A thought exercise

Imagine one of your dearest friends reaching out to you and sharing that they’re struggling; things have been difficult lately, and they’re having a really hard time coping. Spend a moment imagining how you would respond.

Maybe you feel a warmth toward your friend, a desire to comfort them and to reassure them. Maybe you feel an eagerness to remind your friend how challenging this season has been or that you know they’ve been doing their best. Maybe you want to let them know they’re not alone.

Just notice your response to your friend, and hold onto it.

Myths and misgivings

Last month, I wrote about making room for the seemingly disparate parts of our messy, beautiful, imperfect lives and summers. And I encouraged people to offer themselves compassion and gentleness in the process. I heard from a number of readers about ideas I shared that really resonated with them. I also heard some opposition to my suggestion that people be more compassionate and gentle with themselves. It was met with the suggestion that rather than becoming more gentle or compassionate, some folks actually need to become harder on themselves so they get some things done.

Sometimes we do need to hold our own feet to the proverbial fire to meet a deadline or get something done—which isn’t at odds with self-compassion. This got me thinking. I started to mull over the common misgivings and misconceptions we have about self-compassion. I know many people are skeptical when they first hear about self-compassion. They imagine it as a kind of self-indulgence that opposes discipline and makes for selfish people who avoid responsibility and excuse bad behaviour. Or as a sort of deep self-pity where people just let themselves off the hook for everything in their lives.

The reality of self-compassion, both as a psychological concept and as a practice is, actually, quite the opposite.

I know many people are skeptical when they first hear about self-compassion. They imagine it as a kind of self-indulgence that opposes discipline and makes for selfish people who avoid responsibility and excuse bad behaviour. Or as a sort of deep self-pity where people just let themselves off the hook for everything in their lives. The reality of self-compassion, both as a psychological concept and as a practice is, actually, quite the opposite.

What is self-compassion?

According to Dr. Kristin Neff and Dr. Chris Germer, pioneering researchers in the field, self-compassion is the practice of treating yourself with the same kindness, care, and understanding that you would offer to a close friend in times of difficulty. “Having compassion for oneself is really no different than having compassion for others. Derived from Latin, the term refers to how we’re with (com) suffering (passion).” (Neff)

Accordion to Neff and Germer, self-compassion involves three core components:

1. Self-kindness: being warm and understanding toward yourself rather than harshly self-critical.
2. Common humanity: recognizing that suffering and imperfection are part of the shared human experience, which helps us to feel connected rather than isolated when things go wrong.
3. Mindfulness: being aware of our thoughts and feelings without becoming overly identified with them. Maintaining a more balanced perspective rather than getting lost in negativity or self-judgement.

To go deeper, self-compassion means “being supportive when you’re facing a life challenge, feel inadequate, or make a mistake. Instead of just ignoring your pain with a “stiff upper lip” mentality or getting carried away by your negative thoughts and emotions, you stop to tell yourself “this is really difficult right now. How can I comfort and care for myself in this moment?” (Neff).

Different from self-esteem, which often relies on external validation or comparisons with others, self-compassion offers a more stable sense of self-worth that’s based on unconditional self-acceptance. The practice of self-compassion encourages us to acknowledge our suffering without self-pity and to motivate ourselves with kindness rather than criticism.

To be compassionate toward ourselves means we recognize that we, too, are human beings who make mistakes and who deserve love and care, even when we fail or fall short.

The practice of self-compassion encourages us to acknowledge our suffering without self-pity and to motivate ourselves with kindness rather than criticism.

Some reasons we resist it

Self-compassion doesn't come naturally for many of us.

Think back to the exercise we did at the start. Now imagine offering yourself, in the midst of suffering or struggle, the same kind of compassion and warmth you imagined offering your friend.

For Gen Xers who grew up in the 80s, it may be especially difficult. As surely as we believed shoulder pads made us look powerful, we believed self-criticism—being consistently tough on ourselves—was the key to achieving success and happiness. And when you’ve practised a habit and held a belief for decades, it’s natural to feel resistance to something that challenges it.

The fear at the heart of self-criticism

When a person practises self-criticism, it's as if they have, living in their mind, a cynical bystander looking down their nose at someone else, hunting for flaws, missed opportunities, and flat-out failure, only that "someone else" is themselves. This practice leans on drumming up fear as its primary driver for positive change.

