In my head, she sounds like a combination of my mother and Mrs. Costanza. She’s been my constant companion for as long as I can remember, my drill sergeant, my Mommy Dearest, my Critic. Most of my life decisions–both big ones and small ones–have been made under the guidance of the Critic. But unlike a coach, or a guide, or a muse even, the Critic has ruled me with abuse, bullying and fear. And I’ve eaten up every abusive word she’s ever said to me, believing her assessment of me over what I know in my head to be true. The Critic rules my heart–home of my self-love–but her voice echoes through my head as if it were a marble-encased room. She screeches. She whispers. She pokes. She drives my ruminations. She keeps me up at night.

I listened to her when she told me to stay in an abusive relationship because if I didn’t, I’d look the fool for moving in with the guy rather quickly (“you are a fool, but no one will like you anymore if you admit it.”). She led the way in my relationship with my ex, telling me no one will really love me for who I am so I might as well settle for the guy who made me hide essential parts of myself (“You want to be normal? Better him than alone.”) Choosing CSU over Middlebury (“You’ll never fit in at that caliber of school. When have you?” and “You’re not as smart as you think you are.”) Staying in job after job after I was so done (“You don’t have the right credentials, you stupid bitch. Who would hire you? You have too many personal problems”.) Keeping me from taking risks, from doing what I love for real, for a living. Her mission: to make me doubt myself. Keep me in my place all in the name of keeping me “safe.”

As I’ve kowtowed to her, I’ve rebelled against her, too. All those food binges, sex binges, spending binges? That’s me “showing” her. As if she’s a real person, and I can somehow hurt her by flipping her the bird, by going 180-degrees away from what she says is “good” for me.

But no more.

In my PSYCH-K work, we’ve taken the Critic’s legs out from under her. For the past several weeks, I’ve found myself without that bitch’s voice in my head. No more, “You’re fat, don’t eat that!” or “You’re lazy! Get your ass to the gym you ugly fucking pig!” or “You are such a whore! How dare you like sex?” and “You are a terrible mother. Go play with your kid, now! Or the ex will surely get custody.” And especially “It doesn’t matter what you do, you are a loser any way you cut it. You can never be perfect enough to be loved, and everyone will always leave you. Just like your birthmother.”

Her voice is now like a fleeting breeze lifting my hair off my neck on an otherwise still day. She used to be a hurricane, driving me from the high of one ocean swell to the depths of a trough, leaving me bruised and battered for the journey. Now, the wind is still, leaving me drifting, directionless, in the middle of the flat sea.

She was my self-control and my motivation. Now she’s quiet. And I feel stuck.

I don’t know how to be motivated out of love and support for myself, to be guided by kindness to myself. My therapist Judi asked me to think about what a Coach would say to me, and I imagined being on an episode of Family Feud (“Top Four Things a Coach Would Say!” Richard Dawson would croon before ogling my breasts. The third strike would buzz me out as my mind remained blank, give the opposing family a chance to steal.) I can only think of  what a Coach wouldn’t do:

She wouldn’t be snide, for one thing, she wouldn’t belittle me or tell me what I can’t or shouldn’t do because what I do is up to me. No name calling, no judgment, no abuse.

I guess a Coach would cheer me on when I make good decisions, when I choose things that move me forward on my path, and would remind me of my goals when faced with choices that might detract me, distract me. Most of all, she would forgive me for errors. For not being perfect. I have the general concepts in my mind. But I can’t yet hear her exact words, or her voice.

And until I do, I think I’m stuck here feeling simultaneously and terrified and peaceful. And hopeful. Oh, so entirely hopeful that my life is about to change for the better.