Nice Work: Hello critic, my old friend

Hey there,

You know that feeling when someone unsavory from your past reappears out of nowhere? You thought you’d moved past the feelings they evoke—anxiety, anger, sadness. But there you are, instinctively holding your breath as you process their arrival, feeling your stomach start to churn and your face start to flush.

That’s how I felt last month when my inner critic appeared, arms folded and eyebrow raised, looming over me like a mean-girl giant.

Let’s call her Jill, the same name as the kid who peer-pressured me to do a trick on the playground that gave me a broken arm. Fucking Jill.

Jill had a good, long rest from her constant monitoring after I settled into my previous job. But the minute I started my transition from content strategy to coaching, I kept a wary eye out for Jill’s return. The day Sara asked me to join Active Voice full-time she sprung up like a jack-in-the-box.

She asked: Why you?

That’s all she had to say. I filled in the rest of the blanks easily. Why me, indeed? There are so many amazing coaches in the world. I’m not well-known in the design field. I’ve written no books, I’ve given no keynotes. My following—and it’s a stretch to say I have one—is pretty much entirely made of family and friends. 

My body sagged, as I wondered: Am I bringing anything to the table?

Jill blew me a kiss and disappeared, as if to say: My work here is done.

The most powerful tool in my coaching kit is the ability to recognize that Jill’s critical voice is not mine. It’s the amalgamation of a lifetime of family and cultural conditioning, lingering feelings of shame from times I didn’t stack up, and an excess of fear around not being liked—or loved. 

So when I asked myself that question—Am I bringing anything to the table?—I let myself feel utter panic for an hour or so, and then I sat Jill down for a lecture. I reminded her that I’m a trained and certified coach, that I’ve taught master's-level college courses, that I’ve been mentoring designers for over a decade, and that people usually really like working with me.

She begrudgingly admitted: Sure, I guess that counts. A neutral response is the best I need from Jill. So I waved her away and started my new job.

That talk was enough to pacify Jill for a while. But like I said, last month, she showed up with a roar.

The conditions were perfect for a sneak attack. Because here’s a thing about me: I love to learn, but I hate being new. There’s nuance to the feeling. On one hand, I’m actually quite kind to myself about learning curves, really open to feedback, and not ever very interested in being the best at anything. 

But on the other hand—I hate asking for help. It makes me feel like a burden, a disappointment, and a drag. It can turn into an existential crisis: If I’m not the helper, who am I?

I was working on curriculum for Active Voice and struggling to get the right story down—from the language to the flow. I’d open the document and freeze. I kept adding more and more content, as if that would hide the mess. And as my frustration started escalating into panic, guess who showed up?

It was fucking Jill, once again, asking with a smirk: Why you?

It took a lot longer this time for me to get the courage to sit down with Jill and hash it out. I needed a little reassurance from my therapist, my partner, and Sara first.

But that kind of external affirmation is only a band-aid. Getting through to Jill is the cure.

And this time, I couldn’t give her a lecture. Because she was right—I was struggling. So I humbled myself to explore what this feeling could teach me about where I need to stretch myself, deepen myself, or grow tall. What would success look like if I wasn’t focused on perfection—or any of those outside markers of success, like credentials or acclaim?

I drew on my core values—empathy, connection, authenticity, integrity—for clues. I asked myself:

It’s tempting to run back to where I was before, where I built a reputation, trust, and near-autopilot expertise. Jill was proud of me there. She even sometimes cheered me on.

But what makes me proud is when I—a risk-averse, anxiety-prone, self-described late bloomer—put myself in situations that are new and scary to me, knowing there’s no guarantee I’ll get it right. Someone who shows up, however imperfectly, is and always has been the kind of leader I am excited to be.

Jill can fucking deal with it.

–Jen

Join our fall cohort

The Courageous Leadership Program

Starts September 21. Registration now open.

Leadership isn’t about how you look or speak. It’s about understanding yourself, your strengths, and your perspective—and then leading from that place.

In this 12-week program, you and an intimate group of peers will develop a clear picture of the leader you are at your core—not the leader you think you should be. 

You’ll dig into your values, goals, and stuck spots, using them to understand your strengths and growth areas. You’ll face your fears of “doing leadership wrong” so you can build confidence in sharing your perspective without watering it down or hiding it away.

The world needs your voice—and the voice of other bold, brave leaders who challenge the status quo. We don’t care what your title is in the Courageous Leadership Program. We only care about helping you show up exactly as you are.

Book a Q&A session with Sara

EPISODE 9

When mission-driven gets messy

How can work fill your soul and give you stability? Should you even try—or just burn it all down?