Self-judgement isn't the problem. The timing is.
This one might feel like it runs a little long (Yes, I like the sound of my own voice… sight of my own writing?). But, I'm going to go ahead and ask you to stay with this one anyway. We're doing something new and pretty exciting, and I wanted to use this piece to introduce it properly. I'd say it's worth your time, so please do email me to let me know what you think.
In 1997, Kobe Bryant airballed four shots in the closing stages of a semi-final playoff game against Utah. He was 18. The Lakers lost, and he had just had the kind of performance that, for most people, would have triggered a full internal crisis.
That night, Kobe went to a high-school gym after hours. He thought about it at length and figured out what had gone wrong: his legs were not strong enough to get enough lift under those late-game shots. Then he shot again and again, until the sun came up.
I also played basketball. I was on my high school team for all of two games. In both games, I missed every shot. There were a lot more than what Kobe missed, and I'll tell you now, I definitely did not go to the gym afterwards. The weight of my mistakes followed me off the court and into everything else.
The difference between Kobe and me? Well, other than athleticism, physique, work ethic and ability? I crashed and never got my confidence back. Kobe, instead of crashing out, finished the game and after that, sat, thought, figured out what went wrong, and then trained until he'd fixed it. He didn't obsess over it in the middle of the match. He waited until the moment was right. That distinction, small as it sounds, has a big impact.
He just waited until he could actually do something with it. That's not avoidance. That's timing.
Self-judgement has a bad reputation. The general advice is to be kinder to yourself, quieten the inner critic, practise self-compassion, don't dwell on it if it makes you feel bad. And there's something right in that. But I've been thinking about whether we've turned the needle too far to the extreme. Because the problem with self-judgement, as far as I can see, isn't that it exists. It's that we deploy it at entirely the wrong moment.
When we judge ourselves mid-execution, something specific happens. The focus shifts. It moves off the task in front of us and onto our thoughts about the task. A missed free kick becomes a thought about the missed free kick, which becomes a feeling about that thought, which becomes a question about whether this always happens. And now you're not on the pitch anymore. You're carrying a whole narrative about ability and failure, and the game is still going. You lose focus and desperately scramble to make up for the mistake you're judging yourself for, which often leads to even worse performance. The original mistake is still there, somewhere at the back. But you're drowning in the chatter.
This is what a psychologist named Timothy Gallwey called interference. His formula for performance was simple: potential minus interference equals output. The interference isn't a lack of skill. It's the noise that gets between the skill and the moment it needs to be used. Self-judgement in the wrong moment doesn't make you better. It makes you smaller and louder at the same time.
Self-judgement in the wrong moment doesn't make you better. It makes you smaller and louder at the same time.
But here's what I think gets missed in the usual conversation: self-judgement is valuable at times. Used well, it's one of the most valuable growth mechanisms we have. The honest assessment after the fact. Honest, not self-deprecating. The clear-eyed look at what actually happened. What went wrong, why, and what to do differently next time. Kobe didn't ignore all of those airballs. He just waited until he could actually do something with it. That's not avoidance. That's timing.
The version that helps looks something like this: something goes wrong, you note it, you finish what you're doing, and then you come back to it with attention and intention. Think of a comedian's joke falling flat on stage. They don't stop the set and storm off in despair. They note it, revisit the set later, figure out what went wrong, and fix it.
The version that doesn't help is the one that hijacks the moment, pulls you out of the present, and replaces the task with an emotion-soaked story about the task.
One moves you forward. The other sends you in wider and wider circles without you realising it. Maybe our approach should be: "I messed this up. It happened. Let's finish what we're doing now and then figure out how not to mess it up next time." That's it. That's the whole thing.
Effort with clarity and direction produces very different results than effort without it. And clarity requires that your attention is where the work is, not in the commentary running alongside it. The goal isn't to stop judging yourself. It's to become better at choosing when.
The Editor's session
This type of scenario is exactly what you should take to our newest addition: The Reviewer. While our other personas are all forward facing, the Reviewer looks backwards instead. It's built around the same idea this piece explores: that honest, well-timed reflection is one of the most valuable growth mechanisms we have. You describe what happened and walk away with a clearer idea of what to do differently next time. Try it.
I gave a presentation last week that I thought went badly, but I'm not sure if I actually underperformed or if I was just being hard on myself. Help me work out which.
The first thing worth separating is what was actually in your control from what wasn't. Nerves, preparation, the room — they're not all the same problem. Let's start with what happened and work out which pile each piece falls into.
Something to think about
Think of something that went wrong recently that you're still carrying. Are you in a position to actually learn from it now, or are you still in the middle of the game?
If something here landed, or opened something you'd rather not work through alone, I'd genuinely like to hear about it. The best issues come from real stories, so if this one stirred something in yours, write to me at desk@thinkfurther.uk.