The self-criticism machine
by Kat
The self-criticism machine is sneaky. I can hear its gears slowly turning as words enter my brain and escape out of my mouth. I remember my first session with Dr. W (therapist lady) and the preface I expressed:
You’ll notice as we meet together each week that I interpret everything as criticism. No, seriously — everything. That neutral piece of feedback you provided, I will somehow interpret as “you are a deeply fucked up person who needs to change everything about herself.” This is how my brain works. I have no idea how to control its functioning.
Let me introduce you to the self-criticism machine: Insert neutral statement into its cogs and watch my automatic thoughts about myself (“I am wrong.” “I don’t fit.” “I’m going to get stuck.”) spin these words into a deeply critical treatise on how flawed I am. This will subsequently be reinforced by actually critical things people have said to me and I have internalized — the casually spoken remarks that have chipped away at my sense of self. Perhaps you meant to sound constructive. Maybe I even needed to hear what you had to say, but your words will stay in my brain as a deeply critical statement about my being:
“You are wrong.” “You don’t fit.” “You’re not trying hard enough.” “I can’t believe you missed that.” — rinse and repeat
Unsurprisingly enough, I’ve learned to slow down the self-criticism machine using a combination of cognitive-behavioral strategies and a series of affirmations:
“You are enough.” “That thing you’re doing is so hard. I know that, but look at you. You keep trying and working, even though it’s difficult.” “There is nothing wrong with you.” “You are known and loved — because of, not in spite of — yourself.” “There are people who care deeply about you. They’ve stated that both directly and indirectly.” “You can do this.”
In the midst of all of this, I wonder, “How did I become so critical of myself?” Perhaps in having to pass as relatively neurotypical (or at least quirky), I internalized a sense of shame about who I am — an autistic young woman who is visibly different. I’m so afraid of not finding a place where I fit — maybe because it’s hard to keep pretending to be normal (whatever that means). Passing is exhausting. I think I’m feeling the effects of this process as I enter my mid-twenties.
I’m learning to refer to myself as autistic in everyday situations — to mention my autistic traits in my day-to-day conversations — and I’m gradually shedding this internalized sense of shame. As I tap my fingers together in the local cafe, I’m giving myself permission to stim when I feel overloaded. When I send my PhD mentor or chaplain friend blog posts I’ve written about being an autistic woman in an NT world, I’m sharing the person I’ve always been. When I openly admit how hard it is to engage in small talk, I let myself acknowledge that I’m struggling.
It’s okay to struggle, and in these conversations, the kind people I know — the ones with whom I can share my vulnerabilities — remind me they’re proud of me. They tell me I’m growing and strengthening. I’m becoming the autistic woman I’ve always been. She is freeing herself from the gears of the self-criticism machine as she inserts love into its cogs.
Perfect description! Love this. Thank you for writing it down and showing it to the world. Your words matter so much…to me, and to others. Cross my patchwork heart.
Thank you. It still pains me to read about myself at my most critical, but then the responses that follow soften that blow. Some days my life is a running dialogue, but I keep reminding myself that this is managing — doing as well as I can meanwhile.
THIS. YOU PUT THE THING INTO WORDS. I turn everything into self-criticism, and friends have pointed out that “ugh I’m awful” seems to have become a part of my everyday vocabulary (although nowhere near as much as the ubiquitous “sorry”). Not great.
I suppose it’s regrettable that you understand this, but I’m glad to hear I’m not alone. I’m beginning to think my self-critical nature is a kind of cognitive filtering. I have trouble making the positive things that people say stick, so I started writing them down. I reread these statements later. Eventually their words become part of my internal dialogue. It’s hard, though.
That’s a good idea – might give that a go myself!
Yeah, kind of a diary with positive happenings might help.
That’s a good idea. I carry around a notebook for poems and random jottings, but lately I’ve used it for recording instances (the positive happenings) that refute the self-criticisms. I wrote “Point, Counterpoint, Actual Point” using some of those notes:
Wow, what a beautifully written piece, it was beautiful!
Thank you. Talking about this process on paper makes it seem more real — not just happening inside my own head.
To feel the sting of self-criticism for decades. To feel the constant burden of passing. And then a diagnosis. Putting self-criticism into a framework, rationalize it. Rediscover stim, less pressure to be normal, become self. Better? Yes, indeed, better. Much better? …. hmmmm 🙂
Thank you for your beautiful text. Especially the sentence
‘I’m learning to refer to myself as autistic in everyday situations — to mention my autistic traits in my day-to-day conversations — and I’m gradually shedding this internalized sense of shame.
will stay with me = went straight to my list of favorite quotes 🙂
I’m glad these words resonated with you. Self-criticism is so hard because it can come from a place where critical comments were actually made. They linger in our minds long after someone said them. Then their words become part of our inner monologue.
Sorry, indirect language; the first four lines refer to my experiences.
Makes sense. Sounds like you’re shedding the shame. I find frameworks and explanations to be comforting, even when things become all too painful. Sense-making via labels has helped me as well.
[…] my cereal, while sitting comfortably on my couch, refusing to leave. Self-criticism becomes an enormous iron machine fueled by the thoughtless words of others and my own self doubt. Metaphors help me to fill the gap […]