Be Gentle—With Yourself, Too (Originally posted 2018)

As a licensed therapist with decades of training in trauma work, family systems, conflict resolution, EMDR, CBT, narrative therapy—you name it—I assumed that becoming a mother would be challenging, but manageable. I mean, I help people navigate identity shifts, crisis, and rupture for a living. I figured I had some tools.

I wasn’t entirely wrong.
But I was mostly wrong.

When I gave birth to my first daughter in 2018, my world cracked open in ways no textbook or training manual had prepared me for. Motherhood didn’t just challenge me—it remade me. It taught me about love and fear and rage and grief, often all in the same moment. It taught me about my body, my limits, and the quiet pressure to be everything to everyone while still smiling.

And it taught me something unexpectedly profound about gentleness.

When we introduced our baby to her cousins and little family friends, I found myself repeating the same phrase over and over again: “Be gentle.”
Every adult in the room echoed it.
Be gentle with her feet.
Be gentle with her head.
Be gentle with her tiny hands.

We said it calmly. Softly. Like a spell. Because we knew these toddlers weren’t being mean—they were just clumsy. Unaware of their power. Unaware of her fragility.

But somewhere between nap schedules and sleep regressions, a deeper question emerged:
Why do we stop reminding each other to be gentle?
Why do we only reserve it for babies?

Yes, newborns are fragile. But aren’t we all, in our own ways?

Even the most “together” adult is carrying something tender—grief, fear, shame, heartbreak.
Even the strongest among us have bruises we hide beneath confidence or sarcasm.
Even the kindest of us snap when we’re too tired or too overwhelmed.

Gentleness is not just a parenting strategy.
It’s a life skill.
A relational practice.
A nervous system regulation tool.
A revolutionary stance in a world that tells us to toughen up, power through, and never show weakness.

In Buddhist psychology, this is called compassion. For others, yes. But also for ourselves.
Self-compassion doesn’t mean self-indulgence. It means being kind to yourself even when you mess up. It means recognizing that being human is messy. It means not confusing “I made a mistake” with “I am a mistake.”

And guess what? It’s not just good vibes—it’s neuroscience. Studies show that self-compassion improves mental health, reduces anxiety, and increases resilience (Barnard & Curry, 2011; Neff & Germer, 2017). In other words, being gentle makes you stronger. It’s not a weakness. It’s a strategy.

I see this all the time in my practice. Parents—especially moms—are often operating in a state of depletion. They’re burnt out, under-supported, flooded with cortisol. And when that happens, gentleness feels impossible. Kindness feels optional. Everything gets tight: the tone, the expectations, the breath, the grip.

But that’s when we need it most.

What if we practiced being gentle not just with babies, but with ourselves—especially when we feel the most fragile?
What if we remembered that anger, exhaustion, fear, and grief are signals for care, not shame?
What if we extended the same patience and softness to ourselves that we extend to a fussy infant?

It takes practice.
It takes re-patterning.
It takes reminders, over and over again—like the little ones learning how to hold a newborn.

So here’s your reminder:
Be gentle.
With your tired self.
With your angry self.
With your scared, overwhelmed, and doing-the-best-you-can self.

Not just postpartum. Not just in crisis. Always.

You deserve that kind of love. From others, yes.
But most importantly? From you.