​Reclaim Your Voice - How to Break Free from the Inner Critic

Image by Ryan McGuire from Pixabay

This week, I’ve been reflecting on what my real voice sounds like. In doing so, I’ve become more aware of just how much mental and emotional energy goes into filtering out the impatient, brutal, and often downright mean voices in my head—the ones that sound suspiciously like the most critical voices of my childhood. These voices are always on high alert, scanning for threats to my sense of self, ready to lash out at perceived weakness, intrusion, or loss of autonomy.

Growing up, we take on beliefs and behaviors that help us navigate the family and social environments we depend on for survival. Even if they don’t feel true to us, over time, they become ingrained—shaping not just our thoughts but how our nervous system reacts to the world around us.

For me, so many of these voices are about control—keeping things in order, maintaining boundaries, and resisting anything that feels like vulnerability. My nervous system has spent a lifetime bracing against neediness, helplessness, or anything that might require me to soften and let go. Even my misophonia fits into this: my body registers external stimuli as an invasion rather than neutral background noise. The inner critic, relentless as ever, distracts me with its fixation on controlling, correcting, and fixing—whether that’s how someone dresses, their habits, or the way they chew—because surrendering to the discomfort of trust and vulnerability feels far more terrifying.

And yet, life keeps handing me not just the good things I’ve envisioned, but also the perfect “intensive course” in stepping out of hypervigilance. My work isn’t to refine or control the world around me—it’s to soften, to receive, to allow things to unfold.

Recognising the Urge to Fix and Control

I’ve been paying closer attention to the patterns that shape my interactions—the way I instinctively jump in to fix, teach, or relate. These responses come from a place of deep care, but I’ve started noticing how often they bypass the simple act of holding space.

A conversation with a friend recently highlighted this for me. She was frustrated about her daughter’s school placement, and I immediately connected it to my own child’s experience, offering strategies that might help. It felt useful—but was it what she needed? Or was it my own discomfort with witnessing someone struggle?

That same urge shows up in everyday moments, even in something as small as drying shoes. This morning, someone in my house (brave enough to live with me) left their wet shoes on the front porch. I moved them to the back, where the sun actually hits. But after a night of rain, I saw them moving the shoes again. I couldn’t help myself—I explained, logically, why they’d dry faster in the sun.

I could see their frustration. At this point, I paused.

Whether it’s in parenting, friendships, or even advocacy work, I see how often I step in—not just to help, but to control an outcome. Yet, every time I pause, I open space for something new. In the case of the shoes, they did make their way into the sun—but what if they hadn’t? Maybe they wouldn’t have dried as well, and maybe they would have smelled. But that’s not my experience to manage.

These small moments are micro-adjustments that retrain my nervous system—helping me step back from fixing and into trusting.

Shifting from Reaction to Clarity

When I recently wrote to the school about a great opportunity for students that hadn’t been marketed properly, my first draft was firm, pushing for accountability. But as I stepped back, I realised the urgency in my words carried the imprint of my conditioning—the voice that fears being dismissed, the part of me that believes I have to push to be heard.

When I rewrote the email with a more strategic, collaborative tone, something shifted. I moved from demanding action to offering insight, from fighting a small battle to fostering a larger conversation about systemic change. That, I realised, was my authentic self—the part of me that believes real change happens through influence, not force. The school may or may not market the program differently moving forward, but I walked away from the interaction with my energy intact, knowing I had approached it in a way that aligned with my deeper values.

Using AI to Clarify, Not Replace, My Voice

AI can be a powerful tool, but it can’t replace lived experience, critical thinking, or the depth of human storytelling. When used intentionally, it doesn’t override my voice—it helps me hear it more clearly.

In the case of my email, I didn’t ask AI to write my response, but to help me sift through the mental noise. When I’m triggered by my own internal voices and reactions, AI helps me distill my thoughts, ensuring that what I put forward aligns with my deeper intention: to be clear, thoughtful, and kind.

A recent conversation with a friend brought this into focus. We were discussing AI’s impact on human expression, but what unfolded was a more personal reflection on authenticity itself. Just as I’ve learned to pause and notice my urge to push, I’ve also found that AI, when used with intention, can create space for greater self-awareness. It’s not about outsourcing our voice but refining it—so our words remain both effective and genuinely our own.

Shifting from Control to Trust

It’s a learning curve, this shift from control to trust. I’m still untangling when my inner critic is acting as a misguided protector and when my authentic self is stepping forward with wisdom. But each time I pause, each time I resist the urge to fix or correct, I open space for something new—a way of being that is both softer and more powerful.

Many of us are conditioned to step in, improve, and fix—whether it’s offering advice before it’s asked for, smoothing out potential discomfort for others, or trying to manage outcomes. But what if we stepped back and allowed things to unfold?

Here are some ways I’m learning to shift:

1. Pause Before Reacting – When I feel the urge to correct or step in, taking a breath can help. Asking, Is this truly necessary, or can I let it be? creates space for a more intentional response.
2. Let Others Have Their Experience – Just as I’ve learned through trial and error, others need that same opportunity. Not every problem needs solving, and sometimes the best support is simply allowing people to find their own way.
3. Notice the Inner Dialogue – That critical voice often stems from old conditioning. By observing it without immediately acting on it, I begin to separate habitual reactions from deeper wisdom.
4. Trust the Process – Growth, relationships, and problem-solving don’t always require intervention. Trusting the process opens possibilities beyond what control could create.
5. Celebrate the Small Wins – Every time I choose trust over control—even in the smallest moments—I reinforce a new way of being.

The voices that echo in our minds—the ones shaped by years of conditioning—don’t have to dictate our responses. With practice, we can begin to separate those critical voices from the wisdom that resides deeper within us.

As you move through your own life, I invite you to notice the times when the urge to control or fix rises up. What would happen if you gave yourself permission to let go, just a little? What new possibilities might emerge when you trust the process instead of trying to control every outcome?

Trust isn’t a single moment of surrender—it’s a practice. And just as I’m learning to soften and allow more ease into my life, I invite you to also let go, breathe, and be present with what truly matters.

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If you enjoyed this post, you might also like How to Quieten the Inner Critic, Your Childhood Is Not Your Fault but It Will Be Your Limitation, and The Hidden Power of Your Conversations: How they are Shaping the World.