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1 day ago
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The question I am struggling with intrusive and increasingly critical self-talk around my appearance. So much so that some days I struggle to look in the mirror. I’ve recently had a baby and assumed that my long history of feeling ugly, lesser and fundamentally inadequate would be surpassed by being a mother and having an external concern other than myself but, if anything, it’s worse.
It has become so bad I have convinced myself that my partner will find someone else despite him being lovely, reassuring and committed. I know this cognitively, but emotionally I feel deeply flawed as a woman and ugly in the world. I judge myself constantly when I’m around other women.
I had an eating disorder for 15 years in which I could hide and shrink myself and I feel I’ve fully recovered from this. But now it is a deeper feeling of housing an altogether more monstrous self, constantly fearing others will see me as I do: repulsive to look at.
Writing this makes me realise how self-absorbed I sound, but I’ve spent years carrying this shame around, shame in my body, in my lack of feminine sex appeal, in my inherent inadequacy. I don’t want to drive my partner away, I don’t want to pass this on to my daughter and I don’t want to waste my life hiding. I’ve spent years in therapy where I asked the therapist to not look at me (we faced opposite walls), so I could talk openly, without having to feel visibly exposed as well as emotionally. How can I overcome this venom I seem to have for my appearance and myself in this world?
Philippa’s answer First, I want to acknowledge how hard this must be for you. You are carrying such a heavy burden of self-criticism and it makes sense that you feel constricted and sad. But let me assure you, there is nothing inherently wrong with you. You are not broken and you are not a “monstrous self”. What you have is a particularly vicious inner critic and that is what we need to work with. This inner critic isn’t you, it’s just a voice, one that has been given far too much authority over your experience. So, here’s what I suggest: give it a silly name. Really. Make it ridiculous. Call it something like “Madam Misery” or “Naggy Noreen”. Sketch it out if you like, what does it look like? A tiny, shrivelled gremlin? A pompous, over-dramatic theatre villain? However you picture it, externalise it.
Start to observe it, rather than embodying it. When it speaks up, imagine it sitting on a chair opposite you. Say to it, “Ah, there you are again. I hear you, but I’m not taking you seriously today.” You don’t have to battle it or silence it, just distance yourself from it, don’t engage. If it interrupts your thoughts, acknowledge it with a casual, “Not now” and turn your attention elsewhere. This is something to practise daily. What you need to do is have a ready list of other things on which you can concentrate. For example, what sounds can you hear in the room? Outside the room? Notice what your feet feel like on the ground, notice how you are breathing. What I found helpful when dealing with an intrusive thought is whipping out a sketch pad and really concentrating on what an object looked like and trying to draw it as accurately as possible, not to produce a good drawing, but to get lost in the looking.
This inner critic convinces you that you are uniquely inadequate, but you are experiencing a typical human struggle. When we judge ourselves harshly, we isolate ourselves, believing we are alone in our suffering. Every woman, every person, has moments or periods of insecurity, self-doubt and shame. Instead of seeing yourself as separate, try to remind yourself that your struggles connect you to the wider human experience. When you feel that inner critic rising, take a breath and say to yourself, “This is hard, but I am not alone in this.” Bringing in warmth rather than punishment is a radical act of self-care and one that will slowly start to loosen the grip of shame. Deep-seated shame, which is a tricky, sticky thing thrives in secrecy and isolation, so talking about it, like you are now, is a powerful antidote. Talk to people you trust. You’ve already taken an important step by writing this email. Work on becoming aware of what feeds your shame, notice what shrinks it. Look at Dr Kristin Neff’s website, self-compassion.org.
Every time you treat yourself with a little more kindness, you’re showing your daughter what self-compassion looks like. She doesn’t need a “perfect” mother, she needs one who is learning to befriend herself. Be patient with yourself. This isn’t about flipping a switch and suddenly feeling radiant and self-assured. It’s about chipping away at old beliefs, noticing the critic without becoming it, and learning, slowly and gently, to see yourself with softer eyes.
