I have always struggled with overly-harsh self-criticism.
I feel that one of the reasons I become so depressed when I perform or record is that I teach myself to ignore certain mistakes when learning the notes to begin with; those rose-colored glasses are then stripped off once I am aware that people are listening critically to me. Then I run back to the shelter of my practice room and try to play the piece; I am shocked; I hold the fragments of a shattered masterpiece; the optimism is gone; I wonder what happened; all enjoyment found in playing the piece is lost. I try in vain to correct one problem - if I could only play that one measure right! But my patience is too short-lived and I leave the practice room to go for a walk.
I have two options at this point to overcome this temporary aural trauma and move on. First, I can remove or lower my self-determined standards, turn off my ears when I go before an audience or a microphone, and simply play without allowing myself to feel disappointment or disgust at the result: it is what it is. This option sickens me - it seems contrary to the fundamental principles of art. The second option is to open my ears still wider in the practice room and expose myself to the painful realities of all my technical and musical shortcomings from the very beginning. I am not perfect, but I do not allow myself to be content with imperfection; I assess where I am, and I set attainable goals for that day's practice session.
This negative experience happens less and less frequently these days, thankfully. Partly I'm developing the instincts to predict what will fall apart in performance and how to prevent it, but mostly I'm just focusing on smaller segments of music and playing them precisely from the get-go. I'm learning that there is a feeling of total control and comfort that fills up the hands when you really get a piece under your fingers; you feel that everything you do is intentional; silly mistakes, fobbles, and wrong notes don't scare you, because you're still in control. Having gotten a glimpse of what that feels like, I now strive to attain that within the first weeks rather than two years down the line with a piece.
Today is an excellent example. It was a remarkably productive practice session, despite some rather uncomfortable interruptions. I spent a little over an hour on the A section of variation 1 of the Goldbergs, just looping it a little under tempo. It's about a 45 second section. I find more and more that it doesn't matter how I practice, but rather that I am focused. I can control the piece well enough that if I fumbled a little or played a wrong not, I kept going and when I got around to the section again, I corrected it. Each time I played through the section I set a different goal and gradually worked the entire piece up by degrees. About 40 minutes in I experienced the major crash in finger coordination, dreams about which happening on stage wake you up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat! So I stopped, slowed significantly down, and worked out the finger movements again from about 40 beats per minute all the way back up to about 90. And now, with minimal upkeep, I can keep that section from ever going haywire again.
After the incident I took up looping that section again until playing it gave me that feeling of total control I desire. Of course, I only achieved 95% of the feeling I was looking for, but the last 5% will take another few months to settle in. Sadly, that's the way it works. Now that I know what that feels like, however, I will not perform unless I experience that total relaxation and freedom when I play my program. It's dangerous to do otherwise; why would I go into the lion's cage not having mastered the whip I'm wielding against the beast?
This seems unrelated, but it's the first step to becoming more confident and overcoming the shock of hearing yourself perform or record in a positive way.
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