Prompt: If your inner critic had a name
We all have an inner critic.
That voice that shows up uninvited. The one that clears its throat right when you’re feeling confident.
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Who do you think you are?”
“Maybe don’t embarrass yourself today.”
Cute. Very supportive. Gold star parenting. For the longest time, mine didn’t even sound like me.
It sounded like… everyone else.
Old teachers. Random relatives. Society. Frenemies. Comparison.
All those people I should have muted years ago.
Somehow, they had rented permanent space inside my head.
And because my brain is dramatic (writer problems), I eventually gave this voice a name.
Manorama ki Maa.
Yes.
Full Bollywood energy.
If you grew up watching old Hindi films, you know the type: tight bun, sharp eyebrows, permanently disappointed expression.
Special skills include:
– finding faults in sunshine
– predicting doom
– emotional blackmail
– and saying “log kya kahenge” at Olympic speed
That’s her.
My personal in-house villain.
Every time I tried something new — start something bold, travel alone, dream too big — she would enter like background music.
“Tumse na ho payega.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Be realistic.”
Realistic is such a fancy word for scared, by the way.
For years, I thought she was wisdom.
Turns out?
She was just fear, wearing a saree and a permanently displeased expression.
The Problem with Listening to Your Inner Critic
Your inner critic is not original. It’s recycled.
It’s just a collection of other people’s doubts stitched together and replayed in your voice.
Half the time, it’s not even your truth.
It’s old noise. Expired opinions. Emotional spam mail.
And yet we treat it like gospel.
Wild, no?
The day I stopped arguing with my inner critic
I used to fight her.
Explain myself. Defend my dreams. Overthink everything.
Exhausting.
Then one day I realised something very simple:
Why am I debating with a villain?
Have you ever seen the hero sit down and logically reason with the antagonist?
No.
They show them the door.
So now, when Manorama ki Maa pops in with her dramatic monologues,
I don’t engage. I don’t argue. I don’t spiral. I definitely don’t cry into a pillow anymore.
I just nod politely.
The way you would with that one relative who still believes every WhatsApp forward is breaking news.
“Hmm. Interesting. Thank you for your input.”
Then I walk her to the door. Very civil. Very calm. Thank you for coming. Please don’t.
Replacing the critic with something better
Because here’s what I finally understood:
I don’t need a villain narrating my life. I don’t need commentary tracks highlighting my flaws.
I don’t need fear pretending to be wisdom.
What I need, what I deserved all along, is someone on my side.
So I made a small change.
I fired my inner critic.
And hired a cheerleader. My hype girl.
Me.
Same voice. New script.
Kinder. Braver. Funnier. Way less dramatic.
(Okay, fine. Slightly less dramatic. I am still me.)
The critic still makes the occasional appearance, of course.
Old habits die hard.
But now?
I look her dead in the eye… and show her the door.
Because this story?This life? This stage?
It’s mine.
And villains don’t get starring roles anymore.
