Somatic Self-Compassion: Moving Beyond Toxic Positivity to Real Healing
Be grateful. Look on the bright side. Everything happens for a reason. Good vibes only. Manifest your dreams. Choose happiness.
We live in a culture saturated with messages about how we should feel. Positivity has become not just a preference but a prescription — a constant performance we’re expected to maintain regardless of what’s actually happening in our lives.
Sound familiar?
This is toxic positivity. And it’s exhausting people everywhere.
And while there’s nothing inherently wrong with gratitude, hope, or optimism, somewhere along the way these ideas got twisted into something more insidious: the suggestion that difficult emotions are problems to be solved, that struggle indicates failure, that if you’re not radiating positivity, you’re doing life wrong.
The Hidden Harm of “Good Vibes Only”
Toxic positivity isn’t the same as genuine optimism or healthy positive thinking. The difference lies in what happens to difficult emotions.
Healthy positivity can hold space for the full range of human experience. It might say, “This is really hard, and I trust I’ll get through it.” It acknowledges reality while maintaining hope.
Toxic positivity, on the other hand, denies or dismisses difficult emotions. It says, “Don’t be negative. Focus on the good. At least it’s not worse. Other people have it harder.” It demands positivity as the only acceptable response to any situation.
The harm of this approach is multifaceted. First, it invalidates genuine experience. When someone shares a struggle and receives “Just stay positive!” in response, the underlying message is clear: your feelings are wrong, inconvenient, or unwelcome. This creates shame on top of whatever was already difficult.
Second, it prevents genuine processing. Emotions that are suppressed don’t disappear — they go underground. They show up as anxiety, depression, physical symptoms, or explosive reactions that seem disproportionate to their triggers. What we don’t allow ourselves to feel consciously, we end up expressing unconsciously.
Third, it creates disconnection. When we’re only allowed to show our positive sides, authentic connection becomes impossible. We end up performing wellness rather than actually being well, isolated in our struggles because we’ve learned they’re not acceptable to share.
And perhaps most insidiously, toxic positivity often masquerades as spirituality. “Raise your vibration.” “You create your own reality.” “Negative thoughts attract negative experiences.” These ideas, taken to extremes, can become a form of spiritual bypassing — using spiritual concepts to avoid dealing with painful feelings, unresolved trauma, or difficult life circumstances.
When You “Can’t Meditate”: The Myth of Doing It Wrong
Meditation has become another arena where toxic positivity can creep in. With the rise of meditation apps, wellness culture, and research on mindfulness benefits, many people feel pressure to develop a meditation practice. And many of those same people have concluded that they can’t do it.
“My mind won’t stop.” “I can’t sit still.” “I feel more anxious, not less.” “I keep falling asleep.” “I must be doing it wrong.”
Here’s what often gets lost in popular meditation culture: there is no wrong.
If your mind wanders during meditation, that’s not failure. That’s what minds do. The human mind is a prediction machine, a problem-solver, a story-generator. It evolved to think. Asking it to be quiet is like asking your heart to stop beating. The practice isn’t about stopping thoughts — it’s about noticing them without getting lost in them.
If you feel restless when you try to meditate, that’s not failure either. That restlessness is information. It might be telling you that sitting still isn’t what your body needs right now. It might be energy that needs to move before settling is possible. Some people regulate better through movement than stillness.
If meditation makes you more anxious, you’re not doing it wrong. For some people, particularly those with trauma histories, closing the eyes and going inward can actually activate the nervous system rather than calm it. This is a completely normal response that indicates something about what your system needs — not a failure of technique or willpower.
If you fall asleep every time you meditate, perhaps you’re exhausted. Perhaps your nervous system finally feels safe enough to rest. Perhaps sleep is exactly what you need. That’s not failure — that’s your body taking what it needs when given the chance.
The truth is that meditation was never meant to be another thing to achieve, another standard to meet, another way to feel inadequate. Its purpose is simply awareness — noticing what’s here, being present with actual experience. And that can happen in countless ways beyond sitting silently with closed eyes.
Awareness is Where You Already Are
One of the most liberating realisations about awareness is this: it’s not somewhere you have to get to. It’s where you already are.
Right now, as you read these words, you’re aware. You’re aware of the text, aware of the screen or page, aware of the light in the room, aware of how your body feels sitting or lying wherever you are. You might be aware of thoughts commenting on what you’re reading, or emotions stirring in response. You might be aware of sounds in your environment, or the temperature of the air.
