Finding Clarity, Steadiness, and Support When Fear Overwhelms
In this final blog of the three-part series, we explore how self-doubt and self-compassion work together—alongside bravery and community—to help us navigate difficult moments, reframe fear as protection rather than threat, and seek support when moving forward feels hard.
The Arcade Game Myth of Crushing Self-Doubt
Push through fear. Crush self-doubt. Manifest the life you want and then walk toward it, blasting and avoiding obstacles like you are the hero in a 1980s old-school arcade game.
The infomercials appear to have it all figured out, don’t they? We visualize what we want and then just start walking toward it. That approach works for some people—and best of luck to them. Most of us, however, find ourselves in a familiar pattern: we begin with a good idea and a lot of hope and end with frustration and disappointment when we realize how challenging it is to push through our comfort zones and rearrange the habits that help us navigate the complicated lives we’ve carefully constructed.
What would happen if we shifted our strategy—specifically, our relationship with self-doubt?
Self-Doubt Is Not the Enemy (Even When It Feels Like One)
Self-doubt can feel like a tricky enemy, even when its true intention is protection. It is a vigilant survivalist. It knows when to surface and when to hide, waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt a stretch of momentum.
It isn’t easily crushed, no matter how passionately the infomercial master implores us to dominate it. It knows when to fight and when to pull back, typically reappearing just as we encounter obstacles that are harder to blast or avoid than we anticipated.
In the first two blogs of this series, we explored Self-Doubt’s benevolent motivation: to keep us safe. This final reflection examines how quickly Self-Doubt awakens when it senses that a possible threat may be lurking in the shadows.
Let’s begin with a story, fellow travelers.
When Self-Doubt Visits, Part 3
I read “When Self-Doubt Comes to Visit, Part 2,” smile, and send it to my best friend from college who serves as my content editor. Sometimes I send her a blog for a “first look,” knowing her reply will contain thoughtful feedback that strengthens my writing. This time, I anticipate something simpler: “I love it.” And I love it too. I will make minor edits, of course, but the story will hold its integrity.
My thoughts shift to how the blog will fit into the self-compassion class I am preparing to lead in a month. I picture the participants who will hear about Self-Doubt’s visit during the second and third sessions. I mentally review the roster and wonder whether the story might feel like too much for some. Is it wise to introduce inner-child language in a skills-based class? Would it be safer to keep the focus squarely on techniques and tools? Is there a way to soften the imagery without losing the heart of the story?
I look across the table and realize that while my mind has been rehearsing imagined scenarios, Self-Doubt has awakened from her nap and quietly returned to her chair. She looks like my adult self now. We sit facing one another, neither entirely certain what the other needs from this conversation.
My thoughts drift to a YouTube clip I first saw several years ago. The cast of The Greatest Showman had gathered for a script read-through before studio executives. Keala Settle, who portrayed P.T. Barnum’s bearded lady, stood behind a music stand and began singing This Is Me. Her voice was stunning—clear and haunting—but restrained, as if she were holding something back.
As the song unfolded, the lyrics seemed to inhabit her body. Something brave and powerful emerged. She lowered the music stand and stepped forward, claiming center stage. The musicians around her responded instinctively—their posture expanded, their voices grew fuller, their energy rising to meet hers.
Midway through the song, her voice wavered. Her hand began to shake. In that vulnerable moment, despite the visible support in the room, it seemed Self-Doubt had arrived for a visit. Hugh Jackman reached out and took her hand. His steady eye contact and gentle grip communicated what she needed: You’ve got this. She steadied, inhaled, and stepped fully back into herself—no longer afraid to be seen.
The clip ends with a small, confident smirk and the words, “This is me.”
Lowering the Music Stand When Courage Is Needed: Connecting Self-Doubt and Self-Compassion
I first watched that video during my own “remain behind the music stand” season. I was in a job that no longer fit who I was becoming. I sensed the widening gap between my professional interests and my daily responsibilities, but the relentless pace of working single motherhood distracted me from examining it closely. Like Keala Settle, I stayed behind my music stand, content to keep my voice contained.
When I finally lowered the stand and stepped forward, I was buoyed by others—by shared energy, encouraging words, and hands that steadied mine when they shook. Three years later, I have no regrets. And I like the way my voice sounds when nothing blocks it.
I return to the present and meet Self-Doubt’s gaze. I smile. She smiles back. After a quiet pause, I extend my hand. She takes it, and we squeeze gently.
“I don’t need you right now, love,” I tell her. “My voice is strong enough. I just need the courage to lower the music stand and step out.”
“Are you sure?” she asks kindly. “I might be able to help.”
I nod. “Thanks anyway.”
She gives my hand one final squeeze and lets herself out. I listen as the front door closes. She will return—she always does. Some visits will be painful. But she isn’t here right now.
I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and exhale slowly. The lyrics float back to me:
I’m not scared to be seen / I make no apologies, this is me.
They settle gently into the places that need them most.
