When Criticism Isn’t Really About Them
A quiet look at the unhealed parts we reveal in the heat of the moment.
I’ve been reflecting on something that has shown up again and again—in my coaching work, in relationships, and in my own inner life.
It’s the way we so often project what’s unresolved inside us onto the people closest to us. Not because we mean to. Not because we’re trying to hurt them. But because we don’t know how else to hold what’s still raw, unhealed, or uncomfortable in ourselves.
I’ve noticed it in moments when I get irritated with someone’s tone, or when I feel frustrated by what seems like neediness, disorganization, or emotional intensity. And what I’m learning—sometimes the hard way—is that when I criticize someone, I’m often not actually talking about them.
I’m revealing the part of me that still doesn’t feel safe.
✦ The Mirror We Don’t Always Know We’re Looking Into
In psychology, we call it projection. It’s what happens when the unconscious parts of us—our fears, our suppressed feelings, the traits we’ve rejected in ourselves—get assigned to someone else. We put them out there, so we don’t have to hold them in here.
But it’s not manipulation. It’s not calculated. In most cases, it’s completely unconscious. It’s the nervous system trying to protect us from something that once felt overwhelming. It’s a survival strategy dressed up as opinion, or frustration, or concern.
Let me give you an example.
If I’ve spent years being told that emotions are a sign of weakness, that crying makes me soft, or that sensitivity should be hidden, I might unconsciously push that belief onto someone else. So when I see someone cry, I don’t just witness their pain. I feel something stir in my body—something uncomfortable, something I haven’t made space for in myself. And that discomfort quickly turns into judgment. I say, “You’re too emotional,” when what I actually mean is, “Your vulnerability touches a part of me I’ve buried.”
The same thing happens when I call someone lazy—when deep down I’m exhausted from constantly over-functioning and silently resentful that I never give myself permission to rest.
Or when I accuse someone of being disorganized—because I’ve been carrying the weight of being hyper-organized all my life, and secretly wish someone would just tell me it’s okay to loosen the grip.
It’s messy. And very human.
✦ When Criticism Is Really a Confession
Most of us weren’t taught how to sit with what’s hard. We were praised for being strong, for keeping it together, for moving on quickly. We learned to stay functional, to be "good," to avoid rocking the boat. So instead of exploring our discomfort with compassion, we found ways to manage it. Criticism became one of them.
It’s not always easy to admit, but it’s true: the moments we get most reactive are often the moments we’re touching an unhealed part of ourselves. We just don’t recognize it in the moment.
Instead, we say things like:
You’re so careless.
→ When really, I hold myself to an impossible standard and don’t know how to relax.You’re always late.
→ When deep down, I fear I don’t matter enough to be prioritized.You’re too needy.
→ When I’ve been neglecting my own needs for years and don’t know how to ask for what I want.
These aren’t just criticisms. They’re confessions we haven’t learned how to say out loud.
✦ So How Do We Begin to Shift?
The first step is awareness.
And I don’t mean spiritual bypassing or rehearsed self-awareness. I mean the kind that slows us down enough to feel what’s actually happening inside. The kind of awareness that says:
“Wait… what’s going on here?”
“Why is this moment hitting me so hard?”
“What am I trying to protect?”
“Could this be about something else—something older, something mine?”
Sometimes just that moment of curiosity is enough to change the whole dynamic. Because when we meet the reaction with presence instead of projection, we interrupt the pattern.
And in that interruption, something softer becomes possible.
There’s a phrase I often share with clients when we talk about reactivity:
“I’m noticing something came up in me just now. I got reactive. I think this touched something I haven’t fully looked at yet. I’m sorry. Let me try again.”
It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being honest.
That kind of pause, that willingness to own your experience instead of handing it to someone else—that’s the beginning of emotional maturity. That’s the beginning of relational repair.
And it’s also the beginning of safety.
✦ Emotional Safety Begins Here
This is where it all ties back to emotional safety.
Because when we lead with projection, we unknowingly make the space between us feel unsafe. The other person begins to brace. The connection tightens. Trust erodes. Not necessarily because we’re bad people, but because we’re relating from a place of fear and unconscious survival.
But when we choose to pause, to notice, to take ownership of what’s happening inside of us, we create the conditions for something else. We create the possibility of emotional safety.
Not the kind of safety that comes from walking on eggshells or trying not to upset each other. But the kind that says:
“I’m here. I’m doing my work. You’re not responsible for my pain, and I won’t punish you for it.”
That kind of safety is rare. And transformative.
Because emotional safety doesn’t mean we never get triggered. It means we’ve learned how to stay with ourselves when we do.
It’s in those moments that we move from reactivity to responsibility, from blame to repair, from judgment to intimacy.
And over time, the parts of us we once tried to exile through criticism begin to feel seen—by us. That’s where true healing starts.
✦ A Gentle Practice
If any of this resonates, here’s something to try.
The next time you find yourself judging someone—especially if the emotion feels sharp, fast, or familiar—pause. And ask yourself:
If this moment is about me, what is it trying to show me?
No shame. No overthinking. Just a simple, compassionate question.
Because sometimes the thing that irritates us in others… is the very thing we haven’t yet learned how to love in ourselves.
And when we begin to turn toward those places with tenderness instead of criticism, we stop needing to hand our pain to the people we love.
That’s where emotional safety begins.
That’s where connection deepens.
That’s where we come home to ourselves.