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By Dr. Joti Samra, CEO & Founder of the Psychological Health & Safety (PH&S) Clinic and MyWorkplaceHealth  Managing Self-Critical Voices
We all have that little voice in our heads. Sometimes it can be really helpful and motivate us to accomplish our goals, but other times it can be overly critical. When our self-talk becomes overly critical, it not only has a negative impact on our minds but also on our bodies as well as the people around us. So, it’s important to learn to manage our self-critical voices and practice being more self-compassionate Negative self-talk increases a person’s risk of experiencing mental health challenges. It increases people’s stress levels, makes them feel hopeless, and increases feelings of depression. It also leads to limited thinking, lowered abilities to see and in turn capitalize on opportunities as well as increased perfectionism. When these self-critical voices are expressed outwardly, they can also damage relationships. How to Manage Self-Critical Voices and Negative Self-Talk There are numerous ways to manage and change our self-critical voices and not all of them will work for everyone. We have provided some starting points for changing the sound of the inner critic. 1 Point out your critic.
2 Be curious.
3 Give the critic a name.
4 Try to use more neutral language.
5 Say the thought out loud.
6 Challenge your inner critic.
Final Thoughts You deserve compassion and there is no reason why you cannot provide it to yourself. Also, remember these skills take practice. So, as you’re starting this process, don’t beat yourself up when you catch yourself being judgmental. Notice it, the same way you would notice your mind wandering in mindfulness practice, be compassionate and empathetic with yourself and take one small step toward self-compassion. We can all learn to manage our self-critical voices and practice being more compassionate. By Dr. Joti Samra, CEO & Founder of the Psychological Health & Safety (PH&S) Clinic and MyWorkplaceHealth  In recent years, work has undergone a major shift. What was once viewed as a means to an end or a way to support our families, has shifted into something greater. Today, more than ever, we seek jobs that align with our values and give us purpose. The focus on finding a personally fulfilling career is a relatively new phenomenon—it’s certainly something our parents and grandparents didn’t emphasize nearly as strongly as we do now.
But what happens when we’re at a job that no longer gives us meaning? We now face a dilemma of choosing to stay on our current path, risk switching to a new job (which may not fulfill us any more than our current one does) or go back to school for something completely different. It all comes down values Certainly, the work that we do in our day-to-day lives is an important part of who we are, and it can have a tremendous impact (positive or negative) on our level of happiness, personal fulfillment, sense of self, and overall quality of life. Unfortunately, there’s no right or wrong answer to the question of staying in a career or going back to school. Ultimately, it comes down to personal values and the weight that is placed on them. As a person ages, and has more financial commitments or is looking to take steps forward in other aspects of their life, like marriage or children, making a career shift becomes a more and more challenging decision to make. 6 things to consider before making a switch Here are some things to consider whether or not to change careers or go back to school: 1. Is age a primary barrier? If so, five words: You. Are. Still. Very. Young! Research tells us that the average person entering the workforce now will make up to seven distinct shifts in their career throughout their lifetime. A number of factors (enhanced life expectancy, changing nature of society and work, financial demands) are leading people to work years longer than their predecessors did, with the average age of retirement now closer to 70. 2. Ask yourself if you could truly and sincerely see yourself in your current career for the rest of your life? If that thought evokes considerable distress, you have your answer. 3. Consider how imminent other future changes are. It is certainly responsible to be planning for your future, but do you have immediate plans to make significant changes in your life? You are doing an injustice to yourself if you delay making a career transition because of future unknowns that may or may not happen as you have planned. 4. Maintenance of your current lifestyle (and financial obligations) is a very real consideration. Are there ways to be creative in working around this as a barrier? For example, consider getting a roommate to help with the mortgage or other bills while you go back to school. Starting a part-time program of study that allows you to continue to work and earn a salary may be a nice balance that fits with maintaining your current lifestyle, while continuing to pursue alternate career aspirations. 5. Modern technology now allows for a range of learning environments This includes virtual and online, which allows much more flexibility in terms of options to learn and upgrade skills. Consider doing some online searches to see what programs and certificates may align. Many online training opportunities have a lot of flexibility in terms of scheduling and allowing extended time windows for course completion. 6. Meet with a career counsellor at a local college or university. This may help provide you with a range of creative options: For example, obtaining a specialized certificate or upgrading in a particular area may be enough to open other career doors, without having to start from scratch. Remember that career shifts are common and it is never too late to make a change if done so thoughtfully. Editor’s Note: This post was originally published as part of a Globe and Mail “Ask the Psychologist” column authored by Dr. Samra, and has been edited and updated. By Emory Oakley. Emory is a writer and LGBTQ+ educator who regularly discusses the intersections of queer identities and mental health. On the morning of February 1st, my mother would smile and like a giddy teenager as she lined up the cereal boxes and state: “it’s only twenty-seven days until my birthday.” As if we hadn’t performed this ritual for as long as we could remember. She was always enthusiastic to celebrate regardless of whether or not she had an actual birthday that year. In reality, the entire last week of the month was all about her. Of course, the leap years were the biggest, but every other year was almost the same. Since there was no actual day to celebrate, “why not celebrate on February 28th and March 1st?” You might think this would be incredibly annoying, and while it was to some extent, it was impossible to be annoyed for long.
