Your Inner Food Critics

A Greek Chorus of Guilt in Your Brain’s Theatre of the Absurd

(Or, why a biscuit should not require an existential crisis)

Do you ever get the feeling that your brain is less like a helpful ally and more like a judgemental committee of hormonal teenagers in a school play titled “You Ruined Everything with That Slice of Pizza”?

You sit down, innocently, joyfully—perhaps even rebelliously—with a bowl of pasta the size of your head, only to be bombarded by unsolicited inner monologue moments later:

“Wow. You ate all of it?”
“No wonder your jeans scream when you sit.”
“Why are you hungry again? You just ate. What are you, a labrador?”
“You’ve wrecked the whole day now. Might as well bury your dignity in a block of cheddar.”

Ah yes. That voice.

The Inner Food Critic.
Part life coach.
Part mean girl.
Part over-caffeinated librarian with a clipboard full of shoulds.

And just when you think you’ve silenced her—BOOM!—she changes wigs and sneaks back onstage disguised as “concerned wellness advisor,” whispering:

“You can eat normally now, but keep it in check, yeah? Wouldn’t want to turn into your ‘before’ photo again.”

Same Critic, Different Costume

One of my clients—let’s call her brave, brilliant and a bit over this nonsense—told me proudly she’d silenced her Inner Food Critic.
No more mental beatdowns. No more post-meal guilt monologues.
She’d shut that voice right down.

But then she said something else.
She said, “Now I just worry that I can’t keep eating like this and maintain the weight I’ve lost.”

Cue dramatic plot twist music.
Because that? That’s the same critic.
Just wearing activewear and pretending to be helpful.

Let’s Be Real: It’s Not Just About Food

The Inner Critic doesn’t actually care what you’re eating.
She cares about control. Certainty. Perfection.
She feeds on fear.
(And ironically, often leads you to also feed on fear... usually in biscuit form.)

It’s not about whether you ate the pizza.
It’s about the fear that pizza = failure.
That carbs = chaos.
That feeling full = falling short.

She doesn’t want you to feel good.
She wants you to feel right—whatever the hell that even means.

Introducing: The Full Cast of Inner Critics

Let’s meet the whole dysfunctional dinner party happening in your head:

🧐 Comparison Queen Carla
Carla’s life mission? To remind you that everyone else is thinner, more disciplined, successful and definitely more photogenic than you.
She’s the reason you Google “how to lose 5kg in 4 hours” after seeing your friend’s juice cleanse results.

😞 Defeated Debbie
Debbie’s already given up before the meal begins.
“Healthy eating’s too hard. Cooking’s exhausting. Salad is a punishment.”
Her favourite dish? Learned helplessness with a side of apathy.

⚫ All-or-Nothing Amy
Amy lives in a world of absolutes.
A single biscuit means you’ve failed at life and might as well build a house out of doughnuts now.
Perfection or pizza orgy—there is no in-between.

🌪 Doomsday Dana
Eat one cookie? She’ll tell you you’re about to regain 10kg and probably get fired.
Her emotional palate includes only “panic” and “impending doom.”

🤯 Worrying Wendy
Wendy turns your sandwich into a UN debate.
“Too many carbs? Not enough protein? What if this ruins everything?”
She can’t eat until she’s read the nutritional breakdown and consulted a priest.

📋 Should-ing Sharon
Sharon’s here with her clipboard of shame.
“You should eat less. You should feel guilty. You shouldn’t want dessert.”
She has never smiled. Ever.

🙄 Negative Nelly
Nelly’s hobby? Finding something wrong with everything.
Your plate. Your body. Your entire personality.
Even salad isn’t safe.

🔄 Blaming Betty
If your dog pees on the floor, Betty will find a way to blame your lunch.
She believes that any food “slip-up” is proof that you’re fundamentally flawed.

💨 Busy-Bee Beth
Beth doesn’t do mindful eating.
She’s got three meetings, six emails and a protein bar lodged in her windpipe.
If she pauses, she might feel something. And that would be very inconvenient.

🤔 Second-Guessing Susie
Susie spends fifteen minutes deciding between salad and sandwich.
Then eats both. Then panics.

💥 Overreacting Olivia
One raised eyebrow from a coworker and she’s spiralling.
She’s convinced everyone noticed your second helping and is silently judging you.

☁ Hopeless Henrietta
Henrietta is the lovechild of Eeyore and every failed diet you've ever tried.
Her mantra: “Why even try?”

🔙 Regretful Robin
Robin brings a scrapbook of every dietary decision you’ve ever regretted.
She’s the reason a slice of cake becomes a moral failing and a full-length memoir.

They’re Not You. They’re Just Old Scripts.

These critics aren’t your truth.
They’re echoes.
They’re secondhand shame from magazines, mums, media and that gym instructor who said carbs were the devil.

They’re survival strategies.
Bad ones.
Like using a soggy umbrella as a parachute.

But here’s the kicker:
You’re the one holding the microphone.
You get to choose who speaks.

How to Shut the Critics Up Without Violence (Though It’s Tempting)

🎤 Step 1: Call Them Out
Name the voice.
“Oh hey, Negative Nelly. Lovely of you to drop in and insult my sandwich.”

🎚️ Step 2: Adjust the Volume
They might not vanish overnight, but you can turn them down.
Say: “Thanks for the input, Sharon. I’m not taking advice from someone who thinks joy is a threat.”

💬 Step 3: Choose Better Thoughts
Yes, you can literally choose a new thought.
Try:

• “This isn’t the end of the world. It’s a muffin.”

• “I’m doing the best I can with the knowledge I’ve got.”

• “One meal doesn’t define my worth or my progress.”

❤️ Step 4: Make Space for Compassion
If your inner voice sounds more like a drill sergeant than a decent friend, rewrite the script.
Your brain’s theatre needs a new lead actor: one with nuance, kindness and a flair for drama without the food shame subplot.

Final Curtain Call

Your Inner Food Critic isn’t going anywhere.
She’ll still pipe up during birthday cake and Sunday brunch and “treat yourself” Fridays.

But she doesn’t get to run the show anymore.
You’re the director.
And if anyone deserves the final word, it’s not a snarky voice in your head—it’s you.
Preferably while eating something delicious.
And thoroughly enjoying every bite.