Taming the Urge to Criticize Through Wise Reflection

It was not a big surprise to me to learn that criticism is a leading predictor of relationship failure and divorce—a fact emphatically shared in the Gottman Method Couples Therapy training, based on Drs. John and Julie Gottman’s decades-long research with more than 3,000 couples. I already knew it in my bones, having witnessed caustic, critical speech eat away at the fabric of my parents’ marriage and ultimately tear them apart. Though it was gut-wrenching as a child to have a front row seat to their nasty verbal onslaughts, the one good thing it did result in was my firm resolve to not harshly criticize my loved ones when I had a family of my own.

Years later, in my work as a couples therapist, whenever I would get into the trenches with an unhappy couple seeking my professional help to repair their relationship, I would inevitably discover criticism deeply embedded in their communication patterns. This would further strengthen my determination to abandon my own tendency to criticize. 

And yet, despite having had a really strong intention to not criticize others for a really long time, it has proved to be quite difficult to dismantle this unwholesome tendency entirely. Early on, not knowing a better way, I would try to suppress it willfully—but the urge to criticize would remain simmering below the surface, often bursting out with greater indignation at a later instance, much to my chagrin and regret. 

Although the sharpness of my critical speech did become blunt over time, the root of the issue remained intact. The reasons for this seem pretty obvious now—right intention cannot directly springboard into right action on its own. It was not until I started treading the eightfold path that I found the skillful means to systematically bridge this gap—gradually taming the stubborn urge to criticize others through right view.

Criticism, as the Oxford English Dictionary defines it, is: the expression of disapproval of someone or something on the basis of perceived faults or mistakes. For me, cultivating right view has been pivotal in loosening the rigid, self-centered mental structure of this harmful perception. 

In my experience, there is great relief that can be experienced when we examine and drop our narrow, tightly held judgments about right and wrong. The resulting spacious attitude encourages us to relax into whatever we are observing—without giving rise to aversion toward the “mistake” or craving to correct the “fault,” both of which fuel criticism.

From the Majjhima Nikaya, 117:

“And how is right view the forerunner? One discerns wrong view as wrong view, and right view as right view. This is one’s right view.”

My marriage serves as a valuable training ground for me in this area. My husband and I have substantially different temperaments—when a problem raises its head, I am inclined to take the bull by the horns before it goes on a rampage, whereas he prefers to let it graze around for a while, giving it a chance to settle down or go away, before deciding what to do.

Recently, I sat with my growing alarm about the worsening state of his well-being. Ever since his promotion a few months ago, my husband had been experiencing frequent migraines, fatigue, irritability, and anxiety. I knew that he was not getting adequate rest and sleep at night, since his work hours had significantly increased to bridge different time zones in his globally expanded role, but I had hoped in time he would settle down into a new rhythm. However, his physical and emotional health seemed to be continuing to decline, and there were no signs of any improvement on the horizon.

I was feeling angry, as I believed this was due to his inability to keep up with his morning meditation and yoga practice since his promotion. I was of the view that he was not prioritizing what needed to be prioritized and was being “irresponsible” and possibly even “lazy.” If I am not mindful, this restlessness and need to formulate a plan for tackling the bull can quickly cloud my perception. From this anxious lens, my husband’s approach—or lack thereof—appeared frustratingly passive and weak. This was a pivotal moment, and luckily I had learned from experience that I must immediately concentrate every ounce of mental energy I am able to muster on abandoning this dangerous line of thinking—before I impulsively say something judgmental or harsh. Reminding myself of certain suttas from the Pali canon and reflecting on them helps me practice restraint:

From the Dhammapada, Verse 133: 

“Do not speak harshly to anyone; those who are thus spoken to will retort.”

In these moments, I withdraw my attention and practice, enduring the mental discomfort and agitation by watching my breath until the sensations of restlessness and anxiety have perceptibly calmed. This allows me to take refuge within the silence of my heart. 

However, I have found that only refraining from verbal criticism is not enough—even if I choose my words with utmost care, the sharpness of my tone and tenseness of my body language can silently convey my critical thoughts to my husband and bring suffering to us both.

From the Dhammapada, Verses 231–234: 

“Guard against anger erupting in body; in body, be restrained. Having abandoned bodily misconduct, live conducting yourself well in body. Guard against anger erupting in speech; in speech, be restrained. Having abandoned verbal misconduct, live conducting yourself well in speech. Guard against anger erupting in mind; in mind, be restrained. Having abandoned mental misconduct, live conducting yourself well in mind.”

So once I sense a perceptible calmness in my mind and body, and feel assured of being restrained in my speech, I shift into the next mental gear to question my perceptions and see the situation more objectively.

First, I examine my perceptions and assumptions: What are my thoughts about the situation? Am I making any judgments about my husband? Can I be absolutely sure my assumptions are correct? Could I be jumping to conclusions? Do I have all the information I need to correctly conclude this? What is it that I am trying to control or fix or prevent from happening? Is there craving for or aversion toward an anticipated outcome? What will happen if I let go of trying to control this situation? So much disagreement stems from trying to control the outcome of certain events, or trying to control how someone will act. As the Venerable Ajahn Chah once said, “If you let go a little, you will have a little peace; if you let go a lot, you will have a lot of peace; if you let go completely, you will have complete peace.”

The next area that warrants review are my motivations and their likely outcome: What do I feel like saying? Is it absolutely necessary to say this? What will happen if I do not say this? Can I know this will happen for sure? Will it be beneficial for my husband if I say this? How is he likely to feel? How is he likely to react? Will it be kind and respectful if I say this? Can I say it in a manner that is rooted in loving-kindness and mutual respect?

Reflecting on this, I recognized that there was certainly a need to talk to my husband and share my concern—but that I could try to drop my critical outlook and adopt a more gentle approach with the intention to better understand his struggles on this issue, offering my suggestions and support in a manner that he was receptive to. 

From the Theragatha, Verse 1227, 1228:

“One should speak only that word by which one would not torment oneself nor harm others. That word is indeed well-spoken. One should speak only pleasant words, words which are acceptable (to others). What one speaks without bringing evil to others is pleasant.”

Even if I find that what I want to say passes all the previous gates of inquiry, it may be that the conditions are not suitable for voicing them immediately, so I reflect on the current conditions: Is this the right time to say it? Is he in a receptive frame of mind right now? Is this urgent, or can it wait for a better time? Am I feeling physically and mentally calm and energetic to be able to speak gently? What may be a better time or place to express what I want to say?

Self-reflection helped me get beneath my anger and give my husband the benefit of the doubt. Most importantly, I got in touch with my own unspoken fear of losing him to sickness and death. 

Finally, I contemplate the Anguttara Nikaya 5.198 and run through the checklist in my mind before deciding the next right course of action and the framing of my words: 

“A statement endowed with five factors is well-spoken, not ill-spoken. It is blameless and unfaulted by knowledgeable people. Which five? It is spoken at the right time. It is spoken in truth. It is spoken affectionately. It is spoken beneficially. It is spoken with a mind of goodwill.”

This checklist helped me to understand my husband better and to voice my opinions with him in a more skillful and kind way. On other occasions, following this self-discipline has helped me realize that there was no need to say anything to my well-meaning husband at all, as there was no bull to begin with.