The Bun Lady

About the Internal Critic

When someone we love or desire betrays us, we are submerged in an unwelcome torrent of change. It hurts to realize that someone has lied to us, broken an agreement or deserted us.
John Amodeo, Ph.D.

Being self-critical is tricky. Sometimes I don’t even know it’s happening to me. When I’m judging myself, depressed or pissed off, my stomach hurts. If I go deep enough under the turmoil, I find an inner violence. There’s a witch inside that’s fearful, enraged, self-critical and destructive; it endangers my life, deadens my creativity and makes me want to shrivel up like a round black prune.

What’s in this ball that pulls in my throat? A tyrant! And it’s inside and outside.

What would life be without self-criticism? Maybe I’d enjoy my garden without focusing on the weeds, or find happiness in my partner even when he’s forgetful. I’d slow down, feel grief, and much more joy. If my negative voice didn’t make me worry so much, I might actually get creative or take the day off and sit over the Sunday paper, knowing the “to do” list can wait. I’d have less lethargy, less guilt and more fun.

That critical bitch is buried as deeply in this culture as it is in my mind. Women, especially, are often dealing with a form of inner torture. Their anguish takes a thousand forms, but like a crown of self-doubt, afflicts their bodies with exhaustion and despair. Worst of all, it causes separation and shame: "I can't enjoy a donut; I shouldn't be too colorful; I’m too needy, too fat, too flat.” On and on it drones.

Men too, drive themselves with work, eating attacks, or affairs to prove they’re enough. Self-loathing in men makes them mean, abusive little terrorists. If we identified the inner tyrant as our real problem, we wouldn’t feel so enraged, hate each other and ourselves, or go to war. If we didn’t beat ourselves up, emptiness and loss would be easier to bear.

The other day, I wanted to go to the local art festival. But a voice inside said, “You’re having a bad hair day, you look tired, you’re pale, you don’t fit in. Anyway, who will know you’re there? You’ll look silly, all by yourself.” The critic makes me not care, not want to bother, see no hope. So, instead of going, I took a nap! But, the old witch wouldn’t let me sleep.

Now I understand the saying, “There’s no rest for the wicked.” I so easily condemn myself, with this bun lady inside, hair pinned back tight, threatening me: “No one likes you. You won’t be able to retire. It’s not okay if you don’t exercise for hours. That cellulite has to go. You have more to get done at your desk. Sit! Lay down! Heel!” The pushy energy is tricking me instead of treating me!

I insist on having my voice! Even though every time I speak I hear an echo saying, “You shouldn't have said that. Be quiet!” Why can’t I give myself the freedom to jump up and down, or carry a purse with huge sunflowers?

This dungeon enslaves humanity like a ball and chain and that’s the reason getting out the hairball is so important. Like a cat, we can release negativity that makes us sick, sluggish or keeps us sitting in a corner. Watch out for fatigue or apathy: the bun lady really likes to get you when you’re tired or down. It’s insidious. You won’t know when she hits you; you’ll just find yourself flat on the couch, covered with hairballs, a bag of potato chips your only friend.

So guess what happened? I wrestled the tyrant to the ground, donned my cowboy boots with my long dress with the gold daisies on it and headed for the fair. Then, I had a ball, no hairball at all.

Hairballs For You:

1. What would you like to tell your inner critic?