Latest news with #innercritic
Yahoo
14-07-2025
- General
- Yahoo
13 Reasons Sitting Alone With Your Dark Thoughts Is A Bad Idea
It's the thing you never say out loud—you hate being alone with your own mind. The quiet feels suffocating, the stillness unbearable. You reach for your phone, turn on the TV, scroll endlessly—anything to avoid sitting in the raw, unfiltered chaos of your inner world. But why? Here are 13 dark, unspoken reasons you can't stand being alone with your thoughts—and what they're really trying to tell you. Silence strips away distractions and forces you to face the uncomfortable truths you've been trying to outrun. That relationship isn't working. That job is crushing your spirit. That version of yourself you're clinging to isn't real anymore. According to Psychology Today, solitude often reveals the parts of ourselves we're too busy to acknowledge. Being alone with your thoughts forces you to confront the reality you've been avoiding. You numb yourself with scrolling because the truth demands change. Change feels overwhelming, even when necessary. Avoidance becomes a form of survival, not healing. But avoidance only delays the inevitable reckoning. When it's just you and your mind, the voice inside gets louder—and it's rarely kind. It replays every mistake, amplifies your flaws, and whispers that you're falling short. This relentless narrative becomes so ingrained it feels like fact. You stay busy to drown it out because the silence lets it in. Stillness turns into a battleground between who you are and who your critic says you should be. Your inner critic thrives in the quiet where self-compassion fades. You avoid solitude because it magnifies every insecurity. Distraction feels safer, even if it's unhealthy. The silence doesn't create your self-doubt—it exposes it. And that's why you run from it. When you're alone, there's no one to reflect back who you are. No likes, no feedback, no applause to validate your existence. Without external affirmation, you feel hollow and unsure of your worth. Psych Central notes that people who rely heavily on external validation often struggle with identity when left alone. You begin to question who you are when no one's watching. This dependence on others leaves solitude feeling unbearable. Without constant connection, you fear disappearing. You chase validation to feel alive, but it's a temporary fix. True self-worth isn't mirrored—it's built within. Until you believe that, silence will always feel like abandonment. The modern world thrives on constant stimulation—notifications, playlists, headlines—and you've become hooked. Silence feels like withdrawal, and you panic when there's nothing to distract you. You convince yourself you're 'staying informed' or 'keeping busy,' but the truth is you can't bear to sit still. The quiet demands you to feel things you've buried deep. And feeling, to you, feels like drowning. You fill every space with noise to avoid meeting yourself. You tell yourself it's harmless, even necessary. But busyness doesn't heal—it numbs. The fear isn't in the stillness itself but in what it might reveal. Silence forces you to listen, and that terrifies you. When the world quiets, the ghosts come out. The mistakes you made, the people you hurt, the things you left undone—they circle like vultures in the silence. Psychology Today highlights that unresolved guilt resurfaces during solitude, making stillness feel unbearable. It's easier to outrun them with distraction, but they wait just beneath the surface. They thrive in the dark corners you refuse to illuminate. Being alone means confronting the weight of your own regrets. Distraction keeps them buried, but not gone. Avoidance is a bandage, not a cure. The silence asks for accountability, not shame. But until you face them, peace will feel impossible. You can't stand still because stillness feels like failure. If you're not doing, achieving, or producing, you feel worthless—like you're falling behind in a race you can't define. Every moment must be filled, every second accounted for, or your value feels diminished. This belief isn't just draining—it's destructive. It convinces you that rest equals weakness. Productivity became your metric for self-worth. Slowing down feels like surrendering. You fear irrelevance if you're not in motion. But worth isn't measured in output. Until you believe that, the quiet will always feel suffocating. Boredom feels like a void—and you'll do anything to avoid it. The Guardian reports that modern society's obsession with avoiding boredom has become a widespread epidemic, fueled by the constant dopamine hits of technology. Beneath that fear is something deeper: the terror that stillness will expose emptiness. You fear what boredom might reveal about your purpose, your desires, your loneliness. So you keep moving, talking, scrolling, anything but stopping. Stillness feels dangerous because it demands reflection. In boredom's silence, uncomfortable truths whisper louder. You fear that without constant stimulation, you'll unravel. Busyness becomes a shield, not a solution. Until you face the void, peace will remain elusive. Grief has a way of waiting quietly in the corners of your mind. Whether it's a person, a dream, or a former self, loss lingers until you have no choice but to face it. The silence invites those tears you've fought to suppress. In solitude, grief surfaces, raw and unforgiving. And once it starts, you fear you won't be able to stop it. This is why you stay busy, stay loud. Stillness threatens to unearth what you've buried deep. You fear the weight will crush you if you acknowledge it. But grief demands space to heal, not avoidance. Running only prolongs the ache. There's anger in you you've been swallowing for years. Rage at the unfairness, at the betrayals, at the silent disappointments you've tucked away. Admitting it feels dangerous, like lighting a match in a room full of gas. So you keep busy, keep moving, keep pretending you're fine. Stillness lets