Returning to the Table When Self-Doubt Speaks Loudly
I wrote this third piece shortly after the second. When I taught the class, I saw nods. I heard stories. One person, with tears in her eyes, responded with a quiet “Oh, shit, Jen, I wasn’t expecting the little girl part.” I watched participants soften as we reframed Self-Doubt not as something to conquer but as something to understand. Honoring its vulnerability and protective intention resonated.
Of all the blogs I have written, this is the one I reread most often. I reach for it when I’m tempted to abandon my seat at the table for the comfort of the couch. When I notice Self-Doubt is speaking louder than my steady inner voice, I reread the blog—and often rewatch Keala Settle’s moment behind the music stand (linked below).
Then I take a breath. I return to the table. I return to the list-making, the difficult conversation, or identifying the next uncomfortable step forward.
In the years since that class, Self-Doubt and I have stood behind more than one music stand together. Lowering it never becomes easy. Our hands still shake sometimes before they find steadiness. It feels good in retrospect—but it rarely feels comfortable in the moment.
Real Courage Invites Others into Our Struggle
What have I learned?
Sometimes I can navigate Self-Doubt’s visit on my own. Other times, I need to sit down with the Hugh Jackmans of my life before listening to her list of why it won’t work out.
It isn’t weak to reach for someone else’s hand when mine feels unsteady. It is wise and brave to borrow someone else’s faith in me until my own returns. We all need someone who can say, with unwavering steadiness, “You’ve got this,” when Self-Doubt’s voice grows loud.
Unsure Where to Go from the first two blogs of the series learned this, too—that the steady hand might belong to a manager who sees our potential, a mentor, a trusted friend, or someone who has walked the path before.
The arcade-game version of courage tells us to go alone—blast through obstacles and keep moving. Real courage invites witnesses. It reminds us that the two-player option has advantages the single-player game never will.
Remember, fellow travelers, we are mammals who were never meant to walk this journey alone. Every hero’s story depends on mentors, guides, and lovable companions. Invite them in, and Self-Doubt’s most difficult visits may become easier to navigate.
Ubuntu, fellow travelers.
Jennifer
I’ve got a lot of Hugh Jackmans in my life who reach to steady my shaking hands. Thank you to all of them.
P.S. Here are some links that might be of interest.
When Self-Doubt Visits (Part 1 of the series)
How to Work With Self-Doubt (Part 2 of the series)
Interested in delving a bit deeper about the relationship between self-doubt and self-compassion?
Check out the Rest. Reflect. Reimagine. Exercise below.
© 2026 Jennifer Ayres, PhD | Still River Counseling, PLLC
Written with care for fellow travelers navigating life’s changing currents.
🌐 StillRiverCounseling.com | 📍 Austin, TX
Gentle Reminder:
The reflections shared here are intended to offer insight and support. They are not a substitute for therapy or professional mental-health care, and reading this blog does not create a therapeutic or doctor–patient relationship.
Rest. Reflect. Reimagine.
A Self-Compassion Practice for Navigating Self-Doubt
Self-Doubt will visit again. It always does.
The question is not whether she will show up —
but how you will greet her when she does.
Let’s slow the moment down.
REST
Give yourself permission to pause and take a breath when the thoughts begin racing.
When Self-Doubt grows loud:
- Close your eyes (if that feels comfortable).
- Take one slow breath in.
- Let your shoulders drop.
- Notice where tension lives in your body.
Ask yourself:
- Am I trying to crush or defeat Self-Doubt right now?
- Am I trying to outrun her?
- Am I standing behind a music stand that no longer needs to be there?
You do not have to decide anything yet.
Just notice how Self-Doubt is showing up in your thoughts and what emotional tension she may be bringing to your body.
REFLECT
Listen and decide what fits versus what needs to be released.
Self-Doubt often carries a list.
Instead of arguing with her immediately, try asking:
- What is she trying to protect me from?
- What feels risky right now?
- Is this discomfort dangerous? Unfamiliar? Uncomfortable?
Now gently separate:
- What is fear-based prediction? Is there evidence to support it?
- What is useful information?
You might even write two columns:
Self-Doubt Says:
Evidence For Her Concerns/ Against:
Pausing to reflect is not surrendering or giving up.
It is intentional consideration of what makes a situation complex.
REIMAGINE
Lower the music stand.
If Self-Doubt’s voice softens even slightly, ask:
- What would stepping forward look like — just one inch?
- What is one small action that honors courage instead of comfort?
- Who are the “Hugh Jackmans” in my life right now?
If your hands feel shaky, consider:
- Whose faith can I borrow?
- Who could sit beside me at the table?
- What would it look like to seek support instead of playing the single-player game?
Remember: courage does not require you to go alone.
A Final Question
Are you trying to defeat Self-Doubt —
or are you willing to collaborate with her?
Sometimes the bravest step is not blasting forward or avoiding or crushing.
Sometimes it is:
- lowering the music stand,
- steadying your breath,
- and reaching for a hand.
Ubuntu, fellow travelers.
Jennifer
