One thing I’ve been thinking about a lot the last few days is compassion, and compassion for myself (and you having compassion for yourself). Maybe you saw this piece in the NYTimes about research on self-compassion, and the work of a wonderful psychologist at UT Austin named Kristin Neff. Compassion for other people is pretty easy, for the most part. (Though if you were in my head you’d think I’m a bad, bad person because I have wholly uncharitable thoughts about my fellow travelers in the subways.) For the most part, though, I find it easy to be compassionate toward my family and friends. Generous in spirit toward them, extending them understanding of where they are and who they are and their own struggles. Because we all have struggles. We’re mostly just doing the best we can every day, and some days we do a better job of it.

But that’s so so hard to extend to myself. [note: i know i'm not the Lone Ranger here, my experience is very common, but i'll just say 'I' for ease of writing.] I only infrequently extend compassion to myself, and even then under great duress, the way I eat kale because I know it’s good for me but boy do I hate it. In the NYTimes piece, Neff says that people are afraid they’ll become self-indulgent, that’s why self-compassion is so hard. Yes, I think that’s true, but I think it’s the tip of the iceberg.

There are many voices in my head (not in that schizophrenic way) — the voice of my cruel mother, whose voice remains too easy to believe even though I haven’t heard her voice since 1987; the voice of my drunk dad, who always excused his horrific behavior because ‘he was drunk’; my own voice, which stays very strict with me to keep me in line so I don’t behave like them. So when I try to extend compassion to myself, O the chatter. It goes a little something like this:

what’s wrong with me? he (my dad) has been dead for 29 years, I only knew him for 23 years, what’s my problem.

[compassion] it’s ok, why do you have to beat yourself up. it takes what it takes, it is whatever it is

baby, stupid baby. (insert cruel string of words, and curl your lip in a sneer while you do it). buck up, get over it. people must be sick of you doing this every year.

[compassion] you are not (cruel string of words). you’re a person who is struggling, that’s all. you’ve been very hurt.

but i should be

a-HA! SHOULD BE, those two terrible words. I should be trying and doing what I can do, and that’s what I’m doing.

This goes along with something I wrote about previously, as did Jocelyn; about the difficulty we have, as women, in saying no to other people, because we can do what they’re asking, even though we’re overloaded. Compassion for ourselves would lead us to at least ask the question — can I take this on, really? — and then to be gentle with the truth of it. No, I can’t really.

It sounds so easy — treat yourself like you’d treat other people — but it’s not at all easy. I know someone who excels at self-compassion, though I think it verges on never holding himself accountable, on letting himself off the hook far too easily. Hitting the sweet spot is so hard. It just occurs to me that there’s a way some people (I’m looking at ME!) could even be uncompassionate about an effort toward self-compassion. Good grief.