My Dear Inner Critic

Writer: Marianne Sprangers

The inner critic is new to no one.

In a 2002 New York Times opinion column, writer Joseph Epstein quoted some survey that stated 81% of people want to write a book. Consequent articles by others added that only about 3% of people actually go on to do it. Whatever the research is behind this, it feels about right.

In my own experience with writing a book, I boasted about wanting to do so for over thirty years! I promised myself “someday.” I even weaponized the idea. I threatened to write the end-all tell-all gossip rap-sheet on all the relationships that had adversely impacted my life. It was going to be ugly.

But before I knew it, thirty years had passed and the list of books I was going to write had grown, changed, softened, multiplied like bunnies in the springtime. And I had yet to put pen to paper.

My ink was being saved for the elusive someday … when the stars align, my time is free, money abundant, and somebody else is walking the dog for me. That someday. It’s how I perceived retirement. There would be staff.

The problem with that is it isn’t a matter of time or money. It definitely doesn’t have to do with the dog.

Someday is a stall tactic. The truth is that behind the glacial delay lies deep insecurities; feelings of inadequacy and a fear of being judged—of not being good enough, specifically.

Thus, the inner critic is born.

This entity starts out like a little minnow in the pool of your good ideas. It’s a little thought swimming around that shouldn’t be there, but you leave it because it’s small. The minnow grows, and before you know it, your pool has a whale in it. There is no more water. There is no room for free-flowing anything—motivation, inspiration, and determination are all dried up.

The question is how to remove the whale and re-install everything else. The answer is not in hiring a crane, rather in deflating the whale.

As a therapist and a writer, I have found that taking on this issue as if it is outside of yourself, a practice known as psychological distancing, and confronting it accordingly (like it’s a bad employee, a thieving bandit, a lying partner, a damaging tenant, and firing, arresting, breaking up with or evicting it) can be just the thing to not only clear up some mind space but to give you agency over your creative and brilliant mind once again.

Someday is today. Time to write that (next) book. But first, a letter to my inner critic.

Dear Inner Critic,

            As one of my longest running employees, you’ve also been one of the most expensive, costing me time, experience, and opportunity.

            You were brought on as a motivational influence to Tony Robbins the heck out of my creative endeavors. But you gathered your sidekicks, Procrastination and Distraction, instead, and Tony-Robbed-me-of-stepping-into-my-most-vibrant-capacity. The three of you focused on the menial. Who knew that my closet of thrift store finds could be categorized by season, color, and in some strange alphabetic order, all in the name of not writing or making art. Every time I sat myself down for my creativity time, you found weeds in my sidewalk, dust bunnies under the sofa and smudges on the windows. Enough already. This is not what you were hired to do.

            The impact of your toxicity has left a trail of blank pages and unused ink pens, surrounded by ideas that have been wadded up and strewn across the room in frustration. You made a mess out of my workspace.

            Also, your name calling days are done. I’m not the fraud, the imposter, the mediocre mind behind dull scripts. You are. I am not inadequate, not ‘not enough’, and definitely not putting up with this subjugation any longer. I boxed up your megaphone of criticism, your air-horn of judgement, and your whoopie cushion of shame. You will find your box, tied with the ribbon of comparative value, curbside. You are fired.

            You’re fired for disrupting the workflow, slowing productivity, and spreading water-cooler gossip about my perceived failures, my supposed ridiculously amateur writing skills, and other insubordinate lies. A cleaning crew is coming to Magic Eraser the writing you said was on the wall but that you neglected to say you put there yourself.

            Security will show you out. Your badge has been disabled. You are not welcome back to the office.

With utmost seriousness, The BOSS and published Author,

Marianne Sprangers

Marianne Sprangers is the author of Cheesecake Loves My Thighs, which explores dating through trial-and-error, understanding through baking metaphors, and finds comfort in in the form of cheesecake. Marianne was born in Wisconsin’s udder territory, where beer- cheese soup is a real thing. She says she has earned a couple of unrelated degrees and has been consistent in holding a day job while spending after-work hours in pursuit of her dreams of not being cold, making art, and writing.

Website: Marianne Sprangers