On darkness and light

Dark autumn days, before still point of the solstice and the return towards the light. An instinctive urge to hunker down and turn inwards. Midwinter folktales are filled with dark mysteries: the old year must die to feed Spring's rebirth. Energy levels shift. In my practice I am drawn to softening, slowing down, to stillness and deep contemplation. Even as we light fires and candles against the external darkness, there is an invitation to turn towards our shadow; hold space for and honour our inner darkness and depths.

For the last 8 weeks this has included spending an evening each week with a group of beautifully courageous women, feeling our way through Holly Stoppit’s Inner Critic Enquiry course.

I'm no stranger to my inner critic. Yoga and meditation have been a place to start this work. To get intimate with the voice of my inner critic. 

​My critic has been my almost constant companion in practice. It shows up on the mat to tell me I’m not strong enough, not flexible enough, not dedicated enough. Too full of ego. It’s the voice that compares my body to the body on the next mat in class; my teaching to the teachers I admire. It shows up on my meditation cushion to whisper my failings in my ear, calling my attention away, over and over again from this breath, this breath, this breath. The work is to keep showing up, keep coming back. Acknowledge the critic but not let it rule.

This same critic who shows up in my work, my relationships, my work, my play. Lying in wait with its drip… drip... drip… refrain that I am simultaneously too much and never enough.

Is that a voice I want to get to know any better? Spend some quality time with? Really? Really, really?

Sitting in a circle at the beginning of the first session looking around at the faces of the other women on the course, my critic was having a field day. ‘You have no idea what you’re doing. You’re going to say something stupid. You’re going to fuck it up.’ At this stage I didn’t even know what ‘it’ was but whatever it was my critic was certain it was something I could fail at.

Holly was more than ready for that, meeting us with a deep compassion and a lightness of being that created a safe container for the work we were there to do. Through the 8 weeks she guided us with a big heart and powerful honesty. We played, created, wrote, explored, drew, laughed, cried, adventured, cried some more, laughed a whole lot more. Together we wove a net strong enough to hold us all. A place where we could face our shadows and respond to them wholeheartedly. Where we could work deeply; be vulnerable and raw; acknowledge pain and difficulty; and be nourished and healed.
 
I know, now, that my critic shouts loudest when I’m in unfamiliar territory; when I risk making a fool of myself; when I’m dabbling in ambiguity and uncertainty. ​Which is where the rich and juicy stuff happens, so I can't let it win.
 
I’ve learnt to hold my wounded critic, and the hurt it would cause me, with deep tenderness and love.
I’ve been reminded (again, more, again) how vulnerability is fundamental to connection.
And connection matters.
So me & my critic, well, we’re going to have to negotiate.
​
I’ve gained a formidable arsenal of self-care techniques.

It’s all too easy to dismiss self-care as something vague and fluffy. It’s not. We live in a culture that feeds our inner critic in a bid to disempower us. Where daily, we are encouraged to compare ourselves to others and find ourselves wanting, so that we'll conform, become passive and stop fighting for change.

In such times, self-care is a radical act. It's accepting the parts of ourselves that we struggle with and taking care of them, as well as the parts that are easy for us to love. It's doing the things we need to do to be strong - for ourselves first, and maybe then for others. It's doing things that give us the power to say yes because we want to, not because we're afraid or too exhausted to say no.

Coming to terms with our inner critic can truly be the first step to taking back our power. And from here, real change can happen.

The revolution starts here. Gently.