It takes guts to have an opinion.  It takes guts to share them with others. To open yourself up to criticism.  I don’t care what you say, how innocuous it may seem to you; someone will decide that your opinion makes you a member of Al Qaeda.

That’s just how it goes.

But, putting yourself out there, owning what you really think and feel, is the best exercise there is for standing in your power.

Last week I posted my list of the 100 Reasons I Love Myself.  I considered it a fun, playful piece; a reminder of how good it can feel to focus on our strengths. After all, I believe that, as Mama Gena says, “the greatest threat to a woman’s happiness and success is her own negative judgment of herself, and other women.”

I was astounded, however, by the fire this post drew on Facebook.

Some of the criticism I received made for great debate, and allowed me to consider my worldview from a totally different angle:

The problem is, your way seems to imply that women like me focus on our bad traits and live a life of self- loathing! We acknowledge our own positives too, along with the less pleasant attributes. That’s healthy balance! Not publicizing a long list of our self-perceived qualities (this is not to say that others wouldn’t agree with at least some of them!). I live a very, very happy life without the need to enumerate my good points! Perhaps it’s in the water we drink in the UK – would you like me to send you some?!!

Some of the criticism felt really mean and downright personal:

In fact, I would be so bold as to say that such lists are more indicative of low self-esteem than anything else. Moderation in all things, I agree with Gill, too much indulgence in such triteness isn’t healthy and will not lead to a happy life. Self adulation and protestations of just how awesome you are doesn’t make you a nicer person, it just makes you annoying. And stop perving on these comments Ann....I know you’re sitting there hitting the “like” button like an emperor watching two babes having a mud fight….

The two who offered these comments—one thought provoking, one nasty—are friends who knew me well when we lived together in Iran, whose words, because of this, carry far more punch.

In other words, ouch!

It’s often those who know us best, who’ve known us longest, who’ve seen us in our darkest days, who know our deepest flaws, who criticize the loudest.  They fail to see or honor growth and evolution, study and self-insight. And question who we are  to stand tall and speak our voice.

For the last several years I’ve conducted writing workshops and at the beginning of each term we deal with the biggest fear participants have: the negative reaction of friends and family to their writing.  And it’s this paralytic fear that prevents folks from putting anything down on paper, or from telling it like it is/was, or from pursuing publication when they finish their project.

So, I want to give you the bullet points of what I tell them because I think this fear of disapproval applies to us all, particularly people pleasers.  One negative comment, and there we go questioning ourselves, our motivation, our value, and our numerous failings.

• In order to get what we want most in life—connection with others—we have to have the courage to tell the truth, regardless of who will disapprove. We have to allow ourselves to be vulnerable.  We have to risk opening ourselves up to criticism.

• We have the right to tell our own stories any way we want, and if we happen to offend some people, they’re welcome to write their own stories.

• Praise and appreciation feel wonderful; criticism feels horrible. Maybe you think you should be big enough to rise above it all, but you’re only human.  Both are part of the process.

• Not everybody is your audience. Your kids, your parents, your cousins, some of your friends, may not like what you have to say.  And that’s OK. Because they are entitled to their opinion, too.

• Some ideas you don’t share until you’ve had the time to consider them, to develop them, to allow them to soften.  You’ll naturally know what they are so trust yourself.

• Your REAL audience is desperately waiting for you to put into words what they are feeling, what they are yearning to hear. They are waiting for you.

• Those closest to you might not like the fact that you are willing to stand out, which happens when you express yourself.  This is called the Tall Poppy Syndrome, “a phenomenon in which people of genuine merit are resented, attacked, cut down, or criticized because their talents or achievements elevate them above or distinguish them from their peers.”  The alternative, however, is to play small and keep quiet, which sorta sucks if you think about it.

• It is always harder to build—to create, to think, to focus—than it is to tear down.  The artist, or writer, or entrepreneur takes risks by putting him or herself on the line; the armchair critic takes none. No skill set is required to be nasty.

• If it were easy, everyone would be doing it.

And finally, I’d like to end this whole conversation with a Teddy Roosevelt quote I rediscovered recently in a Brene Brown book, which I think sums things up nicely. May it give you the courage to face what will come when you step into your power.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.