The Case for Gentleness

When I first joined the United Nations as an international civil servant, I was quickly consumed by the sheer volume of work. Dozens, sometimes hundreds, of emails poured in each day. My to-do list grew longer the more I crossed things off. The stakes were high, the pressure constant. I put in long hours, little sleep and prioritised the work over my own health and well-being at times.

When we neglect ourselves for long enough, we burn out. The harder I pushed, the more I believed I was proving my worth, yet the more miserable I became. My “always on” approach exhausted me, leaving me overwhelmed, less effective, and irritable. I regularly scolded myself for not being “productive enough”, for skipping workouts, for eating another sweet treat.

Over time, I adjusted to a different rhythm. The volume and intensity of the work didn’t change but the way I approached it did. I still work hard, but I do so more gently now, focusing on being more compassionate towards myself. I’ve come to see that life is not a sprint to a finish line, but a long game to be played with intention and compassion towards ourselves. There will always be another email, another task, another urgent matter to attend to. Prioritising what rejuvenates us isn’t indulgence, it’s nourishment.

These days, my self-compassion looks like sleeping deeply, moving my body, nourishing myself with wholesome, plant-based meals, and taking time to breathe. And just as importantly, it looks like play, whether drawing, writing fantasy, or playing video games purely for joy. For years my inner critic told me they were distractions, things I couldn’t afford to waste time on because I had “more important” things to do. Now I see them as acts of kindness toward myself, enabling me to do more work that truly matters.

This shift has changed how I approach learning and challenges, too. I used to berate myself for not “getting it” fast enough, for not being able to remember all the details immediately. Over time, I learned that I’m not a linear thinker. I learn visually and in patterns, needing to see the whole picture before the details fall into place. That awareness allows me to extend patience toward myself at the beginning of any learning project, to give grace instead of criticism when I’m still piecing things together and nothing makes sense yet.

And here’s the irony: by approaching my work and my life in this softer way, I actually get more done. I realise that with a calmer, more compassionate approach, I can do more, be more present, and have a greater impact. What once felt overwhelming now feels more manageable, not because the load is lighter, but because I am.

Self-compassion, then, is more than salt baths and meditations to heal our inner child. It is also self-understanding, giving ourselves grace, and choosing rhythms that sustain us. It’s allowing ourselves to write, paint, wander, or rest, not for results, but because these things keep us human. They remind us that joy isn’t optional. It matters.

So, dear reader, whatever this week brings, I invite you to give yourself grace, to choose rhythms that nourish your soul, and maybe, to make space for play.

Until next week,

Ric.