Only now, in my fifties, have I begun to realize that those critical voices—the ones whispering that we are no good, less than, a fake—are, ironically, meant to soothe us and keep us safe. The voice of the inner critic is meant to protect us from humiliation and shame, from the risks of being found out—from being seen as the impostor, the charlatan, we fear we may be—or think we already know we are.