That’s awareness. You’re already doing it. You don’t need to achieve it, deepen it, or make it special. You just need to notice that it’s already here — that you’re already here, in this moment, experiencing whatever is arising.
And here’s something remarkable about awareness itself: it doesn’t judge. Awareness simply witnesses what is. The judgment, the criticism, the “this should be different” — that’s thought. That’s the mind adding commentary. But beneath the commentary, awareness is neutral. Open. Receptive.
You don’t need to quiet your mind to access this. You don’t need to feel peaceful. You don’t need to be in a good mood. You just need to notice that something in you is noticing. That’s it. That’s the whole practice.
This understanding can liberate us from the tyranny of “proper” meditation. If awareness is what we’re cultivating, and awareness is already present, then anything that helps us notice we’re noticing is valid practice. Walking and feeling your feet on the ground. Washing dishes and sensing the water on your hands. Listening to music with full attention. Staring out the window and watching clouds move. These aren’t lesser forms of practice — they’re just different doorways to the same awareness.
What Somatic Self-Compassion Actually Means
Self-compassion has become a buzzword in wellness circles, but what does it actually mean? And what does “somatic” add to the equation?
At its core, self-compassion is treating yourself with the same kindness you would offer a good friend. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.
When a friend comes to you struggling, exhausted, or hurting, you probably don’t tell them to just be more positive. You don’t list all the things they should be grateful for. You don’t suggest they’re not trying hard enough. Instead, you listen. You acknowledge their pain. You might say something like, “That sounds really hard. I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
Self-compassion is offering that same quality of response to yourself.
But here’s where the “somatic” piece becomes crucial. We can think compassionate thoughts all day long, but if our body remains braced, tight, and defended, the compassion doesn’t actually land. The nervous system stays in protection mode. The felt sense of being cared for never arrives.
Somatic self-compassion means bringing kindness into the body — not just the mind. It means communicating care through the channels the nervous system actually understands: touch, posture, breath, tone of voice.
This might look like placing a hand on your heart when you’re struggling — not as a technique, but as a genuine gesture of care. It might mean softening your shoulders when you notice they’ve crept up toward your ears. It might involve speaking to yourself in a tender voice, out loud if possible, as if speaking to someone you love. It might mean adjusting your posture from one of bracing to one of openness, or taking a breath that invites your whole system to settle.
These aren’t tricks or hacks. They’re communications. You’re telling your nervous system, through the language it understands, that you’re not under attack. That you’re safe. That you’re held — even if the holding is coming from yourself.
The Permissions We’re Waiting For
Sometimes what we need most isn’t advice, techniques, or information. Sometimes we just need permission.
Permission to feel what we actually feel. Not what we think we should feel, not what would be more convenient, not what would make others more comfortable — but what we actually feel, right now, today.
Permission to not be fixed. To recognise that we’re not problems to be solved. That we’re living, breathing, complex human beings doing our best in circumstances that are sometimes genuinely hard.
Permission to rest without having earned it. To take a break not because we’ve hit some productivity threshold but because we’re human and rest is a human need.
Permission to not meditate — or to meditate differently than anyone taught us, or to call something meditation that doesn’t look like what the apps and gurus show. To define for ourselves what works for our unique system.
Permission to not be positive. To be realistic, sad, angry, grieving, confused, uncertain. To be all of these things and still be a good person, still be spiritual, still be worthy of love and belonging.
Permission to be exactly where we are.
These permissions don’t come from outside. They can’t. Other people can remind us of them, but ultimately the permission has to come from within. We have to be the ones who decide that our experience is valid, that our feelings matter, that we deserve kindness even when we’re struggling.
This is the radical heart of somatic self-compassion: deciding, in the body and not just the mind, that you are worthy of care. Not when you’re better. Not when you’ve figured it out. Now. Here. As you are.
Your Body Already Knows What You Need
One of the casualties of toxic positivity culture is our relationship with our bodies. We’re taught to override bodily signals — to push through fatigue, ignore hunger, suppress emotions, power through pain. The mind is positioned as master; the body is supposed to follow orders.
But the body isn’t an obstacle to overcome. It’s a source of wisdom. It’s constantly communicating, offering information about what we need, what’s overwhelming us, what’s calling for attention.
That tension in your shoulders isn’t just tension — it might be saying “I’m carrying too much” or “I’m bracing for impact” or “I haven’t felt safe enough to soften.” The churning in your stomach is information. The heaviness in your chest is information. The restlessness that won’t let you sit still is information.
