“Remember, you have been criticizing yourself for years, and it hasn’t worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens.” ~Louise L. Hay
There it was—glaringly obvious on the page. An embarrassing typo stared back at me from the backside of a brochure I’d received from the printer. A brochure I wrote, laid out, and yes, gave the final sign-off to produce.
My stomach tightened as tears welled up in my eyes.
“You idiot,” I screamed silently at myself.
In an instant, flashes of similar mistakes I’d made over the course of a long career in communications rushed in, piling onto the present moment and creating a familiar haze of self-loathing. Thoughts that began with “If only” and ended with “You know better” swirled through my mind, untethered from any sense of proportion.
I knew I was coming down on myself far harder than necessary. Considering the sheer volume of print material I’d produced over the years, errors were rare. But as a perfectionist, each one landed heavily—especially when I could see, in hindsight, where I’d put deadlines ahead of process.
When will I learn? the voice continued.
A default setting had been triggered. For days afterward, that single typo colored everything I did, quietly tainting my perspective.
But work mistakes weren’t the only place my inner critic showed up.
Once, during a disagreement with my partner, I argued my point relentlessly. Even as the conversation unfolded, I could feel a small, uncomfortable knowing that I was wrong—or at least not entirely right. Still, I doubled down. Being correct mattered more than being honest, more than being fair.
The moment passed, but the feeling lingered. Hours later I replayed the exchange, wincing at my stubbornness. I could see how my need to protect my ego had overridden my integrity. The self-talk that followed was brutal: Why couldn’t you just admit you were wrong? Why do you always have to win?
Another time, I justified being curt with someone who had irritated me. I told myself they deserved it. I was tired. I had a lot going on. My reaction, I reasoned, was understandable.
Except later, it didn’t feel that way.
Long after the irritation faded, a familiar heaviness set in. I didn’t feel righteous—I felt small. I replayed my tone, my words, the look on their face. And once again, my inner critic seized the moment, cataloging the interaction as evidence of my shortcomings.
Fast forward to a recent dinner with a long-time friend—one of the kindest people I know, and also one of the most trusting. Left unchecked, that trust has brought her some hard lessons: a verbal agreement with a landscaper that gave her no recourse and money lent to a coworker who quietly disappeared are two examples.
She isn’t incapable of learning. Over time, she’s put safeguards in place to help her pause and check her instincts—and often, those efforts have paid off.
That night, she was unusually quiet.
When I asked how she was doing, she said she was fine. When I gently pressed, she told me what had happened. Someone had messaged her, claiming they’d accidentally sent money to her account through a digital payment app. She checked, saw the funds, and immediately sent them back—only to discover later the transaction was fraudulent.
“I didn’t think,” she said, her voice heavy. “I’m such an idiot. I know better.”
As she spoke, her fists clenched and tapped against the table. I reached across and gently wrapped my hands around hers, stopping their motion—and her spiral.
“Hey,” I said. “You’ve made real progress spotting scams and questioning people’s motives. This was a stumble, not a slide backward. Think of it as a reminder to slow down and use the tools you already have.”
In the midst of reassuring my friend, a nagging question surfaced.
Why don’t I speak to myself as kindly as I speak to others?
Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience. You offer encouragement to friends when they stumble and soften your voice when someone you love is struggling. Yet when you make a mistake or fall short of a goal, your voice becomes sharp and critical. The compassion you freely give to others is suddenly nowhere to be found.
The reasons for this disconnect are varied. For example:
You Were Criticized as a Child
Early criticism can become internalized. When praise was scarce or standards felt impossible to meet, many of us learned to equate love with performance—and carried that voice into adulthood.
You’re a Perfectionist
Perfectionism trains the mind to scan for flaws. Mistakes feel loud, while successes barely register. What looks like motivation is often fear in disguise.
You Grew Up with High Expectations
Even without overt criticism, constant pressure to excel can quietly suggest that who you are isn’t enough unless you’re achieving.
You Experienced Abuse
When harm occurs in childhood, it’s often interpreted as personal failure. That misplaced blame can later surface as relentless self-judgment.
These patterns make it easy to live inside our heads, replaying moments and magnifying missteps. The mind becomes a place of constant evaluation, rarely offering compassion or grace.
