The goal of this exercise is to communicate with the inner critic, and Lilah's first step is to recognize it when it appears. We can see that the critic lives in an absolute world, with no tolerance for nuance or grey areas. Should, always, and never are her favorite words, and blame is her operating system. "You always blow it," says the narrator. "It's best if you just give up." "No one will ever adore you because you're so different." "You're so flawed that you'll never be able to help anyone else, much less yourself." The inner critic, rather of creating a wide and open space for us to embrace our lives, drives us to doubt our worth and collapse in on ourselves.
A casual remark made by a friend or stranger may be absorbed so deeply into our bodies and thoughts that it becomes a part of our identity. And if the critical voices have been passed down "like family heirlooms," as they have in Josephine's case, the identification is even stronger. When a friend gains even a few pounds, she hears the contemptuous voice of her long-dead mother—a woman who valued thinness above all other human traits. Surprisingly, critical voices can sometimes comfort us by connecting us to our past and the most significant individuals in our lives.
One student mentioned me that she went into a spiral of self-judgment shortly after the birth of her second child because her house was untidy and she wasn't keeping up her appearance or ironing. Her self-abuse was so loud that it required her more than a week to recognize she was comparing herself to her mom, a person who, despite having two children, always looked put-together and kept an immaculate home—but she also had a housekeeper who came in every day. One of the critic's favorite weapons is comparison. Mindfulness, on the other hand, is far wiser and more resilient than our inner critic.