Be Kind To Yourself First

Sometimes, I think we’re all so busy being *good* that we forget to simply *be*. It’s a lesson I learned late – later than I would have liked, certainly – and one I see echoed in so many young people striving for success these days. They're pushing themselves relentlessly, offering encouragement and support to everyone around them while depleting their own wellspring of kindness. And isn't it interesting how often the most generous souls are also the hardest on themselves?

I remember a luncheon just last week with some women from my volunteer group at the food pantry. There was such a flurry of activity, organizing donations and chatting about families we’d helped. Everyone seemed so engaged, so *helpful*. And I noticed one woman, dear girl, practically vibrating with anxiety, fretting over whether she'd packed enough peanut butter or if someone would be disappointed by the variety of canned vegetables. She was doing everything right, absolutely, but the strain on her face... it broke my heart a little bit.

It reminded me of Jerry and me, years ago when he first started his business. He wanted to make a difference, of course – we always have – but he also felt this enormous pressure to be *perfect*. He would work late into the night, criticizing every decision, agonizing over potential mistakes. I'd offer him tea and quiet company, but it wasn’t enough. What he needed most was just… kindness towards himself. A reminder that doing his best was all anyone could ask.

You see, we are so quick to forgive others their shortcomings. We understand that people make mistakes; we readily extend grace when they stumble. But how often do we offer ourselves the same understanding? That’s a paradox, isn't it? To lead effectively – truly lead, not just manage – requires an ability to see beyond the immediate need and offer genuine support, but where does that strength come from if you are constantly battling your own inner critic?

When Marcus’s children called, needing me in Brooklyn, I didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t a grand gesture; it was simply what felt right. Waiting for them to come here felt… unnatural somehow. It seemed important for *me* to go to *them*. Jerry said he hadn't anticipated that swiftness, and truthfully, I suppose I hadn’t either. But sometimes the most meaningful actions are born not of careful planning but of a quiet sense of what is needed in the moment. It took years to learn to listen to that inner voice.

Volunteering at the pantry keeps me grounded now. Seeing those faces, hearing their stories – it reminds me that everyone’s navigating a struggle, and most are doing so with tremendous courage. It also serves as a constant reminder of my own imperfections. And recognizing those shortcomings in myself isn't something to be ashamed of; it's an opportunity for growth. It’s about acknowledging the fallibility of being human.

It wasn’t always easy, this softening of self-judgment. There were years I spent believing that hard work and constant striving were all that mattered. Years where the smallest misstep felt like a monumental failure. But life, blessedly, has a way of teaching us lessons we weren't looking for – and sometimes those lessons come in the form of a grandchild’s trusting smile or the gratitude in someone’s eyes after receiving a warm meal.

The simplest things often hold the greatest wisdom. Taking that first cup of coffee at the kitchen table on Monday morning after returning from Brooklyn, simply observing the sunlight filtering through the curtains… that's when I realized how much work there still was to be done – not just out in the world, but within myself. A gentler approach. More kindness. A deeper understanding that sometimes, the most powerful leadership is found in offering yourself the same grace you so freely extend to others.