For the past few days, I've had this insane knot in my stomach.
It came with this strange, gripping urge to contract my abs and double over, as if to dry heave without gagging. I knew it wasn’t a digestive or muscular issue. This was some deeper shit.
So I went to see a spiritual massage worker — a gentle old man who inexplicably smelled like fresh peaches. I explained what I had been feeling, and he gave me a knowing nod before directing me to the massage table.
The man pressed on my chest and shoulders. “Let it out,” he said. “Grunt if you need to. Give voice to the feeling. Listen to what it’s trying to tell you.”
As I groaned and coiled up on the table like a possessed woman in labor, the gripping sensation emerged as a voice within: “What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you have all the answers yet? What are you even worth?”
This was, of course, my inner critic. In my most fearful moments, I tell it to shut up — to leave me the fuck alone, so I can just live.
But in this moment, I held space for it. I let it express everything it needed to say. Over and over again, it pummeled me with violent doubt as I doubled over between gasping breaths — until it lightened up to a gradual halt.
The harshness dissipated. All of a sudden, I felt spacious. warm, even. Underneath the harshness of its words, I heard its true, loving message:
“I just want you to be happy. I just want you to live a good life.”
Tears welled as I received these words. Of course my inner critic only wants me to be happy. It just needs to be lovingly held, so it can soften and lovingly hold me back.
This part of me has been working tirelessly to keep me moving forward. Its true goal isn’t to beat me down. It’s to help me thrive. I graciously thanked it for all it’s done for me, and asked it to sit back and take the rest it so rightfully deserves. It agreed to rest and help me grow through love rather than shame — so long as I give it a helping hand.
I don’t want to be at war with myself anymore. I want to be a sanctuary for every piece of me.
This isn’t the end, and it won’t stop being hard. But I’ll die before giving up on myself. I’ll take as many hits from my inner critic as I need to in order to embrace all of me.
And if that’s the fight ahead of me, you best believe I’m not fucking going down.
YOOOOOOOO. good work, man. thank you for sharing this!!!