Countless people have told me to stop beating myself up. These people, these countless people (well, three people) (I guess I can count to three), are right. Very, very right. But just because they're right doesn't mean it's an easy thing to do. When you've been whaling on yourself with every tool in your not insubstantial mental arsenal for the past three decades, stopping is not just about stopping, it's about changing one hell of an ingrained pattern. But eventually I realized that it's fairly simple. If I pay attention to the stories my brain tells me, I can start replacing them. So every time I catch myself perpetuating some negative pattern, I stop, consider it as objectively as possible, and start flipping the thoughts around. Many of these patterns are ideas invented by my 13-year-old brain that aren't even true, they've just been repeated so many times they feel true. When repetition has worn such an insistent pathway into my brain that the rut is so deep I can't clamber out, I think about what I might say to a friend in the same situation. Hint: I would never say, "Wow. You're right. You DO look like a prize-winning heifer in those pants."

Thought, upon catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror: Good heavens. My thighs are huge. What have I been eating and where can I buy a mumu?

Compassionate rebuttal from the inner-depths: My thighs are strong and take me everywhere I want to go and never complain. I like the way I look when I'm not fixated on this perceived flaw. My time is too valuable for this crap. There are ice cream sundaes to eat.

Thought, upon checking my bank balance: What kind of life fail does it take to have so few zeros in the bank? 

Compassionate rebuttal from the inner-depths: The amount of cash I have on hand has absolutely no reflection on my inner worth. Besides, I love my bank account. It buys me loaves of bread and coffee beans and heat and purple-tinted mascara. Why would I talk like this to something I love and that so obviously loves me back? See: loaves of bread and purple-tinted mascara.

Thought, upon being the ninth at the dinner party: There must be something drastically wrong with me because I'm the only one here without a partner.

Compassionate rebuttal from the inner-depths: I love being single. Plus, it's given me the time I need to grow so I can have the kind of relationship I want. 

Here's the system: 1) Identify the negative thought. 2) Really look at it, as objectively as you can - from the viewpoint of a friend or yourself at 90 years old, once all the youthful ego has burned away and wisdom pervades your every wrinkle. 3) Flip it around. 4) Infuse it with a healthy dose of acceptance and love. Or if infusing doesn't work quite yet, try spackling. 

There are so many reasons to take the time and effort to do this: The kinder you are to yourself, the kinder you can be to others. Loving yourself tends to crack open doors to things you want that have stubbornly eluded you. The world can always use more love and compassion, for anyone and everyone. 

But mostly, it just feels better.