Today’s topic flows naturally from the previous reflection on empathy, since many of us feel empathy most intensely in the exact moments when we are being criticised. That’s when the temptation appears either to understand the other person too much and ourselves too little, or to shut down completely so we no longer feel anything.

Criticism touches the places where we are most sensitive. Sometimes it hits our identity, other times the image we project into the world, and at times our need for validation. I’ve noticed a pattern in myself: it’s not the criticism itself that bothers me, but the tone in which it is delivered and the moment it arrives. If I’m tired or already caught up in my own worries, I can react impulsively even to minor remarks.

But when I’m in a good state, I can digest even harsh criticism without losing my balance. This showed me a simple truth: our reactions to criticism reflect our inner state, not the objective value of the message.

There are several psychological reactions I often see in people. The first is defensiveness. When we feel attacked, we quickly enter protection mode: justifications, arguments, minimisations. It’s the mind’s way of saying “I’m not in danger, give me space”.

The second is overcorrecting. It may look mature, but it often hides anxiety. When someone criticises us, we start changing everything without checking whether the criticism is fair or reasonable. And that leads to losing our personal direction.

The third reaction is self-cancelling. This appears especially in romantic relationships. We rush to say “yes, you’re right” even when we don’t feel that way. We do it out of fear of conflict or abandonment. It looks like empathy, but it’s actually avoidance dressed as harmony.

There is also the opposite reaction: total resistance. You dismiss anything the other person says simply because of the way it was delivered. The core message might contain value, but the mind shuts the door to protect the ego.

It fascinates me that these reactions show up even when we logically know that some criticism could help us grow. It’s proof that the psyche doesn’t react to content, but to the emotion triggered by the message. That’s why criticism in relationships is so delicate: it doesn’t just target behaviours, but hidden vulnerabilities.

I’ve learned that it’s essential to distinguish between criticism about me and criticism about my behaviour. When I mix the two, everything feels personal. When I separate them, I can evaluate calmly what I want to change.

I use a simple exercise: after hearing a criticism, I pay attention to my body’s response. Do I clench my jaw? Do I feel a knot in my stomach? Do my shoulders tense up? The body speaks first about what is happening emotionally. Only after a short pause can I analyse logically: is this useful or simply painful?

Healthy criticism is possible only when it carries two ingredients: good intention and respect. Without them, it becomes an attack, even if there’s a seed of truth. And when both are present, criticism can transform relationships, even if it stings.

A mature relationship isn’t one without criticism, but one where criticism doesn’t turn into a weapon. One where we remember that others are sensitive too, and our words can ignite healing or unnecessary wounds.

The real challenge stays the same: how can we turn criticism into an opportunity without losing self-respect?

So here’s my final question for you: when was the last time you reacted too intensely to a criticism, and what does that moment reveal about your inner needs?