How I Stopped Being So Hard on Myself

Learning to be kinder to myself wasn’t about perfection; it was about progress and self-compassion, one small step at a time.

The day I realized how cruel I’d been to myself, I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop, staring at a half-finished presentation I’d been obsessing over for hours. Someone had just complimented my work, and my immediate response was to point out three tiny flaws they hadn’t even noticed. The look of confusion on their face hit me hard — why was I so determined to tear down my own efforts?

Looking back now, I can’t pinpoint exactly when things started to shift. There wasn’t some dramatic moment where everything changed. Instead, it was more like watching the tide slowly turn — gradual, almost imperceptible changes that added up over time.

First came the uncomfortable realization that I was basically bullying myself 24/7. I’d catch myself in these spiral thoughts while doing mundane things — folding laundry, driving to work, trying to fall asleep. The constant background noise of “not good enough” had become so normal I barely noticed it anymore.

One morning, after messing up a recipe I’d made dozens of times before, I heard myself muttering “you idiot” under my breath. It stopped me in my tracks. Would I ever say that to my best friend over a burnt batch of cookies? The answer made me feel sick to my stomach.

So I started this weird experiment — pretending I was my own friend. When I’d make a mistake at work, instead of launching into my usual self-flagellation, I’d try to respond like I would to a colleague: “Hey, these things happen. Let’s figure out how to fix it.” It felt ridiculous at first, like I was playing some strange role-playing game with myself. But slowly, it started feeling more natural.

The perfectionism was harder to shake. I’d built my entire identity around being the person who never screwed up, who had everything together all the time. Letting go of that felt like free-falling. But I was exhausted from trying to maintain this impossible standard.

I started small. I bought some watercolors and gave myself permission to be terrible at painting. My first attempts looked like a preschooler’s art project, and for once, I let that be okay. I stuck them on my fridge anyway, not because they were good, but because they represented something bigger — my permission to be imperfect.

These days, I keep a beat-up notebook by my bed. Every night, before I fall asleep, I write down three good things that happened. Sometimes they’re tiny — the way the morning light hit my kitchen window, a text from an old friend, finding a forgotten $5 bill in my coat pocket. It’s not about the size of the good things; it’s about training my brain to notice them at all.

I still have my moments. Last week, I completely blanked during a presentation I’d prepared for. The old voice started up immediately — but now I know how to quiet it. I took a deep breath, made a joke about my brain taking an unexpected coffee break, and kept going. The world didn’t end. In fact, a couple of people came up afterward to tell me how much they appreciated my honesty about the moment.

Here’s what I’ve learned: being kind to yourself isn’t some fluffy self-help concept. It’s a daily practice, like building a muscle. Some days you’re stronger than others, and that’s fine. The goal isn’t to never have self-critical thoughts — it’s to get better at not letting them take the wheel.

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in my words, please know you’re not alone. Start small. Notice when you’re being unkind to yourself. Try talking to yourself like you would to someone you love. Keep track of the good stuff, no matter how tiny it seems. You don’t have to do it perfectly — in fact, that’s kind of the whole point.

The journey to self-compassion isn’t linear. It’s messy and imperfect and sometimes you’ll fall back into old patterns. But I promise you this: every small step toward being kinder to yourself matters. You’re worth the effort. Even if you don’t believe it yet, I hope you’ll try anyway.