The voice of our own inner critic can be strong. How can we break free from the mental prison?

The Guardian

2 days ago

The Buddha was bold in his approach to human psychology. He described psychological suffering as pervasive and inherent to the human experience. Suffering is present not only in moments of loss and pain, but in how the mind contracts, shaped by past actions and entrenched habits.
In this sense, we live in a mental prison of our own making with walls continually constructed and reconstructed largely out of conscious view. Thoughts, perceptions and feelings appear solid and true, and a relentless internal voice tells us who we are, what we ought to be and do and what the world must deliver.
At its worst, our psyche can feel like 'a bad neighbourhood' that we might avoid walking through alone, to quote writer Anne Lamott. During such times, support, friendship and self-nurturing are crucial. But even outside more troubling mental states, the walls of our minds can limit the view.
Sound familiar?
It's no coincidence that in modern life, the pursuit of mental freedom has become mainstream – even commercial.
Modern seekers are microdosing psilocybin, participating in ayahuasca ceremonies, experimenting with cognitive-enhancing supplements like nootropics, and trying biohacking techniques – cold plunges, saunas, sensory deprivation tanks to name a few.
And then, of course, there are silent meditation retreats: two days, 10 days, 30 days, even three months. On these retreats, participants report glimpsing a reality beyond the known self, a shift so impactful it can redirect the entire course of their lives. In fact, many committed to Buddhist meditation speak of such moments as pivotal.
While sudden breakthroughs can be transformative (particularly when integrated well), once the intensity fades, familiar anxieties return. The architecture of our inner world, temporarily dismantled, rebuilds itself.
The Buddha might have recognised the yearning behind this search, but cautioned that while insight can arise spontaneously, the path is ultimately gradual and gentle, requiring ethics, restraint, mindfulness and mental persistence.
We chase instant fixes, hoping the next practice or product will deliver, only to feel let down. Caught in this need for immediate release, we often avoid examining the quieter mechanisms that keep us trapped.
One such mechanism is what modern Buddhists refer to as the judgmental or comparing mind – not to be confused with wise discernment. As our awareness deepens, we begin to see the extent to which we internalise rules, expectations, and criticism.
The comparing mind isn't kind or reasonable. When triggered, it can be oppressive, self-flagellating and cruel. It can appear in the body as constriction and discomfort – a tightening of the jaw and chest, a sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach. Sometimes, it's so constant we only notice it when we pause and tune in.
Western thinkers like Sigmund Freud and Michel Foucault explored how we internalise authority, self-police, and punish ourselves. Foucault described how we internalise the gaze of those in power, monitoring our behaviours, actions and even our thoughts. Freud referred to the 'superego,' which tames instinctual desires, but also devolves into shame and guilt; essential to social cohesion, he said, but when overactive, the cause of neuroses and mental distress.
Buddhism recognises similar dynamics, albeit through a different lens. As a way to work with the inner critic, we are first invited to actively extend a spirit of non-harm toward all beings – this includes ourselves. This elicits an ever-deepening awareness of how we move through the world and treat others, as well as our own hearts, in the pursuit of mental liberation.
Then, through meditative inquiry, we begin to see our punishing thoughts with greater clarity – their shape, origin and propensity. Shame and blame aren't repressed, but understood and, where possible, gently disarmed and pacified.
What does this look like, practically? First, notice how it lives in the body and stays with it. Offer yourself some mercy. This is part of being human – a mind that grasps, compares, and cajoles. As calm returns, a small sense of freedom may emerge. Don't miss that.
From here, trace what gave rise to the pattern: fatigue, an interaction, a memory or something else. Notice the belief or storyline the mind clings to. In other words, what is the sticky thought at play? In seeing this clearly, the mind may loosen its grip. Over time, and with continued observation, these habits may naturally dissipate.
During a retreat, I once became struck by the cruelty of my thoughts. I hadn't noticed it in the rush of daily life, but in stillness, it hit me in a visceral way. Every time I meditated, my mind scorned me: I wasn't doing it well enough, this wasn't the practice for me, I was too sleepy, hungry, or ill-suited. I had a bad temperament, the voice said, and I might as well give up.
Exhausted, I went to the teacher to report on my experience, and she said very directly, as if she already knew, 'it's remarkable how violent we can be to ourselves'.
It's hard, this being human thing. But the Buddha's path, like many spiritual paths, is a hopeful one. It teaches us how to alleviate suffering through humility, curiosity and patience, rather than fighting fire with fire. To paraphrase the Buddha, 'hatred is never appeased by hatred … but by love alone'.
With practice, the grip of the inner critic is released, and space for something else emerges. It may happen suddenly, but it's more likely to happen over time. As the punishing narrator recedes into the background, we access greater moments of mental release and ethical clarity.
Then, one very fine day, we might walk straight out of the prison's doors, and as we do, we might realise the doors have been wide open this whole time.
Dr Nadine Levy is a senior lecturer at the Nan Tien Institute. She coordinates its health and social wellbeing program and the graduate certificate in applied mindfulness