Understanding and working with your ‘Inner Critic’

Image credit: Geralt

You know that loop — the one that shows up in the quiet, in the line at the shop, or right before you pick up the phone — and says things that make your chest tighten and your thoughts go dark? That’s the Inner Critic (IC): a learned, relentless little drill sergeant that sounds like it’s trying to “help” you but mostly just wears you out.

Below I’ll unpack what the IC is, where it comes from, why it feels so convincing, and — most importantly — how to change your relationship with it so it stops running the house.

Where the Inner Critic comes from (and why it isn’t “you”)

The IC isn’t magic. It’s learned.

As kids we’re wired to trust authority figures we rely on for safety. When a parent, teacher, or caregiver regularly criticises — even unconsciously — we internalise their voice as “valid.” Because we need them to be good and right for our safety, anything they say can be accepted wholesale. Over time that outside voice gets copied and plays back inside our heads.

A cruel twist: the IC often masquerades as the Self. It speaks in the first person, and so we assume “that’s me.” But really it’s a discrete sub-personality — a strategy that was installed to protect us (by pre-empting shame, avoiding surprise criticism), not a faithful portrait of who we are.

How the Inner Critic hijacks the body (and why it feels real)

Words are powerful. The IC doesn’t rely on actual danger — it uses imagination and memory to create “real enough” threats. The brain responds the same way it would to an external threat: the sympathetic nervous system (SNS) gears up, adrenaline rises, attention narrows, the heart speeds, cognition fogs. Anxiety, in this light, becomes a threat>safety response stuck in a loop.

Because the SNS impairs higher-order thinking, we become more error-prone — which gives the IC fresh ammunition: “See? You always mess up.” That vicious feedback loop both fuels the critic and makes it feel incredibly convincing. Add to that the fact that feeling riled can feel energising (a hit of power when you once felt powerless), and the IC becomes seductive and hard to let go.

Why it keeps showing up

If the IC seems illogical — why keep doing something painful after the Original Critic is gone? — remember its motive: control. Better to be the one holding the stick than be surprised by someone else. It pre-emptively attacks to prevent the shock of external shame. It’s survival strategy misapplied to the social world.

It’s also reinforced by selective evidence: the IC generalises, distorts, and deletes anything that contradicts its negative thesis. As the old line goes, what the thinker thinks, the prover proves.

Common defenses the IC uses — and how to answer them

The critic is persuasive. It often says things like:

• “That’s just who I am — it’s me.” → Reply: “This is a part of me speaking. I am more than one voice.”

• “I’m helping — I push you to be better.” → Reply: “You’re trying to protect, but the method hurts and isn’t the only way.”

• “If I stopped, I’d be deluded.” → Reply: “Gentler feedback plus realistic evidence still helps me grow.”

• “It’s not that bad — I know it’s not true, mostly.” → Reply: “Even if you ‘know’ it’s not true, the nervous system treats it as real. Let’s work with that.”

Use short, steady rebuttals rather than long arguments. The critic thrives in drama; simplicity weakens it.

Practical ways to change the relationship (small, doable practices)

The good news: the IC was learned — it can be unlearned and relearned. Here are some moves you can try right away.

1. Notice and name.
Catch the voice and mentally label it: “Ah — that’s the Inner Critic.” Naming creates space.

2. Ground the body.
Take three belly breaths. Breathe into the stomach. Soften the brow. The IC often produces tension at the crown and forehead; bringing breath there calms the SNS.

3. Disidentify.
Create an internal image of the critic on a chair across from you. It’s a part, not the whole. See it, don’t merge with it.

4. Ask what it’s trying to do.
Curiosity cracks the trance. “What are you protecting me from?” Listen. Often the answer is fear, control, or old memories.

5. Give it a role change.
Agree the message may have a valid intention (keep me safe), but set limits: “You can speak, but you won’t be in charge.”

6. The Worry Window (a practical container).
Tell the critic: “I hear you — but we have a 20-minute worry window at 6pm.” Put its complaints in that box. This trains self-control and gradually reduces the critic’s omnipresence.

7. Change the tone.
Turn the critic down—soften its voice, reduce the volume, make it smaller or even a bit ridiculous. Removing dramatic feeling language weakens its trance.

8. Hold contrary evidence.
Intentionally keep one piece of kindness or success in your awareness when the critic argues otherwise. Let the critic have the room, but don’t let it delete the evidence.

Quick script (use silently or aloud):

“I hear you. Thank you for trying to keep me safe. I’ll give you time, but not right now. You don’t need to be cruel to be useful.”

A final note: compassion over combat

The IC is often tired and stuck; it defends an old role. It isn’t purely malicious — it learned to do what it thought best. That doesn’t excuse the harm, but it does open the door to a kinder approach: curiosity, boundaries, and practice.

Change won’t be instant, but because this is a learned pattern, steady practice rewires the system. Name the voice. Soften the tone. Give it a chair and a schedule. Let your nervous system know you’re safe enough to choose another way.

If the critic stirs up old pain that feels overwhelming, reach out to a supportive friend or a therapist. You don’t have to do this alone.

You didn’t choose the voice that lives in your head — but you can change how you answer when it speaks. Start with one tiny experiment today: notice the voice, take a breath, and say, “That’s the Inner Critic. I see you.” Keep showing up. The rest is practice.