Personal Experiments in Self-Compassion

In the right light, everything is beautiful.

​Am I being authentic yet?

I was seated in the spartan parish hall of a Gothic church in Manhattan, surrounded by forty front-row-of-the-class types. We were three hours into a full-day self-compassion workshop.

This was an exercise in authentic connection. We partnered up and vocalized our inner critics in real-time—with one subtle twist. We directed the self-criticism at our practice partner instead of ourselves, using their name.

Inner critics are internalized voices of feedback from parents, peers, or authority figures. Each voice originated as an aversion to a particular flavor of failure. One sideways comment made many years ago solidifies into a permanent flinch from temporary discomfort.

Our inner critics love to “should” all over us, "You should be better. You shouldn't do that. You should be doing more." I’ve trained myself to associate that word, should, with the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

Should—according to whom?

In Unfamiliar Territory

What if I ran into someone I knew?

I was wandering through bustling Sheep’s Meadow on a sunny Saturday, talking out loud to myself. And that wasn’t even the most embarrassing part.

We had each embarked on a "mindful walk" through Central Park with two parts. First, with each step, we forgave ourselves for past mistakes. Then, with each step, we gave appreciation to ourselves.

The self-forgiveness ritual was child’s play. I didn’t have to rack my brain to find mistakes, I have a laundry list. I dutifully recited the incantation, “I forgive you.” A few times, I even meant it.

Appreciation, now that was a challenge. Why was it so hard to come up with kind things to say to myself? I was frozen in place. Without words of appreciation, I was literally unable to move forward.

My ego jumped into action, generating plausible explanations. “This is silly. It’s great that others have an opportunity to experience compassion. You don't need it. You're better than this."

Then it hit me. Expressing appreciation was hard because I was out of practice. This is not how I usually talk to myself. Through subtle repetition and reinforcement, I normalize my self-judgment while systematically suppressing my sources of strength. Not smart.

It was time for a new pattern of treating myself with love, care, and respect.

Self-Compassion is a Habit

Think of self-compassion as a reversal of the Golden Rule: treat myself as I treat others. I give myself the same love, care, and respect that I would extend to a close friend.

Self-compassion once felt foreign to me, but now it's second nature. What changed?

I treat self-compassion the same as any other habit. Replacing habits is easier than breaking them or adding new ones. I distance and disidentify from the old patterns of judgment and disapproval while supporting and connecting the new patterns of love, care, and respect.

This is how I converted my inner critics into inner friends.

Distant Encounters

Our self-talk is inherently one-sided, with implicit agreement. After all, we identify with the omniscient speaker. But outside voices have stronger credibility filters. This is our leverage point.

I give my inner critics names. This makes it easier to treat them as outside personalities, seeing through their inherent emptiness: “Nick” craves to be seen as important. “Tom” worries I’ll be outed as uncool. “Leo” is terrified that I’ll fall short of fulfilling my potential.

With this distance, every “should” is treated as an opinion from a biased source that could never be satisfied. (Leo is only doing his job! I imagined him red-faced and full of bluster.)

The Joys of Disidentification

How did voicing my inner critic relate to authentic connection? The depth of our relationships reflects our willingness to be seen.

Critics are manifestations of our shame. Shame acts as a barrier by telling us that, deep down, we are flawed. To feel worthy, we carefully curate a flawless image (i.e. the expert coach) and conceal the messy aspects of ourselves that others might judge. My fear of rejection was leading me down the road to self-isolation.

Shame reinforces the limiting belief that love is conditional—only available if earned, always at risk of being taken away. But as Nick, Tom, and Leo spewed their fears of unworthiness at my practice partner, this belief was disproven. I showcased my deepest insecurities, and my partner gave me love, care, and respect in return. I felt myself soften as shame morphed into joy.

Our impulse is to repress feelings of shame, but what we resist persists. It hurts so badly because we hold on so tightly. Locking these undesired voices in the basement of our psyche only makes them scream louder. But when our critics feel heard, they relax and dissolve.

I invite you to welcome your inner critics, extend them gratitude, and look past the words to the intentions behind them: "Thanks for protecting me, Leo. I appreciate your drive to improve. Thank you for having high standards and encouraging me to live in alignment with my values."

Criticism is only threatening when my sense of self is at risk. Without an identity to protect, there is no threat. Self-compassion begins with remembering that the person I think I am doesn't actually exist. We are inherently precious and complete, exactly as we are. This is the experience of unconditional love.

Maintaining an identity takes effort, but disidentification is effortless. You just stop holding on.

That’s What Friends Are For

I subconsciously believed that self-compassion was self-indulgent and that “being kind” meant making excuses for bad behavior.

"Number One" Nick bristled as I shared a recent and particularly embarrassing setback with a practice partner. I half-jokingly mused that the universe was engaged in an elaborate long con at our expense. My partner pointed out the unlikelihood of the unraveling thread of history leading to a singular moment designed especially for me. Yeah, probably not.

A supportive friend doesn’t enable or indulge; quite the opposite. Friends call us out on our bullshit. It’s the difference between giving someone what they want and giving them what they need.

Friends encourage us to face life head-on and to do the right thing, which is often not the easiest or the most comfortable. Finding long-term fulfillment means giving yourself permission to continuously risk short-term embarrassment.

I strive to be this supportive friend to myself. Self-compassion is the willingness to gently but firmly wake myself up from delusion. I roll up my sleeves, it's time to get creative: “How can I lovingly catch and cut through my bullshit this time?”

All forms of mindfulness share three basic components: slowing down, observing, and returning. I pause, look out, and return to the open space. As sensations arise, I notice them without engaging and gently come back to my intention.

​Noticing a story reveals a fork in the road. Do I continue to luxuriate in the comforting story, or can I give in to this new reality?

We don’t need to accept reality to create space for it. Acceptance implies an attitude. Reality doesn't care what I think. Reality is as it is, whether I choose to accept it or not.

This is what it means to be equanimous. Things are not good or bad—they just are. Equanimity allows us to step outside of our current situation and view it more objectively.

The Universal Connection

Slowing down allowed me to turn down the volume on my inner critics. Observing revealed the presence of bullshit and the absence of positive self-talk. But what was my new intention?

The word compassion originates from the Latin words "com" meaning "with" and "pati" meaning "to suffer." Self-compassion literally means to be with your own suffering. That was my new intention: to stay with discomfort, without the judgmental story, without the flinch.

We experience disappointment when events refuse to conform to our expectations. The pain can feel so intense and personal. We resist reality, telling ourselves endless variations of, “This shouldn't be happening.” But it is, in fact, happening. It couldn’t be otherwise.

This is the reframe: everything that feels personal is actually universal.

When I make a mistake, I remind myself that all people make mistakes. Not only are mistakes quite normal, they are a quintessential part of the human condition.

By making my pain personal, by attaching my self to it, I only amplify and extend my own suffering. Every setback is an opportunity to take responsibility for my own experience and to expand my awareness of what it means to be human. Pain is inevitable, but suffering can be optional.

Crossing the Same Meadow Twice

I wandered through Central Park for a second time, the workshop’s lessons still echoing in my mind. The scenic route home felt different now. How could such a simple principle have such a profound effect? As I neared Sheep’s Meadow, the cracked pavement beneath my feet suddenly commanded my attention.

Each step felt deliberate, infused with a new sense of appreciation. By transforming my relationship with myself, I had somehow changed my relationship with…everything.

Every obstacle can be an entry point to practice self-compassion. Like any practice, it becomes more natural with each step.

Further Resources:

Chris Sparks