Recently, in a moment of frustration, I was crowdsourcing a question, half-joking, half-pleading: With all the love in my heart, my children have not yet reached an age where they don’t need scaffolding at all times. Almost 13 years in… I’m moving from skepticism to disbelief. You all say it’s coming. When?
A thoughtful and deeply honest friend responded: “Gotta admit I think it’s probably about more than capacity. Failing is scary. Necessary, but scary.”
His comment lingered. Longer than I expected. It wasn’t just about the kids—it was about me, about our household, about how we communicate and how our family moves through the world.
When I really sat with it, I realized I wasn’t frustrated because my kids lacked capability. In fact, my kids, ALL kids, are astonishing problem-solvers when we don’t interfere. They’re systematic thinkers, and their limitation wasn’t their skill—it was the environment we’d created.
We had begun communicating, unintentionally, that it wasn’t enough to do the dishes; they had to be done–Exactly. Precisely. “Right.” It was perfectionism disguised as instruction, and it created an all-or-nothing dynamic: either perform perfectly or be “wrong.”
Since that crowdsourcing, life has unfolded in some unexpected ways. Though painful, it has offered me the needed distance. Time and space to reflect. This reflection has forced me to reconcile my values, boundaries, and non-negotiables. What I’ve been living at work, in my friendships, and outside the home did not match what I was living inside the home.
I can suddenly see these patterns with uncomfortable clarity. The culture of criticism in our home wasn’t loud or dramatic. It wasn’t always the explosive kind. It was a slow, steady drain—the kind you don’t notice until the light starts to dim. That’s the tricky part about constant criticism. It’s quiet. It’s cumulative. You almost never recognize it while you’re living in it.
It can be dressed up as “helpful” and insist it’s “just being honest,” when, in reality, it chips away at you one small comment at a time. Over months. Years.
That kind of criticism doesn’t just bruise. It kills parts of us—our curiosity, our creativity, and our contribution.
It kills our curiosity
Curiosity is where we all begin. It’s the spark. The permission to wonder. It’s what fuels exploration, mistakes, learning, and independence in kids.
But curiosity dies quickly in the presence of repeated critique.
Why try something new if someone will pick it apart?
Why voice an idea if you expect it to be dismissed?
Why ask a question if the answer makes you feel small?
Curiosity depends on psychological safety—not scrutiny. When that safety erodes, the instinct to explore shrinks. We shrink ourselves with it.
It kills our creativity
Creativity requires breathing room. It needs imperfection, experimentation, and the freedom to be wrong.
Criticism is the opposite. It creates an internal editor who wakes up before you do.
Before an idea can form, our inner critic interrupts: Don’t say that. Don’t try that. Don’t risk that.
I’ve felt this in my own life—both personally and professionally. I’ve spent my career learning and teaching how to communicate more effectively. And yet even with all that knowledge, I still found myself censoring my own instincts to avoid being criticized.
Creativity doesn’t disappear all at once. It’s nudged out little by little.
It kills our contribution
Frequent criticism eventually reshapes our understanding of ourselves. When you hear—directly or indirectly—that you’re not enough, you begin to believe it.
And when you believe you’re not enough, you stop showing up fully.
You contribute less—not because you lack desire or ability, but because the emotional cost feels too high. You choose silence over risk. Compliance over authenticity. Avoidance over connection.
I’ve watched this dynamic play out in relationships. I’ve lived it. Criticism becomes the atmosphere, and in that atmosphere, no one thrives. We don’t even get to be ourselves.
When criticism becomes the culture
In families, friendships, and partnerships, habitual criticism doesn’t just strain a bond—it transforms it.
It damages self-esteem.
It erodes trust. It diminishes intimacy.
It becomes wildly ineffective.
And if left unchecked, it can cross into emotional abuse—the point where the critique is no longer about behavior but about character: not “you did something wrong,” but “something is wrong with you.” Research is clear on how destructive that shift becomes.
We often don’t realize how corrosive it is until the damage has already taken root.
So what does help?
Conflict is inevitable. Criticism isn’t.
I’ve been learning, the hard way, that communication built on clarity, ownership, and respect is not only possible—it’s transformative. Tools like “I feel/I need” statements, naming boundaries, and offering feedback instead of character judgments are simple but powerful.
Again, I use this at work, am trained in it, write about it, but it’s a skill, like boundaries, that is never mastered. We have to keep practicing. Knowing and doing are different. From time to time, the gap between the two widens, and this season of my life has required me to close that gap.
The courage to choose differently
Maybe you’re recognizing a pattern you once lived in.
Maybe you’re noticing one you’re still in.
Maybe you’re realizing you’ve been both the harmed and the harmer. I have.
Wherever you are, here’s what I know:
You deserve to be spoken to with respect.
You deserve safety, not sharpness.
You deserve curiosity, creativity, and contribution—fully alive.
Criticism kills.
Awareness awakens.
And once you wake up to the ways you’ve been diminished or dismissed, there’s no going back. You begin the slow but steady work of reclaiming yourself:
Your spark.
Your imagination.
Your voice.
Criticism may kill—but we get to choose how we live.
And in that choice, healing begins.
