My house smells like chocolate chip cookies. We have a new oven, we’ve had a rough few weeks, so filling the house with the sweet smell of cookies seemed like a good decision. Before the cookies, I made a large pot of zucchini and macaroni — the most comforting comfort food I can remember from my childhood.
If you think it was a carbo-load binge night, it wasn’t. I had a small bowl of pasta and merely inhaled the cookie scent. But answering those two little cravings set the evening in motion. I felt loved.
I listened to myself and responded with compassion. I hushed the voice that told me otherwise and chose instead to be compassionate and nurturing to everyone in my house — including me. This is a new response for me. I’m exceptionally good at reiterating to myself all the reasons not to be self-compassionate, all the ways I’ve not quite “earned” good things. I can take a detailed inventory of my failures without missing a beat. I’ve mastered berating banter inside my head that I would never articulate to anyone except myself.
Self-compassion means that I recognize that I am flawed and sinful, and also that I am deserving of kindness and goodness. It means that I recognize my shortcomings, but I understand that no one was ever motivated by loathing, so self-loathing is counterproductive to self-improvement. Any parent or teacher or coach worth her salt knows that the key to unlocking a child’s motivation to grow is love. If he feels loved, he’s confident and secure and courageous enough to move forward.
Why does the same patient parent who is almost infinitely kind to a child berate herself inside her own head? It’s actually counterintuitive. The alternative to self-compassion is self-hatred. And hatred isn’t ever a good thing. When we think ill of ourselves, we dishonor ourselves as images of God. Self-compassion acknowledges that when God created us, he said it was “very good.” And he didn’t exclude you. Or me.
Self-compassion bridges mental isolation and recognizes that God is compassionate toward and accepting of who we are, flaws and all. Acts of self-compassion are the fruits of a mind that has learned to treat oneself with the same tenderness and care we show to our child or to a good friend. But the reality is that often we treat no one as poorly as we treat ourselves.
Such poor treatment is a sin against our own souls. Certainly, we are charged with the kindhearted care of ourselves. We need to nurture our own hearts and minds and bodies. This isn’t some pop psychology mantra. It’s not about self-promotion. It’s about tending the soul we have been given with kindness.
Self-compassion makes a way for compassion toward others. The evil one would like nothing more than to torment you with taunts against yourself, distracting you from your mission to love. Self-compassion is the virtue necessary to be spiritually whole and life-giving. If our minds are caught up in hating ourselves and we cannot acknowledge that we are works in progress and God is for us, we have no bandwidth left for the care of others. When we are preoccupied with self-loathing, we are not focused on Christ — or redemption.
Self-compassion is an armor against Satan’s attacks on peace of mind and peace of heart. The enemy delights in making broad accusations against us. Those lies tangle up our thoughts and prevent us from receiving or expanding love. The remedy to this insidious attack is self-compassion.
When my children struggle, I pour a cup of tea or fix a favorite meal and invite them to sit with me awhile. I speak truth to them and remind them of the good I know about them. And I tell them how very loved they are. On this day, with a bowl of steaming pasta in front of me and a prayer of thanks on my lips, I did the same for me.
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