the fire rise, and you fear its heat. Avoidance feels safer than confrontation. You believe acknowledging it will make you explode. But unspoken anger festers in silence. Running only fuels the burn beneath the surface. Facing it frees you, even if it's uncomfortable. Being alone with your thoughts can feel like being trapped with a stranger you don't trust. You fear what memories might resurface, what emotions might ambush you. So you avoid the quiet, convincing yourself that constant motion is safer. But true emotional safety isn't found in distraction—it's built through facing discomfort and learning resilience. Trusting yourself means sitting with the discomfort without fleeing. The silence won't destroy you, though it feels like it might. Strength is born from staying, not running. Emotional security grows through patience and compassion. Discomfort is temporary; avoidance makes it permanent. Peace lives beyond the fear you're avoiding. Reflection reveals how much is beyond your control—people, circumstances, the future. Acknowledging this powerlessness makes you feel vulnerable, exposed, small. So you keep moving, keep striving, pretending you're steering the ship. Stillness strips away the illusion of control, and that terrifies you. You fear what happens when you finally admit you're not in charge. This truth is hard but liberating. Acceptance softens resistance, invites peace. Fighting it only creates more chaos. Control was never promised, only how you respond. Surrender isn't weakness—it's wisdom. Solitude mirrors back the loneliness you pretend doesn't exist. You tell yourself you're fine, that independence is strength. But the silence whispers the truth you won't say aloud. It reminds you of the connections you crave, the intimacy you miss, the touch you long for. The ache grows louder when there's nothing left to distract you. You avoid it because facing it means admitting vulnerability. But loneliness is part of being human, not a flaw. Ignoring it doesn't make it disappear. Connection starts by acknowledging the need. You can't outrun emptiness forever. Deep down, you've tied your worth to struggle for so long that peace feels like cheating. Rest feels unearned. Stillness feels like laziness. So you sabotage your own calm with noise, busyness, and chaos. You keep moving because you don't believe you deserve to stop. But peace isn't something you earn through exhaustion—it's something you choose through healing. Your worth isn't measured in pain. Stillness isn't a punishment; it's a sanctuary. You don't have to prove your value to deserve rest. You've been worthy of peace all along.
The Guardian
16-06-2025
- Health
- The Guardian
The one change that worked: I stood up to my inner critic and I've never looked back
I wish I could say that if my teenage self had a window to the future, she would be proud of the person I've become. But, in truth, I think she would dislike me just as much as she disliked herself. Back then, I could have spoken for hours about all of the reasons I hated the person I was. And that wasn't something I believed would change. I used to be all-consumed by my inner critic: the critical voice in my head was much louder than any rational thoughts or words of affirmation others offered me. I had an eating disorder. Each day was a monotonous cycle of exercising as much as possible and eating as little as I could get away with. I was miserable, and it was all because of the cage I'd built within my own mind. This is not something unique to people with eating disorders. I've realised, after sharing my story online, that so many people have this unkind voice in their heads, critiquing their every move. And that when you start to talk back, your life improves in ways you wouldn't expect. Before I knew I was controlled by my inner critic, I took everything it said as fact. My self-esteem was so low. I'd stand in front of the mirror and the barrage of insults would begin: ugly, fat, useless, unlovable, spotty, disgusting. If someone had said these words to me every day, I'm sure I would have recognised it as bullying. But coming from my own mind, they felt justified and accurate. But one day, standing in front of my bedroom mirror, I realised this was just a voice. This voice that took such pleasure in reminding me how utterly worthless I was, wasn't actually my own. It was a separate entity to me. Suddenly, everything changed. Every time I noticed my inner critic calling me lazy and unproductive, I started to stick up for myself. I would tell myself: 'Actually, I don't need to be doing anything now, I deserve to rest'. If it called me ugly, I would remind myself that I didn't need to be so hard on myself. For the last five years, I tried hard to say nice things about myself in my head until neutral self-talk felt normal. It hurts to know how unkind to myself I was. I feel incredibly sad for that version of me. While I occasionally still have to remind myself not to be self-critical, my inner critic has slipped away. Therapy and journalling has helped me to find joy in self-acceptance. I can make a mistake and instead of berating myself, I can reassure myself. I no longer shrink myself to please my inner critic, I have learned to stand up for myself. I know now that just because you think something that doesn't make it true. How to Talk to Yourself by Ro Mitchell is published by Bluebird. To support the Guardian order your copy at Delivery charges may apply. In the US, help is available at or by calling ANAD's eating disorders hotline at 800-375-7767. In the UK, Beat can be contacted on 0808-801-0677. In Australia, the Butterfly Foundation is at 1800 33 4673. Other international helplines can be found at Eating Disorder Hope
Forbes
15-06-2025
- General
- Forbes
Your Inner Critic: 5 Steps To Take When It Gets Loud And Debilitating
