The extraordinary poet and teacher Marie Ponsot would talk about the crow sitting on your shoulder saying things like: “That sucks,” ”How could you write that?” and “Are you kidding me?”. She identifies the crow as the antagonist to any creative effort. Always the voice trying to convince you that you shouldn’t. Marie would say to “Shoot. The. Damn. Crow.”
- Reboot: Leadership and the Art of Growing Up
Jerry Colonna, an author and coach I admire, retells the story above and deconstructs it further: The crow isn’t simply a negative voice since there are occasions when our inner critic helps us ship better work, or keeps us out of situations we might not be ready or suited for. It’s the influence that tells us we’re not finished or that things are not as good as it could or should be.
In short: my crow is the voice of my learned behaviors that help me do better, and sometimes keep me safe.
In creative efforts it may tell me I’m not good enough and, to keep me safe from ridicule, I should stop. In other instances, it may tell me not to voice an opinion to keep me safe from retaliation. It may tell me I can’t run fast enough or jump far enough to make it across the stream. In the moment of need, my crow is extremely valuable. It keeps me safe, but when my crow stays beyond its need, it becomes destructive.
If my crow is screaming at me not to voice my true feelings because that has hurt me before, but life has changed and not expressing myself is damaging relationships, my crow is hurting me now. That crow wasn’t all bad, it saved me from abuse. The crow has value even if it’s causing a problem now.
I’ve found a lot of value in identifying WHY my crow is screaming at me. What from my past is it protecting me from? Is it still valid? If not, I can celebrate and love my crow for the help it's given me, and tell him it’s ok to be quiet now. That I *should* move forward because the situation is different, or I am different.
It helps me to give insecurities and fears an identity. I developed them all for a reason and giving them the persona of my crow helps me talk about where they come from, and sometimes to tell my crow “Thank you, but I need you to be quiet now. I’m doing something hard and I’ve got it covered.”
Being allowed to celebrate my crow helps me avoid feelings of guilt for having developed unhealthy responses to situations. As a guy who grew up heavily masking severe ADHD, I’ve got a lot of crazy little ghosts in my machine like that. The responses likely weren’t always unhealthy. They may have been the thing that kept me alive to learn another day.
Sometimes my crow keeps me from seeing there are people who do love me. He usually tries to convince me it’s only because I’m useful to them. Haven’t come to an agreement with him on that one yet, but we’re working on it.