How Loud Is Your Harsh Judge?

How do you show up in the world? For yourself? In relationship with others? What have you learned in your life about being with others? Do you assume you'll feel heard and understood? Do you need to talk a lot in order to feel seen? Are you afraid to say something because you imagine you'll offend or look stupid? 

One of the incredible benefits of slowing down in moments of your life is that it allows you to really hear what you're saying to yourself. We all have a harsh judge. It's part of being human. But what our harsh judge says or how it shows up is individual.

Over my lifetime, I've had a loud, harsh judge. One that regularly took me to imagining how relieving it would be to die. I hadn't learned how to comfort her or turn the channel. I know how to do that now, and when it's the loudest I know how to reach out to friends and get support until she quiets herself. When we are in our darkest moments, it's others who will get us to light the fastest, if we're able to take in their care.

What feels more recent to me is my fear of offending others. This realization actually feels surprising to me because part of my occupational calling is to have difficult conversations and deliver tough truths in a warm and loving way EVERY SINGLE DAY, multiple times a day. This skill is actually one of my superpowers—one that isn't without fault or needing relational repair at times—but it's something I don't shy away from and consider it essential to my professional relationships.

So why isn't it generalizing? Why do I fear the stranger's rejection or harshness rather than those who are closest to me, including my clients? I'm on a journey to find out. I'm uncertain of how the answer will emerge. Yet, I know that in order to dig into this fear, I'll need to take risks. But I'm unclear about how. Or what. Or which of our very broken societal systems I'm being drawn to take on. So I wait until clarity arises, and continue my spiritual listening practices so that when the answer emerges, I'll be able to see it.

I once reflected on this in a poem that I wrote:

A Self Dialogue: When I'm Tempted to Blame

"I forgive you for carrying around beliefs that weren't true," I say.
"I didn't know," she replies.
"You didn't stop long enough to hear what you were saying to yourself," I say.
"I was scared," she replies.
"You were, and that harsh voice inside of you scared you as much as what the world asked you to bear," I say.
"That harsh voice is quieter these days," she replies.
"How did it get quieter?" I ask.
"Curiosity," she replies. "I'm asking myself to really listen to the stories I'm telling myself. I ask if they are true."
"May you be the love many people can't give themselves."
"May I lay down my resentment when it isn't accepted," she replies.
"May it be so," I say.

Thank you for being on this ride with me.

What are you learning about yourself these days? Are you calendaring self-reflection time? How are you different — with those closest to you and with strangers? What are the stories you're telling yourself about yourself that need to be rewritten?