Janice: The Inner Critic Who Lives Rent-Free in My Mind
Day 6 - Morning musings
Today’s musings are a little different. Instead of writing something new, I am sharing with you an excerpt from the book I have been writing. This book manifested four months before my 35th birthday, and I wrote the passage below a little over a year ago. It’s not perfect; it is messy and jumps around, but it was my truth in that moment. Enjoy.
I have a voice that lives rent-free in my mind. I call her Janice. You may even be aware of your own Janice—a voice of running commentary, often negative thoughts, that constantly plays in the back of your mind. You may have mistaken this voice for your own—I did—but what I have come to understand is that this voice belongs to someone who is living rent-free in my mind, and I am not this voice. I am the observer who painfully listens to her, and as the observer, I also hold the power to silence and reframe her—a power I didn’t know I held until my late twenties.
It wasn’t until a close friend intervened that I began to see things differently. She was shocked by the negative self-talk I carried around, especially regarding my physical appearance. Like most shame, I kept this inner dialogue hidden from the world around me. It was a space I could retreat to throughout the day to reaffirm how I was outwardly experiencing myself: my nose is too big, my stomach isn’t flat enough, my bum is flat, my breasts are droopy. When I moved in with my friend, the confident front I had constructed began to unravel. She started noticing the small criticisms I gave myself—the hours spent in the mirror, the crushing anxiety when choosing an outfit, and the extreme discomfort I felt receiving compliments about my appearance. She gently probed, and eventually, I let her in on the commentary running through my mind. That’s when she introduced me to reframing.
Reframing is essentially acknowledging the voice inside our head, but instead of feeding the negative thought with more affirming thoughts, we reframe it into something that provides us with value. "I hate my body, I wish it were smaller" is reframed to "I love and appreciate my body through all its phases."
What I learned from my own journey is something I now apply in my work with clients. I first get them to identify the voice in their head by giving it a name. We then explore seeing that voice as separate from ourselves—someone we’re allowing to live rent-free in our minds, with their voice becoming the fabric of our identity. Next, I have my clients spend an entire day writing down the thoughts of this voice. Every story, every narrative, every thought is written on paper for us to see. What becomes apparent quite quickly is that this voice often contains all of our fears, doubts, criticisms, and shame. It hijacks positive experiences by bringing in negative conclusions. It holds an avalanche of self-criticism about looks, weight, worth, ability, and value. I remember reading about this exercise somewhere that asked, "Would you continue to spend time with a friend who spoke to you in this manner?"
When I first did this exercise, my pages were overflowing with negative thoughts about myself and my worth in the world. It wasn’t until I allowed this voice to be seen outside of my head and on paper that I realised I had been running a constant commentary of negative self-talk. I had no idea how much space I was giving this voice and how much control it had over my experience. What we focus on, we become—and so much of my reality was a reflection of this voice. But I held the ability to change that.
Knowing I wanted to change, I asked my friend for advice. She guided me towards Louise Hay, the queen of affirmations, and I began my journey with mirror work (uncomfortable at first), meditations, affirmations, and reframing. It took time, but I sat in this discomfort, knowing I didn’t want to continue this pattern. I had witnessed so many women around me falling prey to this voice. But this isn’t just my story—it’s a narrative I’ve seen play out for so many women around me. We’re bombarded by societal pressures that feed this inner critic, whether from industries that sell us unattainable ideals or from the unrealistic standards we impose on ourselves. My entire life, I hadn’t heard my mother say anything positive about her physical appearance. I’ve seen it eat away at my girlfriends, colleagues, and school peers, and be fed upon by industries selling us worth in the form of products. These pressures attack not just the physical but also our relationships, careers, and ultimately, our sense of value. "I will be worthy when I am skinnier, prettier, fitter, healthier, wealthier, in a relationship, or promoted." This is why I stayed with the discomfort of these exercises—to develop the tools that would hopefully give me some respite from this constant stream of internal harassment.
Over time, it became less cringeworthy to look at myself in the mirror and feel love instead of shame. I got better at catching the voice and combating it with a reframe. The voice became quieter, and some form of internal peace began to emerge. I also became aware of the triggers that could turn this whisper into a roar—social media being one of the main culprits. On days when I’d indulge in hours of scrolling, the voice would be the loudest. Comparing myself to snippets of people's lives, carefully curated to invoke envy or the feeling of lack, made me feel like I was somehow missing out.
Despite the progress I've made, there are still days when that voice feels as loud as ever, living rent-free and unchecked. Some days, reframing is hard, and the desire to sit in toxicity is strong. Right now, Janice would have me believe that I am worthless, penniless, unsafe, unlovable, unsexy, unworthy, and beyond hope. Instead of just dipping one toe into this voice, I’ve immersed my entire being into comparison, and all I can see are faults. Faults in who I am and how I am choosing to live my life. I question why Ben loves me, assume that he is pretending, and convince myself that he will leave soon. I can’t help but feel annoyed that at almost 35, this is where I am. No house, no children, no financial stability, unsure of my passions and which direction to take next. I’m more comfortable making other people’s dreams come true while constantly silencing my own. In this space, I feel stuck and defeated. My body feels like it’s about to explode with frustration, hijacked by a voice that’s conditioned to betray. These are the days I have to fight the hardest. The days I have to summon everything in my being to resist the urge to let that voice consume my entirety and dictate my reality. I have two choices: I can either stay immersed in the darkness and wallow in self-pity, or I can use the tools I’ve developed to remind myself of what is, instead of what the voice is making me believe. On these days, I have to remind myself to take deep breaths, put my feet on the ground, close my eyes, and return to the silence within. I remind myself again and again, I am not this voice. I am not this voice. I am not this voice.
After hours of wallowing in self-pity and feeling utterly worthless, I remembered something important—I have tools. I decided to access them. I put my phone down, pulled myself out of bed, wiped away the tears and snot that had consumed my face, and planted my feet on the ground. I closed my eyes and began to consciously breathe while internally repeating, I am not this voice. I am not this voice. I am not this voice. Eventually, the voice began to silence, and I found the power to reframe the thoughts that were consuming me. I am not stuck; I am in transition. I am not unworthy; I have allowed unworthy behaviour. I am not penniless; I have savings. Ben isn’t leaving; his actions show he is dedicated to our relationship, and he loves me.
Safety has been a common theme of despair for me this past year, and one I’ve never met head-on before. I’ve felt so unsafe in friendships, my environment, my work, and my relationship, all because I’ve outsourced my sense of safety to others. Instead of cultivating internal safety, I’ve placed it in people and circumstances. I am safe when my visa allows me to live in the UK. I am safe when Ben gives me his full attention. I am safe when my start-up is successful. I am safe when my friends and I aren’t in conflict. So much of my sense of safety has relied on the external. Ironically, in true universe fashion, all my ideas about safety, except for Ben, have been challenged. My visa for the UK expired, my start-up liquidated, and two of my core friendships ended. With these challenges, I was left feeling so unsafe, yet none of these external factors should dictate the level of safety I feel within.
What I’ve realised is that real safety cannot be found in external circumstances or in the validation of others. True safety is found in cultivating an internal sense of security—a relationship between me and myself. This is where I’m beginning again: within.
My priority now is tending to that internal environment. I’ve come to understand that the voice I share space with will never fully disappear, but I hold the power to choose how much control it has over me. Even on the darkest days, when everything around me seems to affirm what this voice tells me, I now know how to turn down the volume, change the station, and remind myself that safety is something I create from within. True safety isn’t found in external circumstances or the validation of others—it’s found in my ability to stand firm in my worth, no matter what life throws at me.
I am safe, and I am enough.
