Talking Back to Myself

It's one thing to talk to myself—one of my favorite pastimes. More recently, though, I've found it necessary to talk back to myself. I try my best to maintain a respectful tone. But when I catch myself nodding like a wide-eyed child to the outlandish insinuations fear whispers in my ear, it's all I can do to resist breaking out the whipping noodles.
"Do my eyes deceive me?" I retort to the vaguely familiar stranger in the mirror. "Did you really just travel all the way from articulate professional to stuttering novice in the span of one afternoon?"
I've been persuaded by enough friends that the "castigate, humiliate and beat up on myself" strategy for fostering maturing change hasn't been serving me that well. Command and control efforts like "Stop it!" and "Grow up!" haven't produced much in the way of results either.
So I've taken to putting a friendly arm around my own shoulder (less effective in public where not everyone knows it's impolite to stare), and gently, though directly, asking, "Hey buddy, what do you think is going on here?"
"I'm not here to evaluate or judge. Just making myself available to listen and help you think through some of your, shall we say, less than rational behaviors."
I'll let you know how it goes.