Do you censor yourself when writing?
I realised I had an inner critic telling me I was “too much” when I wrote about social injustice. This inner critic stole my energy and stopped me from writing. Here’s how I dealt with it.
When I studied Political Science at the University of Copenhagen I was often called “such a feminist” when I pointed out sexist rhetoric, or when I called out my fellow students for their racist bullshit: “oh, here we go again, just because you grew up in Africa!”, or “gosh, you’re so sensitive.” (Yes, that’s Denmark’s future leaders for you).
At my old work place I was called “militant” for criticising the headquarters for not being accessible to disabled people and for the leadership’s lack of transparency when it came to employee rights.
I am sure that most of you writing about themes of prejudice, be it fiction or nonfiction, have seen or heard these comments before.
What I wasn’t aware of was how these comments had stuck in my subconscious and kept going at me every time I sat down to write. All their comments had turned into a voice inside my head that constantly told me I was too much.
It made writing even harder, because not only was I dealing with a body that can’t supply me with enough energy to write like non-ill people can and a brain whose neurons are firing at too slow a speed, I also had to deal with an inner critic that was loud and ruthless.
It took me a long time to notice that this was preventing me from writing my truth. But when I finally noticed I could do something about it.
First, I started to observe the internal dialogue (or screaming matches more like it). I didn’t judge or try to shut it down, I just observed, like watching Netflix. The more I observed the more I was able to distance myself from the critical talk.
Then, I began writing it all down. It was tough to catch all the chatter and put it into words that were understandable, especially because my brain was so jumbled with random flickers of light and broken pictures zooming around (severe ME involves both low grade neuroinflammation as well as dysautonomia).
Third, I started writing about what I was hearing. This took time, because I had to wait for days where my brain would wake up before I could do this work. But as I journaled, I started to understand where all this stuff came from and I could distance myself from the critical thoughts even more.
Fourth, I talked back to it. I set the voice in its place. I told it that being a feminist is a fantastic thing, something that helps all people, especially when your feminism is intersectional. I told them (those contributing to the voice in my head) that they are in the wrong about their racism, that it has serious life-altering consequences for other people, it’s not just about correctness. What was happening was that I had internalised shame because of trauma and I needed to move out of shame in order to see my truth. I’ll write more about this later.
And lastly, I had to practice awareness. Doing this process once was not enough to get rid of the inner critic. It had taken years to lodge itself inside my mind, it would take more than simply a day to disappear. I had to practice awareness consistently. Being aware of the thoughts and not buying into those thoughts was hard work.
Today, because of all the practice, it feels like brushing my teeth. The days when I can write a bit, I check in automatically, without even thinking about it — and therefore spending energy on it. This leaves me with extra energy I can use on my actual writing, because I’m no longer spending my energy in fights with my inner critic.
Lately, however, I’ve noticed another inner critic in the background. It has a different voice, a more quiet one, and therefore it has taken me longer to hear it: “You can’t write, you’re stupid.” This doesn’t come from childhood or the usual self-deprecating thoughts. It comes from having lived with a brain that doesn’t work the way it used to. I can’t generate ideas like I used to, I can’t think and analyse like I used to, I can’t devour research like I used to, and I can’t write as freely as I used to — before I was ill.
I’m still in the process of dealing with this voice, figuring out how it affects me, how I can work with it, talk to it. I try to tell it “I’m ill, not stupid!” but years of medical gaslighting, being told there is nothing wrong with me, has caused me to doubt myself. I’m working on it and will write more about this later.
What is your inner critic saying? And what do you do to deal with it? Let me know in the comments below.
Things I’m loving
Ever heard of the gender rage gap? Yup, surprise, surprise, women are angrier than men and the gap is increasing. Read this article from The Guardian
Chicken biryani the right way. I grew up eating biryani. I can’t cook my own food, but my dad cooked this for me and my mum and it brought us all back to our trips to Zanzibar in my child- and teenagehood. This recipe from Latif’s Inspired is awesome, especially with the secret ingredient (sour plums).
Are you ‘angry at men’, but intuitively know that it’s not going to solve patriarchy? Read Liz Plank’s book For the Love of Men, about how patriarchy affects men negatively, too, and what mindful masculinity can look like.
I can relate to the voice telling you that you are stupid, I feel that way sometimes too. Writing has always been my salvation, but from time to time I loose my language, loose the ability to form sentences. It has been better lately, and then I feel life run through me, feel invigorated, but I over do it and die a little. It is a vicious cycle.