Why Being a Jerk to Yourself Isn’t Helping

(And Never Has)

You’ve probably said it:

“If I just had more willpower…”

As if what’s missing is some magical, mystical discipline gene — the one that turns you into a calm, salad-loving cyborg who’s immune to carbs and stress.

But here’s the truth that gets buried under Fitspo posts and “clean eating” checklists:

Willpower is not the issue.

And more importantly?
Being hard on yourself doesn’t help.
Not a little. Not in the long run. Not ever.

Let’s Back Up for a Second

You’re trying to change your eating. Or your body. Or your habits.

And instead of responding to yourself with anything resembling kindness, your inner voice becomes... well, a bit of a jerk. A sort of relentless, joyless motivational speaker in a bad mood.

“You’re lazy.”
“You’ve got no discipline.”
“Why can’t you just get it together?”

That voice in your head — the critical one you’ve maybe mistaken for “tough love”?
It’s not making you better.

It’s just making you tired.
And when you’re tired, you tend to do what tired humans do:
Find comfort. Numb out. Eat the thing. Scroll. Shut down.

Not because you’re broken.
Because you’re human.

The Myth of Shame-Based Motivation

You’ve probably been told — directly or otherwise — that if you could just be a bit harder on yourself, you’d shape up.

Diet culture sells it. Hustle culture glorifies it.
“Discipline equals freedom.”
“Pain is progress.”
“You just need to want it more.”

But here’s what actual psychology tells us:
Self-criticism is not a shortcut to change.
It’s more like a guarantee that you’ll stay stuck — and feel terrible while you do it.

Because when you constantly tell yourself that you’re a failure, your brain starts looking for ways to prove you right.
It’s called confirmation bias.
And your inner critic runs it like a full-time job.

The Truth About That Inner Voice

That hyper-critical voice? It’s not truth.
It’s habit.

It sounds convincing because it’s familiar.
But familiar isn’t the same as helpful.

And — this is important —
You don’t need to believe that voice just because it’s loud.
You can hear it and not follow it.

You can notice it without needing to fight it.
And that space between noticing and reacting? That’s where everything changes.

So What Actually Helps?

Not another spreadsheet. Not a detox. Not a louder inner drill sergeant.

What helps is curiosity.
What helps is kindness.
(Yes, even if that word makes you cringe a little.)

This doesn’t mean you give up or let yourself off the hook.
It means you stop kicking your own shins and calling it motivation.

If your best friend said, “I messed up again and I feel like a failure,”
you wouldn’t reply, “Well, you are. Try harder next time, loser.”

So why are you saying that to yourself?

A Simple Shift (That Changes Everything)

Next time you catch the inner critic gearing up for a monologue, pause.

And ask:
“Would I say this to someone I love?”

If the answer’s no — that’s your cue.
You’ve found the internal nonsense.
No need to fight it. Just... don’t follow it.

Try this instead:
“Okay. That didn’t go how I wanted. But I’m still here. I can start again.”
It’s not a mantra. It’s just true.

It’s Weird at First, I Know

Speaking kindly to yourself might feel awkward.
Forced. Soft.

Especially if you’re used to thinking that being “hard” on yourself is how you get things done.

But that shift — from harsh to honest, from reactive to reflective —
it’s the thing that allows real change to happen.
Not because you’re pushing harder.
But because you’re no longer running from yourself.

Final Thought

The voice in your head? It’s not the enemy.
But it is optional.

And where you point your attention — the tone you take with yourself —
is shaping everything.

You don’t need more willpower.
You don’t need to “get tougher.”

You just need to see the habit of self-judgement for what it is:
A learned pattern that’s outstayed its welcome.

And once you stop feeding it?
You make space for something else.
Something softer.
Something smarter.
Something that actually works.

That’s how change begins.
Not with shame.
But with clarity.
And a little kindness.

Even — maybe especially — when things don’t go to plan.