When we criticise ourselves frequently, we might pursue goals but we often do so out of a fear of failure and a drive to prove our value and worth. This kind of motivation is often rooted in a fear of not being good enough, rather than in a genuine desire to grow or improve. This fear often prevents us from taking bigger risks or trying new things, which can keep us from challenging ourselves in fresh ways or pursuing opportunities to learn and grow.
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“But while we have no control over time itself, we do have a choice in how we orient to it, how we inhabit the moment, how we own the past and open to the future - a choice that shapes our entire experience of life, that ossuary of time. And just as it bears remembering that there are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives, it bears remembering that there are infinitely many ways of being in time.” - Maria Popova, The Marginalian 

‍Change of environment

I put on my ski gear, and pull my boot bag up on my back. Covered head to toe, I step outside. My skis are perched on my left shoulder, and my poles are in my right hand. I walk carefully down the snowy path and up through the village to the lift. It’s a sacred ten minutes of meditative rhythmic walking to warm me up for the day ahead. 

New snow has fallen – about twenty centimetres. The snow cats have groomed the mountain during the night. It’s early and I'll be on the first lift up to the slopes. 

This is the change of environment I crave the most at this time in my life. The movement from posed stability to energetic vulnerability, from the familiar to the serendipitous unknown, from the routine to the spontaneous. Here on the mountain I feel like I live life to its fullest. I feel more alive here than anywhere else. Curiosity is my catalyst — I could rest today, I could contemplate other days gone by, but I'm curious:  What will the snow be like? What will my balance and form be like? What shapes of clouds will appear? What breeze will freeze my nose? Where will the trail take me? It is ski season; adventurous, mysterious and invigorating. It provides another form of lifestyle filled with the sort of vulnerability I love.

Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain.

This magic mountain that I've skied for years and years changes all the time. It's ironic really, as it is made of stone and rock, ice and dirt  - elements so strong and stable, so unmoving and unbudgeable, so unforgiving and invincible, yet it is forever changing. Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain. Such a curious phenomenon — this alpine environment that moves and changes constantly, just like me. The weather forecast looks good today, colder than yesterday, but mostly sunny in the morning with the wind rising in the afternoon. Of course, this could change too.

‍Letting change flow

Arriving at the base of the mountain, I put on my ski boots, tuck my shoes away for the day, and once again perch my skis on my shoulder. I use my poles to help me navigate the steps up to the gates; it’s the beginning of the season and this morning routine of getting to the lifts still has me feeling a bit winded as I get used to the altitude. My friend is waiting for me. She and I smile brightly at each other and, seconds later, the buzzer goes off and the gates are activated. We are the first ones through, proud of ourselves for our early rising and excited to experience the thrill of another ski day together. We banter about the beautiful day ahead, our slight aches and pains and need for some stretching.

My friend is confident and bold — an expert skier. Me, I am not as confident and I am no expert. But I am bold, and she inspires me. Most of all, I am grateful for the change of scenery, communing with nature and the joy of being together again on the mountain.

Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.

As we descend each run at our own pace, our skis pushing us beyond our unique comfort zones, we each experience individualized moments in the quiet rhythm of skiing. Every day on the slope is different, every turn of every carve into the snow is different, at times smooth and other times choppy. At all times, our minds must stay connected to our bodies. It is invigorating and mystifying, as we must disconnect from all worries and all other actions and stay absolutely present. Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change. 

After a few hours of skiing our favourite trails, I tell my friend I want to stop at a lookout spot, not because I’m tired but because I want to breathe in my surroundings. She says she’ll let me have a bit of alone time and we decide she’ll do another run and meet me back here. The sky is vast and filled with a multitude of blue hues, the clouds are fantastical and bright white. The fresh cold air is thinner up here; it smells minty as it passes through my nostrils and it tastes minerally as it drips down my throat. The steam rises from my scarf as I breathe in and out, feeling the warmth of my body. This change of environment is essential to my well-being. It’s not just any change of environment though. 

