Why the voice that’s trying to protect you is also holding you back
We’re constantly listening to the little voice in our heads. The one that says, “Who are you to say that?” and “Remember what happened the last time you tried that?“
Occasionally, in moments of triumph, it says, “I am awesome at this.“
Those moments are rarer than we’d like.
Mostly, it’s a running commentary of everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong, or might somehow go wrong again. And as annoying as that is, it’s not trying to ruin your life. It genuinely wants to protect you.
Your brain is not broken
That voice lives at the base of your brain. Some call it the lizard brain. All it wants is for you to be safe, comfortable, and happy. A perfect existence for this ancient, small piece of your brain would look something like this: you, in a warm, cozy space, with food and drink on demand, nothing to worry about, and zero exposure to the outside world.
Half a million years ago, that instinct made sense. Life was dangerous. Things with teeth. Things with poison. Other people who weren’t thrilled you existed. Standing out was risky. Being alone was worse. Your brain learned, very quickly, to treat anything unfamiliar as a potential threat.
That worked great… for about 499,900 years.
The world changed. Your brain didn’t get the memo.
Everything looks like danger now
You’re not being chased by anything.
You’re sending emails. Speaking in meetings. Sharing ideas. Maybe trying to put yourself out there a little more.
And your brain? Still treating it like you just wandered into an open clearing surrounded by things that want to eat you.
Say something wrong in a meeting?
You’ll look stupid. If you look stupid, people might judge you. If they judge you, they might not like you. And if they don’t like you, you’re fired. You’ll die homeless and alone. Congratulations, your brain has just escalated this to “certain death in the wilderness.”
It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud. But in the moment, it feels completely real.
Your brain has made social standing, reputation, and how others see you into a matter of life and death. Quite literally, it sees public failure as almost as bad as actually dying.
That’s why you hesitate. That’s why you sweat. That’s why your heart does that thing before you speak up in a room full of people.
The cost of waiting for the right moment
One woman I worked with, Claire, was sharp and usually the most prepared person in the room. She shared a quick story with me about a time when she had a genuinely good idea during a meeting. Not a “maybe” idea. A good one.
She waited for the right moment to say it. And while she waited, the voice kicked in.
Is this actually as good as I think it is?
What if someone already thought of this?
What if I say it wrong?
By the time she talked herself into speaking up, the meeting had moved on.
Nothing terrible happened. But nothing happened at all.
That’s the cost. Not a dramatic failure, just a quiet disappearance of something that could have mattered.
You can’t just “turn it off”
At this point, the obvious move seems to be to stop listening to the voice. Ignore it. Push through it. Tell it to shut up.
Oh, if only it were that easy, my friend.
It’s your own brain. You can’t unsubscribe. And the truly inconvenient part? It knows you. It knows every button to push, every shortcut to distraction, every way to make “I’ll do it later” feel completely reasonable.
The more you try to muscle past it, the more creative it gets. Suddenly, you’re very interested in reorganizing your desk, or that one thing you need to look up, or something really shiny.
The shift that actually works
The goal isn’t to silence the voice. It’s to stop treating it like the final authority.
Here’s what I’ve found actually works: you hear it, you name it, and then you move anyway.
Not a whole ritual. Not a dramatic standoff. Just a small, quiet acknowledgment: “Got it. You’re trying to keep me safe. We’re safe. And we’re going to do this anyway.”
That moment changes everything. Because now you’re not unconsciously obeying a reflex. You’ve heard it. You’ve seen it. And you get to choose what comes next.
“If you don’t consciously hear the voice that is stopping you, you just do what it says. Until you hear it, it runs the show.”
This is where Improv comes in
People think Improv is about being funny. Or quick. Or clever under pressure.
It’s not. Well, it can be. But that’s not why I use it.
Improv is one of the fastest ways I’ve found to make that internal voice visible in a room full of people who’d normally never volunteer for something like this.
The moment you step into a simple exercise, even a completely low-stakes one, that voice shows up immediately. Before you’ve said a single word, we can almost see it happening in your face.
Don’t mess this up.
Say something good.
Why did you volunteer?
I’ll pause them sometimes and just call it out.
“You just had three ideas and rejected all of them, didn’t you?”
They laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because it’s accurate.
And then the hesitation. Not because you don’t have ideas. Because the filter kicked in.
What changes
Once people start noticing that voice in a playful, low-risk setting, something interesting happens.
They realize they can still act with it there. They can speak before the idea is polished. They can respond instead of retreating.
I worked with a group where one guy, an engineer named Dave, told us he barely spoke in discussions. He was smart, thoughtful, and clearly paid attention… but was very quiet.
During one simple rant exercise I run, he just went for it. No overthinking. Just quick.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, unpolished, and completely alive. And it moved things forward.
Afterward, he said, “That’s the first time, maybe ever, I didn’t wait until I was sure.”
That’s the shift.
The real skill
The people who move forward aren’t fearless. They just don’t treat every uncomfortable moment like a survival situation. They feel it, that familiar tightening, and they move anyway.
That’s a skill. And like any skill, it can be practiced.
Turns out, hooting and hollering, and playing ridiculous games with a bunch of colleagues is one of the better ways to do it.
Not because the games matter that much.
Because for a moment, you stop waiting to feel ready… and realize you can function just fine without it.
Toby Martini helps teams and individuals find their voice through the unexpected power of improv. His workshop, Wing It & Win, has been called “the most fun we’ve ever had learning something real.”
Leave a Reply