We've learned to do it for others.
When someone we love is struggling — with pain, with illness, with a body that won't cooperate — something in us softens. We make room for their confusion, their grief, their non-linear healing. We say: take your time. This is hard. You're allowed to not be okay.
We don't demand that they explain why they're not better yet. We don't grow impatient with their setbacks. We sit with them in the uncertainty.
So why, when it's us, does all of that fly out the window?
Take a moment to sit with that question. Not to answer it. Just to notice what comes up.
Is there a voice that says healing should have happened by now? A low-level hum of self-blame that lives just underneath your daily life? A quiet exhaustion — not just from the illness, but from the effort of not accepting the illness?
Here's what I've witnessed, both in patients and in my own journey: the longer a health challenge lasts, the harder it becomes to extend grace to ourselves.
In the beginning, there is still hope that this will be temporary. We can be patient with temporary. But as weeks turn to months, as months stretch into years, something shifts. The compassion we offered ourselves early on — that grace period — quietly expires.
And we don't even notice it happening.
We start to hold ourselves to the standards of a well person. We wonder why we can't just push through. We catalog what we're missing, what we're not doing, who we're letting down. We become — without meaning to — our own harshest critics at the moment we most need a gentle witness.
What would it mean to give yourself what you give others?
Not as a strategy. Not as a healing hack. Just... as a practice of being human with yourself.
When a friend's body is struggling, we don't question whether they deserve to rest. We don't weigh their suffering against a productivity metric. We simply acknowledge: this is real. This is hard. You are allowed to be in this.
What if you were that friend to yourself — not just today, but on day 300, day 500, the days when the fatigue of being unwell has compounded into something that feels like defeat?
I'm sitting with these questions this week, and I invite you to as well:
- Where in your healing journey has self-compassion felt available to you?
- Where has it felt impossible?
- What shifts inside you when your struggle goes on longer than you thought it would?
There are no right answers. These are simply invitations to know yourself a little more in this.
Because healing — real, deep, lasting healing — often begins not with a new protocol, but with the willingness to stop being at war with where you are.
You extended that grace to others long before you believed you deserved it yourself. Maybe that's the beginning of something worth exploring.
If this landed for you, I'd love to hear from you. Hit reply and tell me: where in your healing are you being the hardest on yourself right now?
And if you're ready to stop navigating this alone — I work withpeople each month in my private coaching practice, helping you get to the root of what's keeping you stuck. If you feel called, you can book a complimentary 15-minute call to see if we're a fit.
With care,
Dr. Sherri
