Standing Up to The Inner Critic
A dear friend sounds a battle cry
A friend, badass mompreneur, and creative expressionist extraordinaire
posted a raw and candid message on social media yesterday that reduced me to a collection of salt water on the living room floor. (Hurry and go check out her stories before you miss this gem)In it she spoke straight to the camera about her inner bully. The one that threatens to cut her off at the passe of her dreams every day. Every day, she has to make a decision. Will she feed the bully, or will she feed her life force? Every DAY, she chooses life. Every day, she chooses joy. She says it’s not becuase she’s “impervious to the critic.” She hears the voice; she’s well acquainted with its show-stopping vernacular. It’s that she hears it and shows up despite it.
She speaks to our shared humanity while sounding the battle cry.
Some people will not like us. For some, we will be too much. These are not our people.
Show up anyway. Show up even if your voice shakes. Show up even if it goes against every map the world has carved into your psyche. Show up because we need you to. There’s no one else that can sing your song like you do.
I sent her a text this morning. I needed her to know how much her flawlessly articulated message yesterday meant to me. How it made me feel so much less alone. A well-placed heel of buttered bread in a social media tundra. A second set of footprints in the sand.
Opening up about my sex life, while I might make it look easy, is not. Every day, guilt appears, like a tribunal of Tommyknockers, scratching at my door. Every day, after posting and while writing, my inner bully questions my goodness, my morality, my intentions. Every day, the beady-eyed brigade whispers worry into my ear - this will be the day they come to take me away.
Every day, my censor sounds the alarm that this will make them hate me.
It’s not that - like Meghan said - I’m impervious to the noise.
It’s that I hear it and let the truth drown out the sound. Even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if it doesn’t match or line up or land soft. Even though it might make me look stupid in front of 1,000 pairs of scruple domes.
It matters to me.
It matters to me.
It matters.
Thank you to all the artists, musicians, storytellers, photographers, sculptors, creative entrepreneurs, speakers and leaders. For standing in your power even if your knees knock together under your skirts. I see you all, and I feel less alone. Your brand of truth makes me feel banded to you in spirit and song. We are change makers and the earth shakers, and we will not go gentle into that good night.
So much love for you,
Rosie
