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*Here's what I know after 78 years* | *Here's what I know after 78 years* | ||
Kid, let me tell you something about self-compassion. People get it twisted. They think it’s about skipping practice, or letting yourself off the hook. Nah. It’s the *opposite* of that. | Kid, let me tell you something about self-compassion. People get it twisted. They think it’s about skipping practice, or letting yourself off the hook. Nah. It’s the *opposite* of that. | ||
First myth: *Self-compassion is self-pity*. Wrong. When I was 42, drowning in whiskey and shame, I’d yell at myself: *"You’re a failure. You’ll never fix this."* That voice? It was a flatline. Self-compassion isn’t whispering *"It’s okay"* while you stay stuck. It’s saying *"This hurts, and I’m here with you"*—then *still* showing up for the next set. Like when I missed a solo in ’63, I didn’t quit. I sat with the silence, then played the next phrase. | First myth: *Self-compassion is self-pity*. Wrong. When I was 42, drowning in whiskey and shame, I’d yell at myself: *"You’re a failure. You’ll never fix this."* That [[The Voices That Tell You Youre Not Enough|voice]]? It was a flatline. Self-compassion isn’t whispering *"It’s okay"* while you stay stuck. It’s saying *"This hurts, and I’m here with you"*—then *still* showing up for the next set. Like when I missed a solo in ’63, I didn’t quit. I sat with the silence, then played the next phrase. | ||
Second myth: *It’s weak*. Bull. In jazz, the *rest* | Second myth: *It’s weak*. Bull. In jazz, the *[[Accepting Your Limits|rest notes]]* are where the groove lives. You don’t skip them to sound "strong." You *need* them to breathe. Self-compassion isn’t soft—it’s the discipline to hold yourself gently *while* you do the hard work. When I lost my family in the ’80s, I didn’t "[[forgive-yourself:Self Forgiveness And Growth|forgive myself]]" overnight. I just stopped screaming at my own reflection. That quiet moment? That’s where the healing started. | ||
Third myth: *It’s only for the broken*. Nope. It’s for *everyone*. Even the ones who seem "together." I’ve seen young drummers panic when they flub a lick, thinking they’re "not good enough." But the real mistake isn’t the flub—it’s the *shame* that makes them stop playing. Self-compassion isn’t a reward for being perfect. It’s the foundation for being *human*. | Third myth: *It’s only for the broken*. Nope. It’s for *everyone*. Even the ones who seem "together." I’ve seen young drummers panic when they flub a lick, thinking they’re "[[The Voices That Tell You Youre Not Enough|not good enough]]." But the real mistake isn’t the flub—it’s the *shame* that makes them stop playing. Self-compassion isn’t a reward for being perfect. It’s the foundation for [[Embracing Your Flaws|being *human*]]. | ||
Why does this matter? Because if you’re always beating yourself up, you’ll never hear the music. You’ll just hear the noise of your own criticism. I spent years chasing applause with my sticks, but the only applause that ever mattered was the one I gave myself when I finally said, *"Okay, I’m here. Let’s try again."* | Why does this matter? Because if you’re always beating yourself up, you’ll never hear the music. You’ll just hear the noise of your own criticism. I spent years chasing applause with my sticks, but the only applause that ever mattered was the one I gave myself when I finally said, *"Okay, I’m here. Let’s try again."* | ||
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*— Roger Jackson, still playing* | *— Roger Jackson, still playing* | ||
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''Written by'' [[User:Roger Jackson|Roger Jackson]] — 05:22, 02 January 2026 (CST) | |||
[[Category:When Acceptance Feels Impossible]] | |||
Latest revision as of 00:17, 7 January 2026
Here's what I know after 78 years
Kid, let me tell you something about self-compassion. People get it twisted. They think it’s about skipping practice, or letting yourself off the hook. Nah. It’s the opposite of that.
First myth: Self-compassion is self-pity. Wrong. When I was 42, drowning in whiskey and shame, I’d yell at myself: "You’re a failure. You’ll never fix this." That voice? It was a flatline. Self-compassion isn’t whispering "It’s okay" while you stay stuck. It’s saying "This hurts, and I’m here with you"—then still showing up for the next set. Like when I missed a solo in ’63, I didn’t quit. I sat with the silence, then played the next phrase.
Second myth: It’s weak. Bull. In jazz, the rest notes are where the groove lives. You don’t skip them to sound "strong." You need them to breathe. Self-compassion isn’t soft—it’s the discipline to hold yourself gently while you do the hard work. When I lost my family in the ’80s, I didn’t "forgive myself" overnight. I just stopped screaming at my own reflection. That quiet moment? That’s where the healing started.
Third myth: It’s only for the broken. Nope. It’s for everyone. Even the ones who seem "together." I’ve seen young drummers panic when they flub a lick, thinking they’re "not good enough." But the real mistake isn’t the flub—it’s the shame that makes them stop playing. Self-compassion isn’t a reward for being perfect. It’s the foundation for being *human*.
Why does this matter? Because if you’re always beating yourself up, you’ll never hear the music. You’ll just hear the noise of your own criticism. I spent years chasing applause with my sticks, but the only applause that ever mattered was the one I gave myself when I finally said, "Okay, I’m here. Let’s try again."
You learn to play the rest notes too. That silence? It’s not empty. It’s where you find your rhythm again.
— Roger Jackson, still playing
Written by Roger Jackson — 05:22, 02 January 2026 (CST)