Many of my posts come from my own personal experiences, and this one is no different. I’m writing from the perspective of someone I used to be and, if I’m being honest, someone I can still choose to become if I’m not paying attention.

A critic. Or, in less professional terms, a hater.

I think most of us have occupied that space at some point. We’ve had something to say about someone else’s choices, relationships, parenting, appearance, career, beliefs, decisions, or life. Sometimes we’ve said it out loud. Sometimes we’ve kept it to ourselves. Sometimes we’ve packaged it as concern when, if we were willing to look a little closer, it was really criticism.

As I’ve become more intentional about not critiquing how other people choose to live their lives, I’ve gained the space to notice what that practice was doing to mine.

I realized criticism has a cost to the critic. It costs time, attention, energy, words, mental space. All resources I could be investing in becoming a more aligned version of myself. Sometimes criticism is deflection, because looking at someone else can be easier than sitting with our own reflection.

Also, criticism doesn’t only cost the critic. I was watching Dancing with the Stars recently and listened as person after person described versions of the same experience. They had been made to feel like they weren’t good enough. That they needed to look different. That they didn’t belong in certain spaces. Different stories. Same wound. I found myself thinking about how complicated this really is. Because many of us know what it feels like to carry someone else’s criticism, while also knowing what it feels like to criticize someone else.

We can be the perpetrators and the victims at the same time. Part of breaking that cycle is recognizing it while we still have the opportunity to choose differently. We could stop handing one another wounds we then have to spend years learning not to hand to somebody else.

I know I won’t always get that right. None of us will. This is another reason I’m becoming more intentional about what I do with my words, because I know what words can leave behind. So I just keep doing the work, because there is plenty to be done over here.

Working on myself requires honesty, reflection, prayer, correction, grace, discipline, and courage. It keeps me busy. That doesn’t mean I don’t notice things. It doesn’t mean I agree with everyone. It doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned discernment or suddenly stopped having opinions. I’m human. I have them. I’m just learning that having an opinion doesn’t automatically mean I need to give it a voice. Therefore, when I do choose to use my words, I want to use them well.

Ephesians 4:29 encourages us to use our words in ways that build others up and benefit those who hear them. That has become increasingly important to me because words are powerful. I can use mine to diminish someone, or I can use them to bless. I choose to use my words to bless.

Now, every word I speak will not always be comfortable. Scripture also tells us to speak the truth in love (Ephesians 4:15). Sometimes love requires honesty, sometimes a boundary, and sometimes it requires a courageous conversation. Truth spoken in love and criticism spoken for the sake of tearing someone down are not the same thing.

I’ve even found myself thinking about this while watching politics.

Okay, I’m not one to discuss politics here, and I’m not interested in changing that. But campaign season has made me think about something that has nothing to do with which candidate anyone supports: how normalized we’ve become to people attempting to elevate themselves by diminishing someone else.

The ads, mailers, sound bites, commentary. They’ve all made me wonder: When did tearing someone else down become evidence that we should build you up?

As a dad, my immediate thought process becomes: What do we model when we tell children not to tear people down while adults regularly reward the same behavior with attention?

That matters to me because I’m raising two children who are watching how I move through the world. I can tell them to be kind. I can tell them not to gossip. I can tell them that their words have power. Eventually though, what I model will speak alongside what I teach.

I want them to see that disagreement doesn’t require disrespect. That another person’s success doesn’t diminish theirs. That they don’t have to make someone smaller to feel bigger. Most importantly, I want them to use their words to encourage, build, and bless.

I want them to understand the other side of words, too. Someone else’s criticism does not have to become the voice they use to define themselves. I want them to learn both what to do with the words they give and what to do with the words they receive.

Of course, it’s easy to notice when politicians do it. It’s harder to notice when I do. There’s the mirror.

This isn’t really about politicians, or social media, celebrities, that person at work, or that family member who always seems to have something to say.

It’s about me.

What am I doing with my words? What am I doing with my attention? What am I doing with the energy God has given me to live my own life?

For a long time, I liked the phrase, “Let your haters be your motivators.” It sounded empowering. Someone doubts me? Fine. I’ll prove them wrong. I don’t really believe that anymore, because if my haters are my motivation, I’ve still given them the keys to the car and the role of the driver. I don’t need to prove anyone wrong. I don’t need to show them anything. I don’t need to win the imaginary argument. My alignment is my motivation. Simply becoming while just letting people be.

Letting people be is not indifference. It’s not a lack of love. It’s not pretending that our choices don’t affect one another. It’s recognizing where my responsibility ends, and someone else’s begins. I’m responsible for how I move through this world. So no, I don’t need my haters to motivate me, and I don’t want to spend my life being someone else’s.

Criticism has a cost to the critic. I’d rather spend that currency elsewhere. Like on my own growth, purpose, becoming, and on the people and things God has actually entrusted to me.

When I do have something to say, I pray I have the wisdom to know when to say it, the courage to speak truth when necessary, and enough love to make sure my words leave people with more than they took away.

I want my words to bless, and I want my life to bless. I hope you’ll go bless someone too. You’ve already blessed me by being here.

I love you, but God loves you more.

In courage,

Carnell