I came across a post from someone I knew, not quite a friend, more of a former acquaintance. Something about it rubbed me the wrong way. It felt a little like bragging — maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, I honestly don’t know. But within seconds, I noticed my mind had quietly slipped into criticism mode. Not heavy criticism. Just that low-grade, dismissive commentary that runs under the surface.

And then I caught something: my mood had shifted. A decent afternoon had turned a little dark — not because of anything real, not because anyone had been harmed. Just me, my phone, and a judgment I didn’t need.

That small moment is what I want to explore here.

Turning the question inward

When I catch myself in a strong judgment that’s leaning critical, I’ve learned to ask a simple question: Is that really how this is?

I want to be clear about why I ask it that way — because there’s a version of self-reflection that just turns the arrow of judgment back on yourself. “Why am I such a critical person? What’s wrong with me?” I’ve done that my whole life, and it doesn’t help. It just replaces one kind of judgment with another.

Asking “is that really how this is?” does something different. It opens the question without landing on a verdict. For me, in that moment on the couch, something shifted: Actually, this person is sharing something genuine. They seem genuinely involved in something meaningful and altruistic. If that’s what’s happening, that’s worth appreciating — not dismissing.

Something loosened. I was able to move toward a kind of rejoicing — taking quiet pleasure in someone else’s goodness — rather than sitting in the low-grade irritation of judgment.

Seeing the whole person

There’s something else I’ve noticed I often do when I manage to get out of that critical loop: I look for a more complete picture of the person.

This has grown out of years of working with an equanimity practice from the Mahayana Buddhist tradition, where you meditate on three different figures: someone you like, someone you have difficulty with, and someone you feel indifferent toward. The practice asks you to look at each one and question your biases — why do I respond to this person this way? What am I actually seeing?

Over time, that kind of reflection builds something. It creates a natural habit of trying to see more of someone than what’s presenting itself in the moment. And what I notice is that this directly affects the critical mind — because criticism, almost by definition, narrows someone down. It reduces them to one thing: this post, this habit, this flaw.

But people aren’t one thing. They’re evolving, changing, complicated. We’re seeing a tiny fraction of who they are. When I try to hold that — even just gesture toward it — the critique tends to dissolve on its own. And something like compassion opens up. Not pity. Not even warmth toward some particular quality of theirs. Just a kind of openness to the wholeness of who they are.

Every time that happens, it’s easier to just let things be. Easier to settle into some basic contentment.

Why this matters

I don’t think I’m alone in this. Criticism is kind of the lifeblood of our online culture — critiques get clicks, contempt travels fast, and there’s something genuinely primal about it. Some social scientists call it “negativity bias,” the idea that we’re hardwired to notice and amplify what’s wrong.

I only half-agree with that framing. I think what we cultivate is what becomes our bias. If we keep putting energy into criticism, that groove gets deeper. But if we keep practicing something like equanimity — a compassion that isn’t aimed at one version of a person, but stays open to who they actually are — that can become the groove instead.

This doesn’t mean losing discernment. Valid criticism is real. If something is causing harm, it’s worth naming and addressing. What I’m talking about is the reflexive, ambient critique that doesn’t serve anyone — including us.

A place to start

If this resonates and you want to work with it, you don’t have to start with an elaborate meditation. Just try to see more of the person. It may need to be effortful at first — actively calling to mind other things you know about them, their history, their complexity, the fact that they’re navigating their own life with everything that entails.

Over time it gets easier. Because as human beings, we actually have a lot in common. And once you start to feel that — really feel it, not just think it — it becomes possible to rest in the wholeness of people rather than narrowing them down to what irritated you on a Tuesday afternoon.

The original of this piece lives on my site: Why Criticism Feels So Good (And What to Do Instead).

Most of my writing goes out by email, every other Saturday — reflections from my own practice, and whatever I’m currently teaching. If you’d like it, you can sign up here. New subscribers get a few of my most loved guided meditations to start.