We’ve all heard the story of the Trojan Horse, right? The Greeks seemed defeated, retreating from Troy’s walls, leaving behind a “gift” that changed history. My own Trojan Horse didn’t come from ancient warriors; it was planted in my mind early in life. Inside lurked my inner art critic, stealthily sneaking self-doubt and fear into my creative fortress.
Unfortunately, this voice has been with me since childhood. Despite its whispers of inadequacy, my love for art never waned. I marvelled at Van Gogh’s swirling impasto in Starry Night, Botticelli’s delicate gradients in The Birth of Venus, and Vermeer’s masterful light in Girl with a Pearl Earring. Every masterpiece I adored felt like a testament to the infinite language of creativity. I was captivated by the idea that I could bring an image from my mind to a canvas and share it with the world.
After finishing school in the UK, I pursued Fashion Design at a specialist art college, hoping an applied art would open more doors for job opportunities in the future. But those two years were some of the toughest of my life. Most of this was due to things happening in my personal life, however, fashion felt limiting, and my college experience was very much the ‘Devil Wears Prada’ stereotype many think the industry is. I craved the freedom to draw and paint. So, I switched to Textile Design at university, a path that allowed me to reconnect with fine arts.
For a while, I thrived. Yet, as social media exploded, my inner critic grew louder. Seeing incredible artists online turned inspiration into comparison. I felt like Sisyphus, endlessly pushing the boulder of ‘what ifs’ and ‘I cants.’ By graduation, even after selling a piece of art, that critic had become a harpy, pecking at every flaw. I used my last savings to set up a market stall, full of hope that I could turn my dream of living off my art a reality… I sold nothing. The whispers of “not good enough” grew louder, amplified by an abusive relationship I’d entered right after I graduated. A relationship that slowly crushed my confidence and stifled my creativity (and would do so for a few more years until I found the courage to leave).
I stopped drawing.
For five whole years, my pencils gathered dust, and my dreams of an art business crumbled like Icarus’s wings after flying too close to the sun.
The Turning Point
Everything changed when I met someone who showed me a rare gift: love. He wasn’t a traditional artist but admired creativity, especially the anime style I first loved as a child. His passion reignited mine. Picking up a pencil again felt like rediscovering a forgotten part of my soul.
But the critic returned, whispering familiar doubts. I would regularly voice these thoughts aloud and then one day my boyfriend sat me down and he told me how much it hurt him to hear me tear myself down. That moment, coupled with some other struggles, led me to seek therapy. Slowly, I realised my inner critic wasn’t an oracle of truth; it was just fear in disguise.
The relationship ended after a year, but its impact remains profound. He may never know how much he changed my life.
Reclaiming My Art
Reclaiming my art wasn’t a sudden victory. There was no deus ex machina moment where everything magically fell into place. It was more like a long journey, a series of small victories. I started sketching again, just for myself. No expectations. No pressure. Each drawing felt like reclaiming a piece of lost territory. My inner critic still spoke up, but now it sounded less like Zeus hurling thunderbolts and more like background noise.
Now, I’m back to sharing my work. Yes, the critic still lurks, I’m still in therapy and very much still on my journey but I’ve learned to treat it more like a grumpy oracle than an all-powerful god. It might predict doom, but it doesn’t decide my fate. Instead of giving up, I’ve built this site, shared my work on Instagram and TikTok, and began to vlog my journey on YouTube for the world to see.
The Journey Continues
I see my art differently now. Criticism can help us grow, but it should never paralyse us. If you’ve faced your own inner harpy, remember this: every artist has doubts. Even Hephaestus, the god of craftsmanship, probably second-guessed his creations. The key is to keep creating anyway.
After all, even the longest odyssey begins with a single step—or sketch.
If you’d like to see the art that almost never saw the light of day, check out my YouTube video where I share all my sketchbooks from over the years. And if you’re battling your inner critic, know this: the fight is worth it. You’re not alone.
