "What am I like in this or that situation?" but also for a deeper one: "Who am I?"
It hardly matters what we are discussing — taste in clothing, professional achievements, or family conflicts. Everything leads back to the same need: a person must be understood by another person in order to better understand themselves. This is the true life value of criticism. It makes critics very important figures in our lives — provided they can express their view of us in a way that we are able to "digest."
We are also built in such a way that if we do not show ourselves, if we do not stand up for what is ours in the face of friends or opponents, if we do not learn to ask for what we rightfully deserve, we will never fully form as individuals. Intuitively, everyone feels this. That is why we want to learn it — and keep learning it throughout life. In fact, the learning begins around the age of three, when we first discover the pleasure of saying, "No!"
The way we defend what is ours, in essence, is what makes us who we are.
Some people step back slightly, agreeing with something unimportant in order to return later to what truly matters — they bend, but they do not break.
Others are direct and straightforward, yet not strong so much as fragile.
Some respond aggressively, throwing themselves at the obstacle head-on.
And some, when threatened, climb onto a pedestal and present their arguments from above — sometimes not even bothering with arguments at all, simply looking down with contempt or bewilderment at the one who dared to criticize them.
In childhood, we usually choose our teachers in this art from those closest to us — parents, older siblings, adults around us. The unfair critics we loved often become internalized and remain with us as inner voices. Over time, we can no longer distinguish whether it is truly our own voice speaking inside us, or the voice of a significant adult from our past.
Every psychotherapist who works with people knows this phenomenon well — the inner prosecutors that continue to live within us. Yet adulthood offers the possibility of relearning, especially when a person realizes that the style they adopted does not truly belong to them.
Then they begin to look for new models — in books, films, television, or through psychotherapy.
Mark Twain once said: "Truth should be offered the way you offer a coat, not thrown in someone’s face like a wet towel."
For criticism to be helpful, it must be presented in a way a person can work with. Only then can it open the possibility of living a better life.
If we look at our lives — both present and past, even our childhood — we might ask ourselves: Have I met people whose judgments about me were truly fair? Not indulgently high, not dismissively low, but the kind I could rely on in a difficult moment to understand something about myself? Do I have such people in my life today?
For many, this question brings a feeling of sadness or confusion. There are so few who can speak honestly about our shortcomings without irritation or arrogance — and without wounding us.
In this way, we encounter a profound shortage of criticism that is both fair and thoughtful on the one hand, and expressed in a form we can accept on the other.
We are built in such a way that in the gaze of a judge — if that judge is truly wise — we are searching not only for an answer to the question, "What am I like in this or that situation?" but also for a deeper one: "Who am I?"
It hardly matters what we are discussing — taste in clothing, professional achievements, or family conflicts. Everything leads back to the same need: a person must be understood by another person in order to better understand themselves. This is the true life value of criticism. It makes critics very important figures in our lives — provided they can express their view of us in a way that we are able to "digest."
We are also built in such a way that if we do not show ourselves, if we do not stand up for what is ours in the face of friends or opponents, if we do not learn to ask for what we rightfully deserve, we will never fully form as individuals. Intuitively, everyone feels this. That is why we want to learn it — and keep learning it throughout life. In fact, the learning begins around the age of three, when we first discover the pleasure of saying, "No!"
The way we defend what is ours, in essence, is what makes us who we are.
Some people step back slightly, agreeing with something unimportant in order to return later to what truly matters — they bend, but they do not break.
Others are direct and straightforward, yet not strong so much as fragile.
Some respond aggressively, throwing themselves at the obstacle head-on.
And some, when threatened, climb onto a pedestal and present their arguments from above — sometimes not even bothering with arguments at all, simply looking down with contempt or bewilderment at the one who dared to criticize them.
In childhood, we usually choose our teachers in this art from those closest to us — parents, older siblings, adults around us. The unfair critics we loved often become internalized and remain with us as inner voices. Over time, we can no longer distinguish whether it is truly our own voice speaking inside us, or the voice of a significant adult from our past.
Every psychotherapist who works with people knows this phenomenon well — the inner prosecutors that continue to live within us. Yet adulthood offers the possibility of relearning, especially when a person realizes that the style they adopted does not truly belong to them.
Then they begin to look for new models — in books, films, television, or through psychotherapy.
Mark Twain once said: "Truth should be offered the way you offer a coat, not thrown in someone’s face like a wet towel."
For criticism to be helpful, it must be presented in a way a person can work with. Only then can it open the possibility of living a better life.