Using the Toolbox: When I’m Criticized On Line

Speak bravely; listen generously – Motto of Harvard Kennedy School

It is easy to feel a lot of negative things when someone is critical of us. Normally, if I’ve upset someone or if there’s a misunderstanding, I can talk it through it and gladly do. However, sometimes people go on line anonymously to say unbalanced, critical things. So, I thought I’d write about how I use “The Tools” in those rare, tricky situations.

It’s not easy to do, and I assume that I want to “feed the bad wolf” as much as anyone, but when I hold the course and maintain focus on healthy thoughts, emotions, and physical feelings, I feel more loving and resilient, rather than that the world is unfair, or what have you. (I love coffee, but I have no interest in feeling bitter.) A key part of my process of dealing with struggles, all struggles, is to nurture my connection with others. To care for others. To allow others to care for me.

I might not be everyone’s cup of coffee – and some people don’t like coffee – but I can keep being warm and energetic.

First, a bit about reviews and the value of a therapist’s confidentiality:

Since I own a business and my business shows up on search engines, I am open in a public way to people’s opinions. Since therapy is such a private thing, I don’t get many business reviews – I think there have been twelve, total, between 2017 and 2025, and there are a few more on the Testimonials page. Most reviews are very kind, mention that the process isn’t easy but it’s caring, and reflect the mindful work my clients and I do around here.

Steve the Terrier and I are grateful for every kind word and constructive feedback.

Sometimes, however, there are reviews by people I’ve never met or who I may have met but are writing under pseudonyms. The negative reviews by anonymous people are tough, scary even, and I’ll admit that if someone is trying to hurt me: it hurts at first. This post is what I do to feel that hurt without letting it cut me off from the rest of my reality and to grow from it.

There is nothing I value more than talking things through with people and creating mutual understanding, especially when we disagree. I call it “Talking with Texans” because of a long conversation I had with a fellow from Texas in an airport restaurant once. He and I hardly agreed on anything except the fact that it was nice to shoot the breeze with a fellow traveller. (More on that below.) When I get a one star review, I initially have a desire to write back, to acknowledge what makes sense and to clarify what are almost always misunderstandings. I can’t respond publicly though. If I have an inkling of whom it is who is writing, I will reach out by phone or email, just to say that I’m open to hearing their thoughts and learning from them.

As a therapist it would be unethical to respond publicly. Outside of talking with clinical supervisors to get an outside perspective (which is a part of the Confidentiality Agreement), therapists can’t talk about client work at all except in very particular situations. And this is a good thing: The promise of confidentiality is the bedrock of counselling. Being a therapist and belonging to a professional body means that I have opted out of the right to respond to anything to do with client work in an open setting. I’ve given up the right to respond, even if the person I’d be responding to has never been a client. I can write to the search engine to ask them to take anything defamatory down, but, there are lots of loopholes.

For the record, if someone wrote something like: “2 Stars. This therapist did not respond to my issues in a useful way to me, but he was punctual and his dog is nice” I would, of course, be curious what useful responses might have looked like, but I’d also understand that I am not everyone’s cup of coffee. In fact, the process my clients and I follow involves a lot of self-reflection and honesty. If someone doesn’t jive with me, it would make perfect sense to find someone else. I have met lots of perfectly talented people in my life who might be useful to others, but who aren’t useful to me. For instance, I’ve seen a few different dentists in my life, but it took me a while to find one I felt (somewhat) comfortable in the dentist’s chair with.

The long and short of it is that, just as I can neither confirm nor deny that someone is or is not a client of mine, I cannot say if something did or did not happen in session. I couldn’t even say if a session took place, publicly. Again, these are good things. A client has the right to reflect publicly about an experience with a therapist; a therapist does not have the right to reflect on what has (or hasn’t) happened in a clinical setting. We can address things privately, of course or we can say something general like “Thank you for your feedback”. I choose to respond privately, when I can. Generally with a “Thank you!”

So, given these restrictions, what do I do? How do I choose to respond on the very rare occasion that I criticized on line?

The word weapons I will not use (not even in my own head):

 

The Bird Feeder of Grace, The Pool Cue of Cause and Effect and Cradle of Compassion are vital to me at times when I might feel justified to fight fire with fire.

1. I won’t attack the person who is critical of me.
2. I cannot blame them for their very natural feelings. (Though I can hope that online warriors learn to de-weaponize their language, I certainly understand to the impulse.)

Here is how I reverse engineer word weapons so they can be tools again. It’s a process that involves my head, my heart, my interpersonal relationships, and nurturing my body.

 

In my head:

 

 The Combination Lock of Humility and The License Plate of Responsibility come in pretty handy here.

