Nothing Changes Until You Do: A Guide to Self-Compassion and Getting Out of Your Own Way (5 page)

The irony of this experience was not lost on me, and I found myself laughing about it once the shock and embarrassment of the moment passed. I told Michelle about it right after it happened and ended up telling the whole story to a group of people I spoke to about the book a few days later. It really seemed to resonate with them and also made them laugh. Being able to talk about it, laugh about it, and share it with others is actually one of the ways I was able to be gentle with myself. I could have been overly harsh and critical of myself for what I had done and said at the Barnes and Noble, but I chose not to be. This has now become one of the key stories I tell when talking about the challenges of being authentic and the funny, paradoxical (or even hypocritical) nature of being human.

Essential to our ability to grow, evolve, and change is our capacity to notice what we do and to make conscious adjustments. However, the best way for us to do this is to have compassion for ourselves. All too often we either stay in denial about certain things that are detrimental to us, or when we do notice them we end up judging ourselves so harshly that we hurt ourselves even more in the process—thus making authentic change difficult, painful, and elusive.

My friend Karen Drucker, an amazing singer, songwriter, author, and speaker, has a beautiful song called “Gentle with Myself,” which is one of my absolute favorites; it inspired the title of this chapter. This song, which is all about self-compassion, has a few poignant lyrics that I love. It starts with, “I will be gentle with myself, and I will hold myself like a newborn baby child.” Imagine if we held ourselves in that way—with the kind of love we offer to a newborn. Whether pertaining to something we’re trying to accomplish, an important relationship, our physical body, a challenge we’re facing, or anything else—we often tend to be hypercritical of ourselves, which never helps.

Later in the song, there is a lyric that I sing to myself all the time, especially when I’m feeling scared, resistant, or worried about making a change, taking a risk, or going for something I want—“I will only go as fast as the slowest part of me feels safe to go.” This is such an important message, although often counterintuitive for those of us who pride ourselves on pushing past our limits and being bold. While taking bold actions and going for it in life are things I do believe are important and valuable, sometimes the best thing we can do is slow down, have patience, and give ourselves permission to feel scared. When we do this in an authentic and loving way, the fear almost always subsides, and then we can motivate ourselves, take action, or make any change we want—from a place of truth and self-compassion. When we’re gentle with ourselves, we remember that treating ourselves with kindness, acceptance, and love is essential to our growth and our well-being.

CHAPTER 6

Ask for Help

A question I love to ask when I’m speaking to an audience is “How many of you like helping other people?” No matter where I am in the world, how big the group is, or the type of people I’m speaking to (business executives, parents, athletes, salespeople, small-business owners, teens, personal-growth seekers, or anyone else), just about every single person will raise their hand in the affirmative to say “Yes, I like helping people.” I then ask a second question: “How many of you
love
asking other people for help?” On average, only about 10 percent of the hands will go up in response to this one.

It’s an interesting human paradox that most of us enjoy helping others but very few of us feel comfortable asking for help. We erroneously think that asking for help makes us weak, needy, or inferior. We worry that people will judge us, reject us, or disappoint us. However, when we have the courage to ask for help, while we may not always get exactly what we ask for, we give ourselves a chance to get the support we need. We also give other people the opportunity to do something important, sacred, and meaningful—support another human being in need, which almost everyone loves to do.

One of the most profound experiences of support that I received in my life came from my father back when I was in college. In the middle of my junior year at Stanford, I got severely, clinically depressed. I was quite familiar with depression due to my dad’s significant struggles with bipolar disorder, as well as the many other members of my family who suffered from various forms of mental illness. When I got diagnosed with clinical depression at the age of 20, not only was it incredibly painful and scary, it was also coupled with the fear and dread of having now “caught” what my relatives referred to as “the family curse.”

In the midst of this intensely difficult experience, I realized that I needed help. And although my relationship with my dad had improved over the previous few years, it still wasn’t the type where I reached out to him for support. Quite frankly, at that point in my life, I didn’t know if I trusted him or felt safe enough with him to ask for his help. But, given what was going on, it felt like my dad might actually be uniquely qualified and well suited to support me.

So I decided to call him. When he answered, I said, “Dad, I could really use your support. Can you come down and see me?”

He didn’t own a car or have a whole lot of money at that point, so I understood that this wouldn’t be super easy for him. But he rented a car that afternoon, drove down to Palo Alto, and showed up at my apartment that night. “What do you want to do, Mike?” he asked when he got there.

“I don’t know, Dad,” I said. “I don’t really care.”

“Let’s go out to dinner and just talk,” he said.

We sat at dinner, and my dad, who was usually a pretty big talker (which runs in our family), mostly just listened. I shared with him how I was feeling—scared, lost, sad, and hopeless. Without even saying anything, I could tell he knew exactly how I felt—I could see it in his eyes and feel it in his touch as he held my hand.

After a long pause in our conversation, he asked me, “Mike, have you ever heard the ‘Footprints in the Sand’ poem by Mary Stevenson?”

“No,” I said.

“Well,” he said, “I can’t remember the whole thing word for word, but basically it goes like this, ‘I had a dream that I was walking along the beach with God. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky. In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets and other times just one. This bothered me because I noticed that during the hard periods of my life, when I was suffering most, I could see only one set of footprints. So I said to God, “You promised me you would walk with me. But I’ve noticed that during the most difficult times in my life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I most needed you, were you not there for me?” Then God replied by saying, “The times when you saw only one set of footprints was when I carried you.” ’ ”

I had never heard this poem, and it really touched me, especially given what was going on in my life at that specific moment. I sat there holding my dad’s hand, looking into his eyes, and crying. For one of the first times in my life, I had the experience of my father carrying me—just like in that beautiful poem. I felt loved. I felt seen. I felt supported.

