I suppose a lot of those who read this will relate: my therapist lent me this book because I'm reflexively kinda rough on myself. By her own acknowledgment, she hadn't gotten all that far with her personal copy, but thought maybe I would find something in it interesting or helpful.
Nope.
I went into this to make a good faith effort, I really did. Clearly, I need to rewire some things, and I'm open to finding things that can help with that. What I found here were 286 pages of hypocrisy, self-coddling, rejection of accountability, and a genuinely laughable thoughtlessness about the circumstances of others. Here are some key highlights:
Let's start on page 9, in a section titled "Compassion for Others". The very first sentence establishes the hypothetical scenario: "Imagine you're stuck in traffic on the way to work, and a homeless man tries to get you to pay him a buck for washing your car windows."
This is the sentence that establishes who this book's audience is--and isn't. This is for a reader for whom the indigents of society are unsightly nuisances. Realizing that the homeless man is worthy of compassion isn't presented as the establishment of some basic, bare-minimal decency. It's just a set-up for a literal "But for the grace of God..." epiphany.
I kept waiting for her to say something to any readers who had been, or were, that homeless man. Nope. Not a word. Why should she? He's not her audience. He's merely a prop to help her audience feel better about themselves. She's not even ashamed of using him that way, never apologizes for dehumanizing him in such a shameful way to humanize her reader, who is certainly not that homeless man.
This all reminded me of a song Tim McGraw recorded for his 2001 album, Set This Circus Down, called "Grown Men Don't Cry". It's about a guy who sees a poor woman and her son living out of their vehicle and it makes him sad. He thinks about trying to say something encouraging to her, but instead sits there and cries and decides to just leave. Then he goes home to his big, nice house and his family and everything is cozy and he cries about how good he has it.
This, for me, was a watershed moment in country music. There was a time when country music was about that woman and her son. Now, it's about the suburbanites who have emotional reactions to seeing that woman and her son. Poor people don't buy $65 concert tickets, after all, so why sing to them?
Neff shares later about how hurt and angry she was when her father abandoned their family while she was young to go join a hippie commune. That's a perfectly fair and understandable reaction for her to have had. She shares that he returned later, and...
"One day when I was about eight, after using the word Dad in the course of asking him some question, he turned to me and my brother in all seriousness and asked that we please not call him Dad anymore. He wanted us to use his new name, 'Brother Dionysus,' because 'we are all just brothers and sisters at the end of the day--children of God."
She shares that this cemented for her that she had truly lost her father, and again; that's a perfectly understandable thing for her to have felt. But then she goes on to say:
"So for more than twenty years I found myself in the awkward situation of not knowing how--on those rare occasions when he was around--to address him. I couldn't bring myself to use his ridiculous hippie name, so ended up using no name at all."
-_-
This is page 32. As with the homeless man on page 9, I kept waiting for her to rescue the passage by saying something like, "Later, I recognized that, while my pain was legitimate, I was being every bit as judgmental and dismissive of him as I've written an entire book telling you not to be about yourself." Nope. No such self-awareness. Passing judgment on others is cool, apparently. I couldn't help but wonder if her rejection of someone's "ridiculous" new name would extend to someone who hadn't hurt her. What about someone who is transgender and transitions? Also not one of her readers, so the hell with them, too. They can join the homeless man on page 9.
Throughout the book, Neff acknowledges that a key concern voiced about self-compassion is that it's just a way to let oneself off the hook and absolve oneself of accountability. I was hopeful when she first broached the subject that maybe this would be where I would finally find something I could use. Nope.
Her illustrative story is about how she had an affair during her first marriage, was busted, and left her first husband for the other guy, who in turn did not leave his wife for her, and then died of cancer. This is all recounted on pages 195-199, but the short version is that she basically decided that feeling bad for devastating everyone involved was a real downer so, y'know, fuck it. She decided to forgive herself for the decisions she'd made, and that was that. She was able to start feeling good again! Yay!
Look, I'll grant that there does come a point where we've processed whatever transgressions we've committed, felt appropriate remorse, and hopefully at least tried to rectify some of the damage, if possible. We do make mistakes of all kinds; some with the best of intentions, some through carelessness, and yes, others we make knowing full well what we're doing and do it anyway.
A big part of my problem with the way Neff presents self-forgiveness is that it isn't separate from forgiveness from those we've wronged. It's in lieu of that altogether. Other people may not even want to forgive us, so we should just do it for them and get us back to feeling good! When she does make mention of being forgiven by the others involved later, she presents it as though it was something made possible by her having forgiven herself first, attributing others making their peace with the events to her deciding to stop feeling bad about it.
Despite telling us repeatedly that, no, self-compassion isn't about letting yourself off the hook, Neff only talks about instances where she decided to forgive herself and move on to feeling good again. In her philosophy, there seems to be no such thing as appropriate remorse. One should simply never feel bad in the first place because it sucks to feel bad. That is an unearned forgiveness.