Somatic self-compassion involves learning to listen to these signals rather than override them. Getting curious about bodily sensations. Asking, gently, “What are you trying to tell me?”
Often, when we simply listen — without trying to immediately fix or change — the body softens. It’s as if it’s been waiting to be heard, waiting to be acknowledged. And when it finally is, it can let go a little.
This is the opposite of toxic positivity’s approach to the body. Instead of forcing it to perform wellness, we’re meeting it where it is. Instead of demanding it feel different, we’re getting curious about what it feels right now. Instead of treating it as a problem, we’re relating to it as an ally.
Working With Difficult Emotions Rather Than Against Them
Toxic positivity treats difficult emotions as enemies — things to be conquered, transcended, or transformed as quickly as possible. Somatic self-compassion takes a different view.
Emotions, even painful ones, are fundamentally on our side. They’re part of our guidance system. They’re how our psyche processes experience, how our body releases what it can’t hold, how our system communicates its needs.
Anxiety often arises when we’re approaching something important, trying to protect or prepare us. Sadness arises when we’ve lost something that mattered — it’s love with nowhere to go. Anger arises when a boundary has been crossed or a value violated — it’s energy for protection and change.
These emotions aren’t mistakes. They’re not signs that something’s wrong with us. They’re signs that we’re paying attention, that we care, that we’re alive and engaged with our experience.
The problem isn’t the emotions themselves. The problem is what we do with them. When we suppress them, they don’t disappear — they go underground. When we judge them, we add suffering on top of suffering. When we act them out unconsciously, we create consequences we didn’t intend.
But when we can feel them — actually feel them, in the body, without resistance, without story, without judgment — they tend to move through. Like weather. Like waves. They arise, they peak, they dissipate. And something shifts.
This is what somatic approaches offer: a way to be with emotions rather than fighting them. A way to let them inform us without overwhelming us. A way to honour their messages while also allowing them to complete and release.
Being Kind to the Part That Can’t Be Kind
There’s a common objection to self-compassion work: “I’m too critical. I can’t just decide to be kind to myself. The harsh voice is louder than any compassion I try to offer.”
This is where the approach gets interesting. Instead of fighting the inner critic — instead of criticising yourself for being self-critical, which is just more of the same dynamic — what if you could extend compassion to the critic itself?
That harsh inner voice didn’t come from nowhere. It developed for a reason. At some point in your history, it was probably trying to help. Maybe it was trying to motivate you when other sources of motivation weren’t available. Maybe it was trying to protect you from criticism by getting there first. Maybe it was trying to keep you safe from rejection by ensuring you met every standard.
It’s not evil. It’s just… outdated. It’s using strategies that might have made sense once but aren’t serving you anymore.
Rather than trying to silence the critic, what if you could acknowledge it? “I see you. I know you’re trying to help. Thank you for working so hard to protect me. But I’ve got this now. You can rest.”
This is advanced self-compassion: meeting even the parts of yourself that resist compassion with kindness. Including them rather than fighting them. Recognising that even self-judgment came from somewhere and served a purpose.
A Different Kind of Practice
I’ve created something that isn’t quite a meditation. It’s more like a conversation — words you can listen to when meditation feels like too much, when you need permission to not be okay, when you’re tired of techniques and just want someone to speak honestly about self-compassion.
There are no visualisations. Nothing to do. Just words that might help something settle.
Where You Are is Enough
There’s a paradox at the heart of this work: change often comes most readily when we stop demanding it.
When we stop fighting ourselves, energy gets freed up. When we stop performing wellness, actual wellness has space to emerge. When we meet ourselves with compassion instead of criticism, our nervous system can finally settle enough to actually heal.
This isn’t resignation. It isn’t giving up on growth or change or healing. It’s recognising that genuine transformation doesn’t come from self-rejection — it comes from self-acceptance. We don’t hate ourselves into becoming better. We love ourselves into becoming more fully who we already are.
Toxic positivity says: “You should be different than you are.” Somatic self-compassion says: “You are allowed to be exactly what you are, and from that ground of acceptance, anything becomes possible.”
Your feelings are not problems to be solved. Your struggle is not evidence of failure. Your inability to “just be positive” doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you.
You are a human being, doing human things, feeling human feelings. And that is not a problem.
That is life. And you are living it.
