Brushing Away Self-Criticism: What Sparked My Journey to Self-Compassion

Years ago, I found the perfect date night idea - a small, instructor-led painting class. My husband and I sat in front of our own blank canvases with a wide variety of paint brushes and acrylics and followed the instructor, step by step, to recreate a beautiful park scene the teacher had painted beforehand.

I loved painting. I had done it my entire life and would get lost in it for hours. But that night, I ruined it. Not only for myself, but more importantly, my husband. It’s been over 10 years and I’m still humiliated and ashamed over how I acted.

While others sat around and laughed over their “melting trees” or streaky sky, I sat in silence, refusing to pick up my paintbrush.
My bridge had come out totally uneven. My pond started off as green and blue but had quickly turned into a murky brownish-grey after too many attempts to fix it.

My husband sat next to me, gently encouraging me to keep trying. He pointed out how differently his looked, too, and reminded me that everyone’s would look different in its own way, including the instructor’s.

But through every step, I spent minute after minute going over the same spots, desperately and frustratingly trying to make each stroke absolutely perfect. The more I tried, the worse it looked, and the farther and farther I fell behind everyone else.

I set my paintbrush down and tried my best to hold back tears. I was so angry. I had painted for years. Why was I struggling so much with this?

My husband stayed silent the rest of the night, undoubtedly afraid I’d continue to snap at him the more he tried to comfort me. By the end of the night, everyone lined up against one wall and held up their paintings, smiling for a group photo. I stood in the back, not even bothering to hold mine up above my knees. It was in the dumpster before we even reached the car.

After all these years, I still vividly remember that night. The frustration and anger growing stronger and stronger. The lump in my throat as I struggled to not burst into tears in front of a room full of strangers. And my poor husband’s face, absolutely crushed and defeated after sitting next to his miserable, pouting wife all night.

Reflecting on the Inner Development Goals, it reminds me of Being - Relationship to Self, specifically, “when faced with complexity, your relationship with your thoughts, feelings, and body with the goal to be nonreactive.”

I think it’s safe to say I most certainly was not nonreactive.

Openness and Learning Mindset is explained as “having a basic mindset of curiosity and a willingness to be vulnerable and embrace change and grow. In order to achieve this, it's important that your sense of self is not based on identifying with a certain set of beliefs as that can hold back your curiosity.”

I walked into that room full of confidence, sure I was going to have an amazing time. I knew how to paint. I loved it. I enjoyed every second of it. Why would that night be any different?

Oh, how wrong I was.

Shall I keep going?

The IDG course says self-awareness is "the ability to be in reflective contact with your own thoughts, feelings, and desires; having a realistic self-image and ability to regulate oneself. Being aware of your internal though process (strengths, weaknesses, triggers)."

Logically, of course I understood no two paintings would look the same. Even the teacher herself wouldn’t have been able to paint an exact copy of her original artwork. Yet I sat stewing, completely disgusted with myself and my failure of a painting.

My husband’s painting looked different than anyone else’s - no surprise there. Were his lines perfect? No. Was everything in proportion? Absolutely not. But I still loved it. It looked amazing. 

So why couldn’t I allow myself that same grace? Why couldn’t I embrace the little imperfections and just let go and have a fun night as I had intended? Why was I so encouraging and supportive of others yet so absolutely critical and harsh with myself?

Luckily, it’s something I’ve learned to work on over the years. Am I perfect at it? No, absolutely not. But more often than not, I’m able to pause, take a deep breath, and reassure myself that it’s ok. It’s ok to not be perfect. It’s ok to not excel at everything. It’s ok to be me.

Have you had a moment where you caught yourself being too hard on yourself? How might self-compassion help reshape that moment?