The Company We Keep Inside
The voice inside your head is the one companion you’ll never lose. What if, instead of silencing it, you taught it to be kind? This is a story about learning to listen, question, and rebuild the conversation that defines a life.
The Critic
For most of my life, my inner voice has been a critic.
Sharp, demanding, always whispering that I could do better, and that I should do better. It told me that everyone else was watching, judging, expecting. And I believed it. I lived in constant tension: always striving for perfection, never allowing satisfaction.
It took years and a lot of work to realise that this voice was not some other being, acting upon me. It was a part of me, echoing a concoction of everything I had ever seen, heard, experienced, and internalised.
The result, in my case, was exceptionally high standards and a tough case of perfectionism. In my head, the perceived expectations of the people around me, though all well-meaning, had fused into something louder, harsher, and far less compassionate.
I twisted their encouragement into a rule: if I achieved it, then it must not have been hard enough.
And so the goalposts kept moving, the bar always rising, until every achievement felt hollow.
The wake-up call came when I realised that even at my most “successful,” I was deeply unhappy. I’d done everything “right,” yet I felt numb and exhausted. It forced the question: is this really what success is meant to feel like? Why am I striving for something that makes me miserable?
The Redirection
That’s when I began redirecting my ambition into something that healed instead of harmed: movement, sport, fitness.
It wasn’t a cure, perfectionism can sneak into anything (and it did!) but it gave me space to breathe. Slowly, I started feeling joy in the process rather than the outcome.
Running taught me that I could be proud, just for showing up. Ten minutes in, pace and distance didn’t matter. I was already enough.
And the irony is that I achieved more during this time than I ever had chasing the big shiny goals. I learned an incredibly important lesson: when the doing becomes joyful, the achievements take care of themselves.
Over time, my inner voice changed. It stopped barking orders and started offering partnership. Now it sounds more like a coach, a confidant, sometimes even a friend.
It says: we’re capable of great things, but let’s do it in a way that makes life worth living.
That doesn’t mean it’s perfect. I still question whether I can trust it. After all, it’s led me astray before.
But I’ve learned to check the why:
Why am I pushing this hard?
Why am I afraid to stop?
If the motive aligns with my values, the voice is guiding me. If it’s rooted in fear, I know it’s an echo of the old pattern.
The Impact
And I’ve come to believe this: our self-talk sets the tone for everything.
The way we speak to ourselves shapes how we think the world sees us.
If I tell myself I’m awkward, unworthy, or not enough, I start reading that belief in everyone’s eyes, even when it isn’t there.
But if I remind myself that I am kind, capable, and doing my best, I start assuming that’s what others see too.
That’s the irony of anxiety: it makes us act like the version of ourselves we’re most afraid of being. When we act from fear, we become performative, we lose authenticity, and others can sense that dissonance.
So we end up trapped in a feedback loop: insecurity breeding behaviour that confirms insecurity.
Breaking the cycle starts inside. Control isn’t the goal - awareness is.
We can’t stop every negative thought, but we can notice it.
We can question it: What’s your intention? Are you trying to protect me, or punish me?
We can redirect it: What’s a better use of this energy?
And if all else fails, we can reason with it.
Ask: Am I behaving like the person I want to be?
The Mantra
That mantra: ‘the person I want to be’, became my compass.
It’s important to stress that this is not about chasing a future version of myself; it’s about embodying that person in the present.
I am that person when I live by those behaviours, not if I someday perfect them.
Identity isn’t something we reach; it’s something we practice.
And when I wobble, because we all do, I remind myself: we will come back around.
Every dark time I’ve ever lived through has eventually passed. That’s not wishful thinking; it’s evidence.
Faith, for me, is just memory dressed as trust.
I believe that the inner voice isn’t fixed, it’s educated.
It learns through reflection and experience, through the people we admire and the ones we hope not to emulate. It learns through feedback: How did that choice make me feel? Did it align with my values?
That’s how it matures: by noticing, listening, refining.
However, the pendulum can swing too far in the other direction.
The Shadow Side
When I first began analysing my own thoughts, I tipped too far. I became so consumed by introspection that I grew detached from others. Self-awareness turned into self-absorption. I give myself grace for this now because I know that it was necessary for me to heal, but I felt so much guilt at the time.
Realising that I was not being the kind of friend or family member that I endeavoured to be was a wake up call.
It took time and grounding - in curiosity, in admiration for the world, and most importantly: in care for other people - to bring me back. I am still a work in progress, but I am driven every day, to take one step closer to the person that I want to be, for the people I love.
Paying attention to the beauty around me reminds me to live. Investing in others reminds me why it matters.
Our inner voice can easily be led astray by a desire to fit in.
Authenticity, in a world that rewards performance, is an act of courage.
Social media can make it feel like everyone’s voice is louder than your own. To be yourself in that noise takes strength: to say, “this is who I am, and I’m happy with that.”
It’s so important to notice how the content we consume influences our self-talk.
If your inner voice changes every time the crowd does, you’ll lose your ability to trust it.
You’ll live in constant fear of keeping up with the latest trend, stuck between this manufactured idea of a person and the one you truly long to be.
The best advice I have ever been given is to be exactly who you want to be, without a care for anyone else’s opinion.
That isn’t permission to be cruel or dismissive, it’s simply an invitation to do what lights up your soul, and follow it mercilessly.
The Lesson
At its core, the inner voice is the one companion we never lose.
Maybe it’s there to make us feel less alone. A witness, a mirror, a kind of guardian.
Whether you think of it as consciousness, soul, or just the mind talking to itself, its purpose feels the same: to help us make sense of what it means to be alive.
So maybe the goal isn’t to silence it, but to educate it; to teach it warmth, wisdom, patience.
To make it sound less like a drill sergeant and more like a wise grandparent - warm, assuring, unshakeably kind.
The kind of presence that says, “Yes, this is hard, but it won’t always be.”
And if your inner voice isn’t that yet, I recommend starting small.
Notice when it’s cruel.
Ask why.
Question the evidence.
Stand in front of the mirror, even if it feels awkward at first, and speak to yourself like you would to a friend.
It takes work. Real, deliberate work. But it’s worth it.
Because this voice will be with you for life.
And you get to write the script.
How would you describe the relationship that you have with your own inner voice? Is it something that you have ever thought about? Can you see a change in this relationship now vs at a different point in your life? I’d love to hear your story!
