Grace and Self-Compassion: Rethinking Resilience

With the holidays and 2025 behind us, I took some time to reflect and sit with some feelings that have surfaced lately: I haven’t been feeling quite like myself. Even though “myself” is always changing, this recent change feels different. Less familiar. Less solid. More confused than energized. It feels introspective in a way that’s a little unsettling, like I’ve lifted my head up after a long stretch of pushing forward, and suddenly the world looks unfamiliar.

These feelings showed up during a season of uncertainty: starting a private practice, getting sick, and realizing how tightly my sense of safety and identity are tied to my work. When my body forced me to slow down in the fall, all these feelings I had outrun finally caught up with me and I found myself unbalanced; unable to think straight, to work, to be myself. I was filled with worry and dread and every day I woke up with those feelings, my thoughts would uncontrollably go to “You can’t even get up to work. What a failure”.

For as long as I can remember, I believed resilience meant effort. That voice telling me to get up, that I was weak and made unsafe decisions. Discipline. Tough love. Keep going no matter what. That to me, was resilience. Truth is, there are some days that I really wish that part of me would shut up and leave me live. But to be fair, that part of me did help me survive. It values success, stability, competence. It wants me safe. It doesn’t want me to disappear. But when things fell apart physically, that voice didn’t help me heal. it only made me feel worse. Every day I couldn’t show up became proof that I was failing. That I couldn’t do this.

What entered instead was grace. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just a quiet suggestion from my sister, and then a small, unfamiliar voice inside me saying: listen. Rest. Be gentle. Nothing is more important than your health. I leaned towards that part of me, unfamiliar and doubtful. I worried that it would make me lazy, unambitious, unmotivated and create excuses for not doing. Would allowing self compassion and grace to enter the room really help me thrive and be content?

The belief was that grace and self-compassion made me weak. But when I allowed them to speak, to come out of their darkness, what they did was create space. Research backs this up: self‑compassion is consistently linked to greater emotional resilience, motivation, and long‑term wellbeing. People who are kinder to themselves aren’t less driven; they’re more sustainable. They recover faster. They feel more content.

I discovered that resilience isn’t harsh. It isn’t shaming. It doesn’t rely on fear or force, something my inner critic uses with determination. True resilience is adaptive. Flexible. It knows when to rest and when to act. It can say, “This is hard, and I’m still moving.” It can push without cruelty. It can protect without attacking.

When we’re deeply depleted, depressed, or just barely surviving, grace is essential. It steadies the system. It reminds us we’re human. It creates safety. And when stability starts to return, resilience can gently step forward, not to dominate, but to guide. Not to yell, but to nudge.

The problem isn’t letting grace in.

The problem is believing that only force ever moved us forward.

What if we knew that resilience could be kind?

What if we knew that motivation didn’t require self‑criticism?

What if pushing through didn’t mean abandoning ourselves and our needs?

Maybe this confusion isn’t a loss of ambition. Maybe the work now isn’t choosing between grace or resilience — but learning how they walk together in harmony.

Quietly. Kindly. On purpose.

"Even the part of you that's self critical is trying to help - i just doesn't know how"

-Kristin Neff

If you have any questions, please feel free to comment below. I invite all comments with an open heart.