Toolbox
Self-compassion
I’ve been working with Kristin Neff’s self-compassion approach for several years, both personally and in my work as a counsellor. Over time, I began to notice how powerfully it could support clients who were experiencing emotional pain, self-criticism, or distress.
What initially surprised me most was the research suggesting that symptoms of depression can significantly reduce after something as simple as writing a self-compassion letter each day for just seven days. I’ll admit—I was sceptical. But I was also curious. So I tried it myself.
What I found was not only relief, but insight. Each time I wrote, something unfolded—a new perspective, a softer understanding, or a gentler way of relating to my own experiences. It became a practice I now offer to clients when it feels appropriate, often with meaningful results.
While there are different ways to approach self-compassion, many are grounded in three core elements. Here’s how I tend to work with them.
The first is mindfulness—noticing what is present without judgement. Often, I begin simply by naming the emotions I can feel: frustration, anger, sadness and noticing where I feel them in my body. From there, I begin to respond with kindness: I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. This is really painful. It makes sense that this hurts.
Sometimes, I’ll add a gentle physical gesture—placing a hand on my heart or stomach, offering a butterfly hug, softly rubbing my arm or putting a hand over where the feeling is strongest. These small acts can help bring the body into the experience of compassion, not just the mind.
The second element is common humanity—the reminder that we are not alone in our experiences. When we’re hurting, it’s easy to feel isolated, as though we’re the only one struggling in this way. This step gently widens the lens.
I might remind myself: I’m not the only one who feels this. Sometimes this connection comes from everyday moments—something I’ve seen on Netflix, a conversation overheard in a café, or the shared experiences of friends. These small reminders help soften the sense of isolation and bring a feeling of belonging back into the moment.
The third element is self-kindness—turning toward ourselves with the same care we would offer someone we love. I often ask: What would a good friend say to me right now? Or I might draw on a simple phrase inspired by Kristin Neff: May I be kind to myself.
Sometimes, this looks like reassurance: You are doing the best you can. Other times, it’s a gentle question: What do I need right now? Whether it’s rest, space, or understanding, this step invites a compassionate response rather than criticism.
Some days, it might feel awkward, forced, or even undeserved. That’s okay. Like any new way of relating to ourselves, it takes practice.
What I’ve come to appreciate—both personally and in my work as a counsellor—is that even small moments of self-compassion can begin to shift something. A softening. A pause. A sense that we are not alone in our experience, even within ourselves.
If you’re curious, you might like to try writing a short self-compassion letter each day for a week. Not to fix anything, but simply to notice what unfolds when you meet yourself with a little more kindness.
If you would like to try guided self-compassion practices, you can visit the Self Compassion Institute. Here is a link to a five-minute guided self-compassion practice that introduces the ideas discussed in this article.
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