Thinking back on it now, I imagine it was a pretty profound and important moment for my dad as well. Although I’m sure he was concerned about me, it probably also felt good to him to be able to support me, especially with everything that had gone down in our past and how few opportunities he’d been given to show up for me like that.

Thankfully, due to a great deal of love, support, and help from my dad, my family, my friends; some good therapy and medication; and an amazing counselor named Chris (who I still work with), I came out of that depression. In hindsight, I can see that that experience was actually a pivotal moment in my life and my growth. I’m eternally grateful for even the pain of the depression, as it actually forced me to my knees and gave me almost no choice but to reach out for help.

Unfortunately, it often takes something incredibly painful for us to finally get over our own fear and resistance in order to ask for the help we need. What if we allowed ourselves more permission to ask for help?

There are a few important things for us to remember about asking other people for help. First, there’s a difference between a
request
and a
demand
. A request is when we ask for what we want, without attachment. This means that we give the other person the freedom to say yes or no, and there is no consequence either way (i.e., we won’t hold it against them, get all upset or self-righteous, or take it personally if they say no, even if we are disappointed). Sometimes, once we get over our resistance to asking for help, we actually make demands instead of requests. In other words, they
better
say yes, or they will be in trouble with us.

Second, it’s important that we actually allow ourselves to receive the support. As much resistance as we have to asking for help, sometimes we have even more resistance to receiving it when it shows up. The easier we are to support, the more support we’ll receive. For some of us, myself included, receiving support from others can make us feel scared, vulnerable, and even awkward. We worry that we’re not actually worthy of support, that we’ll owe the giver something, or that somehow we’re inferior to the people who help us. None of this is true; it’s just another negative ego trap.

Third, we need to remember the paradox of getting feedback and help from others: while it can benefit us greatly, at the deepest level, the answers, support, and guidance we are seeking are actually inside of us, always. The rub is that we often forget, and the support of those outside of us is a great reminder that helps us tap into our inner wisdom. When we embrace this important paradox, it actually gives us more freedom to ask for and receive support while also giving it to ourselves in a healthy and empowering way.

CHAPTER 7

Don’t Get Caught in the Trap of Comparison

A few years ago a woman sent me an e-mail suggesting that I check out the website of another author/speaker. She said he reminded her of me and thought we should know each other. I looked at his site and was very impressed by him and his work. In addition, I quickly found that I was unconsciously comparing myself to him. My gremlin started telling me how much better this guy was than me.
Look at him, he’s a stud: funny, good-looking, and savvy. His site is way cooler than mine, his approach is more hip, and he has this whole thing figured out much better than I do.
After looking at his website for just a few minutes and listening to my gremlin, I found that I was feeling jealous, inferior, self-conscious, and deflated.

Sadly, many of us spend and waste a lot of time and energy comparing ourselves to others in this way. Feeling jealous is a natural human emotion. And it’s pretty common—especially given the nature of how most of us were raised and the competitive culture in which we live. However, comparison can have a negative impact on us, our dreams, our relationships, and many of the things we hold most sacred.

Our personal and cultural obsession with competition and comparison isn’t new, although it seems to have intensified in the past few years with the explosion of social media, and how we share everything with one another in such a public way. I personally enjoy being able to celebrate the exciting stuff happening in other people’s lives, and being able to share some of my own “good stuff” with others as well. At the same time, it can be a bit of a double-edged sword. While I’m often inspired by and excited about the success of others, especially those closest to me, depending on how I’m feeling about myself at any given moment, I can get easily triggered by their success and end up feeling insecure in comparison to them—especially if they accomplish something I’m still striving for.

On the flip side, I’ve noticed that this forum can also inspire bragging or feeling a sense of superiority when something goes really well in my life. This is even harder to admit and confront. And while it may seem like the opposite of insecurity, it’s actually just the other side of the same coin. Heads, we feel superior, tails, we feel inferior. Both are detrimental to our growth and ultimately our sense of peace, fulfillment, and joy in life. This is a negative ego trap—and there are no true winners in this game. As Mark Twain said, “Comparison is the death of joy.”

Growing up as a competitive athlete, I got lots of early experience and training about how to compete against others and try to beat them. This wasn’t just about the other team; often the biggest and most intense competition was with my friends and fellow teammates.

On our baseball team at Stanford, there were almost 40 players on the total roster, 18 of whom were pitchers like me. When we’d travel to play games against other teams in our conference, only 22 guys were allowed to go on the trip and be on the active roster. Eight of these guys were pitchers. During a weekend three-game series, there were three starting pitchers, and usually only two or three of the relief pitchers would get a chance to pitch, depending on how the games unfolded. This meant that about half of the team and more than half of all the pitchers didn’t even get to make the trip, let alone get a chance to play in the games. Needless to say, it created a pretty stressful and internally competitive environment. Some of my teammates were very close friends of mine whom I cared a lot about. Yet, at the same time, we were competing for a limited number of spots—like a cruel and very public game of musical chairs that we all wanted to win.

Whether it was in baseball, school, or other areas of life, I often found myself directly or indirectly competing in a pretty intense way with those around me when I was younger.

Although I’ve worked through and outgrown certain aspects of my intense competitive and comparative tendencies (and it’s been more than 15 years since I played baseball competitively), I still find myself threatened by the success of others, at times—as if we’re competing against one another for a limited number of “spots” or as if their success takes something away from me, which, in just about every case, it doesn’t.