The critic *loves* crickets
Has this happened to you?
You put something out into the world—throw it on your blog, on social media, read it out to a group, or to one other person. It’s met with silence.
You can probably count on one hand the number of seconds it takes before you assume that’s because it’s horrible. People hate it. Or they’re confused. They didn’t get it. They are busy laughing. Or silently judging. Or unsubscribing from your newsletter.
I am actually sitting in this space this very morning. Having announced two really exciting events* yesterday, beyond my two best friends responding with ‘yays,’ there have been crickets. I am so tempted to withdraw the offer, shut down Soul Writing, and go do something boring because obviously this isn’t making a difference.
I know this is ridiculous because (a) it’s been less than 24 hours, and (b) I’ve watched hundreds of people be changed by this work and the love of this community.
Still, one bout of crickets is all it takes, even after all that.
The critic loves crickets.
Your internal critic is brilliant—because you are. The critic is a product of your mind. If your mind is quick, sharp, clever, this well-honed part—one that grew out of your survival instinct—won’t miss a beat. It will find any opening to try to get you to stop, to stand down, to quit taking risks. It will do so elegantly, convincingly, and loudly. Empty silence is one of favorite platforms.
In Soul Writing we don’t leave space for crickets, or the critic. We dive right in, piling with love onto the person’s piece, pulling out the sparks of brilliance in it, and holding them up to the writer before disbelief puts them out. There is always a spark—always more than one. In fact, a friend pointed out recently that my speech extolling the gorgeousness of a given piece usually goes on longer than it takes the person to read it.
I respond so instantly and elaborately on purpose because I know how quickly any amount of silence can start to shrivel a person. Sometimes, if I’m taking a while to find the unmute button, if the silence goes on for, say, three whole seconds, the person starts to disclaim what they’ve just done. “I know, that was weird,” or “I couldn’t read my own writing,” anything at all just to fill the aching silence, and what their critic is starting to tell them it means.
In Soul Writing, we behave purposely to counteract this, so the spark doesn’t go out.
And it works.
Because then the person stays, writes another piece. Gets braver, takes more risks, lets more of their voice out to play.
Sure, there is an argument to be made for building the muscle to tolerate feedback that isn’t positive, to be with criticism, perceived or otherwise. But what use is that muscle if there’s nothing out there to begin with?
We need to be in a sanctuary, a nursery, to grow something. Otherwise what is there to risk getting trampled? That is why this work feels important.
Come birth your own work into the world, and have it greeted with intentional, welcoming love. This Saturday’s Mini-Retreat is a great place to start.
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*The other exciting events - a daylong retreat and a cool 3-day Soul Symposium