Neff also insists that self-compassion isn't about babying oneself. I can't even take that seriously, because whenever she gives an example of how she talks to herself when giving herself compassion, she starts with "poor darling...." The first couple of times I encountered this, I tried to translate to something I might say to myself ("Okay, yes, this sucks") but once I finally gave up on this being a book that knew or cared a reader like me would thumb through it, I stopped bothering.
That brings me to another recurring problematic matter for me: Neff's characterization of the trials and tribulations of life as transient. It is certainly true that the events themselves may well be temporary, even relatively brief, but there's no awareness shown for when things can be permanent.
There's a key passage in which she talks about being overwhelmed by finding out her son was diagnosed autistic. Aha! Here's where she will be humbled into something more than telling herself she should feel good. Nope. She talks about being frustrated and going through the "Why me?" phase. I'll even cut her some slack on that. It's common and understandable that an initial reaction to discovering a certain kind of diagnosis of one's child will be one of resentfulness.
So she talks on pages 78-79 about being embarrassed at the playground during one of her son's meltdowns, and I'm thinking, "Okay, here's where she'll tell me she finally realized that she hadn't been truly compassionate for her son because she was so preoccupied with how unfair it was for her to have an autistic son." Nope. Instead, her big epiphany was that she should comfort herself because other families have their own issues, too, and it's okay that she has hers.
That was the closest I found to anything in this book that spoke to me as someone living with Crohn's disease; a chronic, incurable physical illness that has derailed my entire life. I've had to give myself pep talks during especially rough flares before, reminding myself that I've gotten through all the others, that I'll get through this one, too, etc. It doesn't occur to me to say, "I'm sorry, poor darling, I know this is unfair," which is very nearly verbatim what Neff says she says to herself about things throughout the book.
But there will not be a day when I can say, "Hey, remember that time I had Crohn's disease?" I'll still have it tomorrow, and the day after, and every day until I die. And between those flares and blockages, I'm still in dire financial straits because of not being able to work. That poverty is as permanent as my illness. I'm not all of a sudden financially comfortable when I'm not flaring. I'm still poor even when my guts are calm. Saying, "I'm sorry, poor darling, I know this is unfair" about that daily life part of Crohn's may be the closest thing to a usable example of self-compassion I found in the whole book...and I had to piece that together myself, because it didn't occur to Neff to address people like me directly.
Neff does acknowledge poverty sucks, but says so little about it that poverty doesn't even merit an entry in the index. Paris Hilton, however, has her own entry, because on pages 142-3, she's cited in a rambling bit about narcissists not trying to overcompensate for self-loathing, but truthfully genuinely thinking themselves to be fantastic.
There's an entire bit near the end about gratitude with a hypothetical scenario that just has to be read in its entirety to be believed (pages 251-252). It reminded me of those commercials that show a side-by-side comparison of life with their product and life with a competitor's product. Both oversleep. The one with the competitor's product spills their coffee, can't get the leash on the dog for a quick walk, the dog relieves itself on the sidewalk instead of the grass, they've forgotten the bags for the dog anyway, and get to work too late for the meeting. The other version, however, decides to feel gratitude for the extra sleep, takes their time, puts their coffee in a no-spill container, gets the leash on the dog the first try, remembers the bags, and gets to work still a little late, but before the meeting starts.
All this for being grateful for oversleeping? Come on, already.
When it came time to end the book, Neff decided the best way to connect one last time with her reader was to talk about how she and her husband took their autistic son to ride horses in Mongolia with some shamans to try to treat his autism because he threw temper tantrums and wasn't potty trained. I swear to God, I'm not making this up. It starts on page 258.
There was a fleeting moment where, again, I hoped something recognizable was about to be shared when she said that her husband had asked for an advance so he could write a book about the experience and they hadn't heard back from anyone. They maxed their credit cards to pay for it themselves.
And then there was a fucking bidding war that paid for everything and made them rich, to boot.
The kid made his first friend and started controlling his bowels, and so they started going on annual pilgrimages to visit with what Neff calls "traditionalists". My friend calls it "treating people of color as magical healing stones". Unsurprisingly, I'm with my friend on this one.
By time this was over, all I could think of was a moment in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, where the titular character (played by Kristen Bell) has had it with her self-absorbed "eclectic" rock star boyfriend, Aldous Snow (played by Russell Brand). She concludes their fight by yelling:
"And you know what? Let me tell you something about these tattoos, okay. That is Buddhist, that is Nordic, that is Hindu, that's just gibberish. They are completely conflicting ideologies, and that does not make you a citizen of the world, it makes you full of shit!"
I think it says something that I could far more easily relate to the fictitious characters in that movie (a rock star, a TV star, and a TV composer) than I could the real person who wrote Self-Compassion.
EDIT TO ADD
I forgot to mention the one positive thing I have to say, which is that somewhere early in the book, Neff gives her reader a prompt for a letter to write one's future self. It's been two years and I damn sure don't have the book around so I can't say what the prompt even was or I'd spare you having to look for it. I don't remember what it entailed, but I do remember that it took me a good hour or so and that I felt it was a genuinely constructive exercise.