For a long time, I believed that being hard on myself was a virtue.
I grew up in a military family. As a single mother, a lawyer, and a first-time law firm owner, I thought relentless self-criticism was simply part of discipline. I told myself that pushing harder meant I was strong, responsible, and resilient. After all, I had survived circumstances that many people never encounter in a lifetime: fleeing my home country, living in a women’s shelter, navigating the immigration system, raising children alone, and rebuilding a professional identity from nothing. Surely, if I could survive all of that, I could survive being unkind to myself.
What I did not realize was that this unkindness was slowly eroding me from the inside.
I was kind with my clients. Kind with staff and colleagues. Kind with my children. Yet I always placed myself last in the kindness list. My own exhaustion, fear, and vulnerability were things to be managed quietly or ignored altogether. Over time, that internal harshness became so familiar that I stopped noticing it.
A Resolution That Seemed Simple—but Was Not
At the beginning of this year, I made a New Year’s resolution that felt deceptively simple: I would be my own best friend.
I did not know how quickly that resolution would be tested. On January 2, one day after setting that intention, I was driving from Kingston to Toronto for a full day of work. My schedule was fixed, my meetings confirmed, and my mind already crowded with responsibility. About forty minutes into the drive, a sudden thought surfaced: I had likely left my purse on the kitchen counter. The night before, I had made a last-minute payment, checked my son’s hockey tournament schedule for the coming weekend, and gone to bed exhausted. I remembered setting my purse down and never picking it back up. I pulled over at an OnRoute spot and checked my briefcase. No purse. No driver’s licence. No health card. No cash. No business cards. No physical identification at all.
Turning back was not an option. I did not have the luxury of losing an extra hour, and my entire day depended on showing up. Almost instantly, my old internal voice appeared—sharp, unforgiving, and familiar. “How can you be this careless? You are a lawyer. How could you forget your purse? This is ridiculous.” I felt the familiar tightening in my chest, the familiar shame, the familiar urge to punish myself emotionally for a mistake that harmed no one.
Then I remembered my resolution: be your best friend. I paused and asked myself a question I had never asked before. If this had happened to my friend Christine, what would I say to her?
I knew immediately that I would never speak to her the way I was speaking to myself. I would tell her that she had already done so much. That she was balancing work, parenting, and logistics across cities. That exhaustion makes mistakes human. I would remind her that she had Smart Pay on her phone, trusted friends in Toronto, and the ability to problem-solve. I would tell her to drive carefully and breathe. So I replaced Christine’s name with my own. I said those words to myself out loud.
Even when I recall that moment while writing this piece, I got a little emotional and my eyes filled with tears. Not because of the forgotten purse, but because I realized how rarely I had ever spoken to myself with compassion and kindness. I posted on Just Magazine recently that if there is room to be kind, choose kindness. However, I was never kind to myself.
That day, I continued driving. Everything turned out to be fine. I paid with my phone, borrowed cash from a friend in Toronto (even if she was surprised when I showed up at her office reception desk and asked for cash), and completed my work as scheduled. Nothing terrible happened. But something inside me softened. That softness mattered more than the logistics.
Survival Does Not Mean We Are Unharmed
As I reflect on that moment now, I recognize how deeply ingrained my self-criticism had been. Like many lawyers, I am a doer and an action-taker. Since coming to Canada, I have completed almost every goal I set for myself. I took the LSAT while on Ontario Works. I attended law school from a women’s shelter. I completed articling, passed the bar, bought a home, opened my own practice, maintained my physical health, and supported my children’s education and activities. I have worked through nights preparing for hearings and relied on the generosity of people who believed in me when I struggled to believe in myself.
Yet internally, I was never enough for myself. That internal cruelty eventually surfaced in ways I could not ignore. When one of my children was diagnosed with several mental health conditions, my world collapsed. I felt an overwhelming sense of failure. I believed I had not taken care of my child well enough. I told myself I was a bad mother. I replayed every moment of my children’s early years, searching for proof that I had failed them. The guilt was crushing.
Only later, with professional support and reflection, did I begin to understand a more compassionate truth. When we lived in a shelter, I was dealing with my own trauma. I was depleted, empty inside, operating in survival mode. Yet even then, I did the very best I could with what I had. I provided food, safety, and presence to the extent I was able. I love my children deeply, even when I could not provide the stability and security they needed.
My children may need to find their own paths to heal from early childhood trauma. That is a reality I must accept with humility. But it does not erase the fact that I made genuine efforts under impossible circumstances. Recognizing that truth required me to extend myself the same grace I readily extend to my friends even my clients.
Learning Compassion Through Professional Failure
The same lesson applied to my professional life as a business owner.
In my first year of running a law firm, I made mistakes. I hired the wrong people. I trusted the wrong service providers. I placed confidence in individuals and systems before I fully understood how to evaluate them. Those decisions had real financial consequences, and the firm bore the cost of my inexperience.
My old instinct was to punish myself for those mistakes, to tell myself that I should have known better, that I was reckless, that I had failed yet again.
But being my own best friend meant responding differently.
Instead of condemnation, I placed a hand on my own shoulder—figuratively and emotionally—and said something new: You are doing a great job as a first-time business owner. You survived your first year. That alone deserves recognition. We should celebrate.
That shift did not erase the consequences of my decisions, but it changed how I carried them. Mistakes became lessons rather than verdicts on my worth.
Why This Matters
Through counselling, education, and intentional reflection, I began to understand how deeply self-talk shapes our resilience. Achievement does not protect us from burnout. Professional success does not shield us from emotional harm. Without kindness, resilience becomes brittle.
This lesson feels particularly important for women, and especially for professional women. When I shared my New Year’s resolution with other women in professional careers, many admitted that they would never speak to a colleague or client the way they speak to themselves. Harsh self-judgment has been normalized in our profession, even celebrated as evidence of commitment.
But loving ourselves is not indulgent. It is not weakness. It is not a distraction from excellence. It is maintenance.
Since making this change, my children have noticed. They tell me I am calmer, more present, more enjoyable to be around. I am no longer fighting myself every day. That internal peace has made me a better lawyer, a better parent, and a better human being.
Being your own best friend does not mean lowering standards or avoiding responsibility. It means replacing cruelty with compassion. It means allowing room for mistakes without humiliation. It means acknowledging effort, not just outcomes. Most importantly, it means recognizing that the affirmation we seek from the outside world often already exists within us. Life is a journey.
If you have not done so, I invite you to make this commitment with me—not only at the beginning of a year, but every day. Love yourself. Be your best friend. You have already survived so much. You deserve kindness, especially from yourself.
About the Author
Dr. Ningjing (Natalie) Zhang is the founder of BridgePoint Law Professional Corporation, where she practises immigration and refugee law with a focus on helping newcomers and immigrant entrepreneurs build secure lives in Ontario. Before law, Ningjing earned a Ph.D. in History and taught and conducted research at institutions including Fudan University, Stanford University, and Queen’s University. Her academic training informs her rigorous, strategic, and client-centered legal approach. Committed to accessible and trauma-informed representation, Ningjing strives to provide practical, effective legal solutions while remaining mindful of the realities immigrant families face. For her, immigration law is not just a practice area, but a calling grounded in social justice and service. You may find her firm's service at www.bridgepointlaw.ca
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