Dear friend,
Looking back, I can see very clearly that self-compassion was one of the turning points on my spiritual path.
There was a time when I was trying very hard to manage my life — to improve, to understand, to get things right. And strangely, it wasn’t more effort that helped me soften. It was the moment I began to include myself.
When I could finally look at my own pain — the places where I wanted to do better but simply couldn’t — something shifted. Instead of pushing harder, I started to meet those moments with kindness and understanding. Not because I lowered my standards, but because I began to see that what looked like failure was often just habit, conditioning, survival patterns playing themselves out.
And that changed everything.
I became less busy managing life, and more able to be curious. More able to move with the flow of what was actually happening. And perhaps most importantly, when I recognised this in myself, I started to recognise it in others too — the effort behind their behaviour, the tenderness behind their defenses.
That was the moment compassion stopped being an idea.
It became a way of being.
Recently I read a piece by Kaira Jewel Lingo titled “Compassion as Protection.” Something about the way she described practicing with those who cause harm made immediate somatic sense to me — not as a philosophy, but as something I could feel in my own body. It helped me recognise how compassion can function as a form of inner steadiness, especially in moments when it would be easier to close down or harden.
When compassion is present in the body, something stays open. The breath keeps moving. The nervous system doesn’t collapse or harden as quickly. There’s just enough space to stay connected, even when life becomes uncomfortable or someone meets us in a way that hurts.
I can see how this has changed my own resilience. When I’m able to imagine the other person’s struggle — even if I don’t agree with their behaviour — I don’t have to close down or make them entirely wrong in order to stay safe.
And at the same time, compassion is not about rolling over or abandoning clarity. It doesn’t replace boundaries. If anything, it allows boundaries to come from steadiness rather than reactivity. There can be a clear “no,” a clear line, and still a sense of connection to our shared humanity.
Protection here isn’t magical. It’s embodied.
As Thích Nhất Hạnh often reminded us, compassion is not weakness. It protects the heart from hardening. And trauma therapist Resmaa Menakem speaks about how returning to the body allows us to metabolise what would otherwise overwhelm us. These perspectives helped me understand that compassion is not just emotional; it is deeply physiological.
Sometimes I like to begin the day with a simple short mindfulness verse — something like:
Breathing in, I know I am here.
Breathing out, I soften.
Breathing in, I meet this day as it is.
Breathing out, I meet myself with kindness.
Even a few words like this can orient the nervous system toward safety before the day fully begins.
I’ve read and heard many stories that point to this. People who lived through extremely difficult circumstances — war, imprisonment, deep loss — and who later spoke about how keeping compassion alive inside them changed the way the experience moved through their body.
Some shared that the greatest danger was not what was happening around them, but the moment they felt their heart begin to close. When they could stay connected — even in very small ways — something protective seemed to arise: less inner fragmentation, more resilience afterwards, a capacity to remain human in inhuman conditions.
I notice small versions of it in everyday life. When someone speaks harshly or misunderstands me, and I can stay connected to their humanity — without abandoning my own boundaries — the impact lands differently in my system. There is less contraction, less aftershock. Compassion doesn’t mean allowing everything; it means I don’t have to poison myself with hardness in order to stay clear.
Simple gestures help cultivate this: waking up with a short mindfulness verse, placing a hand on the heart before getting out of bed, or pausing for one breath and silently acknowledging, “Just like everyone else, I am learning how to be human.”
These small practices signal safety to the nervous system. And when we feel resourced in this way, we’re far less likely to act from fear, exhaustion, or collapse.
In a world that often feels like it is moving faster than our nervous systems can integrate, compassion becomes less of an idea and more of a way of staying rooted while everything moves.
This Sunday, I’ll be holding a Monthly Meeting exploring this more deeply:
Compassion as a Way of Living
Meeting Yourself — and Life — with Kindness & Clarity
Sunday, February 15
16:00–17:30 CET
Online via Zoom | Donation-based | Recording included
This gathering was originally planned for last week, but because of the storm I chose to move it forward — and in a way, that feels aligned with the spirit of the practice itself: listening to conditions rather than pushing through.
If this reflection resonates with you, you are very warmly welcome to join us.
Compassion as a Way of Living
A 90-minute live online session | Saturday, February 7th | 16:00 CET
Slow down, soften self-judgment, and learn to meet yourself — and life — with kindness and clarity.
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