What Editing Taught Me About Treating My Writer Self with Kindness

When I wrote about how being a writer shaped the kind of editor I wanted to be, I talked about choosing kindness over criticism, about offering the kind of support I wished my friend had received. But what I didn’t expect was how editing would circle back and reshape my own writing life.

Yes, editing has sharpened my technical instincts. I catch my own errors faster. I see structural gaps more clearly. I recognize when my voice is drifting or when a scene needs tightening. Those things matter.

But the deeper shift, the one that changed everything, was learning to be kinder to my writer self.

For most of my life, I’ve leaned toward perfectionism. I can be hard on myself in ways I would never dream of being with another writer. And for a long time, I didn’t question it. I thought that being tough on myself was the price of improvement. But all it really did was stifle my creativity, the same way a harsh editor can shut down a writer’s courage before the story even has a chance to breathe.

One day, while giving feedback on a client’s manuscript, I realized something unsettling: I was communicating with myself in ways I would never communicate with another writer.

To them, I offered clarity, encouragement, and direction. To myself, I offered: This is a mess. This is going nowhere. Why can’t you get this right?

None of that was helpful. None of it was constructive. And none of it reflected the values I hold as an editor.

So I started changing the way I spoke to myself.

Instead of tearing down the draft, I began noticing what was working. I asked myself the same kinds of questions I ask my clients, questions that open doors instead of slamming them shut:

• What could I add here to help the reader feel this moment more deeply?

• What is this scene trying to say, and how can I help it say it more clearly?

• How is this moment moving the plot or the character forward?

These questions didn’t just improve my writing. They softened me. They made space for curiosity, for experimentation, for the quiet joy of discovery. They reminded me that creativity isn’t something to be bullied into submission, it’s something to be tended.

If there’s one thing I hope you take from this, it’s this:

Be kind to your creative self. If you wouldn’t say it to a fellow writer, don’t say it to yourself.

Instead, think of yourself as a gardener. Water your ideas. Give them sunlight. Let them bloom in their own time.

Your stories, and your heart, will be better for it.