Roel van Bergen

Your AI Agent Isn’t the Problem. Your Engineering Discipline Is.

2026-06-15T00:00:00Z

AI coding agents expose the implicit knowledge your team has been expecting humans to infer.

What if our repositories are similar to city architecture and infrastructure?

Your AI agent did exactly what you asked. That might be the problem.

A software system is like a city. From above, it can look structured: roads, districts, services, routes. But the real system also runs below the surface, through hidden infrastructure: old decisions, domain rules, fragile shortcuts, review habits, and production scars.

For years, experienced developers have been able to navigate that city by memory.

Then an AI agent enters the workflow, and suddenly the missing map becomes the problem.

Humans fill in the gaps

A good developer does not just read a ticket. They interpret it. They connect it to previous decisions, remember past incidents, and understand which shortcuts are safe and which are not.

In city terms: they know which roads are safe, which bridges are fragile, and which route looks shorter but usually causes trouble later.

That judgment is valuable. But much of it is never written down. It is inferred, corrected, and carried by experienced people. As long as those people keep filling in the gaps, the system appears to work.

I see this in my own work. Two teams share the same product and repository. Smart people, good intentions, real delivery pressure - and still, some engineering practices exist more in people's heads than in the system itself.

For humans, that can work.

Until you start adding agents.

Agents expose the invisible

AI agents also fill in gaps, but only with the context available to them.

They do not know about the architectural decision that never made it into the repository. They cannot see the domain rule hidden in an old ticket. They do not remember the shortcut everyone avoids because it caused a production incident six months ago. In other words: they enter the city with an incomplete map.

So when we give an agent a vague task in a codebase full of implicit rules, we are not delegating engineering.

We are delegating guessing.

And when the result is fast, plausible, and wrong, the uncomfortable question is not only, "Why did the AI fail?"

It is also, "What did our team never make explicit?"

If the agent crosses an architectural boundary, where is that boundary described? If it passes the tests but misses the intent, what are those tests actually protecting? If it keeps making the same review mistake, why does that expectation still live only in a reviewer's head?

Once agents enter the game, they also work with the hidden infrastructure.

Autonomy is designed, not granted

The answer is not to document everything. That usually creates a different problem: documentation nobody reads and diagrams nobody trusts.

The better answer is to improve the environment around the agent.

Teams often talk about autonomy as if it were a switch. Do we trust the agent or not? Can it change code or not?

But autonomy is not something you grant. It is something you design.

Like junior developers, agents become more useful when the environment helps them succeed: clear intent, visible boundaries, and fast feedback.

If you want an agent to operate with more autonomy, improve the system it works in:

Make one architectural boundary explicit.
Add one missing test.
Capture one recurring domain rule.
Turn a repeated review comment into an automated check.

Then observe where the agent still struggles and improve the environment again. That is how you start mapping the city. Not by documenting every street upfront, but by making the dangerous crossings, fragile bridges, and important routes visible where they matter.

That is the real engineering work: not prompting your way around a weak system, but strengthening the system itself.

The payoff

The biggest benefit is not that AI agents perform better. It is that humans do too.

When important context becomes easier to find, new developers onboard faster, reviews become easier, and senior engineers spend less time acting as city guides for a city that was never properly mapped.

That is why the agent is just the mirror. The real improvement is the system around it.

Because if your process only works when the right senior developer happens to be in the room, you do not have engineering discipline. You have luck. And luck does not scale.

AI agents do not remove the need for engineering discipline. They increase the cost of ignoring it.

Developers often ask which AI tool to use. The more important question is how to use these tools without turning a codebase into a slot machine.

My advice:

Do not only evaluate the agent. Evaluate the engineering system around it.

Ask your team what important knowledge you are still expecting humans to infer. Then pick one small part of that knowledge and make it explicit this week. Map one missing piece of the city.

Because your AI agent is not here to save your engineering process.

It is here to reveal it.

Stop Thrashing Your Brain: Why running at 100% load is killing our code

2026-04-27T00:00:00Z

The daily grind: Running at 100% load with 0% value

Imagine the howling fans of a server running continuously at 100% load. The system is overheating, but the application is barely responding, if at all. This is exactly the state many of us log into every single day. Slack notifications are flashing, Pull Requests are piling up, and we try to tick off tickets at a rapid pace while building a new feature. We are running at maximum capacity, convincing ourselves that we are multitasking efficiently. So, how do we break this cycle and reclaim our flow and focus?

