Sometimes a single sentence doesn’t just change how you see the world—it changes how you meet it.
For me, one of those sentences came from Reverend Gregory Boyle:
“Compassion is not about judgment for how someone carries their burden. It’s about standing in awe that they are carrying it at all.”
(If you’ve never read Tattoos on the Heart—his stunning book about compassion in action—I can’t recommend it enough. It's a book that doesn’t just open your mind; it bursts your heart wide open.)
Boyle, a Jesuit priest who has spent decades working with gang members in East LA, is often seen as a living embodiment of radical compassion. His work is gritty, raw, real—and filled with extraordinary love.
And yet, he too is human.
In a recent conversation about compassion, someone suggested that Reverend Boyle must have an immense amount of self-love to do the work he does.
That would make sense. But I believe the truth is simpler.
He has a practice.
A commitment.
A path that returns him—over and over again—to love
Just like the mind of a monk wanders in meditation (because yes, it does), Boyle’s compassion isn’t constant because he’s perfect. It’s constant because he returns to it. Again and again.
And that’s the invitation for all of us.
When We Judge Ourselves, It’s Hard Not to Judge Others
In that same conversation, we reflected on how the more self-affliction we carry—the louder our inner critic—the harder it can be to extend compassion outward.
Because how can we meet others with tenderness when we’re living under a constant barrage of self-blame, judgment, and perfectionism?
That inner voice—the quietest and yet loudest voice all at once—can be the hardest one to drown out.
But here’s the thing: we don’t have to drown it. We simply have to notice it.
And return.
Again and again, to something deeper.
Seeing Ourselves in Others
Pema Chödrön writes, “The truest measure of compassion is not our service to those on the margins, but our willingness to see ourselves in them.”
Not from each other.
Not from their struggles.
Not from their humanity.
Because the truth is—every one of us carries fear.
Fear of not being seen. Fear of not being valued.
Fear that we might be forgotten, misunderstood, or left behind.
And when that fear goes unacknowledged, it can harden.
It can turn into distance. Into judgment.
Into forgetting that behind every opinion, every action, every face—there is a story we do not fully know.
But underneath the noise—
Underneath the differences, the assumptions, the rush to defend or divide—
There are still beating hearts.
There are still people carrying burdens we cannot see.
What if our work—no matter our faith, background, or beliefs—is to return to the part of us that remembers that?
The part that sees with softness.
The part that chooses love.
The part that knows:
None of us are untouched.
And none of us are truly alone.
Practice to Return to Love
This week, try this:
✨ When you feel triggered by someone’s behavior, pause.
✨ Take one breath. Feel your feet on the ground. And silently ask yourself: “What burden might they be carrying that I can’t see?”
✨ And then, if you can, extend the same question inward: “What burden am I carrying that needs compassion right now?”
Compassion is not a trait we have or don’t. It’s a practice we return to.
And the more we return to it for ourselves, the easier it becomes to extend it to others.
A Space to Practice Presence—Together
In a world full of judgment, reactivity, and separation—we need places to return to love.
This is why I created Calm & Connect.
It’s not just about stress relief.
It’s about creating a space to remember who we are—and how we want to meet each other.
To listen, breathe, and return.
🌿 Join us this Sunday, May 4th.
And if you're a leader ready to bring this work into your organization—through keynotes, workshops, or weekly mindfulness sessions—this is the work I’ve done for over a decade.
Helping high performers slow down enough to come alive again.
Helping organizations become more human.
🔗 Join Calm & Connect
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