A lot of things from my childhood have been forgotten but not those birthday celebrations. I couldn’t tell you which events happened which year or what years were the biggest parties, but I do remember my mother’s enthusiasm. And everyone would have said she was the life of the party. She would inevitably be found in the kitchen – wine glass in hand, small ice cubes clinking against the glass as she danced lazy circles around the furniture or other party-goers. If you could really call what she did dancing. When she really got into it she would do this thing that can only be described as a jump-shuffle-dance. With her feet together, knees bent and ass sticking out, she shuffled backwards, sort of like a reverse bunny hop or maybe a two-footed moonwalk. It was impossible not to watch her when she danced, not only because it was quite funny to watch, but the way her face shone with joy demanded attention. When Everything Changed My mother died just before I turned eighteen years old and three weeks after I graduated from high school. That was more than ten years ago now, but as February 29th approaches I feel heavy. It’s a heaviness that even now as I write this I am having a difficult time describing. It feels almost like something’s missing in my life but not in a way that feels tangible to me. This is because my mother has never been a part of my adult life. Since graduating from high school I’ve come out as queer and transgender. I’ve legally changed my name and have grown into an entirely different version of myself. One that my mother never got to meet. So, while she’s missing from my life now and that burdens my heart significantly, I also don’t know what her being in my life would look like anymore. This is a completely different type of sadness. Does grief last ten years or more?For the last handful of years, I had a hard time describing the feelings I’ve had about my mother as grief. The way I feel now feels nothing like the first few years did. My mother had been sick for a long time before she died and I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to say goodbye. Unfortunately, these things did little to actually prepare me for her absence. The last year, maybe more, was spent making trips back and forth from the hospital. Picking mom up and bringing her home for dinner, or for weekend visits, when she was healthy enough. Then suddenly everything changed. My family home turned into nothing more than a few two by fours and a roof- a place to sleep and eat but it no longer felt like a home. That first year, grief pooled under my tongue, it felt like I couldn’t speak or swallow. I became well acquainted with the feeling of tears welling in my cheekbones, learned to lock jaw keep them out when I could. I told myself to be strong. That my younger sibling needed me to be strong. But as I look back now I realize how much this prevented me from healing. I needed to feel my feelings in order to let them go. Everything was a challenge that year and it felt like I was doing everything alone. The first Christmas felt hollow, I didn’t want to celebrate as there was no reason to anymore, and when we got to the first February I was barely able to function. I somehow managed to maintain my grades in university and show up at work but I was just going through the motions. Doing just enough to exist but nothing more. The First Leap Year The first leap year was 2012, almost three years after my mother passed. I was twenty years old and by then I felt like things had changed, that I’d grown up enough. I was able to look back on the amazing things about my mother and smile rather than just seeing hospital beds and blue gowns. But something about that February broke me open. I felt the hole in my life again and I was completely unprepared to deal with it. The Second Leap Year The next leap year was 2016, and this time everything was different. I’d come out as queer, been through years of therapy and was coming to terms with my gender identity. This time I felt like a new person. It had been years since grief had taken hold of me and I finally felt like I was figuring out how to be an adult. But when February rolled around I felt guilty. It felt like I was forgetting and that made me feel nauseous. It took more effort than I would have liked to conjure the image of my mothers’ smile and I could barely remember the sound of her laughter. It felt like everything was fading and I spent weeks angry at myself for letting go. I didn’t want to forget but I also didn’t want to cling to the sadness that had burdened me so significantly years before. So, I made the decision to write. I’ve been a writer for as long as I can remember, and there is something cathartic about having a place to put your feelings outside of yourself. But this time instead of writing into the sadness – I chose another path. That month I created a chapbook of poems that I titled Unsent Letters. It contained eight poems written as if they were letters to my mother describing my life and how things had changed. In those poems, I was able to come out to her and tell her I wasn’t her little girl anymore. It provided me with healing I never could have anticipated. Of course, I wish I could have spoken those words to her and that she could have met this version of me, but it was the closest I was ever going to get. Grief After 10 Years Now, things continue to change when it comes to my grief. I have casual depression. I call it casual because it doesn’t have a significant impact on my day-to-day functions, but it does make me feel lethargic and heavy some days. And I often feel a weight of sadness that is not caused by anything I can put my finger on. My depression gets worse