The Inner Critic and the High Dive

I’ve been doing some inner critic work with my Mindful Medicine group lately. Recently, we were asked to listen for the voice of our inner critic. I have done quite a bit of inner critic work over the last few years, so much so that I seem to have really made friends with him. I have been able to send kindness and compassion to the critic as well as to the criticized part and it’s become a lot quieter and more peaceful inside my head. So I didn’t think I would be able to find much of an inner critical voice to listen to. I monitored for about a week looking for content around being a physician, imposter syndrome, unworthiness. There was no voice calling me stupid or a failure or a bad person or even a fraud. Nothing that seemed important. Nothing painful. Just some little thing about skiing which didn’t even seem to have words, just an icky body sensation. 

During the following meeting, however, we were asked to say the words of our own inner critic out loud to each other as if speaking to that other person, so I had to try to give it a voice. It said “You are such a wimp and a coward that you don’t like skiing at snow bowl. All your friends are up there having a great time every winter and you are afraid of the lifts and the fast skiers and getting in over your head. You suck at skiing and you know it. Why did you spend all that money on those new skis when you haven’t even been using them?” Wow, it was more intense than I had realized! But still, it seemed like no big deal. After all, I know on an intellectual level that it does not matter one iota whether I am good at down hill skiing or not, whether I like to ski at snow bowl or not. This is obvious!

The next morning I woke to a memory. It started as a body sensation but slowly crystalized in my mind. There I was, a skinny little girl at the top of the ladder of the high dive, clinging to the railing, unable to walk to the end of the diving board, unable to climb back down the ladder. All the other six year olds had willing walked the plank and jumped off into the frigid water where one of the swim instructors magically treaded water. I didn’t know how she was managing to do this nor how she would be able to catch me and tow me to the side of the pool. I was afraid we would both sink.

I remember them yelling at to me to jump as they quickly lost patience with me, but the world had become a very small tunnel closing in around me. I was frozen. Then I felt the whole diving board shake like an earth quake as the other instructor climbed up the ladder to get me. Each violent tremor of the ladder felt like the whole thing might topple over and filled me with more fear, paralysis, and shame. I was barely standing upright when she got to me, picked me up by the armpits, walked to the end of the diving board and dropped me into the pool. 

That was me up there, frozen in fear, cold, alone, then getting thrown off the high dive when I didn’t know how to swim and couldn’t fathom how that lady was staying afloat or how she was going to rescue me. That was me walking to the locker room, trembling, covered in goose bumps, arms crossed over my small body, looking down at my feet full of shame, embarrassment, and failure. God, I hated myself right then. Why couldn’t I be like those other brave kids?

Meanwhile, back in 2021, I pulled out my self compassion skills and called up that little girl. I pulled her into my arms and wrapped her up in a blanket and sat her on my lap. I told her she should never have been thrown off the high dive. It was not her fault. Adults shouldn’t do that to children, this is not the way to teach someone how to swim. It didn’t quite seem to hit the mark, so I listened. What did she really need to hear?

“No one will ever be allowed to throw you off the high dive again. You don’t have to jump off high dives, it’s optional and you don’t have to do every optional thing.”

Still not quite right… not quite true…

“I will never throw you off that high dive. I will stop throwing you off high dives or threatening you with being thrown off high dives. I will stop shaming you for not wanting to do hard, scary things. You don’t have to be a snow bowl skier! That is optional.”

We often hear the inner critic as an actual voice in our heads using actual words to berate us, but it can also be so subtle sometimes, just a faint body sensation without words. If we look closely, we may be able to discern the positive intent the critic has for us. Fifty years ago, my critic didn’t want me to be ostracized from the other kids and lose the goodwill of the swim teachers. These days, since I scrupulously avoid swimming pools, it changed its tune to skiing. The critic has some pretty harsh strategies of trying to help us stay included, loved, accepted and successful many of which increase our stress and suffering and may even decrease our ability to really be our best.

I’m glad I learned about this subtle way I have been punishing myself. It’s a very long standing habit for me to push myself hard to do the extra credit, try to be tough, do the hard thing just because it scares me. Some fears are definitely worth facing and pushing through. Others are optional.