The Voices in My Head

How I Turned My Inner Critic into a Go-Getter

I call him Joe. He’s that voice in my head with zero tolerance for mistakes—especially mine—and absolutely no room for sympathy. He’s kind of a terrorist, really, always looming with dire warnings about everything that could go wrong if I dare to stray from the safest path. I didn’t pick his name by chance. He’s named after my dad, Joe, who was the oldest boy in a brood of eight—four boys and four girls—in a classic Irish Catholic family in Philadelphia. My dad grew up in Kensington, an Irish ghetto now notorious for its drug problems.

That environment, along with the weight of being the eldest son, toughened my dad in ways few people understand. Maybe that’s why, when his three younger brothers died—one from a tragic steroid-related complication—he just said, “That’s what happens when you make bad decisions.” No tears, no cracks in the armor. That’s when it hit me: I have my own inner Joe, an unyielding critic determined to keep me from ever making a “bad decision.” In his mind, one misstep could land me on the streets.

But Joe isn’t alone in my head. Oh no, there’s a whole cast up there. Philly Girl is one of them—a firecracker with razor-sharp wit and an unshakable “don’t tell me I can’t” vibe. She’s the one who insisted we move to Portugal on a whim—no plan, no backup, just a plane ticket. Joe hates Philly Girl. He’s forever warning that she’ll leave us penniless or worse. Philly Girl, of course, thinks Joe’s a total killjoy. If it were up to him, she figures, we’d never leave the couch.

Then there’s Little Mo, the anxious one who’s easily overwhelmed. She’d rather slip out of a party unannounced than face a room of strangers. But while she’s quick to see danger, she’s also quick to see potential—especially in broken things or broken people—maybe because she feels pretty broken herself. And finally, there’s Kumbaya Girl, the peacekeeper. She’s the one with the crystals and the mantra that “we’re all connected.” Joe can’t stand her, naturally. To him, “positive vibes” don’t pay the bills. Kumbaya Girl tries to soothe the mayhem, but nobody’s exactly counting on her in a crisis.

If this sounds a little bonkers, rest assured there’s actual science behind it. Neuroscientist Jill Bolte Taylor, in her work Whole Brain Living, describes how the brain is divided into four distinct quadrants—each with its own way of thinking, feeling, and interacting with the world. These quadrants can function like separate characters within us:

1. Thinking Left Brain (Character 1): Logical, analytical, critical (my “Joe”)

2. Emotional Left Brain (Character 2): Fearful, anxious, and where our inner victim or wounded child resides (my Little Mo)

3. Thinking Right Brain (Character 3): Creative, experiential, carefree, sometimes oblivious to consequences (my Philly Girl)

4. Emotional Right Brain (Character 4): Compassionate, empathetic, and spiritually connected (my Kumbaya Girl)

I think about my dad, about the burdens he carried. His mother lost her own father at 14; he died falling off a train while trying to steal coal during the Depression. Imagine the desperation, taking that risk for heat. He left behind a wife with no clear path to support two young daughters. As immigrants, they had limited family to lean on. That legacy—one of harsh realities and slim margins—likely shaped how my dad was raised, and in turn, how he parented me. It’s the kind of environment that tells you to tighten up, to shut down anything that looks like a pipe dream or a leap of faith.

When I see my inner “characters” through this lens, I realize each deserves compassion. Just like you wouldn’t mock a child’s fear of the dark or crush a teen’s wild ambitions, these internal parts of me need to be heard. Little Mo needs reassurance that being anxious doesn’t mean she’s broken—it means she’s human. Philly Girl is determined not to let life slip by, and Kumbaya Girl hopes there’s more to this universe than randomness and rent checks.

A New Name, a New Perspective

For a long time, I only saw Character 1—the Thinking Left Brain—as my inner “Joe,” the stern doomsday voice borrowed from my dad’s legacy of harsh survival. But I’ve grown enough to realize that same critical mind also fuels my ambition—it’s the part of me that tackles big projects, follows through, and makes sure we don’t land in the poorhouse. So I decided to rename her GiGi, for “Go-Getter.” GiGi still has some of Joe’s rigidity and wariness, but now I see her as the force that gets stuff done and keeps us organized.

Of course, GiGi can’t do it alone. If I let her run the show by herself, she slides right back into Joe mode—negative, prescriptive, and terrified of mistakes. But when Philly Girl’s creativity, Little Mo’s sensitivity, and Kumbaya Girl’s empathy all join the conversation, GiGi becomes her best self: a powerhouse who dreams big, plans smart, and keeps our world spinning.

And isn’t that the invitation for all of us? To recognize the distinct “characters” within, give them names if we want, and help them work together so we can become the greatest expressions of ourselves. My dad never really got that chance. Now at eighty, his mind is slowly unraveling from dementia. If he’d learned to tap into different parts of himself—taken a few more risks, loved people in spite of their flaws, allowed more spontaneous joy—his life might have looked very different.

But I can learn from that. By letting GiGi, Philly Girl, Little Mo, and Kumbaya Girl each have a seat at the table, I can honor both my dad’s strength and the freedom he never quite claimed for himself. Maybe that’s all any of us can do: integrate our many selves so we live—and love—more completely, with a little more hope and a little less fear.

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