#247

Through the highs and lows of life, I’ve noticed a pattern.

When things go well… I build a case for myself.
“I made parts of this happen. This is who I am. This proves what I’m capable of.”

When things go badly… I build a case against myself.
“Of course it did. This is typical. You’re all potential, no follow-through. Case closed.”

Same person.
Same history.
Different courtroom.

It’s fascinating how quickly I switch roles.

In the highs, I take some credit.
In the lows, I take full blame.

Both feel true.
Neither are.

Because here’s an uncomfortable question I’m sitting with:

Why do I judge myself more in my worst moment?

Or worse… Why do I use my worst moments as proof of who I really am?

A single lapse becomes a pattern.
A bad day becomes a diagnosis.
A mistake becomes an identity.

We wouldn’t do this to others.

We’d contextualise.
We’d soften.
We’d say, “That’s not all of you.”

Yet internally… I run a harsher system.

No defence.
No nuance.
No appeal.

Just a fast, familiar verdict.

But what if both stories are incomplete?

What if your best moments aren’t the full truth… but neither are your worst?

What if neither deserves the authority you’ve given them?

Because you’re not your highlight reel.
And, you’re not your worst-case file either.

You’re the pattern across time.
The direction, not the deviation.

So maybe the shift isn’t to be kinder.

Maybe it’s to be more accurate.

Sit with these whispers for a moment:

> When you’re at your worst, what story do you default to about yourself?

> What evidence do you ignore when you’re telling that story?

> If you judged others the way you judge myself, what would that say about you?

> In good or bad moments - what would a more accurate (not nicer) assessment of you sound like?

> How might I use isolated moments as identity or information?

You don’t need to win every case against yourself.

You just need to stop appointing the harshest judge in the room as the final authority.