Last month, during a writing incubator program, my fellow writers and I were asked to name, draw a picture of, and describe our inner critics. Clearly, this exercise was meant to identify the part of ourselves that judged our creative work, but the only thing I could think about was the inner voice that criticizes my mothering.
My drawing of Bethilzda from my journal
I named her Bethilzda. I described her as an old witch, draped in black, hissing in my ear, “You’re fucking it up. Your daughter’s going to hate you. ”
I have been thinking a lot about Bethilzda these days. This inner mothering critic of mine seems to have two core beliefs:
1. A good mother, (the kind of mother I could be if I only tried harder), is someone who is infinitely patient, kind, present, and fun, with perfectly healthy boundaries, perfectly attuned empathy, and who never loses her temper, yells, walks away in anger, or reacts out of her old conditioned patterns.
2. If, and only if, I am a good mother, as defined above, will my daughter feel mentally well and have a loving and communicative relationship with me.
Every time I fail to live up to these standards, which is, ya know, many times a day, Bethilzda takes it upon herself to let me know.
She’s a real treat, that Bethilzda.
And it’s only recently, propelled by my year of Truth, that I’ve been able to note when she’s talking. For years, I’ve been caught under her spell, uncritically believing what she says—lost in what psychologist and Buddhist teacher Tara Brach calls “the trance” of my own stories.
Unfortunately, I’m learning that I am actually pretty committed to Bethilzda’s outrageous stories, even though they make me feel like shit. The problem is that they also seductively dangle before me a version of who I could be, who I want to believe I am: If I just tried harder, I could be that “good mother” who is perfectly attuned to her child. Perfection is within my reach!
In his terrific book Soul Without Shame Byron Brown says, “One of the main reasons you do not recognize or pursue your ability to know the truth (and thereby be in touch with reality) is that knowing the truth in your experience often contradicts your need to maintain certain beliefs about yourself.”
Flawlessness and failure are two edges of the same sword. In order to stop feeling inadequate, I have to also reject the image I have of myself as potentially perfect. I need to see the truth: Sometimes I am empathetic, patient, and calm and hold clear boundaries with compassion and firmness—and sometimes I am short-tempered, myopic, inconsistent, needy, and lost in my own childhood wounds. I’m just an imperfect human being who loves her kid a lot and is trying her best.
But as long as I’m listening to Bethilzda hissing in my ear, it’s nearly impossible for me to really see what’s happening.
And so, I continue to try to notice her, to question her stories, to breathe. And occasionally, when I’m feeling really grounded, I roll my eyes and tell her to just shut the fuck up.
Who is your mothering inner critic? How would you name, describe, and draw that voice inside you? Share your answer in Mother Den.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the creator of The Meaning of Motherhood course, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.
