Unreliable Cheerleaders, Relentless Critics, And Being Fed Up With Both

Hey everyone,

This morning I got incredibly annoyed at myself for being so goddamn shitty to myself.

I would never speak to other people the way I talk to myself and wouldn’t dream of having so many unrealistic expectations, either.

I mean, what kind of moron gets an email from an editor saying, “You are a gifted storyteller with enormous heart, soul, vision, passion,” and proceeds to convince herself why this is all a lie?

Then I realized that I was being shitty to myself for being shitty to myself, and I had to go lie down for a while. 

This compliment, from an editor who has been in New York publishing for over thirty years and helped launch the careers of dozens of bestselling authors, did not land. 

You know what did land? The comments from anonymous Reddit bros on how I’ve made up all my credentials, bought my awards, and inflate my experience so I can sell courses to writers. (P.S. I sell coaching, too.)

I’m reminded of the Benjamin Franklin quote: “Any fool can criticize, condemn and complain and most fools do.”

It’s not the trolls I’m concerned with, though. It’s the fool in my own head. 

Me.

I’m the fool. 

I’m my harshest critic and even though I like to believe I’m also my own biggest cheerleader, when that foolish critic takes center stage, the cheerleader feels silly and infantile in her hippie braids and long skirts and her assurance that the best is yet to come. (My cheerleader is a child of the nineties. She smokes weed and says, “It’s all cool, man,” before passing out. Basically: Highly unreliable for emotional support when the critic is off on a rant.) 

I don’t know how to get my cheerleader sober enough so she can be louder than the critic, but I’m trying. 

This is all I have to offer today. We each have a cheerleader and we each have a critic. Which one is louder in our brain on any given day can determine the quality of that day. Most, if not all, of us are in a process of helping the cheerleader get louder and that critic get a bit more chill. 

I don’t have an answer to how to make that happen. 

But I have this: 

You are not alone in your neurosis. You never have been. You never will be. 

And maybe there’s a tiny bit of comfort to be found in that.

Cheers,
Natasha