The Dog That Howls Inside Your Head: Learning to Tame the Inner Critic

Photo by Marc Lester

This spring, I sat in the packed auditorium at Anchorage’s West High School, heart full and eyes misty, watching my son perform as the drummer in Hadestown. I hadn’t heard the music before—only knew it as the show he’d been rehearsing for all semester. But as I watched the performance unfold live, I found myself completely transfixed. The mythic story, the driving rhythm, the soul of the music—it all reached under my skin.

One moment stopped me in my tracks. In the Wait for Me (Reprise), the lyrics cut through the air:

“The meanest dog you'll ever meet

He ain't the hound dog in the street

He bares some teeth and tears some skin

But, brother, that's the worst of him

The dog you really got to dread

Is the one that howls inside your head

It's him whose howling drives men mad

And a mind to its undoing.”

That dog. That howling. That’s the inner critic.

The Voice That Undoes Us

We all know that voice. The one that speaks just before we take a leap or try something new. The one that says, “You’re not ready,” or “Who do you think you are?” The one that convinces us to stay small, stay silent, or stay stuck.  It’s not usually loud. It’s subtle. It shows up in hesitation, perfectionism, comparison.  In the quiet decision to keep ourselves just slightly removed from what we most want.

The inner critic is persistent. And persuasive. It cloaks itself in realism and humility: “I’m just being honest with myself,” we say. Or “I know my limits.” But self-doubt rarely tells the whole truth. Instead, it narrows our view of what's possible. It convinces us that any misstep confirms our unworthiness. And it thrives in silence, growing louder the less we speak of it.

Over time, it builds a story about who we are. “I’m not cut out for this.” “I always screw things up.” “I’m not a real writer/athlete/leader/parent.”  That story doesn’t come from reality. It comes from repetition of faulty perception. The more we believe it, the more evidence we find to support it. And the more we avoid the risks and opportunities that might actually offer us a different story.

The Road Lies Within

Later in the same number, the lyrics continue:

“You got a lonesome road to walk

And it ain't along the railroad track

And it ain't along the blacktop tar

You've walked a hundred times before

I'll tell you where the real road lies

Between your ears, behind your eyes

That is the path to Paradise

Likewise, the road to ruin.”

Our greatest obstacles—and our greatest freedom—are inside of us.

This “real road,” the one that lies between our ears and behind our eyes, is where we wrestle with fear, hesitation, and self-doubt. It’s also where we reclaim our courage and our curiosity. It’s this landscape we navigate when we’re trying to change, to begin again, or to simply believe in ourselves. 

Awareness as a Turning Point

Mindfulness is the practice of noticing what’s here with curiosity and kindness.  It gives us just enough distance from our thoughts to see them for what they are. Thoughts.  When we’re mindful, we begin to recognize the inner critic as thoughts that follow a pattern and represent a narrow perception. They do not reflect the truth and are not a prophecy.

We might be able to catch them as they arise and bring awareness to the incessant internal monologue. We might pause to listen.  In that pause, we create a bit of space. Enough space to ask, “Is this fear, or is this fact?”

I’ve noticed that the inner critic quiets when I stop feeding it.  Not by fighting it with positivity. Not by trying to silence it through accomplishment. But by seeing it clearly, without judgment, and choosing not to follow where it leads.  The inner critic seems to thrive in secrecy and shame. It loses its power when we bring awareness to it and approach it with compassion and curiosity.

What Mindfulness Teaches Us

Mindfulness doesn’t mean feeling peaceful all the time. It means waking up to what’s actually happening in our inner world with interest and care. It means noticing when the critic is talking and gently returning to something more true.

Here are a few ways I practice this:

• Name the Inner Critic. When I notice the harsh self-talk arise, I try to pause and label it: “Ah, that’s the critic again.” This simple act of naming helps shift me from being in the thought to observing it.

• Use the “And” Practice. When I hear the voice say, “You’re not good at this,” I practice adding, “...and I’m learning.” Or “...and I’m doing it anyway.”

• Practice Self-Compassion. Self-compassion, as defined by Kristin Neff, includes self-kindness, common humanity, and mindfulness. When I feel myself falling into criticism, I ask: “What would I say to a friend in this moment?” Then I say it to myself.

• Breathe. It sounds simple, but the breath brings us back. Returning to the breath can help loosen the grip of doubt. With each exhale, imagine softening the inner critic’s claws.

Why This Matters—for Us and Our Kids

As a parent, I know how contagious inner narratives can be. Our children absorb more than just our words—they absorb our tone, our beliefs, our ways of relating to struggle. If I speak about myself with constant judgment, they learn that self-criticism is normal. If I show up with compassion and patience, they see that too.

When I watched my son play the drums in Hadestown, I felt so proud. Not just of his skill, but of the courage it takes to step into a role and perform. There are countless moments behind the scenes—missed notes, self-doubt, fear of failure. And yet, he showed up. He kept the beat. He helped carry the story forward. What more could we ask of ourselves?

There’s a moment in the show where the characters are walking the treacherous road out of the underworld, afraid to look back, unsure if they’ll make it. That’s what it’s like to do anything brave. We keep moving forward despite the voice that says we can’t. We resist the howl that says we’re unworthy.

And we remember: that dog in our head might snarl, but it’s not the truth. It’s just one voice. And there are others—voices of kindness, hope, trust, and joy. We can choose which one we follow.

An Invitation

If you’re reading this and nodding, maybe you know that dog too. Maybe you’ve let it stop you from trying something, from speaking up, from believing in your own worth. I get it. We all do.

But just for today, consider this:

What if that voice wasn’t telling the truth?

What if you didn’t have to believe every self-critical thought?

What if your imperfections aren’t proof of your failure—but the very path of your growth?

You don’t have to silence the critic. You just have to see it, and choose not to follow it. That, in itself, is an act of courage. The world needs more of this kind of courage—quiet, ordinary, human courage.  The kind that shows up to practice, even when it’s hard. The kind that keeps playing the rhythm, even when the spotlight hits.  The kind that dares to be imperfect and whole at the same time. This kind of courage changes everything.