Mental Health Blog : Therapy Tips, Coping Tools & Insights
Table of Contents
(MOST RECENT TO OLDEST)
How to Work With (Not Against) Your Inner Critic
Fort Worth Community Resources: Local Organizations Offering Safety, Advocacy, and Legal Help
Boundaries: They're More Than Just Saying No
How EMDR Can Help Make Distressing Memories Less Intrusive
The Loneliness of Being the First One to Break a Cycle
Why I Do This Work: A Therapist Reflects on Healing and Hope in Uncertain Times
Queer Resources in Fort Worth and Nationwide: Support for LGBTQIA+ and BIPOC Communities
Queer-Affirming Therapy: What It Is and Why It Matters
Mental Health Awareness Isn’t Just For May: How to Keep Caring for Yourself Year-Round
Can I Benefit From Trauma Therapy If I Don’t Remember Anything “Bad” Happening?
Your Privacy Matters: Why I Opt Out of Insurance Panels as a Private Pay Mental Health Therapist

How to Work With (Not Against) Your Inner Critic
If you’re in therapy (or thinking about starting), you probably already know that one of the loudest internal voices we wrestle with is the inner critic.
It’s the part of you that says:
“You’re not trying hard enough.”
“You’ll just embarrass yourself if you speak up.”
“No one likes you”
Clients often tell me their inner critic feels relentless, like it’s either in the driver’s seat or yelling in their ear nonstop. That can be exhausting, and it makes sense you’d want to get rid of it altogether, but here’s the thing: the critic isn’t the enemy. Your inner critic is a part of you that, at some point, learned to protect you, even if its methods are harsh.
Step 1: Understand What the Critic Wants
The inner critic didn’t appear out of nowhere. It usually develops as a survival mechanism, helping you to avoid mistakes, rejection, and/or danger by becoming an untrained security guard: overbearing, anxious, and not very nuanced. In therapy, I often ask clients to pause and consider: “What is this part of you trying to do for you?” Instead of “How do I make this voice shut up?”.
For example:
The critic says, “Don’t speak up in this meeting.”
Underneath, it’s really saying, “I want to keep you safe from rejection or judgment.”
That reframe can take the sting out so instead of just hearing the attack, you begin to see the protection behind why this part does what it does..
Step 2: Separate the Critic from the Whole Self
A critical thought can feel like the truth, but it’s not your entire identity. It’s one part of you. Just one piece of the beautifully complex whole that makes you, you. You can acknowledge its commentary without agreeing with it.
I often suggest using language like, “A part of me believes I’m not good enough,” instead of, “I’m not good enough.” That small shift creates distance to help you see the critic as just one perspective at the table, not the only voice.
Step 3: Bring in Other Parts of You
In session, we might explore what other parts are available. Maybe the compassionate part. Maybe the wise, grounded part. Maybe even the playful part.
You can try asking yourself:
What would I say to a close friend if they had this thought?
What would the most loving part of me say to this?
How would I respond if a younger version of me felt this way?
This isn’t about silencing or dismissing the critic, it’s about having multiple perspectives at the table, like the parts of you that are supportive and compassionate. By widening the conversation, you reduce the inner critic from hogging the mic.
Step 4: Shift the Relationship, Not Just the Thought
A lot of clients are surprised when I tell them: the goal isn’t to erase the inner critic. The harder you try to silence the inner critic, the louder it often gets. Once you treat this part with respect, curiosity, and maybe even gratitude then it softens and there is more room to have a dialogue. Imagine these parts as inner people, we wouldn’t want to ignore a physical person, that usually is hurtful and counterproductive to building trust and knowing why they acted the way they did.
Instead, try acknowledging it:
“I hear you. You’re worried about me failing.”
“Thanks for trying to protect me, but I want to try this anyway.”
You’re not agreeing, you’re accepting and communicating with your inner critic; just like you would with a physical person when you want to further the relationship after a rupture. You’re letting the critic know you hear its concern, but you’re choosing to lead with a different part of yourself.
Step 5: Practice in Small Moments
Therapy is where we can practice together, but your everyday life is where the real change happens. Don’t wait until the next big job interview to experiment with this, we need to build trust with our inner parts in order to begin to change what they’ve been so used to doing. Start with something small and manageable as to not overwhelm you or your parts:
When you make a small mistake and feel inner criticism rise up.
When you hesitate to send a text, practice responding internally to this part of you.
When you’re learning something new, catch the commentary.
Every time you notice, pause, and respond differently, you’re building new neural pathways in your brain. This neurologically strengthens your ability to lead with compassion and understanding rather than fear since we often fear what we don’t understand. Over time, the critic can soften and become more of an inner coach where it offers opinions in a supportive way, but ultimately you feel more in charge.
Closing Thought
Your inner critic may always be there, but it doesn’t have to run the show. In therapy, we can work on transforming it from a relentless judger into a cautious advisor you listen to without obeying.
Healing doesn’t mean eliminating parts of yourself. It means learning to work with them in a way that honors both your need for safety and your capacity for growth. It's integrating and befriending all of the parts of ourselves because as Carl Rogers said “the curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change”. If you struggle with understanding and befriending your inner critic, I’m here to help you get there using IFS/parts work therapy. Schedule a free 15-minute consultation today.
👉 Question for readers: When was the last time your inner critic spoke up, and how did you respond?

