When Your Inner Critic Doesn’t Speak—It Just Feels Like Shame

Not everyone has an inner critic that talks.

Some of us don’t hear a voice that says “You’re not good enough.” We just feel it—in our bones, in our breath, in the way our body tenses when we take up space.

If you didn’t grow up with overt verbal abuse—no screaming, name-calling, or threats—you might assume the trauma you carry “isn’t that bad.”

But emotional neglect and psychological invalidation leave a different kind of scar. Not a voice in your head, but a vibe that follows you everywhere. You don’t hear anything—but you feel something.

A low-grade hum of shame. A tension that spikes when someone sees you too clearly. This inner critic is more of a felt sense of wrongness that doesn’t announce itself—it slips into your body like background noise.

It shows up in subtle but powerful ways, especially in moments of connection, celebration, or calm:

• A vague discomfort when someone compliments you.

• Tightness in your chest or stomach when you're emotionally vulnerable.

• Feeling like you're "too much" when you cry—or "not enough" when you don't know what you need.

• The urge to downplay your success, needs, or emotions the moment someone notices you.

This kind of shame doesn’t scream. It destroys you in secret.

Somatic Shame: When the Body Becomes the Inner Critic

People who grew up in emotionally dismissive or psychologically confusing environments often don’t have a critical inner voice—they have an inner atmosphere.

A lingering sense of wrongness and nervous system constantly scanning for danger, even in moments of calm.

Therapists like Janina Fisher, Gabor Maté, and Peter Levine describe this as the body picking up where language leaves off—how emotional trauma often bypasses the verbal brain entirely and imprints directly into the nervous system.

That’s because connection—or the lack of it—gets encoded in the body.

When your emotions aren’t mirrored, your system doesn’t learn safety. Instead, your body takes over. It learns to brace, to shrink, to disappear. And over time, the body becomes the message:

• Your shoulders slump when someone validates you.

• Your breath shortens when you express a need.

• Your posture collapses when you take up space.

• This isn’t you being “too sensitive.”

It’s your body remembering what your mind can’t quite explain. “What wasn’t named becomes what’s felt.” — somatic therapy in a nutshell

As psychotherapist Carmen Dominguez shared in our recent podcast episode, many of these reactions—like people-pleasing, freezing, or over-functioning—don’t come from conscious beliefs. They come from the body’s wisdom formed before we had language. These survival strategies weren’t choices. They were adaptations rooted in early nervous system responses to disconnection and emotional threat.

You don’t hear “You’re not good enough.”

You just feel a tightness in your chest when someone’s upset. A drop in your stomach when you get feedback. An instinct to fix, fawn, or disappear—because deep down, your body still believes connection depends on your performance.

(We dig deep into this in the episode—listen to it here: Why Peace Feels Unsafe: Trauma Healing Through the Lens of Polyvagal Theory w/ Carmen Dominguez.)

So What Does Healing Look Like?

You won’t fix this by arguing with your inner critic. Because there’s no argument—it’s not verbal. It’s physiological.

Here’s what real healing starts to look like:

✅ Learning to notice:

• When does your body tighten?

• When do you shrink or go numb?

• What kind of connection feels threatening—even if it’s kind?

✅ Relearning emotional safety:

• Not through mantras or affirmations—but through slowly, consistently being seen in spaces where safety is felt, not forced (… damn the join ⚓).

✅ Letting your body experience:

• Being loved without needing to earn it.

• Being vulnerable without being punished.

• Being celebrated without the urge to disappear.

This healing is subtle—but it’s sacred.

And it starts by realizing: If you’ve spent your whole life feeling broken without knowing why—there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just carrying pain that was never named.

xo

Andrea