I offer grace easily to others.

Their mistakes. Their shortcomings. Their stuckness.

I call it patience. Understanding. Compassion.

Not with myself.

I hold myself to a higher standard.

Which means I think I’m better than them.

Better than you.

Guess I’m not so patient and understanding after all.

I’m harder on myself by insisting on believing

I should be

past this

know better

be better.

Better would be one standard.

The human standard.

I raise the standard to hide the loop of less than.

Less than them.

Less than you.

The loop of thinking harder standards will make me good enuf.

For them.

For you.

When I even think about lowering the standard,

it feels like pity.

Like weakness.

The loop of mistaking pity for grace.

The paradox is clear:

When I don’t extend grace to myself,

what I offer others isn’t grace either.

It’s pity.