The Loneliness of Being the First One to Break a Cycle
This is for the brave ones who do what no one else in their family dared to do. The ones who stop the cycle, who go to therapy first, who say “no” instead of staying silent, who choose healing over suffering. And no one throws them a party for it.
No one tells you that healing can feel lonelier than suffering in familiarity, at least for a little while until you find your footing. That choosing clarity might mean losing connection, at least at first. That doing what might be best for you, might look like betrayal to others. When you’re first to break a pattern, grief can show up in unexpected ways. There is grief for the closeness you once had with people you now see more clearly. Grief when others interpret your growth as judgement. Grief for the versions of yourself that you’re learning to let go of. Grief of losing connection, while gaining clarity for yourself and future generations.
The labor of being a cycle breaker isn’t just yours, there’s an invisible labor of many. You’re not only healing yourself and your own wounds, you’re metabolizing and working through generations of patterns, ruptures, beliefs, and wounds that were never meant to be yours, but landed on your shoulders anyway. On top of that, that labor also comes with emotional fatigue. The exhaustion of always being the one who is emotionally aware, reflects, initiates, listens, explains, communicates, and grows. The one who is “doing the work” for your family, for yourself, and for your lineage that never got the chance. It makes sense that you feel alone sometimes. It’s no wonder, you might feel guilty for seeing things differently. You might also wonder if you’re too sensitive, too “extra”, if you’re the problem, if ignorance was bliss. I’ve been there and I’ve made it to the other side.
Here’s what I can tell you. Healing is not linear. It’s messy and chaotic and layered and emotional and also so worth it. Healing is learning to name what you need and want even when no one asked. Healing is feeling joy and grief all at the same time. Healing is learning to parent yourself for what you feel that you missed and accepting what you were given from your guardians. Healing is regulating your nervous system because no one can regulate that for you, but they can definitely help to co-regulate with you. Healing is holding to your boundaries, respecting yourself, and noticing that others will respect you in the process. Healing is not about being perfect, it’s not about pleasing others, it’s about being authentic to what is right for you in the moment that you are in. And no, the loneliness you feel does not mean that you’re doing it wrong, it just means that you’re the first person in your family to do this and you’re leading the way for others after you. You don’t need validation from your family to see that what you’re doing is impactful and monumental. You got this. There are people who understand. You are not alone, even if it feels like it.
If this feels familiar, if you’re tired, angry, hopeful, and heartbroken all at once, therapy can be a place where you don’t have to explain why it’s all so heavy. You just get to put it down and we can sift through the heaviness together. I offer therapy that honors both your story and your survival, whether you’re navigating what it means to differentiate while honoring collectivistic values or trying to hold onto your roots within an individualistic culture, I’m here to support you.
Sam Villarreal
Licensed Chemical Dependency Counselor and Licensed Professional Counselor Associate supervised by Melinda Porter, LPC-S

Why I Do This Work: A Therapist Reflects on Healing and Hope in Uncertain Times
Therapy is one of those sacred places to me where there are moments that are deeply intimate, not just between therapist and client, but between a client and themselves where they’ve never said something out loud before, something they’ve never acknowledged to themselves before and sometimes it’s wrapped in a whisper, or a laugh, or maybe shame. When it lands though, the room shifts and time stops just for a second, it feels deeply sacred to witness. I feel privileged to bear witness to those moments and I did not become a therapist for that reason, but that is the moment I am here for.
I became a therapist because I know what it’s like to carry invisible weight, to be the one who holds everything together, to grow up navigating multiple worlds, culturally, generationally, emotionally, and never feeling like you fully belong to any of them. Lately, that invisible weight has felt heavier for so many of us and not just because of our own personal history, but because of what is happening all around us on a systemic level.
We are living in a time where fear feels palpable, where basic human rights feel up for debate, where families are separated, identities are politicized, and safety feels tentative, especially for those of us who are Black, Brown, immigrant, LGBTQIA+, disabled, or first-generation. Here in Fort Worth, many are navigating a deep fear of not being protected, of being targeted, of losing their autonomy, of being silenced, or erased.
This climate is not separate from our mental health, it is directly tied to it. Chronic fear, generational survival instincts, and cultural pressures live within our bodies. They shape how we move through the world, how we connect with others, how we trust, and how we rest or how we don’t. That is why therapy is not just a luxury or part of a self-care routine, it’s resistance. It's a reclamation. The horrors persist, but so do we, in spite of it all, we must continue.
I work with people who have had to be strong for everyone else and are slowly learning how to be soft with themselves. People who carry intergenerational trauma, cultural expectations, and a deep desire to be the one who “breaks the cycle” for the future generations after them. People who are trying to rest even when it feels unsafe, who are trying to hope even when the world feels fragile and hopeless.
Therapy is not a fix all, but I do know when therapy is relational, trauma-informed, and rooted in the belief that healing is political, ancestral, and personal all at the same time, it can help people become less fragmented, less alone, and more resistant to the horrors outside.
I do this work because surviving isn’t enough. Because our communities deserve care that sees our entire identity, context, and history included. Healing in a world that wants you silent is revolutionary and I believe in the quiet power of people healing together. There’s hope in the shadows, hope in the behind the scenes work, hope in the anticipation of the work. I see that power every day and it gives me endless hope. We are not alone. Feel free to reach out here.
Sam Villarreal
Licensed Chemical Dependency Counselor and Licensed Professional Counselor Associate supervised by Melinda Porter, LPC-S