When friends ask me to look at their writing, I usually say “I’d rather be your friend than your critic.” I am a very tough critic. They say they want you to be honest, but they don’t. But someone who is just going to be kind is of no use to you.
With my own writing, my best critic is my husband. Beyond that audience of one, I’d prefer to face a group of benign strangers rather than impose on a friend. A writing class or writers’ club is a good idea. I got a lot of great practice attending small “open mike” readings sponsored by the local writer’s club. I could hear what other unpublished amateurs were doing while I worked up the nerve to read my own precious gems aloud in front of ten or twelve people. I could learn something from every one of them, and knowing that I was better than some of them was an inestimable encouragement to me.
Before that, starting decades ago, I gave away large amounts of writing to various small club newsletters, which always want contributions and aren’t too fussy. It’s great practice, and you can get some surprisingly good feedback. School or PTA newsletter, hobby club, charitable organization, alumni news, whatever group you belong to that publishes a newsletter—write something for them. If you can find a writer’s club, send them your creative pieces. Once you’ve gotten used to doing a little of this, it does come more easily. You didn’t die, and somebody might have even told you that they liked what you did.
Also you can try something like the 24-hour short story contest, which is inexpensive, fun, challenging, and a great tool for learning discipline—working fast, staying within a word limit, and letting go—even if the prompts are supremely inane. After a little exposure of this sort, some other things won’t feel quite so raw.
If you don’t have any desire to put your work before an audience, you don’t have to. Some people write only for themselves, and that’s fine. In that case, no nerve is needed. If you do want an audience, really, try an anonymous or unfamiliar one before you go baring your soul to someone you’re going to see in the company cafeteria or across the table at Thanksgiving dinner.