When Your Kindness Flows Easily To Others But Not To You


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“Remember that you have been criticizing yourself for years, to no avail, try to let yourself go and see what happens.” ~Louise L. Hay

So it was clear on the page. An embarrassing typo stared at me from the back of the brochure I had received from the printer. The notebook I wrote, I put it, and yes, it gave the final sign-off for production.

My stomach tightened as tears filled my eyes.

“Idiot,” I shouted silently.

In an instant, the light of the same mistakes I had made during a long career in communications came rushing in, piled up in the present and created a general fog of self-loathing. Thoughts that started with “If only” and concluded with “You know better” it wandered through my mind, unattached to any sense of proportion.

I knew I was going down harder than necessary. Considering the large volume of print material I had produced over the years, errors were rare. But as a perfectionist, each one came a long way—especially when I realized, in retrospect, where I had set deadlines before the process.

When will I study? the voice continued.

The default setting is activated. A few days later, that one typo colored everything I did, silently tainting my vision.

But professional mistakes aren’t the only place where my inner critic comes out.

Once, during a disagreement with my partner, I argued my point relentlessly. Even as the conversation progressed, I felt small, uncomfortable knowing that I was wrong—or at least not completely wrong. Anyway, I doubled down. Righteousness was more important than honesty, more than righteousness.

A moment passed, but the feeling continued. Hours later I played again, sulking at my stubbornness. I realized that my need to protect my ego had overtaken my integrity. The self-talk that followed was brutal: Why didn’t you admit you were wrong? Why should you always win?

At one point, I justified myself by saying that I was offended by someone who had offended me. I thought they deserved it. I was tired. I was doing a lot. I thought my reaction was understandable.

Except recently, it never was.

Long after the irritation had subsided, the usual difficulties arose. I didn’t feel good—I felt small. I repeat my tone, my words, the look on their faces. And again, my inner critic seized that moment, cataloging the communication as proof of my shortcomings.

Fast forward to a recent dinner with a longtime friend—one of the kindest people I know, and one of the most trusted. If neglected, that trust taught him some hard lessons: a verbal agreement with a real estate developer that didn’t help him and a loan from a co-worker who quietly disappeared are two examples.

He can’t read. Over time, she’s put in place defenses to help her pause and examine her instincts—and those efforts often pay off.

That night, he was unusually quiet.

When I asked him how he was, he said he was fine. When I pressed gently, he told me what happened. Someone sent him a message, saying they mistakenly sent money to his account through a digital payment app. He looked, saw the money, and immediately put it back—only to find out later that it was a fake.

“I didn’t think,” he said, his voice heavy. “I’m an idiot. I know better.”

As he spoke, his fists clenched on the table. I reached out and gently wrapped my hands around them, stopping their movements—and their rotation.

“Hey,” I said. “You’ve made real progress in spotting scams and questioning people’s motives. This was a stumbling block, not a setback. Think of it as a reminder to slow down and use the tools you already have.”

While I was reassuring my friend, a difficult question arose.

Why don’t I speak to myself as kindly as I speak to others?

Perhaps you have experienced a similar situation. You offer encouragement to friends when they stumble and soften your voice when someone you love is struggling. However, when you make a mistake or fall short of your goal, your voice becomes sharp and critical. Compassion that you freely give to others is rare.

The reasons for this termination are varied. For example:

He was criticized as a child

Early criticism can be internalized. When praise is rare or values ​​seem impossible, many of us learn to balance love with action—and carry that word forward into adulthood.

You are a perfectionist

Perfectionism trains the mind to check for mistakes. Mistakes are heard more, while successes are less registered. What looks like motivation is often a hidden fear.

You Grow Up With Great Expectations

Even without overt criticism, the constant pressure to succeed can quietly suggest that who you are is not enough unless you succeed.

You’ve Experienced Bullying

When an injury occurs in childhood, it is often interpreted as a personal failure. That inappropriate blame can later be seen as endless self-judgment.

