Self-Compassion Isn’t for Sissies

I arrived home after a physically exhausting work trip late one Friday evening. The following week, I found myself barely able to move, bouncing between work and the couch. I felt my weight sink into its cushions, palpably sensing a heaviness overcoming my body as atypical daytime drowsiness thieved my productivity. I am an active, outdoor person by nature; up until this point in my life, a lack of motion meant a lack of forward momentum. I found myself caught up in the swirl of my thoughts, berating myself for not tackling the many tasks at hand.

And in that moment, a perfectly timed letter arrived…from myself.

It was an exercise given to us during a retreat I attended—to write a letter using the voice of a friend to ourselves. I spent two hours that day by myself surrounded by mountain majesty in Estes Park, Colorado, treating myself as a friend. It was weird, but wonderful. Oddly (and honestly), I couldn’t visualize treating myself with that tenderness, so I had to visualize my best friend. And during that time, I wrote to myself exactly what I needed to hear.

“Ease up on yourself and keep taking those little bits of rest and refreshment to sustain you, as much as you need [I actually underlined it]. Feel okay with it, whatever that looks like. It all is as it needs to be.”

Thank you, wise past self.

As I reflect on this project, specifically in witnessing joy experienced by a contributing author writing about someone who has impacted them, I’m compelled to write about another important topic—the impact we have on our selves. If we’re witnessing the profound impact we have on each other, how much could we change the world for good IF WHAT WE TOLD OURSELVES WAS EQUALLY IMPACTFUL?!

So today, I’m talking about self-compassion.

To me, I visualize self-compassion as talking to myself from the perspective of those who know me and love me anyway. I visualize the brave souls who I am grateful to call my friends, those whom I call in my darkest hours and my best days, knowing full well that they will not judge me, but they won’t give me a pass, either.

As a newly-practicing student of self-compassion, I’m no jedi. But here’s what I KNOW to be true about self-compassion for me.

What it is NOT:

• It is not a pass. Rather, it’s loving interaction with yourself in moments of guilt, shame, and self-deprecation.
• It is not the consummate judging voice in your ear. If that voice is the predominant cassette in your mind, get out a pencil and pull the tape out of that cassette and have a small bonfire. You’re welcome.
• It is NOT the weak way out. On the contrary, self-compassion gives you permission to be BRAVE. To FAIL. Because the only way to whatever we decide is success in this life entails a few learning lessons, stumbles, and missteps. And without those failures (and compassion in failures), we either don’t learn the lesson, or worse—we end up standing in the lukewarm shower that neither experiences the triumph of overcoming an obstacle nor the beauty (and admittedly sometimes sadness) in the teaching moments we encounter along the way. 

What it IS:

• It IS a safe place to land in your stumbles.
• It IS permission to treat yourself with tenderness in darkness.
• It IS permission to fail. Because when you fail, you are kind to yourself. That failure allows you to learn and take more risks.

Let me give you an example. There are periods of time that my pants, ahem, don’t fit as well. A self-judging Cami might berate me for hitting the “carmel cashew whatever-the-hell flavor of ice cream that I run to the store in my pajamas and grab in January,” or she might critique my “sloths at the DMV” workout schedule.

In contrast, my best friend would give me grace while holding me accountable. She’d give me a hug and ask what’s going on. She’d offer to be my workout partner. She’d offer to help me clean out my pantry of junk food, menu plan, or better yet, help suggest a bowl of frozen blueberries and cinnamon (try it, it’s tasty, I promise). More important, though, once we made that beast a little less daunting, we’d probably talk about why I grabbed the damn ice cream in the first place and come up with a little better coping mechanism than sugar and cream. We’d take small steps, every day.

Do you see the difference?

Self-compassion isn’t soft. It isn’t easy. But it allows us to shed light in the dark places, and to sit down to a warm meal with those parts of ourselves that make us ashamed. And in nurturing those spaces, we grow.

Pema Chodron, a woman who breaks it down like a boss (particularly for those who are a little more hard-headed like me), puts it beautifully: “Openness doesn’t come from resenting our fears but from getting to know them well.” In my opinion, you could have replaced openness just as easily with growth.

So, there you have it. Give it a go. Speak to yourself as your best friend, even if it feels strange. Observe how it filters into your relationship with others and thus the increased richness you both experience in your own life and in what you give to the world. Good luck!