My Inner Critic. The Lion Within

One of my close friends asked me a question a few weeks ago. We were chatting on the phone, talking about her trip to the zoo with her kids. She mentioned how she’ll never go near or take her kids to the part of the zoo that has lions. Long story short, she asked me if I’d be scared of a lion that was just sitting quietly, minding its own damn business. Hmm…that was a funny question. I didn’t even have to think about it. I just said yes. Hell, yes.

I’ve never met a lion in the wild. I’ve never encountered one in real life either, and I’d very much like to keep it that way. Our entire relationship remains digital, preferably behind a National Geographic paywall. I can understand my friends reservations about the lions in the zoo. Lions are dangerous. Of course, that’s basic risk assessment. If you know you know. A lion will genuinely kill you. The fear of lion is an ancestral fear. People before us lived long enough to warn us about them. To say, “Hey, see that big cat with the mane? Don’t go near it or touch it.”

But after the phone conversation ended, I kept thinking about it.
The truth is that, I already live with something that feels a lot like a lion. It just doesn’t live in the savanna, oh no. It lives in my head. And it has a surprisingly detailed opinion about how I handled that email back in 2014. For me, it’s that inner voice that’s always switched on. The one that notices exactly what I didn’t do or should have done better. And how I should push harder than last time, in case everyone suddenly finds out that I’m three raccoons in a trench coat. My inner lion is loud, relentless and always predicts disaster. And it’s completely unimpressed by my resumé.

You see, I’ve always treated that voice like a problem. I treated it like something I needed to silence, fix, heal from, or meditate out of existence. I experienced it as the enemy, mostly because it always defaults to catastrophising under perceived threat. It used to dominate my life. I met it with fear, resistance, and compliance until I started to look at it with perpetual curiosity. Surely, if I don’t know the reasons why it’s the way it is, I’ll have trouble understanding it’s purpose. And a bigger trouble changing my relationship with it. I needed to understand it well enough to stop being run by it. When I do slow down and look at the lion, it becomes clear.

The lion didn’t show up to ruin my day.

It learned from experience that being angry and hyper-vigilant felt safer. It understood that staying one step ahead will prevent something worse from happening. In essence, it was trying to protect me. It wanted to make sure I was prepared for other people’s criticism and negative judgments. It made a solo decision that being my harshest critic was effective. And making me feel terrible seemed like a pretty damn effective strategy. In a strange, slightly unhelpful way, the lion thinks it’s doing me a favour.

The problem, of course, is that it never gets the memo when things change. It’s constantly running full Extreme Survival Mode. Even when I’m just trying to buy a loaf of bread or trying to make it through a dinner party. It stays on guard in rooms that aren’t even threatening. It roars over a typo, and turns a random Tuesday afternoon into a CrossFit event.

“Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.”

– Rainer Maria Rilke

I don’t think most of us will ever meet a real lion. Well…at the zoo, or safari, maybe. And at a safe distance, of course.
But a lot of us live with automatic responses that predates our lives. A voice that keeps us moving and keeps us on edge. Getting rid of it is not realistic at all. In my case, the lion is a long-term resident, and it will probably sue me in court if I try. Although, my relationship with it is slowly changing. I’m noticing when it’s the one driving the bus, and learning to look at that inner roar and say, “I see what you’re doing. I know you think there’s a predator in the room. But actually, it’s just brunch. You can stand down.”

I didn’t defeat the lion. I probably never will. But I’m learning it’s patterns. And now and again, I kinda trick myself into believing that I’m the one holding the leash… even if I let it drag me halfway down the street. Does it work? Well…sometimes, depends on the day.

What does your inner lion roar about the most? Drop a comment and let’s remind each other that it’s usually just brunch.

Thanks a bunch for reading!