I have this person who follows me about all day, hurling insults. "Idiot!" she exclaims when I delete the wrong email.

"No willpower," she sneers, when I order an extra glass of wine or succumb to the dessert I'd told myself I was going to turn down. "Lazybones!" she shrieks, if I turn over for an extra five minutes in bed.

It's very wearing, this constant barrage of undermining putdowns and curses. And, oddly enough, despite this person being so severe and critical, she doesn't succeed in making me modify my behaviour.

She certainly doesn't build up my confidence or make me feel good about myself in any way. And yet I find it very hard to shake her off.

Compare her with my real best friends -­ luckily I have quite a few. These wonderful men and women tell me I look great when I've made an effort to look good - after this other person has looked me up and down with scorn.

They tell me I'm doing a great job when this other person despairs of my ever getting it right. They listen to my woes without agreeing with her that I have every reason to doubt myself. They tell me to relax, that I'm being too hard on myself. They remind me of things I have done that worked, of places I've been that made me happy.

I associate them with good times and bright visions, while this other person only ever reminds me of failures and broken dreams.

The thing is, this other person is me. She is an agglomerate of all the negative judgments, midnight terrors and critical harshness that I have ever experienced. And the really mad thing is that she is the one I listen to.

When she has control over my brain, I can take the kindest compliment and crush it under foot. "Oh, you're only saying that to cheer me up," I think. And what, exactly, is wrong with that?

Most of us, unless we are lucky enough to be fantastically optimistic, carry this dark critic inside us, and one of the arts of living well is to notice it and turn down the volume. In order to be happy and successful, we need to replace this corrosive onslaught with the kinder voices that offer us patience and encouragement.

Imagine that you are taking care of a small child. Unless you are some Dickensian villain, you do not attack this small person's confidence with withering criticism. If a child spills something, you laugh if off, saying that it's only an accident.

You try to minimise his distress. When he draws a picture you find something to love about it. When he feels shy or unhappy, you cuddle and tease and coax him. Why can't we behave in this essentially kind way towards our own selves?

The dark side of each of us, this withering inner voice, can be challenged and replaced with something more merciful and more nurturing. If we pay attention to the way we talk to ourselves in private we can learn to correct the harshness and become our own best friend.

This isn't New Age twaddle, it's a way of changing the quality of our lives. It doesn't mean that you cease being self-critical - ­we need to be self-critical in order to improve - but it does mean we learn sometimes to hold back on the insults and give ourselves a pat on the back.

Think of the kindest person you know, the most encouraging teacher or the most loving mother. It's their voice you want to keep in your head.

When you make a mess of a task, don't shout at yourself and hurl insults. Sit back. Tell yourself that you haven't got it right this time, but congratulate yourself for trying.

Then suggest to yourself that you have another go, maybe trying something differently. Tell yourself that you know you can do it and gently remind yourself of some past success.

And finally, if you really want to see your inner monster for what it is, take a piece of paper and write down, without pausing to think, all the rude, destructive and negative things you hurl at yourself in your own mind.

Would you give houseroom to this person in real life? Of course not. It's time to get them right out of your head for ever.

Article from Telegraph.co.uk 8/1/2008