Criticism has always affected me. It still does. I do not believe anyone truly enjoys being criticised, but for some people criticism fades within minutes, while for others it lingers for days, months, or even years. I have always belonged more to the second group, especially when the criticism comes unexpectedly or from someone whose opinion matters deeply to me.
I feel that the closer the relationship, the sharper the sting. Criticism from strangers is easier to dismiss. Criticism from parents, teachers, colleagues, a spouse, or even my own children carries far greater weight. To be completely honest, the harshest critic I have ever known has often been myself.
Over the years, I have realised that not every type of criticism affects me equally. When I was younger, I was sensitive about my appearance, but that no longer troubles me. What still affects me today is criticism of my work because I genuinely try to give my best, and criticism of my relationships because I invest my heart in the people I love. Judgements about my personality can also hurt, especially when they come from people who judge before they even try to understand me.
One incident from my teenage years has remained with me. When I was a teenager, I became fascinated by insects and spent countless hours studying them. One day, an assistant Scout leader, noticing my enthusiasm about the subject, turned to another leader and seriously asked, “Is he normal?” The other leader replied that I was. They probably forgot the conversation within minutes. I did not. At a time when my self-esteem was already fragile, those few words quietly reinforced the fear that perhaps I was different in the wrong way.
Words are remarkably powerful. They can be as sharp as a samurai sword. Words said often outlive the people who speak them.
Yet not every criticism I have received has been unfair. Some of it has shaped me for the better.
Soon after my wife and I married, I had to complete government paperwork that would allow us to reclaim part of the VAT we had paid on our wedding expenses. It was worth several hundred euros. Weeks passed. Then months, and I still did not fill in the necessary papers. The deadline came and went, and I still had not completed the forms.
When my wife asked me if I had filled in the papers, I replied that I had completely forgotten about them. She was understandably furious. At the time, I felt criticised and became defensive. Looking back, however, she was right. My procrastination had cost us money and created unnecessary stress. Fortunately, I found a kind government employee who accepted my late application despite it being late, and we eventually received the refund.
That experience forced me to confront something deeper my procrastination. By time I came to understand that my procrastination was not simply laziness. Often, it came from fear. The tasks I delayed were usually the ones that intimidated me most. Once I recognised this pattern, I began deliberately tackling the unpleasant jobs first. Slowly, I changed. Sometimes criticism is uncomfortable because it exposes something we already know about ourselves but would rather avoid.
Psychology helps explain why criticism affects us so deeply. Our brains naturally give greater attention to negative experiences than positive ones, a phenomenon psychologists call the negativity bias. From an evolutionary perspective, remembering danger increased our chances of survival. Unfortunately, the same brain that once protected us from predators now tends to replay a single critical comment while quietly forgetting ten genuine compliments.
I discovered this long before I knew there was a psychological explanation. Around the age of nineteen, I realised that my mind was becoming like a fish tank filled to the brim with recollections of disappointments, criticisms, and failures. To counter this, an idea came to mind, so I began writing a diary that focused almost entirely on the positive moments of each day. It was not an attempt to ignore life’s difficulties. Rather, it was my way of teaching my mind to notice goodness as well as pain. Looking back, I believe that simple habit strengthened my emotional resilience.
Of course, not all criticism comes from the same place. Healthy criticism is offered with the desire to help another person grow. Destructive criticism aims to shame, humiliate, or establish superiority. Researcher Brené Brown has often written that shame rarely produces lasting growth. People change far more effectively when they feel supported than when they feel humiliated. I have come to believe she is right.
Communication is one of the most powerful tools human beings possess. Words can become instruments that wound as deeply as a knife, yet they can also become instruments of healing. A single sentence can destroy someone’s confidence, while another sentence spoken with kindness can change the direction of an entire life.
Photography taught me this lesson. When I entered the world of photography in 2010, I joined a local photographic society where members regularly submitted their work for judging. Some judges were excellent teachers. They pointed out weaknesses clearly while encouraging photographers to improve. Others seemed more interested in displaying their own ego than helping others develop.
I remember hearing comments such as, “I wonder why this person ever decided to become a photographer,” or, “Even my ten-year-old son could take a better photograph.” Coming from an educational background, I found such remarks deeply troubling. As teachers, we know that comments like these are unthinkable. Criticism delivered with contempt does not educate. It humiliates. For a long time, I did not dare submit an image on social media because, within me, I could still hear those same voices scoffing at my photographs: “Even my ten-year-old son could take a better photograph.”