Everyone has an inner critic, and when it pops up, it feels like it's us, but it isn't. There are ... More some tried-and-true steps you can take when that harsh voice paralyzes and debilitates you. Do you hear voices in your head? Of course, you do. It's one of hundreds of things that separates humans from robots. If you're like most people, you have a relentless voice that lives in your head and rarely rests. Your inner critic puts you under the microscope, bludgeons you with criticism and tells you how worthless, selfish or inept you are. That kick-butt voice pops up like burnt toast with such lightning speed you probably don't even notice—eviscerating you with name-calling, discouragement and putdowns. Chances are the voice says you can't, you should, ought to, have to or must. (Psychologists call it "musturbation'). The critic knows where to find you, no matter where you go. And it does when you're in a team meeting, working on a project or before a performance evaluation. It stalks you to your desk and whispers in your ear. It could be scolding you right now. Listen closely. Do you hear it: 'No, that's not right! You don't know what you're doing! You're an imposter. You might as well give up! Who do you think you are?" Burnt toast anyone? Some experts call the harsh voice your 'lowercase self' and YOU the 'uppercase Self" with a capital 'S'—the one who hears the lowercase self. When the critic pops up, the first step is to remember that the harsh voice isn't you, and you don't have to live up to its demands. Then, take a breath, step back and let the uppercase YOU practice these five strategies so you can prevent the critic from sidetracking you and stay in your central command center: 1. Take the perspective of a detached observer. Imagine you're an observer of your inner critic and watch it from a distance like you would a blemish on your hand, listening to it with a curious, dispassionate ear as a part of you. Imagine someone scolding you over your cell phone, and you hold the phone away from your ear. In the same way, you can hold the critic's message at arm's length and listen to it from afar as a separate part from you, not all of you. A dispassionate ear gives you distance from the critic's voice and keeps you from identifying with it or attacking yourself. 2. Get curious instead of judgmental. Don't let your inner critic run roughshod over you. But by all means, avoid battling it. It's futile to fight, debate, argue, silence or steamroll over the harsh voice. It always has a comeback and always wins, plus you can't get rid of it. Getting curious, instead of judgmental, can create clarity and calm. When you let the critical voice come and go without fighting or personalizing it, it keeps you from believing the voice's made-up story. If you oppose or try to reason with it, you give it credence and, instead of streaming on through, it takes up residence. 3. Give your inner critic a name. Neuropsychotherapist, Britt Frank, author of Align Your Mind, told me that naming your inner voice with something like 'my Inner Perfectionist' or 'my Taskmaster' helps you take charge of it, instead of the voice taking charge of you. When I interviewed Arianna Huffington, CEO of Thrive Global, she told me she calls her critic, 'The Obnoxious Roommate' and Erin Brochovich told me in an interview that she calls her inner critic, 'Negative Nancy.' The value in giving your critic a name is that it concretizes something you cannot see, making it more tangible and allowing you to communicate with it as a separate part of you. 4. Talk to your inner critic as if it's a person. Frank suggests that when you hear a voice calling you an imposter or criticizing you, say to that voice, 'I hear you. I've got this. I'll take it from here' or say, 'Thank you, not shut up.' Even the harshest voice is trying to help, she explains. It's counterintuitive, but Frank points out that internal gratitude for the critic lowers the threat level. Dr. Ethan Kross, psychologist at the University of Michigan, breaks down the science of self-talk even further. His research shows that calling yourself by your name during silent conversations gives you psychological distance from the critic's egocentric 'I' perspective, disables stress before and after a challenging situation and allows a more objective story to emerge. 5. Practice self-compassion. Studies show when you come down hard on yourself after a misstep, rejection or a harsh review, it's like attacking the fire department when your house is on fire. It reduces your motivation and dilutes your chances of success. It's just as easy to affirm yourself with positive messages as it is to tear yourself down with negative ones. We all become proficient at what we practice on a regular basis. If you're stuck with a project or overloaded with work stress, try replacing the critical voice (from the lower-case self) with self-compassion (from the uppercase Self) each step of the way. Experts say self-compassion is a powerful resilient tool that stands up to harm. So put down your gavel and amp up your kinder, compassionate side. Positive affirmations function as 'cognitive expanders,' providing you a wider perspective to diffuse the inner critic's tunnel vision and transcend its negativity. Let your uppercase Self talk you off the ledge when your critical lower-case-self encourages you to jump. The writer Patrick Califia once said, "When it comes to your inner critic, my advice is to not take advice from someone who doesn't like you. That's like returning to the perpetrator for healing after you've been abused.' Painter Vincent Van Gogh echoed that sentiment, with 'If you hear a voice within you say, 'You cannot paint,' then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.' I'm no Van Gogh, but one thing I do know is when your inner critic calls you an imposter, you can harness it into a career asset. I say, when you hear the voice say you can't do something, then by all means stick your neck out and do it anyway. That voice will be silenced, and you will be surprised at how, in trying to keep you safe, it has held you back as you accomplish what you didn't think you could achieve.
