When our inner critic is in charge, we are preoccupied with the negative – it makes us feel miserable

Here I sit in the weak spring sunshine, the sun speckling the sea on the bay and a cup of coffee steaming at my elbow. The fat heads of daffodil and crocus are pushing up into the green stalks and there is a brighter light, a fresher feel to the day, now that St Brigid’s Day has come and gone, and spring is officially begun. So, I’m content and happy, right? The setting is wonderful, the coffee smells fantastic and this is where I most like to be in the world, in the garden beside the sea.

But I’m not happy. I’m on edge. I’m not present or grounded as I’d like to be – as all the wellness apps and yoga instructors and meditation coaches tell me I should be.

My body feels tense, as if I’m about to run a race or fight off a predator, and I feel my muscles tense and tight, bunched and ready for action. The issue is my unwelcome resident, my inner critic. It’s on my shoulder at the minute – you can’t see it, but I can certainly hear it as it chatters on about everything I need to do, all the places I have to go, all the reasons I am not content, all the disasters that will befall me if I continue to sit here, in the sunshine, relaxing. It doesn’t feel safe. It believes that danger is all around and I need to get up and move, move, move.

I imagine it’s blue, this creature, and very skinny. When I’m feeling tolerant and informed I give it a narrow, worried face—the face of someone who wants only the best for me, to keep me safe. On frazzled days, when everything’s bothering me and there are demands on my time and attention from all directions, its face is a painful red, fat like an angry cherub, and its teeth are sharp, unpleasant points too close to my ear, and its long fingernails dig into my shoulder.

Every one of us has a creature on our shoulder, an inner critic that is never pleased with us, never satisfied with our best efforts and it is known and recognised across all cultures in the world, and called by many names.

Shadow-self, Wetiko, Kelipot, Iblis and Egregore, this voice in our head can be overwhelming and can generate chronic anxiety if we don’t keep it in check. It can be louder for some people than for others, and it is a harsh taskmaster if we allow it to take control. It doesn’t seem to understand that we are human beings, not human doings.

It constantly fears that we will be swept away by chaos if we don’t continually shore up our lives against disasters and keep moving forwards. It is petrified of stasis and of peaceful moments in a morning garden.

When our inner critic is in charge, we are preoccupied with the negative. Our brains sense this negativity and generate hot, uncomfortable chemicals that course through our body and make us feel miserable. We say, ‘I told you so! Remember that other time when I failed so terribly? I am really pretty rubbish, aren’t I?’ We then feel shame, that most crippling of emotions, which causes us to withdraw from life, and saps the motivation and energy to try new things, explore new opportunities.

Of course, the inner critic then really goes to town, and a vicious cycle of negative self-talk and preoccupation with the past ensues, while we are trying to be zen-like, and drink our coffee in peace.

Because the brain cannot tell the difference between imagination and reality, we come to believe these things the inner critic tells us.

We back up our negative self- image as if creating a new file each time we revisit past failures, past difficulties. The brain believes they have happened again and again, a regular repeating pattern of negative experiences, when in fact they are just memories – and out of date memories, at that.

Our inner critic can be a real pain, in short, and the ruination of a lovely morning in the garden.

But I have got the measure of mine, now, and I know just what to do when it gets like this, noisy and negative and nasty. When it screeches at me to move, get busy, jump around, I simply imagine that I take its angry face in my hands, look deep into its wide, frightened eyes, and feed it a sweet biscuit, like a little child that’s hurting. Strangely, this works every time. Today, I take a short moment to watch it suck on a bourbon cream, then turn away and lift my coffee cup, still steaming, and take a leisurely, delicious sip. I stretch my legs a little in front of me, and smile, and enjoy the sunlit moment.

Night Swimmers by Roisin Maguire is published by Serpent’s Tail and available now

A tailored navy pea coat is a classic piece. Arket’s version in an Italian wool features a dropped shoulder and a flattering straight fit. €259, arket. com