‍Chrono-diversity

It’s being up at altitude that thrills me most. The physicist Carlo Rovelli in his book “The Order of Time” captures the essence of my pause at the lookout spot. He writes, 

“I stop and do nothing. Nothing happens. I am thinking about nothing. I listen to the passing of time. This is time, familiar and intimate. We are taken by it…. Our being is being in time.”

I lived and worked in this village just below the slopes for ten years, all through my thirties, and now that I am retired, I return here as much as possible. Initially when I moved away, down to sea level and no longer at altitude, it took me a long time to adjust and to adapt to being in a different time zone, but not just a different chronometric time zone, but a different “chrono-atmospheric” time zone. 

I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level…

I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level… This slowing down can be detected between levels just a few centimetres apart: a clock placed on the floor runs a little more slowly than one on a table. It is not just the clocks that slow down: lower down, all processes are slower.” 

When I read this, I started to understand and accept why I had found it so challenging to transition from life up on the mountain to life in the valley. All of my processes had to become slower; my mental and physical, even spiritual relationships towards time had to change in order for me to adapt and to adjust to my new surroundings. It was a very unnerving time at first, and I found myself longing to return to the mountains. Despite the fact that I enjoyed my new job, raising my children and making new friends in a different culture, my personal processes, like my coping mechanisms, had slowed down and I needed to give myself time to accept the newness of this “chrono-diversity” at sea level.  

Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months.

During those years, my friend stayed in the mountains; she never returned to life in the valley. And I believe this makes us different in the way we now measure time. Maybe her time does actually pass more quickly than mine? She is a speed queen and can get a million things done in one day. She thinks faster than I think, and certainly skis faster than I ski. 

Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months. It’s the rigour and rhythm of mountain time. Rovelli writes, 

‍“Two friends separate, with one of them living in the plains and the other going to live in the mountains. They meet up again years later: the one who has stayed down has lived less, aged less, the mechanism of his cuckoo clock has oscillated fewer times. He has had less time to do things, his plants have grown less, his thoughts have had less time to unfold ... Lower down, there is simply less time than at altitude.” 

I guess the proof is “in the physics.” As I’ve learned, it is the changeability of time in the mountains that keeps me skiing through life. Even if it seems a bit ironic and mysterious to me, I imagine I will always feel this type of change to be constant in my life. Though I suppose, that could change too.

Keep the main thing the main thing

The primary goal of self-compassion is to offer yourself genuine support and understanding. This can, in turn, lead toward greater well-being and achievement. But Germer and Neff caution against using self-compassion as a tool solely for boosting productivity. They stress that the focus of practising self-compassion should remain on caring for ourselves rather than on increasing productivity, which can undermine its true purpose.

Germer and Neff caution against using self-compassion as a tool solely for boosting productivity. They stress that the focus of practising self-compassion should remain on caring for ourselves rather than on increasing productivity, which can undermine its true purpose.

New thinking

Making a transition away from habitual self-criticism and toward greater self-compassion can feel like a daunting task, especially if you’ve spent years—even decades—being your toughest critic. Your first instinct may even be to criticise yourself for having wasted so much time being hard on yourself. But as Albert Einstein said, “We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.”

If this is you, remember you’ve been doing the best you could with the tools you had, and that you are not alone. As Neff notes, “Try to feel compassion for how difficult it is to be an imperfect human being in this extremely competitive society of ours. Our culture does not emphasise self-compassion, quite the opposite. We’re told that no matter how hard we try, our best just isn’t good enough.”

The work of our second half

Embracing self-compassion at all may feel like a weird and radical departure from how you’ve been taught to approach life. It may feel really uncomfortable and unfamiliar. That’s fair.

The second half of life is a time to unpack and question the values and beliefs that have guided us, as well as the tools and coping skills we’ve acquired up to this point. We get to let go of what no longer works. And we get to explore new ways of relating to ourselves and the world around us.

By moving away from self-criticism and toward a more compassionate approach to ourselves, we acknowledge that we are worthy of love and care, not because of what we achieve or how we measure up to others, but simply because we are human.

In the end, self-compassion is not about lowering our standards or giving up on our goals. It’s about approaching ourselves with the kindness and understanding we need and deserve. In practising self-compassion, we may just find the motivation, resilience, and peace we’ve been searching for all along.