The honest self-critic
David’s face told the whole story: drawn, pale, grim. When I asked him what was wrong, he described a rehearsal he’d just had with a noted violinist, stating that he’d “played like a pig” and now intended to “chain himself to the piano and practice until his fingers bled.” Nothing I said lessened his shame. He practiced for hours, and when he performed the next evening, he played cleanly and musically. But for all the beauty of the music, I couldn’t stop asking myself, at what price?
David is an extreme example, but nearly all the classical musicians I know share a thread of his harshness towards himself. I’ve been haunted by that shame-inducing voice in my head most of my life. Many of us—myself included—aren’t even sure where it started. Our parents and teachers were supportive and encouraging, yet somehow our internal musical discernment took a dark turn. Mistakes or failures weren’t enough in themselves; we had to pile steaming, smelly piles of shame on top of our errors. We began to punish ourselves for our imperfections. We equated our self-worth with how well we played. And suddenly we found ourselves in an abusive relationship with that internal voice that once told the truth in love and now just accused and shamed us.
No one can become an accomplished pianist without being truthful with themselves. If everything’s good, and everything’s relative, we can never play competently and can never progress. Piano playing is based on growth, editing, and clarity, and these things require wise guidance. But there’s an enormous difference between honesty and abuse. Honesty addresses the issue, abuse attacks the person. The failure may be the same, but noting it and making constructive plans to fix it is a world away from telling ourselves we’re worthless pianists because we failed.
Playing the piano well is an accomplishment, but it isn’t the complete measure of a person’s worth. We know this in our better moments but when we start listening to the shame-inducing voice in our heads it’s easy to forget. The sting of frustration or embarrassment opens the door and soon we’re hearing the ugly message that we’re unworthy and that we must do some sort of twisted penance by heaping more abuse on ourselves. Thankfully most of us also have a healthy, nurturing truth-teller inside ourselves as well. The trick is figuring out how to turn away from the torrent of self-criticism when we’re already caught up in a shame spiral.
I know this battle well. It’s one that I fought for most of my 20s, and it was part of what led me to seek therapy in my early 30s where I began the hard work of being comfortable being Rhonda, not Rhonda-the-pianist. Then, and only then, could I make music in a healthy way. But here’s the important thing: the negative voice never went away. It’s still there as I type this sentence, and it hovers at the edge of my mind every time I practice. I can’t evict it, but I’ve learned how to turn down the volume on it and treat myself with gentle encouragement, not shame.
It’s up to us to choose which internal guide we wish to listen to—the compassionate wise voice or the finger-pointing harpy. How do we do this? I can’t offer a one-size-fits-all answer but suspect that for most of us the trick lies in widening our focus. When our perspective is limited to how well we played one piece or one recital, it’s hard to remember that no matter how much we may identify with playing the piano, it’s just a part of a rich life. If we fail, the sun will still rise tomorrow. People will still love us. We’ll still be competent in other areas of our lives. We’ll still offer something of value to the world. Knowing this doesn’t erase failure, but it does put it in perspective. We can take a deep breath. Smile. Do something for someone else. Feel gratitude for the good things. And, perhaps, smile. We don’t run away from the truth, but we also don’t abandon ourselves to shame.
Have you found yourself caught up in a shame spiral, with the most judgmental part of your mind telling you you’re a worthless pianist? Here are some practical steps to turn off the torrent of self-hate:
Take a deep breath. Take another. And another.
Step away from the piano. Bring yourself into your environment by walking around the room and noting everything you see, hear, feel, smell at that moment. Stop by a window and look outside.
Name one thing you’re grateful for. Name another. And another.
Remind yourself of all that you are outside of music. All the people you love and who love you. All the ways you strive to make the world a more beautiful place. All the small elements that build your rich daily life.
Take a few more deep breaths, and then remember how far you’ve come as a pianist since the first time you sat on the bench. Remind yourself that this is just one day, one situation, one failure.
Promise yourself that tomorrow you’ll start practicing slowly, work incrementally, and that you’ll treat yourself with the love you’d show a small child.
Go and do something good for someone in your life.
We’re all pianists in progress, not finished products. We all have days that are more successful than others. We all deserve to treat ourselves gently and compassionately. The courtesy and respect we show ourselves will translate into freedom at the piano. It will also give us generous hearts that allow us to treat others more kindly. This freedom will reinforce our knowledge that playing the piano is what we do, not who we are—humans, doing the best we can, navigating life one success or failure at a time.
Photo by Giulia Bertelli, courtesy of UpSplash