Self-Compassion as Spiritual Reclamation
Let’s just call it what it is:
Most of us learned that being hard on ourselves was the “mature” thing to do.
You slip up, you spiral.
You rest, you feel guilty.
You say no, and you spend the next two hours mentally justifying it so you don’t feel like a selfish bitch.
And somehow… that’s supposed to be “discipline.”
That’s supposed to be “accountability.”
That’s supposed to be what makes you successful, spiritual, healed.
What if it’s actually what’s keeping you in a trauma loop?
Because here’s the thing nobody really wants to admit:
Self-criticism isn’t making you better. It’s just making you smaller.
The lie of self-punishment
If I had a dollar for every woman who sat across from me and said “I just need to be harder on myself”… I’d have enough cash to buy us all a f*cking island where rest isn’t seen as a moral failure.
We’ve been gaslit by productivity culture, religious trauma, and perfectionism porn into thinking that self-compassion is weak. That it’s indulgent. That it’s lazy.
But science—and experience—says otherwise.
A 2019 study published in Self and Identity found that people who practiced self-compassion were more likely to stay committed to their goals over time than those who relied on self-criticism.
So yeah. Turns out softness isn’t the problem. Shame is.
Self-compassion isn’t coddling. It’s reparenting your nervous system.
Here’s the paradox:
It takes a hell of a lot more strength to show up with gentleness than it does to collapse into the comfort of self-hatred.
Because that’s what shame is. Comfortable. Familiar. Addictive, even.
It gives the illusion of control:
“If I hate myself first, no one else can.”
“If I shame myself, I’ll never make that mistake again.”
“If I punish myself, I’m taking responsibility.”
But that’s not responsibility. That’s trauma dressed up in a productivity costume.
Real responsibility?
It’s saying: I see the wound. I see what it makes me do. I choose to meet it with love, not a whip.
That’s the shadow work. That’s the spiritual rebellion.
And yeah, it’s f*cking hard.
What it actually looks like
Not a perfectly lit bubble bath or a morning routine curated for Instagram.
It looks like:
Placing your hand on your chest in the middle of a panic spiral and whispering, “I’m right here.”
Looking into the mirror and saying, “You’re not disgusting. You’re just tired.”
Catching the voice that says “you’re falling behind” and replacing it with, “you’re allowed to move at the pace of your healing.”
It looks like choosing presence over punishment.
Again. And again. And again.
Even when you fck it up.
Especially when you fck it up.
This is rebellion.
You think capitalism wants you well-regulated and self-honoring?
You think patriarchy thrives when women trust their own rhythms?
Nah.
They thrive when you’re too ashamed to rest.
Too addicted to productivity to rebel.
Too numbed out to notice you’re bleeding for someone else’s empire.
Choosing self-compassion is you saying: “I don’t belong to this machine.”
It’s not cute.
It’s not soft.
It’s not trendy.
It’s spiritual warfare.
It’s sacred resistance.
It’s reclaiming the mother you never had, the voice you silenced, the self you were told to exile.
So let me ask you:
What would shift if you spoke to yourself the way you speak to someone you love?
No, really. Sit with that.
Then try it. Not once. Not when it’s convenient. But as a practice. As a discipline. As your new devotion.
Because this isn’t about self-improvement.
It’s about self-return.
With depth + devotion,
Jacquelyn
(Source: Breines, J. G., Toole, A. M., Tu, C., & Chen, S. (2019). Self-compassion, goal pursuit, and the pursuit of happiness. Self and Identity, 18(6), 580–601.)