For me, there was an air of expected achievement woven through my childhood and teen years. However, although my parents sometimes shared my frustration when I fell short academically, I always knew their love wasn’t tied to my GPA. Still, my own perfectionism took root early, shaping a critical inner voice.
That self-criticism deepened in adulthood. Mistakes began to feel dangerous, tied to my livelihood and sense of security. This was compounded by a marriage where love and approval were highly conditional, causing errors and imperfections to carry an even heavier emotional cost.
By the time I recognized how far my self-esteem had fallen, I was fully entrenched in self-judgment. Every mistake triggered familiar, rehearsed dialogues of self-deprecation. I had become my own harshest critic—aiming weaponized words at myself that I would never dream of directing at another person.
That was when I realized this voice wasn’t helping me—it was harming me. And I began looking for a different way to relate to myself.
Learning to step out of that cycle didn’t happen all at once. But there were clear, compassionate shifts that helped me begin treating myself with the same care I offered others.
Cultivating Self-Compassion: 7 Steps to Treat Yourself Kindly
1. Notice your inner critic.
Pay attention to the voice inside your head. When you catch yourself thinking harsh thoughts, pause and identify them: Ah, that’s my inner critic talking.
For example, when I realized a deadline had slipped through the cracks, my mind immediately went into attack mode. The criticism was swift and familiar: How could you let this happen? You are incompetent. By simply noticing that voice, I created a bit of space—enough to observe it and take the first step toward learning a different way to respond.
2. Speak to yourself as you would a friend.
Once you’ve noticed the inner critic, ask yourself how you would respond if a friend were in the same situation. If a friend told me they’d missed a deadline, I wouldn’t question their competence or worth. I’d remind them of everything they juggle and help them think through next steps. Offering myself that same perspective softened the tone of my inner dialogue and made room for compassion.
3. Reframe the mistake as information, not a verdict.
From that calmer place, it became easier to look at what had actually happened. Instead of seeing the missed deadline as proof of failure, I began to treat it as information. Was I overextended? Did something need adjusting? When mistakes are viewed this way, they become signals for learning—not evidence of personal shortcomings.
4. Create a pause before reacting.
When emotions spike, give yourself a moment. Take a deep breath and step back. Pausing interrupts the reflex to rush into self-criticism and disrupts the spiral of self-judgment. For me, stepping away—even briefly—allows me to respond more thoughtfully and kindly.
5. Practice small acts of self-care.
Thinking of self-care as supportive rather than indulgent helped me understand how essential it is. Rather than pushing myself harder after a misstep, I began asking what would actually help me reset—perhaps a short walk, quiet time journaling, or spending time with someone with whom I felt completely at ease. These small acts reinforced a new message: mistakes don’t require punishment; they call for care.
6. Celebrate your wins, big and small.
When we’re used to self-criticism, it’s easy to overlook what’s working. But even tiny victories deserve recognition. Over time, celebrating wins helps balance the critical voice in your head. That typo I mentioned earlier was rare. Acknowledging the many flawless printed pieces that came before helped put that mistake in perspective.
7. Replace the critical script with a kinder one.
The inner critic often repeats the same lines, word for word. Over time, I learned to interrupt those scripts and offer myself a different message—one grounded in reality and kindness. Instead of “You always mess things up,” I practiced saying, “You’re human, you’re learning, and you can adjust.” Each time I chose a kinder response, the old script lost a bit of its power.
Bringing It Full Circle
Sitting across from my friend that night, I could see how easily compassion flowed from me to her—and how foreign it still felt to turn that same care inward. But learning to treat myself differently didn’t require perfection or a complete transformation. It started with noticing, pausing, and choosing a kinder response, one small moment at a time.
Mistakes still happen. But now, instead of meeting those moments with harsh judgment, I meet them with curiosity and care. And in doing so, I’ve discovered that the compassion we offer others has always been available to us—we just have to practice letting it land.
About Lynn Crocker
Lynn Crocker is passionate about helping people shift their inner dialogue and take charge of their thoughts to create a more purposeful, joyful, and fulfilling life—one thought at a time. If you’d like support carrying this mindset forward or guidance in cultivating steadier, more empowering inner dialogue, she invites you to schedule a free discovery call to see if mindset coaching is right for you. Learn more at lynncrockercoaching.com.
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