My Inner Critic, Three Chairs, and One Innocent Squirrel

In week one of Canada Coach Academy, we did a challenge called the Self-Compassion Chair. It involved exploring different perspectives: the voice of our inner critic, the part of us receiving that criticism, and the voice of a compassionate friend.

Three chairs. Three viewpoints. One opportunity to notice how we actually speak to ourselves.

What stood out to me was being able to experience the difference between self-criticism and support. Hearing the words is one thing. Paying attention to how they affect your feelings, posture, and overall demeanor adds another layer.

For me, being asked to change my viewpoint in an open and safe environment helped pull me out of those self-critiquing mantras that can get stuck on repeat. It gave me a chance to hear them, notice their impact, and consider how else I could respond.

And this is where the squirrel comes in.

When I originally did a similar challenge involving inner-critic work, I was walking down a sidewalk and a squirrel ran in front of me.

For context, I may have a slight fear of those furry little creatures. We don’t need to unpack that today.

My immediate reaction was:

“EW! You’re gross, go away!”

But something clicked. I stopped and thought about what I had just said.

That squirrel wasn’t “ew.” It wasn’t gross. It was just living its sweet little furry city life.

Probably had somewhere to be. Squirrel business.

The situation itself hadn’t changed. There was still a squirrel on the sidewalk, and I was still someone who would prefer a little warning before an unexpected squirrel encounter. But the way I was thinking about it changed, and I noticed a difference in my demeanor.

That moment stuck with me.

I started thinking about how much of my day could be influenced by that running commentary in my head. The inner critic can bring down our sense of self-worth, but I realized I also wanted to pay attention to the wider inner monologue: the snap judgments, assumptions, and labels I attach to everyday experiences.

If I could catch that reaction to a squirrel, what else might I notice?

There’s a difference between thinking, “I’m so lazy,” and asking, “What’s making it difficult for me to get started?” One leaves me with a label. The other gives me something to explore.

I can acknowledge that I didn’t do something I intended to do and still speak to myself with care. I can take responsibility, figure out what got in the way, and consider what I want to do next.

That’s something I’m taking from this exercise into my approach to coaching: the value of making room for another perspective. Sometimes an honest, curious question creates an opening that another round of self-criticism simply doesn’t.

I’m still practicing this myself. Catching a thought doesn’t mean I’ll never have it again. It means I noticed it this time, and I have a chance to decide what comes next.

And apparently, some of my learning happens on the sidewalk.

Here’s a reflection to take into your own day:

When you notice your inner commentary, what tone is it using, and how would you respond if a friend spoke about themselves that way?

You don’t have to catch every thought. Start with one that stands out and get curious about it.

The squirrel can carry on with its day. Maybe we can, too.

Tegan