Wicked Stepmother

So, I’ve been working with my inner critic for a while now. But in the past month, I’ve developed a newfound appreciation for how strong and subversive of this voice is in me. It has come up to me a few times in this past month to actually visualize it and give it a name. The idea being that by doing so, I’m better able to see it as something external to me and not a part of me. This was interesting to me. I played with a few ideas of who the voice was to me and I found inspiration in Disney.

Cinderella’s Wicked Stepmother is a classic villain and what makes her especially evil is her duplicity. She doesn’t forbid her stepdaughter anything. Oh no, she gives Cinderella conditions. Ridiculous conditions that, if met, mean she can go to the ball. After all, she’s not unfeeling or unfair, the Stepmother says. No, not at all. She just has a few stipulations. Finish all your work. Then, then you can go to the ball. By some miracle (or mice), Cinderella finishes her long list of chores. Oh, says the stepmother, but you have no dress. By some miracle (or mice and birds), Cinderella does have a dress. And then – thanks stepsisters – she doesn’t. Too bad, the Stepmother says, you can’t go to the ball in rags. It surprises no one but Cinderella that The Stepmother never intended to allow her to go to the ball. She put one obstacle after another in her way. The poor girl did her best to overcome each only to find another in her path. She can never win…well, until a plump fairy godmother enters the picture, but I’ll work on that bit of symbolism another day. 

My voice, aka Wicked Stepmother, is just like Cinderella’s. She is cruel without seeming to be. She pretends to have my best interests in mind but she never, ever, intends me to win. The only way to do so is not to believe her. To see and call her for what she is and choose another way which is not hers. To shoo her out the door when I’m attempting something new and I have her yammering that I can’t do it or that I’ll look foolish. To give her a bottle of tequila and send her off to the bar when she tells me I’m too old or too weak or not good enough. To throw my kickass size 10 glass slipper at her when she tells me I’m meant to be sad, or unhealthy or alone. 

She lies, my Wicked Stepmother does. And I just don’t have the time to listen anymore. I’m off to find a pumpkin before midnight.