Unravelling... my inner critic and me
Finding the courage to step into my confidence
We’ve all heard of our inner critic, right? That little bullying internal voice. The one that tells you you can’t do something, that you’re undeserving or unworthy. And because it sounds like your own voice, it’s pretty convincing. If someone else said those things to you, you might kindly tell them to f*** off – but that’s a bit trickier when the voice lives inside your own head. And you know yourself better than anyone, right? So this voice must know what it’s talking about... right?
In a bid to confront my own inner critic, I came across a chapter in Roxie Nafousi’s book Confidence. There’s an exercise where she encourages readers to identify the places in their lives where this voice started showing up. She suggests connecting the dots to uncover your own belief origin story. So, I grabbed a pen and paper and began jotting down three standout moments.
In primary school, I was confident. I loved being the lead in school plays, happily bossed my sister and friends around, and always had my hand up in class. But when I was around 10, I had a serious kidney infection that landed me in hospital, hooked up to a drip. I overheard the doctors tell my mum that if she hadn’t brought me in when she did, the situation could have been fatal – pretty heavy stuff for a 10-year-old. But that wasn’t the main issue.
I missed about a month of school recovering. When I returned, my form teacher would single me out in front of the class to answer questions. I assume she was trying to reintegrate me into the curriculum – but in a spectacularly awkward way. I must have got that first question wrong – cheeks flushed, skin burning, all eyes on me. From that point on, I learned to keep quiet, even when I knew the answers.
Later, when I started university, my confidence was hanging by a thread. It could have gone either way. Under the right influence, my inner voice might have become the ultimate cheerleader. But instead, I found myself surrounded by emotional vampires. One of them even made it into my bed.
My first proper boyfriend was not a good one. It was another environment where I learned to stay silent and small – mainly for safety. He had the belief he was the Second Coming (true story), and I had the belief I was lucky to be with him.
Then came the workplace. In some of my first professional roles – one in particular – my direct line managers were toxic, reinforcing the idea that I had nothing of value to say. I was overlooked for promotions because I’d clam up in meetings. How could I be a leader if I couldn’t speak up? At networking events, I’d shrink into myself, wondering how everyone else seemed so effortlessly confident.
Most people shy away from revealing their age, but I’ve always blurted it out to anyone who’ll listen – hoping they’ll take this petite, quiet girl seriously once they realise she’s actually older than everyone else in the room. But it tends to backfire. My inner critic pipes up: Why is everyone else achieving so much, so much younger? It manifests as imposter syndrome. And I’ve learned, or at least convinced myself, that it’s safer not to take up too much space in the world.
This is the story I’ve internalised for 40 years. And over time, I’ve lost that trust in myself. And having PMDD can mean that voice gets even louder at certain times of the month.
I’ve wanted to write a book for as long as I can remember. People tell me I should. That I can. And recently, I’ve finally started. I’ve put pen to paper. But 3,000 words in, that not-so-friendly voice is back, telling me I don’t have anything worth saying.
I’m terrified of getting to the end of my life and realising I never stepped into my biggest life, because, honestly, forever is such a long time to feel small.
But reflecting on all this has made me think about the times I have stood up to bullies – external ones and the inner kind, too. The moments I’ve pushed myself out of my comfort zone, taking small but significant steps toward rediscovering that vibrant little girl who once brimmed with confidence. She knew she’d be an author. She already was. She made books for the reception class in her school, and one of them was even put in the school library.
Unfortunately, that critical voice isn’t always internal.
Like the time the school careers advisor told me I probably wouldn’t make it as a journalist, because I was “too quiet” and didn’t have a “pushy enough” personality. But in hindsight, my quiet confidence has actually served me well in this career. I’m still regularly in touch with most of the people I’ve managed. I’ve built decade-long relationships with industry experts. And honestly, sometimes people don’t want to be pushed. They want to feel seen. They want to work with someone who genuinely cares about what they do, and how you fit into that.
Then there was my head of sixth form, who told me I’d never make it to university because I wasn’t a “high flyer.” Funny thing is, when I graduated, she invited me back to give a motivational talk to students ahead of their exams.
Or the teachers who discouraged me from taking Psychology A-level, saying it was “a bit too sciencey” for me, and steered me toward Sociology instead. And yet, I ended up carving out a career in health journalism and editing Psychologies magazine. No matter how often people try to steer you off course, you somehow find your way back to where you were always meant to go.
In the ultimate act of rebellion against my inner critic, I hosted a podcast – Walk To Wellbeing. It was my idea from start to finish. But I was almost talked out of being the host, because, surprise, someone else was seemingly more confident than me. But here’s the thing about me: I’m tenacious. Scrappy. And I give things a go. With the right encouragement, I found my stride. It eventually became a fun and joyous part of my work.
In many work environments, I’ve been led to believe that loudness equals competence. But that’s never been my story. Mine is a quiet journey of self-belief – one that grows stronger with the right support. I remember once,
pulled me into a meeting room and placed a mirror in front of me. She taught me how to do power poses, and how to say affirmations aloud – to myself, about myself. Not long after, I was promoted to editor of the magazine I was working on.This year, my word is BELIEVE – and we’re already six months in. I’m trying to throw myself into things headfirst, before the inner critic even gets a chance to speak. I’ve dived into open water for wild swimming. I’ve driven around the country for work, even though I hate driving anywhere unfamiliar. I’ve shared poetry online. I’ve walked into events where I didn’t know a soul.
And lately, my three-year-old has been asking me, almost daily, “Mummy, do you think you’re good enough?” (Yes, really.) It’s a sharp, swift reminder of just how early this stuff can start. And so I say, “Yes,” every time. I say it for him. And I say it for me. Hoping that one day, if I say it often enough, I might start to believe it too.
Loved this (as always!), Holly. Really resonated ❤️