Man, why did I panic and take my story down just seconds after posting it? I heard 'red pen' and my subconscious is all like "NO NOT RED PEN STOP NOOO!".
Here, I've made this scatological and hopefully humorously blunt extended metaphor to address your fear of guided improvement:
The less you expose yourself to critics, the longer you'll remain shitty.And even if critics crap on you like a flock of pigeons on a bald man's head, you'll wash it off each time and, having passed through the harrowing shit-gauntlet of those ruthless pigs, you'll be better from it and cleaner too (though perhaps a little smellier). With their – and our – help, you will be able to navigate the labyrinthine passages to the legendary Best Way, scaling its rocky face with ease and agility.
Choosing to linger in the stagnant sewer-water congesting at the bottom of the Chasm of Ineptitude, trembling at the sight of the incontinent Tiger-Harpies (whose malodourous bowel movements happen to be smeared across the walls of the great Chasm) ringing its foul mouth, squawking, roaring and defecating this way and that to keep you and your would-be rescuers at bay, is a hundredfold worse than braving the gargantuan cliffs and the thousand hardships on the way out to the Meadows of Proficiency – for the longer you remain among the pooled feces and ancient droppings, the more of a chance it has to soak in to your clothes, your skin, even your very bone, until naught but the most agonising of scrubbings can scour it away. But even then, the shame of having chosen to stay in the horrid abyss will live with you until your passing, the wound always as raw, painful and sanguine red.
So heed the siren call of the enlightened ones sitting at the Meadow, and bathe yourself in the glorious shit-showers of the Critics and the Tiger-Harpies – for with them, and with each exposure, you will be able to gradually chart the course through the Best Way and into the grassy hills of the Meadows of Proficiency and Bliss.
And by then, too, you might find yourself voluntarily returning to bathe in their fecal discourse.