Why Are We Kinder to Everyone Else Than We Are to Ourselves?

One of the things I have noticed over the years is how quickly most people offer grace to others. When a friend makes a mistake, we understand. When someone is struggling, we feel compassion. When another person falls short, we can usually imagine the circumstances they were carrying.

We know they were tired. We know they were overwhelmed. We know life is complicated. We know people are human.

And yet somehow that same generosity often disappears when we look at ourselves. For ourselves, the standards become different. Harsher. Less forgiving. Less compassionate.

We remember every mistake. Every poor decision. Every missed opportunity. Every awkward conversation. Every moment we wish we could do over.

Perhaps part of the reason is that we know ourselves too well. We know what we were thinking. We know what we were feeling. We know the doubts we carry. We know the fears we rarely speak aloud. We know how often we fall short of the person we hoped to be.

And because we know all of that, we assume everyone else would judge us as harshly as we judge ourselves. But I am not sure that is true.

One of the gifts of chaplaincy was the opportunity to sit with people in moments when their defenses were down. Hospital rooms have a way of stripping away appearances. People often shared regrets. Mistakes. Things they wished they had done differently.

And yet I rarely found myself judging them. Mostly, I felt compassion. I saw people carrying burdens. People doing the best they could. People trying to navigate situations that had no easy answers.

The strange thing is that I suspect most of us see others that way. But we struggle to see ourselves through the same lens. Instead, we assume everyone else has it together. Everyone else is stronger. Wiser. More faithful. More successful. More confident.

Meanwhile, we know our own doubts and insecurities so intimately that they begin to feel like the whole story. They aren't. They are part of the story. But they are not the whole story.

Mercy begins when we start seeing ourselves with the same compassion we naturally extend to others. Not excusing everything. Not pretending mistakes don't matter. Simply remembering that we are human, too. That we are learning, too. That we are carrying things others cannot see, too.

Perhaps one of the most spiritual questions we can ask is this: If someone I loved were carrying what I am carrying right now, how would I speak to them? Would I condemn them? Would I remind them of every failure? Would I tell them they should have done better?

Or would I offer understanding? Patience? Kindness?

Perhaps the invitation of mercy is to begin speaking to ourselves that way. Not because we deserve special treatment. But because we are deserving of the same compassion we so readily offer everyone else.

Reflection Question

If you spoke to yourself the way you speak to someone you deeply love, what might change?