Why Your ‘Inner Fan’ Deserves More Attention Than Your ‘Inner Critic’
Laurie Ihirwe Sheja
Digital Strategist | Creative Entrepreneur | Passionate Mental Health Advocate
As a creative, I’ve come to realize the only time I have a fulfilling day is when my brain is fully in gear—offering up every resource, angle, and alternative to craft something that leaves me in awe. But here’s the thing: my standards are pretty high. If you’re anything like me, I bet yours are too.
I’ve always believed that the heart of creativity lies in how deeply we care about our work and how badly we want it to meet those standards we set for ourselves. But let’s be honest, when you’re chasing perfection, your inner critic tends to get loud. Really loud. And that’s where I’ve learned a little secret: the key to staying inspired and productive is giving more power to the part of you that believes in your work, no matter what.
Just like you, I did a lot of 'soul searching' at a young age. I liked to create and I wanted to figure out my creative identity. I began writing simply for the joy of creating something when I was ten. By the time I was twelve, I was crafting fiction. My characters, though they were simple and lacked depth, were adored by my classmates. They devoured the stories I wrote, perhaps because they resonated with them on the same level of brain development we shared at that age. I was doing it because it was fun, because I had a lot of stories to tell, and writing was the best way I knew how to share them.
My father—who has always been my biggest fan—wanted to read my stories and perhaps even have them published. That’s when the insecurities started to take root. No artist wants to talk about the sales part when it comes to creating something. Having them published meant having someone review them, which meant someone editing my work. But most importantly, it meant some stranger would be judging my work against their own standards. The thought made me cringe. I couldn't bear the idea of someone older reading my work, especially when they measured it against the works of my favorite authors. I knew my work wasn't up to those standards. That's when having a book on a shelf became my biggest dream—the highest of honors, something I felt I didn’t deserve yet.
As Steven Pressfield writes in The War of Art:
"The amateur believes he must first overcome his fear; then he can do his work. The professional knows that fear can never be overcome. He knows there is no such thing as a fearless warrior or a dread-free artist."
Fear is part of the journey, and for me, it was fear of not measuring up. I felt that my storytelling fell short of honoring the craft, especially when I compared it to the perfection I saw in the works of bestselling authors. Writing in English, which isn’t my first language, often felt like an insurmountable challenge. And as much as I wanted to write in my native tongue, I struggled to get a grasp on that as well. So, I began to label writing as just a hobby, something I did occasionally—anything to soften the blow of not meeting my own expectations.
But over time, I realized that if I don’t believe I’m a good writer now, I probably never will.
Believing in your ability to do something is the first and most crucial step to actually doing it.
For those who like a step-by-step process, here’s how I do it, and how you can start:
What keeps me going is the dream of that ten-year-old girl who just wanted to tell the stories in her head as beautifully as her favorite writers did. The truth is, everything gets better with practice, as long as you don’t give up. And, as long as your inner fan shines brighter than your inner critic, quitting will never be an option.