in the cold, grey winter months or maybe it’s just harder for me to manage in the darkness. But in February, even though the clouds are lifting in Vancouver and the sun is starting to shine, I feel heavy. Sort of like I imagine a knight would feel in plated armour, my motions are slower and where I place my energy has to be more calculated. I tire sooner and I feel like I am not able to do as much and I dislike feeling that way. But it doesn’t feel like sadness. So today I remind myself that sadness does not always show up as tears. That my sadness over losing my mother has changed from a deep sense of grief into a vague sense of emptiness and longing. Both of these feelings are valid and have been a significant part of my process. But dealing with grief is never easy, so let’s talk about grief in a more practical way – and what we can do to manage it best we can. What is grief? And how does it change over time?Grief is a natural response to loss. It’s the emotional suffering a person feels when something or someone they love is taken away. It’s common to experience all kinds of difficult and unexpected emotions, from shock or anger to disbelief, guilt, and profound sadness. The pain of grief can also disrupt our physical health, making it difficult to sleep, eat, or even think straight. These are normal reactions to loss – and the more significant the loss, the more intense the grief will be. The most important thing to know about grief is that there is no one way to grieve. And there certainly isn’t a benchmark for what is normal when it comes to grieving. As time passes, the loss doesn’t disappear completely and it probably never will but it changes. How to manage grief Most of us have probably heard of the stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. While many people do experience these, calling them stages can be problematic for many. Grief is not something neat and tidy – and it is rare for anyone to experience these ‘stages’ in sequential order and in the way that they’re described to us. So, don’t worry so much about the stages or what you ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’ be feeling when it comes to grief. My thoughts on dealing with grief I have learned a lot about the grieving process over the years and here is what I think about how to manage grief.
Final Thoughts Remember that grief looks different for everyone and despite the fact that we are only given a short amount of time off work for grieving, that does not mean the grieving process is or should be over at the end of that allotted time. The first year is going to be the hardest because you have an entire year of first experiences without that person. If you are dealing with grief, no matter what stage you’re at or how much time has passed, and you need support- reach out. Sign up today for a no-commitment referral with a therapist at Dr. Joti Samra & Associates. By Dr. Joti Samra, CEO & Founder of the Psychological Health & Safety (PH&S) Clinic and MyWorkplaceHealth The question:
My husband takes vacations on his own. He does also go on holidays with my daughter and me, but I’m feeling a little resentful of his solo time off. Am I wrong to feel that way? The answer: There is a lot to be said for the value and importance of couples – particularly those with kids – having time away from each other. Time apart can give people a chance to recharge, to devote time and attention to one’s own needs separate from the demands of others, and to appreciate their spouse. Whenever I see couples in my patient practice, I explain to them that there are four separate units they need to pay attention to and nurture: the couple unit, the family unit (including kids and other extended family members), and each partner as an individual unit. When any of these areas are not given adequate time, attention or nurturance, the other units suffer. Now, how much energy and attention is given (or needs to be given) to each of these is based on a number of factors, not least of which is what each couple or family’s needs are as well as what logistically and pragmatically works for them. You ask if you are wrong to feel resentful of your husband’s solo time off. I feel very strongly that we are never wrong to feel what we feel. A better question to ask is why are you feeling the way that you do, and what can you do that can improve the situation. Resentment at its heart has an element of actual or perceived unfairness. So it seems that you feel the fact that he gets solo vacations is unfair, and I’m making the assumption that you are not getting similar time off yourself. Assuming there are no other concerns that you have about his vacations away (such as potential infidelity), there is one of two things that can be done to level the playing field: He can stop taking his time away or you can find ways to get your own solo time. I would lean toward the latter as being the best solution. I would speak openly with your husband about this. But before you have the conversation, ask yourself what it is specifically that you want. Do you want time away by yourself? With girlfriends or family? Do you wish you had vacations with him only, without your daughter? What is it about the time away that you value most? Is it time away from regular routine and responsibilities? Perhaps an opportunity for you to recharge? Bonding time with friends or your husband? Articulate what you feel resentful about missing. Then speak to your husband about how the two of you can work as a family to ensure you also create this time for yourself. Excerpted from Dr. Joti Samra’s “Ask the Psychologist” weekly column in The Globe and Mail. |
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