Hitting Send Anyway
On the inner critic, false starts, and inhabiting the space between self-doubt and self-trust
What does it look like to finally trust yourself after a lifetime of relentless self-doubt?
In my experience, it’s rarely loud or sudden. It shows up softly, in small steps.
For me, one of those small steps was this newsletter.
Starting it was easy. The hard part is sticking to it, showing up every week with something to say, and working with the critical voice in my head that questions whether it’s worth anyone’s time.
That voice has a lot of material to work with:
“Who are you to write about this? Someone else has already said it better. Another story about me? This topic is tired. It’s too personal. It’s not personal enough. ”
Meet the Shapeshifter
The thing is, the inner critic is a shapeshifter.
Sometimes it shows up as a relentless taskmaster, berating us for every error to try to keep us from repeating it.
Other times, it’s more of a gatekeeper, doing damage control to try and keep us from embarrassing ourselves.
It can be so convincing that it’s hard to argue with it, which is why it helps to stop the inner argument altogether and start coming into relationship with this part—by listening.
One way to get curious about the inner critic is to ask yourself a question like: Does this critical voice speak in generalities, or is it more specific?
Its answers are often vague and general. It doesn’t point to the work. It points at you: “This isn’t good enough. You’re not good enough. Why bother?” We might dub this the “shadow” inner critic.
A more constructive version of the critic shows up as discernment. It’s usually more specific: “This paragraph isn’t landing. This idea needs more development.”
The latter is useful inner feedback. The former is a destructive internal narrative dressed up as feedback.
The more we let that story run unchallenged, the more we internalize the idea that we can’t trust ourselves; that our ideas need to hit an impossibly high standard before they can he shared with the world.
The cost of that is higher than it seems.
The Cost of Kowtowing to the Critic
I feel a lot of regret when I look back over my life and think about all the great ideas that I talked myself out of; the myriad pieces of writing and projects I bailed on early on because I decided nobody would care.
Not only were they missed opportunities, but each false start just helped reinforce the neural pathway in my brain that said my voice doesn’t matter.
When I look back on these regrets, I do so with self-compassion. My younger self could not help but be caught in the grip of the shadow inner critic.
(It also feels important to note here that some of my false starts were less about an inner critical voice and more about undiagnosed ADHD. My brain chemistry made it hard to stick with something once the novelty wore off, especially when tedious work came into the picture, and shinier sources of dopamine pulled me elsewhere. I see this as yet another opportunity for self-compassion, not self-condemnation.)
Working With the Critic, Not Against It
The way out of this cycle doesn’t involve silencing the critic. That’s not possible, and it’s not the goal.
It’s about learning to distinguish between which version is speaking. Is it discernment, pointing at something specific I can improve? Or is this a shadowy narrative that’s trying to shut the whole thing down before it even gets a chance?
Understanding the difference has changed how I show up here. In fact, it’s the thing that lets me show up at all.
Some weeks, I publish something and feel completely sure about it. Other times, I’m hitting send while the critic is still in full effect.
Both are acts of self-trust because believing in yourself isn’t about the absence of doubt. It’s about deciding to move forward anyway—even if things are imperfect—one small step at a time.
Moving Forward Anyway
If you’ve read this far, what I’ve shared is likely landing. You might be someone who’s ready to go deeper with this work.
I’ve been working on something new and battling the gatekeeping voice the whole way. I’m almost ready to share it. More next week.
With care,
Heron