I was called to analyze broad patterns of my behavior last weekend. I was criticized. It hurt my precious feelings. And after that, I went into a regularly scheduled downward spiral thinking, “I shouldn’t be doing this anymore. I’m embarrassing myself. My voice is dumb. I’m stupid.” And downward old thought patterns circled. I’m mostly over this colossal waste of time, but obviously not quite. So I took a rest from writing for a few days to focus on being physical, enjoying the outdoors and realigning myself.

What I reflected on is a deeply ingrained pattern that so many people struggle with: the immediate explosion of confidence when lit by external criticism, because beneath that confidence is the tinder of the internalized script. When I receive a negative comment, instead of just processing this piece of criticism, my  brain treats it as proof of something much bigger: “I shouldn’t be doing this at all.” My mind has a trapdoor straight to the eighth ring of hell, specifically the 10th trench where existential doubt drives one to madness.

This pattern isn’t just personal; it’s cultural, psychological, and deeply gendered. Many of us, especially those socialized to be accommodating, modest, and humble, are conditioned to second-guess our right to take up space or speak louder than a whisper. Confidence-deflating jokes, casual dismissals, and the societal expectation that ambition must always be tempered with humility, often to the point of self-erasure, reinforce this doubt.

My reaction, pulling back, wanting to stop entirely, is also part of the cycle. If criticism makes me retreat, I don’t just avoid the pain; I also avoid the practice of doing something that reinforces my belief in myself. It’s like my brain is saying, “See? You were right to doubt yourself,” when really, it’s just the natural byproduct of stepping into something vulnerable. 

I know this pattern. I recognize the spiral. I know I am mostly over it, but also not quite. The fact that I’m analyzing it means I’m already outside of it enough to name it. And that means I’m in a place to rewrite it.

I needed a break, and I took it. But I don’t let the break become a retreat. I don’t need to feel fully confident to write something powerful, even if it’s only powerful to me. I just need to keep going. 

Confidence is fragile because it requires practice. If it isn’t used regularly, it weakens. People often think of confidence as something you have or don’t have, but really, it’s something you do. Every time I put my voice out there, I’m reinforcing the habit of believing in myself. But if every instance of self-expression feels like a test, where criticism means failure, then confidence never gets the repetition it needs to become resilient.

What makes this tricky is that confidence-building often feels bad at first. It doesn’t always feel like progress. It feels like stumbling, embarrassment, vulnerability. But the only way confidence becomes solid is by working through those feelings rather than retreating from them.

Doubt and fear don’t just disappear and claiming my voice doesn’t mean waiting until I feel totally secure, because I never will. It means moving forward despite discomfort. It means recognizing doubt and external criticism as background noise.

Here is how I’m flexing my confidence: 

Writing even when I doubt my intelligence.

Sharing even when it feels embarrassing.

Continuing even when someone doesn’t like what I say.

That’s how confidence actually forms. Not through external approval, but through repetition. You don’t have to wait until you feel ready. You just have to keep doing it.