Befriend the Judge

 

There's a voice in your head that judges.

For a lot of us it points inward. It has opinions about how you look, what you said in that meeting, how you handled the thing with your sister, whether you're where you should be by now.

For some people it barely points inward at all. It points at other people. The woman taking too long in the checkout line. Your brother-in-law. The way somebody drives.

And for nearly all of us, it points at circumstance. This traffic is ridiculous. This weather is unbearable. This should not be happening to me.

Different targets. Same voice.

Why fighting it doesn't work

Most of the advice about this voice says the same thing. Silence it. Fight it. Replace it with affirmations. Argue it down.

I've watched that fail for twenty years, in other people and in myself, and I think I finally understand why.

Arguing with that voice is like telling your partner not to feel angry.

How has that ever gone for anyone?

The moment you tell a feeling it shouldn't exist, it digs in. It gets louder. It finds new evidence. Same with this voice. The energy you spend fighting it is the fuel it runs on.

Every voice is there for a reason

Here's what I've come to believe after years of this work, and it's the thing that changed everything for me.

Every voice in your head is there for a reason. Every single one.

They're not enemies. They're protection strategies that got carried away.

I've spent a long time working with the various inner saboteurs, and the pattern is consistent. Underneath each one is a genuine gift being overused, or applied in the wrong place, or running long after the situation that required it has passed.

The one that avoids conflict is a peacemaker who took the desire for peace too far.

The one that nitpicks everything is a real eye for detail showing up in the wrong room.

The one that pushes you relentlessly wants you to have a good life and forgot to build in rest.

The one that people-pleases understands connection deeply and lost track of where you end.

None of them are lying to you. They're loud, they're outdated, and they're using tactics that made sense when you were nine.

For years I applied this to every saboteur I could name, and somehow never applied it to the judge.

Which is strange, because if it's true of all the others, of course it's true of the loudest one.

The tuna ice cream

A friend said something to me recently that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

She said she befriends her judge. She listens for the small piece of truth buried in whatever it said, takes that, and gently invites the judge to say it in a kinder way.

Here's how that works.

Imagine the judge says:

Tuna flavored ice cream? That's disgusting. Who in their right mind would ever eat that?

Loud. Harsh. Full of contempt.

And underneath, the actual message is:

I don't like tuna ice cream and I'd rather not eat it.

That's it. That's the whole thing it was trying to say.

The truth was small and reasonable and completely fine. It just arrived wearing a costume and shouting.

Your judge does this all day.

You're so far behind. Everyone else has their life together. Underneath: there's something I want and I haven't started it yet.

She's impossible. She never listens to anyone. Underneath: I don't feel heard by her, and I want to be.

This traffic is ridiculous, this whole city is broken. Underneath: I'm going to be late and I hate feeling out of control.

You always do this. What is wrong with you. Underneath: I don't like how that went, and I'd like to handle it differently next time.

The information is often good. The delivery is terrible.

Why translation works when arguing doesn't

When you fight the voice, you're telling a part of yourself that it's wrong to speak. That part has been on duty for decades and it doesn't take that well.

When you translate it, something different happens. You're saying: I hear you, I know you're trying to help, and I'm going to take the part that's useful.

That's how you'd want someone to treat you when you said something badly.

It's also, not incidentally, how you'd handle a difficult conversation with a person you love. You don't attack their delivery. You listen for what they actually need underneath it.

Your judge deserves the same courtesy, and for the same reason. It works.

The practice

Next time the voice speaks up, whoever it's aimed at, try three things.

Don't fight it. You'll lose, and you'll be tired.

Don't obey it. The delivery is not the message.

Get curious, and if you can, get a little amused. Say: okay, I hear you. What are you actually trying to tell me?

Then take the useful part and let the rest go.

You can even thank it. It's been working overtime for years with the only tools it had.

The lightness matters more than it sounds like it should. The judge feeds on intensity. The moment you can laugh at the delivery while taking the content seriously, its grip loosens.

What's underneath

Here's the part I'd want you to hold onto.

The harshest thing that voice has ever said to you, or about anyone else, almost certainly has something small and true and reasonable buried in the middle of it.

You don't have to silence it.

You just have to translate it.

Go find what it was actually trying to say.