Superego

The superego is a Freudian concept, more commonly known as the "inner critic" or the "harsh parent" we all have inside us. The superego plays a vital role in our lives -- it is our conscience, helping us tell right from wrong (as well as how to follow the sometimes strange rules of our culture).

But the superego can flare up and do damage to us, just as our immune system can go out of balance and attack our own bodies. There are four common ways the superego's excesses show up in our lives, and they fit neatly into the four quadrants. (I draw this from The Anxiety and Phobia Workbook, a terrific resource.) Let's examine these four faces, and four easy tools to deflate their (illusion of) power over us.

The Critic

This is probably the most common, and certainly the best-known, face of the superego. In fact, many people use the term "inner critic" as a synonym for the superego. It attacks our basic sense of worthiness; it tells me I don't deserve love or happiness or success -- that I am, in my essence, a bad person.

The critic wants me to argue with it, to try to earn my worthiness. That is a trap. I am already worthy, no matter what I've done, or who is (or isn't) in my life, or how big my butt is. I don't need to earn love -- in fact, I can't earn love; love, by its essence, is always a gift.

And that's the antidote to the critic's poison: love. Just tell myself (or, better yet, the little child that still lives in my heart): "I love myself, just as I am." Hokey as it sounds, it's something we all need, and never outgrow. Give myself love, and the critic slowly grows quieter.

The Workaholic

Men, in particular, are vulnerable to this face of the superego (although women have this too). It's the voice that says I'm not doing enough, I don't measure up, I'm falling behind. This voice hides the secret fallacy that my self-worth comes only from what I do. This is often accompanied by a sense of powerlessness, that others -- not I -- control what I can and cannot do.

The antidote to the workaholic's poison is simple, just two words: "I won't." Not, I can't, or I'm too tired, or can I please do less? No. While the critic is defused by the Lover's strength of love, the workaholic is defused by the Warrior's strength -- firm boundaries.

The Worry-wart

With this face of the superego, the problem isn't in you -- it's out there. What if my lover cheats on me? What if I lose my job? What if my car breaks down? What if I get cancer? What if, what if, what if? The lie embedded in the worry-wart is that the world needs to be a certain way for me to be okay -- that I, in my essence, am not enough in the face of the big bad world. In a way, it's very similar to the critic, except that the trouble is out there, instead of in here. (Many women are susceptible to this face of the superego, because our culture schools women to disown their power.) The trouble is also in the future, which robs me of the present.

The antidote to the worry-wart's poison is also just two words: "So what?" What if something bad might happen down the road? There's two sides to this "so what?": the future, and the present. The future side of it is this -- and it's a great secret to a happy life: even if my fears came true, and the terrible terrible thing happens, I'll still basically be okay. And the present side of it is also an important key to happiness: I don't have any control over the future. I live in the present. I can choose to let go of future-tripping, and just live my life as it is, right now. And that's okay. In fact, it's more than okay. The more present I am in this moment, the happier I am -- and, paradoxically, the more my power is freed up to actually do something about fixing what I can fix. Worry just immobilizes me; when I let go of fear, I am free to act.

The Perfectionist

The perfectionist is similar to the workaholic (just as the critic is similar to the worry-wart), but the crucial difference is this: I'm never done. There's always somebody better than me at this. Whatever I do, it's not good enough. It's not about quantity, it's about quality. This is the bane of creativity, fueled by the pernicious professionalization of the arts.

Creativity is my birthright, and yours as well. We are all born creative. Just look at kids -- they sing, they draw, they dance. They don't care that they're not as good as Pavarotti or Baryshnikov. It just feels good to express creatively, so they do it. But somewhere along the way, our culture instills the impetus to measure, to compare, to compete.

And the antidote to the perfectionist poison is simple: embrace the process, not the product. It doesn't have to be perfect, or brilliant, or original, or au courant. It just needs to be authentic, true. If I am truly engaged in meaningful pursuit (as described in the four cornerstones of happiness), that's enough. And I am enough.

Advanced Ninja Love

You have no doubt noticed that all the antidotes are variants on self-love and acceptance of myself and the world. This is really what it's all about. But these antidotes are all framed within a paradigm of combating the superego, beating it down or tricking it.

There's a better way. Sometimes it doesn't feel like it, but my superego actually wants what's good for me. If I start from this insight, I can enlist my superego as my ally.

There are two ways to do this. One way is energetic. I feel my superego, in whatever face it's wearing today, let it really go to town. Then I strip away the words and just feel its energy. Then I ask myself, "if this was a blessing energy, how would its blessing show up in my life?" (I got this technique from Dmitri Bilgere.)

The other way is to engage in a dialogue, either as an empty-chair drama therapy approach, or while journaling. I start from the insight that my superego is trying to do something positive, something loving, for me. Even though its methods might not be working any more, they're there for a reason. There was a time when it was needed. If I let my superego know that I am grateful for its work -- and it did work; I survived to be here today, thanks in part to the work of my superego -- then I can gently enlist it to explore other ways it can work with me to meet its goals.

This is an advanced approach, and for it to work well I need to have a solid base of self-love. Sometimes the first step is combat. But ultimately I need to make peace with all the parts of myself.