These patterns make it easy to live inside our heads, replaying moments and amplifying mistakes. The mind becomes a place of constant scrutiny, rarely offering compassion or kindness.

For me, there was an air of expected achievement that permeated my childhood and teenage years. However, even though my parents sometimes shared my frustration when I couldn’t study, I always knew that their love had nothing to do with my GPA. However, my perfectionism started to emerge, creating a critical inner voice.

That self-criticism deepened as he grew older. Mistakes began to feel dangerous, tied to my life and sense of security. This was compounded by a marriage where love and acceptance were highly conditional, causing mistakes and imperfections to bear the heaviest emotional costs.

By the time I realized how low my self-esteem had fallen, I was completely focused on self-judgment. Every mistake started a normal conversation, which again became a habit of self-deprecation. I had become my own harshest critic—pointing out sharp words to myself that I would never dream of directing at someone else.

It was then that I realized that this voice was not helping me—it was hurting me. And I started looking for a different way to communicate with myself.

Learning to break out of that cycle didn’t happen all at once. But there were clear, compassionate shifts that helped me start taking care of myself the way I took care of others.

Cultivating Self-Compassion: 7 Steps to Kindness

1. Beware of your inner critic.

Pay attention to the voice inside your head. When you find yourself thinking difficult thoughts, pause and realize: Ah, that’s my inner critic talking.

For example, when I realized that the deadline had slipped through the cracks, my mind immediately went into attack mode. Criticism was swift and general: How can you allow this to happen? You are not eligible. Just by seeing that voice, I created a small space—enough to see it and take the first step in learning a different way to respond.

2. Talk to yourself as you would to a friend.

Once you recognize the inner critic, ask yourself how you would react if your friend were in the same situation. If a friend told me they missed a deadline, I wouldn’t question their strength or importance. I would remind them of everything they put together and help them think about next steps. Giving myself that same perspective softened the tone of my internal dialogue and opened up a space for compassion.

3. Reframe the error as information, not a decision.

In that quiet place, it was easy to see what was really going on. Instead of looking at a missed deadline as evidence of failure, I began to treat it as knowledge. Was I overextended? Did something need to be fixed? When mistakes are viewed in this way, they become signs of learning—not evidence of personal shortcomings.

4. Build a moment before reacting.

When emotions run high, give yourself a break. He took a deep breath and stepped back. Procrastination interrupts the reflex to rush to self-criticism and disrupts the cycle of self-judgment. For me, traveling—even briefly—allows me to respond thoughtfully and graciously.

5. Practice small acts of self-care.

Thinking of self-care as supportive rather than self-sufficient helped me understand how important it is. Rather than beating myself up after a wrong move, I started asking what exactly would help me regroup—perhaps a short walk, a quiet time to write, or spending time with someone I felt completely comfortable with. These small actions reinforced a new message: mistakes do not require punishment; they call for care.

6. Celebrate your victories, big and small.

When we become accustomed to self-criticism, it’s easy to ignore what works. But even small victories need to be recognized. Over time, celebrating success helps balance the important voice in your head. That typo I mentioned earlier was rare. Accepting many of the flawless printed pieces that came before it helped put that flaw in perspective.

7. Replace the important text.

The inner critic often repeats the same lines, word for word. Over time, I learned to disrupt those scripts and give myself a different message—one based on truth and grace. Instead of “You always break things,” I practiced saying, “He is human, he learns, and he knows how to adapt.” Every time I chose a kind answer, the old script lost its power.

Bringing it Full Circle

Sitting across from my friend that night, I noticed how easily compassion flowed from me to her—and how strange it still felt to return that care within. But learning to behave differently did not require perfection or complete transformation. It started with being aware, pausing, and choosing a kind response, one small moment at a time.

Mistakes happen. But now, instead of meeting those times with harsh judgment, I meet them with curiosity and caution. And in doing so, I discovered that the compassion we give others is always available to us—we just have to practice letting it stay.

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