The Inner Critic Is Shouting

Last week I sent a message to a friend and, somewhere in the middle of it, wrote: "The inner critic is shouting, accelerating a big dose of imposter syndrome."

It was one of those sentences you type without really thinking about it.

And then afterwards I thought: actually, that's exactly what is happening.

The Shift is getting very close to becoming properly real.

Not real in the sense of buying beds, choosing mugs, planting things or discovering that a beautiful safari tent with a perfectly lovely shower room is surprisingly ineffective when nobody has actually connected the water and electricity.

I mean properly real.

The point where I have to say: here it is. This is what I've created. This is what I think it's worth. Would you like to come?

And apparently that is the point at which every noisy voice in my head decides to turn up for work.

Last month, at The Big Retreat in Cambridgeshire, I met Annalie Howling, author of Unapologetic: Unshackle Your Shame, Reclaim Your Power. We talked about my inner critics.

Plural.

Because I've realised I don't have one. I have two. And they are absolutely exhausting.

The first one knows exactly where to stick the knife. She deals mainly in shame. Who do you think you are? What makes you qualified to do this? What if nobody comes? What if they come and hate it? What if you've got the pricing completely wrong? What if everyone eventually realises you haven't got a clue what you're doing?

Neither one allows me to rest. And that is the bit I hadn't really understood before.

It's classic imposter syndrome territory. But reading Annalie's work has made me wonder whether calling it "imposter syndrome" lets me off a little too easily. Because she talks about shame as something deeper.

Her distinction between guilt and shame is very simple: "Guilt is something that I have done. Shame is something I believe myself to be."

That stopped me.

Because I got something wrong is very different from there is something wrong with me. This might fail is very different from I am a failure. And once shame moves into the "I am…" territory — I am not enough, I am wrong, I am unworthy — it can start becoming the lens through which we interpret everything else.

That feels uncomfortably familiar.

Just as the first critic starts telling me I should probably retreat quietly before anyone notices what I'm doing, critic number two comes crashing through the door. She sounds much more confident. For years, I probably thought she was the good one.

Oh, for God's sake. Get on with it. Stop being pathetic. Work harder. Keep going. Prove you can do it. Don't stop now.

On the surface, the two voices appear to be fighting each other. One says stop. The other says go. One wants to make me smaller. The other wants me to charge forward regardless.

But I've started to realise they have something rather important in common.

Neither one allows me to rest. And that is the bit I hadn't really understood before.

Annalie talks openly about the relationship between shame and high achievement — how shame can fuel perfectionism, people-pleasing and relentless performance. She also asks whether the very insecurity that hurt us was also part of what drove us to succeed.

That's complicated. Because we tend to celebrate drive. We admire the person who keeps going. The one who works harder. The one who proves everyone wrong.

But what if sometimes the relentless "keep going" isn't confidence at all? What if it's simply fear wearing a more socially acceptable outfit?

That landed with me.

Because critic number two has been incredibly useful over the years. She gets things done. She meets deadlines. She works ridiculous hours. She refuses to give up. She can make almost anything happen if you give her enough coffee and sufficiently terrifying consequences.

But she isn't particularly interested in whether I'm tired.

And this is the bit I'm only just beginning to recognise. There used to be another voice. Not a critic. The quieter one. The one capable of saying: you're tired. That's enough for today. Nothing terrible will happen if this waits until tomorrow. You do not have to earn the right to sit down.

Somewhere between the critic trying to shame me into stopping and the critic bullying me into carrying on, that voice has been shouted out of the room.

Which is particularly ironic given what I am creating.

So much of The Shift came out of my own experience of feeling as though I needed permission to stop. Permission to rest without having reached complete exhaustion first. Permission to do nothing without turning it into a wellness activity. Permission to sit somewhere beautiful with a cup of tea and not immediately wonder what I should be doing next.

Annalie is particularly dismissive of all those "shoulds". The constant I should… I must… I ought to… can become fuel for the inner critic and, ultimately, burnout.

Which makes me laugh slightly because I'm probably capable of turning resting into another item on a to-do list. Must relax more. Excellent. Another thing to fail at.

There was something else Annalie said recently that I keep returning to. When you are about to move outside your comfort zone or make a significant change, she says your inner critic can "throw the kitchen sink at you."

That is certainly what mine appears to be doing.

Launching The Shift means putting something very personal into the world. For more than 25 years, I worked in environments where I understood the rules. There were job descriptions. Targets. Titles. Promotions. External markers that told you whether you were doing well.

This is different. Nobody has appointed me founder of The Shift. There isn't a panel somewhere saying: congratulations, Clare, we have reviewed your application and consider you suitably qualified to build a retreat.

There is just an idea I believed in strongly enough to create.

And perhaps that is precisely why the noise is so loud. I don't yet have years of evidence telling me I can do this. I'm creating the evidence now.

I probably would have finished this article with something triumphant. Something like: feel the fear and do it anyway. Inner critic screaming? Carry on regardless. You've got this.

Except I now realise that would simply be critic number two taking over the article.

Because "just push through" is already something I know how to do. Very well. What I'm less good at is deciding that I could keep going… and choosing not to.

Annalie talks about self-compassion as the antidote to shame. Her work isn't really about winning an argument with the critic; it's about changing the relationship with what sits underneath it.

And perhaps that is the bit I'm beginning to understand. I don't necessarily need another louder voice shouting: you can do it! There are quite enough people shouting in there already.

Perhaps I need to make space for something gentler.

What if, instead of asking what should I be doing, or what do I need to prove, or what will people think if I stop — I asked: what do I actually need right now?

Rather wonderfully, that is the question that seems to sit at the centre of The Shift too. Sometimes the answer might be Pilates. Sometimes breathwork. Sometimes a conversation. Sometimes dancing. Sometimes sitting beside a lake with a cup of tea. Sometimes getting back to work because you're excited and the ideas are flowing.

And sometimes perhaps the bravest answer is: nothing. I'm tired. I'm going to stop.

I am still launching The Shift. I am still putting a price on something I've created. I am still going to experience the exquisite discomfort of waiting to find out whether other people value it too.

And I strongly suspect critic number one will continue telling me I've lost my mind while critic number two tells her to carry on and work harder.

I'm not sure either of them is going anywhere soon.

But maybe the goal isn't to silence them. Maybe it is simply to stop letting them have the only two seats at the table. To leave one empty for the quieter voice. The one that doesn't shame me into stopping. And doesn't bully me into carrying on. The one that simply says: what do you need?

Perhaps courage isn't always carrying on regardless. Sometimes it's recognising that you don't have to.

And perhaps, for me, protecting the feeling starts there.