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.

From The Path to Kindness: Poems of Connection & Joy.
Storey Publishing, 2022. Reprinted with permission.

Read this and other poems in the anthology The Path to Kindness: Poems of Connection & Joy, available for purchase online.

Poet and farmer Wendell Berry once wrote: “Be joyful, though you have considered the facts.” Yet with our packed schedules, and so much negativity and injustice in the world, it can be difficult to believe we deserve any of the daily joys that actually renew us. We forget that the practice of any sort of self-compassion makes us more available to our loved ones and the larger community, giving them permission to listen to their own needs as well. This dawned on me recently during a week when it seemed everything that could go wrong was. My husband had contracted anaplasmosis from a tick bite and needed constant tending to, we’d discovered water covering the floor of the cellar from a leaky pipe, and the news of the upcoming election had become unsettling to say the least. Yet a moment came back to me from when I was first learning to meditate, and still felt cynical and doubtful about any sort of spiritual practice. My good friend and I found ourselves snickering at the meditation teacher seated on his cushion at the front of the class, placing a hand on his chest and calling himself honey, as he modeled a more gentle way to approach our runaway minds. I’ve come a long way since that day, and now believe that if we want to see a kinder, more just world, the most reasonable place to begin is by showing kindness to ourselves, even if it means feeling a little silly and stepping out of our comfort zones.

Invitation for Writing & Reflection: Can you remember a time recently when you practiced compassion and gentleness with yourself, and how it affected you? You might begin by describing how doubtful you felt at first, then showing how you pushed through and allowed yourself to receive the self-care.

ABOUT THE POET: James Crews

James Crews is the editor of the best-selling anthology, How to Love the World, which has been featured on NPR’s Morning Edition, in the Boston Globe, and the Washington Post, and is the author of four prize-winning collections of poetry: The Book of What Stays, Telling My Father, Bluebird, and Every Waking Moment. His poems have been reprinted in the New York Times Magazine, Ploughshares, The New Republic, and The Christian Century, and in former US Poet Laureate Ted Kooser’s weekly newspaper column, “American Life in Poetry,” and featured on the podcast, The Slowdown. Crews serves as editor for The Sunday Poem at Gwarlingo, and lives with his husband on forty rocky acres in Shaftsbury, Vermont.

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