As I got to know the members, I saw very different reactions. Some shrugged the comments off. Others became angry and left the society. Some quietly stopped participating because their confidence had been crushed. Others simply ignored the comments and laughed them off. I admired that.
In time, I took a leap of faith and tried to separate the message from the messenger. If the technical advice was valid, I accepted it and used it to improve. The harsh tone belonged to the judge, not to me.
Working as a deputy head has shown me another side of criticism. Because I oversee discipline, I regularly find myself in situations where no decision satisfies everyone. Some educators believe I am too soft. Others think I am too strict. Some pupils fear me, while others enjoy talking to me. Occasionally, parents become angry and insist they will defend their child regardless of what happened.
Those conversations still affect me, but less than they once did. Experience has taught me not to react immediately. Instead, I reflect afterwards. Was I fair? Did I act with integrity? If the answer is yes, I let the criticism go, although it may still sting. If I recognise that I could have handled something better, I apologise for my mistake. Even if I have to apologise to students, I do it, and I learn from it.
Writing on my diary has perhaps been the greatest exercise in self-reflection. Years ago, I wrote almost exclusively about positive experiences. Today, I write about everything, including my failures, disappointments, and mistakes. As I write, my thoughts become clearer. Emotions that once felt tangled begin to make sense. Modern psychology supports this experience. Expressive writing has repeatedly been shown to help people process difficult emotions, organise their thoughts, and develop greater emotional well-being. I have found this to be true in my own life.
Training has also helped, though perhaps not in the way people expect. It has become a healthy outlet for stress and anxiety. Each workout reminds me that growth happens slowly through consistent effort. The same principle applies to emotional strength.
My faith has also offered perspective. A close friend often reminds me that even Jesus, who spent His life serving others, was criticised, rejected, and ultimately crucified. If the most loving person in history could not escape criticism, why should I expect to? That thought does not remove the pain, but it helps me place it in perspective.
Today, when someone criticises me, I try to pause before reacting. If the criticism is fair, I make the necessary changes. If it is unfair, I gradually allow it to fade into the background. I no longer wish to carry unnecessary burdens.
When I was younger, I often became offended and sulked. I wasted precious emotional energy replaying conversations in my mind. Age has taught me that peace of mind is far more valuable than winning imaginary arguments.
If someone struggles with low self-esteem, my advice would be simple. Do not process criticism alone. Share it with someone wise whom you trust. Consider carefully who is offering the criticism. Not every opinion deserves equal weight. There is little value in allowing immature or unkind people to define your worth.
I also believe we ask ourselves the wrong question far too often. We spend so much time wondering whether we are good enough for others that we rarely stop to ask whether those people are good enough to influence our lives. Would you willingly accept life advice from someone you neither respect nor admire? If not, why allow their criticism to shape your identity?
One lesson has become increasingly clear to me. Many people are quick to criticise, yet remarkably few are willing to roll up their sleeves and become part of the solution. I hope never to become one of those people. If I see something that can be improved, I want to contribute rather than merely complain.
Self-esteem cannot be built upon the shifting opinions of others. It must rest upon honesty, personal growth, meaningful relationships, and the quiet confidence that comes from knowing we are becoming better than we were yesterday.
Criticism will always be part of life. The question is not how I face it, but whether I will allow it to define me or refine me as a person.
All Photos I took in when we visited London in 2024
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About the Author
Sergio Morana is a photographer, writer, and educator based in Malta. Through photography and writing, he explores life’s meaningful moments, personal growth, and the stories that connect us.
📷 Photography: Holy Communions • Confirmations • Portraits • Family Sessions • Events
Really resonates. The hardest part of criticism isn’t the content — it’s the half-second before you’ve processed it, when it still feels like an attack. But most criticism isn’t actually about you; it’s about the work, the moment, or a gap someone noticed. The moment you separate the message from the messenger’s tone, it stops being a threat and starts being data.
I’ve found it helps to ask one question before reacting: “Is there a kernel of truth in this, even 10%?” If yes, that 10% is worth more than the sting of the other 90%. If no, you can let it go without needing to defend yourself. Either way, you’re not reacting — you’re evaluating. That’s the whole shift: from defense to diagnosis.
The people who get sharper over time aren’t the ones who never get criticized — they’re the ones who’ve trained themselves to strip the emotion out fast and mine the signal underneath. It’s a skill, not a personality trait, which is the good news: it can be built.
I love how raw and well researched your article is! This is definitely the type of article I learn from. My inability to take criticism well is one of my biggest flaws