Quotes & poems to feel by
Kindness
Self-compassion
Self-compassion
"Be kind to yourself.
It's hard to be happy
when someone is mean to you all the time."
-Christine Arylo
Self-compassion
Self-compassion
Self-compassion
"Self-compassion is
simply giving to yourself the
same kindness that you would give to a friend"
-Christopher Germer
Like me
Self-compassion
"It's not your job to like me,
it's mine"
-Byron Katie
Compassion vs criticism
"Unlike self-criticism,
which asks if you're good enough,
self-compassion asks,
what's good for you?"
-Kristin Neff
Self before others
"You can't pour from
an empty cup."
-Norm Kelly
Talk to yourself
"Talk to yourself like
you would talk to
someone you love"
-Brene` Brown
Fear by Kahlil Gibran
It is said that before entering the sea
a river trembles with fear.
She looks back at the path she has travelled,
from the peak of the mountains,
the long winding road crossing forests and villages.
And in front of her,
she sees an ocean so vast,
that to enter
there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.
But there is no other way.
The river cannot go back.
Nobody can go back.
To go back is impossible in existence.
The river needs to take the risk
of entering the ocean
because only then will fear disappear,
because that's where the river will know
it's not about disappearing into the ocean,
but of becoming the ocean.
Self-compassion by James Crews
My friend and I snickered the first time
we heard the meditation teacher, a grown man,
call himself honey, with a hand placed
over his heart to illustrate how we too
might become more gentle with ourselves
and our runaway minds. It’s been years
since we sat with legs twisted on cushions,
holding back our laughter, but today
I found myself crouched on the floor again,
not meditating exactly, just agreeing
to be still, saying honey to myself each time
I thought about my husband splayed
on the couch with aching joints and fever
from a tick bite—what if he never gets better?—
or considered the threat of more wildfires,
the possible collapse of the Gulf Stream,
then remembered that in a few more minutes,
I’d have to climb down to the cellar and empty
the bucket I placed beneath a leaky pipe
that can’t be fixed until next week. How long
do any of us really have before the body
begins to break down and empty its mysteries
into the air? Oh honey, I said—for once
without a trace of irony or blush of shame—
the touch of my own hand on my chest
like that of a stranger, oddly comforting
in spite of the facts.
Copyright © 2021 by James Crews. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 17, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.
