I recently had a conversation with one of my favorite people in the universe. (You know who you are . . .) We covered the usual topics: business, politics, and family. During our call, I complimented him on his parenting skills. Instead of simply saying “thanks,” he confessed that he was often way too hard on himself. Then he asked if I do the same, and I smiled because actually I do the opposite. My personal mantra is “treat yourself gently.”
Raise your hand if you’ve ever been hard on yourself. And if you’ve ever brushed off something you did or said without regard for its impact, also raise your hand. The image of a teeter-totter comes to mind. Those of us who are relentlessly self-critical sit on the teeter side, and those of us who live in a constant world of denial sit on the totter side.
Ironically, as started writing this article, I received a call from a friend. She was worried about the way she handled a recent argument with her father-in-law over teenagers and fireworks. I immediately jumped in to defend her, to support her, and to give her comfort. Lightbulb! Why don’t we treat ourselves as well as we treat our friends?
I believe the self-criticism instinct begins in our early childhood when our actions and behaviors were analyzed, sometimes ad nauseum, by our parents. At the age of six, I became a swimming school dropout. I just couldn’t get the hang of floating and having my mom hovering over the swim instructor gave me no confidence. I distinctly remember telling myself that I’ll never learn how to swim, and that I would never be as athletic as my sister and brother. In retrospect, I now wonder what would have happened if I was able to become my own cheerleader, encouraging my frightened skinny self that I could actually float. Chances are, I would have succeeded.
However, we’re not children anymore. We’re grown-ass adults who sometimes bombard ourselves with negative self-talk. It’s a habit that’s entirely breakable. So, what would it look like if we could catch ourselves when that self-critical inner voice first appears and shift the scenario? Can we lift ourselves up by pretending that what’s occurring isn’t actually happening to us, but to our best friend instead?
Let’s say you’ve got a supervisor who seems to be picking on you. You tell yourself maybe he’s right. Maybe you’ve become indifferent at work. Maybe you’re just not good at your job. And then you go out for dinner with your close friend, Jennifer. When you confide in her about your supervisor, Jennifer becomes the supportive friend, telling you that you’re not the one with the problem, he is. She praises your work ethic, as well as your ability to pick your battles.
So, why can’t you talk to yourself like Jennifer just talked to you? Can you balance yourself on the teeter-totter by accessing your own caring and supportive side?
Please comment with your thoughts.