This month, I’m celebrating ten years since I first began practising Mindful Self-Compassion. Not learning about it, but actually living it—imperfectly, quietly, and consistently. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past decade, it’s this: the smallest steps are often the most powerful.

Self-compassion doesn’t arrive in grand breakthroughs or glowing transformations. It reveals itself in the little things. A breath taken instead of a judgement. A hand placed gently on the heart in a difficult moment. A soft whisper of encouragement when things don’t go as planned.

It’s in these tiny, almost invisible moments that something extraordinary begins to unfold.

As Chris Germer reminds us,
"A moment of self-compassion can change your entire day. A string of such moments can change the course of your life."

When I first began, I thought I needed to get it right. I wanted to feel better, be better, do it better. But self-compassion isn't about striving or achieving. It’s about showing up for ourselves as we are. It’s about learning to stay present, especially when we want to run away.

For those just starting out, let me say this: you don’t have to understand everything. You don’t need to feel kind. You don’t even have to believe it will work. Just start where you are. Take one breath. Make one kind gesture. That’s enough. Truly.

And for those who’ve been practising for a while, perhaps you’ve found yourself striving to feel a certain way or disappointed when self-compassion doesn’t "fix" the hard stuff. That’s okay too. The invitation is always the same—come back to now. Begin again. Not to improve yourself, but to be with yourself.

There is quiet power in returning. Over and over. In choosing to meet yourself with warmth rather than criticism, curiosity rather than control. In letting go of the idea that it should feel a certain way.

Each time you turn toward yourself with care, no matter how small, you are changing the way you live. One moment at a time.

So, whether you’re brand new to this work or ten years in, I invite you to remember: this is not a race. There is nowhere to get to. There is only this moment, this breath, this choice to be kind.

You don’t have to take a giant leap.
Just one small step.
And then another.
And another.

That is how we build a kind mind.
That is how we create a life of compassion.
One breath, one gesture, one present moment at a time.

Poem

One Small Step

It began with one small step.
A breath.
A gesture.
A decision to learn.

After years of searching,
of striving to feel whole,
to feel enough,
I found this practice.
And I knew.
Something in me exhaled.
This was it.
This was my way home.

I was excited. Elated.
I had discovered the missing link.
Then came the final teaching
Self-appreciation…
and I broke.

Appreciate myself?
How?
Surely I hadn’t earned that.
The voice inside was too loud,
too cruel,
too familiar.

But something deeper whispered:
Stay.
Begin.
And I did.

I chose to commit.
Not perfectly.
But fully.

Every day, in every way.
Falling off my cushion.
Catching Crusher in the act:
that sharp, punishing voice.
And instead learning, slowly,
to warmly turn toward myself.

To offer to myself
the same care I so freely gave to others.
To place a hand on my heart,
even when it felt unnatural.
To soften toward this body
I had ignored, criticised, and judged.
It was radical.
It was real.

There were no fireworks.
No parade of success.
Because self-compassion isn’t loud.
It doesn’t shout.
It quietly welcomes.

Again and again.
After every fall.
After every judgement.
After every old story pulls me under.
It is always there,
waiting without blame.

Inch by inch,
the landscape inside me changed.
Tiny acts.
Tiny breaths.
Tiny gestures
that whispered:
You matter too.

And over time,
this practice became my way of being.
Not an addition,
rather, a deep undercurrent
guiding how I live.

Even now, when I resist,
when I want to shut down or run,
I can still turn toward myself
with tenderness.
With kindness.
With love.

I have moved mountains
with small steps.
Carved canyons
with kind intentions.
Become an ocean
with a thousand quiet waves.

This is my celebration.
Not of mastery,
but of willingness.
Of showing up
again and again.
Of choosing kindness
when everything hurts.

This is my way now.
My practice.
My path.

And I am choosing it.
Every day.
Until my final breath.
This lifelong turning
lovingly toward myself.
This tender courage.
This homecoming
called compassion.

Kathryn Lovewell 02.06.25