How Do You Handle Your Mistakes?
Are you kind and compassionate? Or harsh and judgmental?
A client told me recently that when she makes mistakes—especially ones she knows she could have avoided—she talks to herself the way her father did when she brought home a 95 and he asked where the other five points went. Her self-talk is unforgiving—at times cruel—and lacks the grace and compassion she so easily gives others. When I asked what toll that takes on her self-worth, her eyes filled with tears.
Why is it so hard to speak to ourselves with the same kindness we offer others when they mess up?
Read on, fellow traveler.
Dear Jennifer,
I can’t seem to get it together, no matter how hard I try. Other people seem to handle their lives without issue, and sometimes it takes me 20 minutes to find my car keys that were already in my pocket. I make a lot of goofy mistakes and then feel so frustrated with myself that it’s hard to focus on what needs to get done. Help?
— Frustrated and Failing
Dear Frustrated and Failing,
When I was a single mother of preschool twins, I had a well-honed skill I called “going for Goldilocks.” I wanted us to arrive at exactly the right time—not so early that I’d have to entertain restless kids, and not so late that I’d have to battle for parking.
One Saturday morning, we left perfectly on schedule for the boys’ sports class at a park eight minutes away. Goldilocks timing was in reach.
There were only three kids in the class—my twins and their best friend Myers. The coach, a childless guy, seemed like he would have preferred a crew of older, more coordinated kids with fewer tears and water break requests.
By departure time, the boys were dressed, buckled in, and had used the bathroom. I felt accomplished as I pulled out of the driveway. Eye of the Tiger blasted through the speakers. The boys were giggling in the backseat, playing their pretend drumsticks, and I was drumming along on the steering wheel. Life was good.
Then I missed the turn.
I’d driven to that park hundreds of times. My moment of inattention meant we’d arrive late.
And just like that, my inner critic awakened and the music faded.
How could you miss the turn? You were up at 5 a.m.! You need to get it together. The boys deserve better than this.
My muscles tensed. Tears welled. I could feel my Saturday morning contentment slipping away—replaced by shame, stress, and frustration.
At the next intersection, I debated turning left to go home instead of right to the park. I wanted to turn on cartoons for the boys, crawl into bed, and reset the day.
Then, from somewhere deep inside, a quiet voice whispered: Maybe try some of that self-compassion stuff you teach other people.
I exhaled and lowered my shoulders. The boys were still laughing, oblivious to my inner dialogue.
Hey, listen. You missed the turn. Everybody misses the turn sometimes. You got two preschoolers out the door by 8:51 on a Saturday morning—call that a win. You’re not responsible for the program’s poor recruitment or the coach’s career choices. And “the boys deserve better?” That’s not fair.
My heart rate slowed. My grip loosened. I turned right toward the park, still breathing deeply.
“Why are we going this way?” Giovanni asked from the backseat.
“Because I missed the turn,” I said, catching his eyes in the mirror.
He nodded. “Okay,” and went back to talking with his brother.
We pulled in. Myers hadn’t arrived yet. The coach looked up from his phone.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” he said.
“Just a bit delayed,” I smiled. “Have a great class.”
Then I walked across the street to Austin Java and enjoyed the best chai latte of my life.
Eleven Years Later
My on-time arrival rate has dropped from excellent to… let’s say below average. In exchange, I’ve gained a lot of self-compassion—and the ability to sincerely thank people for their patience.
If I could speak to my past self, I’d tell her to lighten up. She wasn’t failing; she was in survival mode.
When we’re in survival mode, our perspectives narrow. Life feels fragile and urgent. What would normally be a “goofy mistake” we’d laugh about instead sparks overreaction and stress. Sound familiar, Frustrated? At the very times we most need self-compassion, we override it—forgetting it’s what helps us stay grounded and remember we’re okay, even when things go sideways.
Self-compassion isn’t a magic wand. It can’t undo mistakes or hand us perfect solutions. But it can shift how we hold ourselves in those moments—with gentleness and kindness instead of judgment and criticism.
That morning, I still missed the turn. We still arrived late. But I no longer held the moment with shaming hands—I carried myself with kindness and quiet self-assurance.
The moment I summon now, when I need to turn down my inner critic’s volume
It isn’t the wisdom of my inner voice, or the intensity of that overreaction in a moment of vulnerable overwhelm. It isn’t even the call to keep the music playing while the mistake gets cleaned up. In all my recollections of that experience, I had forgotten a simple, almost invisible moment—until I revisited this story two years ago for the blog and for readers like you, Frustrated.
It’s Giovanni’s response.
When I told him I’d missed the turn, he simply said, “Okay.” No judgment. No irritation. Just calm acceptance. The coach responded the same way. For both, it was over instantly and forgotten.
It was my rumination and self-talk that turned a small mistake into a memorable story. I was the one who handed the microphone to my inner critic and tuned out the soundtrack of the moment—the boys’ laughter and Eye of the Tiger urging me to stay focused and resilient.
So, Frustrated, if I could speak to the version of myself from that Saturday, I’d tell her what I’ll now say to you:
It’s all good, dear one. You’re not failing. Life is tough right now, and you’re handling it. Goofy mistakes just mean you’re juggling a lot and expecting too much of yourself. Take a breath. Laugh more. And play “Eye of the Tiger” on repeat until you’ve fully absorbed its message (and summoned your inner Rocky Balboa).
The Real Goal
The goal isn’t to silence our inner critics, fellow travelers. We need them—they keep us aware, motivated, ever-evolving, and honest.
The real goal is deciding how long they get to hold the microphone before our wiser, more compassionate voices step in to close the show.
This blog is a revisit of one that I originally published in October 2023, entitled “The Missed Turn.” I send you wishes of self-compassion, resilience, and mistakes that encourage you to consider a different perspective.
Ubuntu, fellow travelers.
— Jennifer
