How Teaching Helped Me Quiet My Inner Critic

– a story of anxiety, self-doubt, and an unexpected kind of courage –

I never thought I’d tell this story publicly because for the longest time, it felt too personal. Too raw. Too tangled in fear. But now, with a little distance and a lot of reflection, I think it’s time. So here it goes.

A few months back, I found myself doing something I never imagined I would: teaching psychology in a class full of students.

That sentence might not sound like much. People teach. People give lectures. People stand in front of classrooms and speak every day. But for someone like me - someone who has lived with social anxiety and Imposter Phenomenon, this was huge.

Let me take you back a bit.

 

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Part One: A Legacy I Wasn’t Sure I Could Carry

I come from a family of teachers.

My mother, my aunt, and even my grandfather spent their lives in education, shaping young minds. I grew up hearing stories about classrooms, students, and lesson plans.

Naturally, I admired them. I loved the idea of teaching. I loved learning. But secretly, I also feared that I would never live up to what they had been. I was the kind of person who got tongue-tied when asked to speak in front of others, despite meticulous preparation. The idea of standing where they stood felt... unreachable.

That’s why, when I got the opportunity to teach, I almost said no. 

Part Two: Hello, Social Anxiety and Imposter Phenomenon

For those who have never experienced it, social anxiety can be hard to understand. It's not just nervousness. It’s the hesitation before speaking in a group, the panic when someone unexpectedly asks you a question. It’s not just a fear of public speaking; it’s a fear of being seen and judged.

Now combine that with the imposter phenomenon - the unshakeable belief that you’re a fraud, that your achievements are just luck, that you’ve somehow fooled everyone into thinking you’re capable when you’re really not.

Together, they create a pretty convincing voice in your head:
“Don’t do it. You’ll embarrass yourself. You’re not good enough. They’ll see through you.”

So, when I was asked to take a psychology class for a group of students, my instinct was to walk away.

But a smaller, quieter voice inside me whispered, “Try.”

And I’m grateful I listened.

 

Part Three: The First Class

The night before my first class, I barely slept. I revised my material over and over again. I kept imagining the students’ faces—blank, disinterested, judgmental. I stood in front of the mirror rehearsing my introduction several times.

The next morning, I walked into the classroom, my heart pounding like a drum. My palms were sweaty. My voice was a little shaky. But I started.

And as I spoke about the topics I had planned that day, something shifted. I wasn’t perfect. I fumbled a little. But I noticed that the students were listening. Genuinely listening. Their eyes weren’t bored. They nodded. And some even asked questions.

In that moment, I didn’t feel like an imposter. I just felt like someone who cared deeply about what she was teaching.

And I remember thinking, Wait. This isn’t too bad.

 

Part Four: The Slow Change

Over the next several classes, I still felt nervous before each one. That part didn’t magically vanish. Every morning, I still reviewed everything twice. I still questioned whether I’d be able to explain something well or handle a tricky question.

But something else had started to grow quietly inside me: my faith in my abilities.

Every time a student raised a hand to ask a thoughtful question, every time I managed to explain something in a way that made sense to them - I chipped away at that inner critic. Once a student stayed back after class to say, “Ma’am, you make it so easy to understand. I really enjoy your classes.” It took everything in me not to cry right then and there, and I remember going back home that day with a full heart and a quieter mind.

 

Part Five: The Goodbye

I didn’t expect my last day to be emotional. I thought I’d quietly wrap things up, say thank you, and leave.

But when I told them it was my final class, many of the students looked genuinely upset. Some came up to me and said they will miss the classes. A few handed me small handwritten notes which had little thank-you messages that I’ve kept safely till today. Others messaged me later to say how much they had enjoyed learning with me.

And in that moment, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time.

I felt... proud.

Not of being perfect. Not of being fearless. But of showing up despite the fear. Of giving my best despite the doubt.

 

Part Six: What I’ve Learned

This experience didn’t just teach me how to manage a classroom; it taught me how to see myself through a gentler lens.

For the first time, I felt like I had stepped into the legacy of the teachers in my family, by finally beginning to carve out my own.

It reminded me that confidence isn’t some magical trait you either have or don’t. It’s something you build slowly, through action. Through small victories. Through showing up scared and doing it anyway.

It also helped me see that even those of us who battle anxiety and self-doubt can still be powerful in the spaces we care about. That we are not defined by our fear - we are shaped by how we respond to it.

And To You, If You’re Still Reading

If you're someone who struggles with anxiety, who doubts yourself often, who feels like an imposter in the spaces you’ve worked so hard to be in - I see you. I am you.

And I want you to know: you are more capable than you believe. You can do the things you never thought you could. Not because it will be easy, but because your heart will show up even when your confidence doesn’t.

We all have an inner critic. But we also have something else: an inner flame.

Mine was lit by a classroom I was scared to enter. Yours might get lit somewhere else. But it’s there.

So go on. Step into the room. Say yes. Teach. Speak. Try.

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How to Deal withSocial Anxiety when You Can't Get Access to Therapy?