1. I can accept the parts of the criticism that are valid.
2. I can seek to understand the perspective of the person who is upset with me.
3. I can own that people are reacting to something I’ve done, or they think I’ve done.
4. I can accept that no matter how hard I try to listen and to reflect the best in people, sometimes people will still feel unheard. I sometimes feel unheard even when people have heard me. We all have a bit of a gap between the feeling and the reality sometimes.
5. I can continue to debug the less helpful bits in my communication while remaining clear.
6. I can reflect on what I can do to communicate better.
7. I can reflect on what I have done to communicate well enough.
8. I can meditate. (I use the Wheel of Awareness method, as described by Dr. Dan Siegel in Aware: The Science and Practice of Presence. Or I just take some refreshing breaths, depending on how much time I have.)
9. I can read a good book.

In my heart:

 

Here, again I turn to The Cradle of Compassion – this is the link to Pt. 2, as I’ve already linked to Pt. 1 above.

1. I can hope that all reviewers experience solace and love. – Nobody has ever lashed out in an unbalanced way when they felt that the world would hear them if they were fair and kind.
2. I can hear and nurture the part of me that also feels unheard, that wants to cry out, to blame. It’s very easy to relate: after all, we were all babies once. Crying out was the only tool we had when we were wet, or hungry, or the world felt big and unconsoling. Now online the cry has become something rather angry, sometimes, but it goes back to the same source.

Connecting with others:

 

Pretty much all of The Tools in The Good Life Toolbox have to do with connecting and communicating!

1. I can do “Yoga Pretzels: 50 Fun Yoga Activities for Kids and Grownups” yoga with my son.
2. I can give my wife a hug.
3. I can give Steve a good scratch on the ruff of his neck. That gets his tail wagging.
4. I can talk with any number of people who love me. Sometimes, though not always, about the sadness I feel, or my yearning for civil discussion with people who see things differently from me, but mostly just because they deserve all the love and attention I can give them. It is through them and because of them – as well as some lovely teachers and friends and clients – that I find it so easy to feel stuff. In the long run, caring doesn’t have a downside. Obsessing over one thing at the expense of all other things – now that has downside.
5. I can seek professional guidance and support from my clinical supervisor.
6. I can keep being as good of a counsellor as I can be to the wonderful people who come and do the hard work of healing.

In – and with – my body:

 

The Pipe Cleaner of Creativity and the Kleenex Wad of Resilience are pretty useful to help me reset and refocus

1. I can eat when I’m hungry. And what I eat doesn’t have to be sushi, even Shredded Wheat will make me feel better.
2. I can shake it out.
3. I can stretch.
4. I can breathe.
5. I can listen to Everybody Hurts by REM. I can sing along, loudly to “Depreston” by Courtney Barnett. I can listen to “Lights Light Up” by Fenne Lily. These are songs that embody empathy.
6. I can listen to The Goldberg Variations.
7. I can write my own songs, even though I blew out my amplifier a month ago. My uncle Wyatt gave my mom a Fender acoustic guitar when she was young and she gave it to me when she was still young and I was 12. I have written hundreds of songs on that guitar. I went electric when someone I love died and that guitar and I grieved and rejoiced the good times. I don’t normally love objects, but as much as I can love a thing, I love my guitars. But that’s just because I love my family and I love music and I love having the capacity to think in different ways and feel a whole rainbow of feelings. All feelings are welcomed by my guitars just as they are by me.
8. I can play the piano. The piano, like Steve, has been in the room with me ever since I opened Pear Tree Family Therapy.
9. I can swim. And then I can swim some more. I swim every day and there is something about being in the water that makes me completely in tune with my own body. What does the water feel like? Where is my gaze? Are my arms and legs synching up (probably not, let’s see if I can get them to). Where is my breath?
10. I can breathe.

To sum it all up:

1. I can accept that I am not everyone’s cup of coffee.
2. I can reach out to mend fences when possible and be open to critical feedback.
3. I can focus on those that I can help. Together we really do amazing things.
4. I can continue to grow my empathetic heart – it is our very human struggles help us relate to others.
5. I can be a fellow traveller, and keep my eyes on the path we’re on, the prairie before us, and the sky above.
6. I can…
7. I can…
8. I can…

Here’s what I cannot do, would not do, even if I could:

1. I cannot attack back.
2. I cannot blame.

Notes

*I don’t know about you, but balanced reviews with a mix of positives and negatives have a much bigger impact on my decision making than purely negative comments. If someone says something like, “The server forgot our order and we had to wait, and the food was under seasoned to our tastes. However, the restaurant was clean and the waiter fixed his mistake. Two stars”. I respect that. When people write, “Worst Restaurant Ever!!!!” I just tend to remember the time I ate mystery meat under an overpass in China in my twenties. Perhaps the only one star meal I’ve ever eaten, but it was certainly inexpensive, and it gave me a great story.