The last time I was scolded by my inner critic, she spoke to me in a southern drawl, a real piney-woods-of-Georgia accent, and I just had to sigh, and laa-aa-afff it off, la-la-LA! Oh, brother. Apologies to Southerners everywhere, but that’s what I heard.
I had this idea a couple of weeks ago—to catch myself berating myself and try to turn the whole thing around, and came up with the idea of giving it an accent. Jotting “inner voice=accent” down on a post-it next to my keyboard and glancing at it frequently, I finally remembered to accentuate myself yesterday. It worked like a charm. I’ll do anything to fend off that bitch. She sounded like a moron and she cut no ice with me! If all she gets from me is laughter and scoffing, well, she can’t last long.