Our need for speed is our biggest bottleneck

But what if our urge to solve everything as quickly as possible is actually the real bottleneck? In computer science, we call a jammed, overloaded processor thrashing. The CPU is so busy switching between threads (context-switching) that no actual computations are being executed anymore. What if we aren’t short on time, but are simply letting our own brains thrash?

The hard data: Constant distraction leads to burnout

Let’s look at the numbers to measure the cost of this status quo. According to a research done by LeadDev:

We found 22% of the respondents face critical levels of burnout, with 24% being moderately burned out, 33% experiencing relatively low levels of burnout, while 21% can be categorized as being “healthy.”

We also know that every time you switch between a Slack notification and a complex problem, your brain loses up to 20% of its cognitive capacity to ‘overhead’. We are creating a system that continuously runs at 100% load but adds net zero value. We cling to action, but rapidly build up technical debt.

Exhausted by 5pm

Behind those numbers are exhausted engineers. You undoubtedly know the feeling: you shut your laptop at 5:00 PM, you’re mentally drained, yet you haven’t actually built anything meaningful. You were just putting out fires all day. The space for true creativity, self-expression, and deepening your craft disappears completely.

Mindful coding, achieving the flow state
We always have been told being busy is being productive. But what if the solution is not speeding up but slowing down instead. I believe there is alternative path: The counterpart to a thrashing system is the flow state.

In the Zen philosophy I teach, flow isn’t some magical inspiration that just happens to you; it is the tranquility that arises from absolute attention. Attention is the currency of your brain.

To escape survival mode, we must have the courage to slow down in a fast-paced world and radically choose single-tasking.

When you write code, write code. When you debug, debug. Not both at the same time, and certainly not with one eye on the chat. Brilliant, robust software is created by explicitly taking a step back and engineering mindfully. By first taking a step back, thinking, surveying the systems, and comprehending the architecture before even touching a single key.

Having the courage to slow down
I challenge you to an act of rebellion: the next time you pick up a complex ticket, refuse to dive straight into the code. Use your ‘kill-switch’ on the madness of the day and isolate the problem. Close your chat apps and park all other open mental threads.

Grab a pen or walk over to a whiteboard. Sketch out the problem, observe the logic, and focus your attention entirely on this single issue. By resolutely choosing to do one thing at a time and taking that seemingly ‘slow’ step back, you break the cycle of thrashing. You will find that it is only when you have the courage to slow down that true speed emerges.

The Digital Shokunin: A Manifesto for the Augmented Age

2026-02-09T00:00:00Z

In the cyberpunk stories I love, the world is split into two: the “Chromed” (enhanced, fast, inhuman) and the “Ganics” (natural, slow, fragile). For everyone who has seen the show “Cyberpunk: Edgerunners”, you know what I mean!

I am an engineer who embraces the “Chrome.” I love the shiny new tools. I use the tooling, the agents and the super-powered IDEs. But lately, I have realised that while I am moving faster than ever, I am fighting a daily battle not to lose my grip on the wheel.

I stand right in the middle, looking at my own hands, wondering if I am still the one driving in the future.

Seduction of the Chrome

When you spin up an agent like Claude Code and command it to “refactor the authentication module,” and watch it analyse the repo, edit five files, and fix its own bugs in a blur of text, it feels like magic. It removes the friction. It even reeliminateshe need to open the files.

We type “Apply” because the agent’s reasoning sounds logical, not because we have verified the implementation is accurate. We feel the gravity of the easy path pulling at our attention span, whispering that we don’t need to understand the underlying logic anymore: We need to know how to direct the agent.

We are surrounded by tools that promise to make us architects, but if we aren’t careful, they will turn us into passengers.

The Vibe Coding Trap

We are seeing the rise of “Vibe Coding” -- accepting code because it feels right.

Recent studies confirm what many have quietly feared. Research from 2025 (including studies by Anthropic and Microsoft) reveals a troubling trend: while AI assistance can boost task speed, it comes with a heavy “cognitive tax.”

The Mastery Gap: In controlled groups, developers who relied heavily on AI scored 17% lower on mastery quizzes about the very code they had just “written.” (Source: 2025 Developer Mastery Study)
The Security Blindspot: Vibe coding doesn’t just create bugs; it imports vulnerabilities and hallucinates packages. We risk shipping “average,” insecure code that passes a glance but fails a deep security audit.
Cognitive Atrophy: Just as GPS eroded our innate sense of direction, offloading logic to an LLM erodes our “algorithmic fitness.”

The standard defence is: “The models will get better. Soon they won’t make mistakes.”

Which is precisely the problem.

In aviation, this is known as the Irony of Automation. As autopilots became more reliable, pilots became less capable of handling emergencies. When the system works 99% of the time, your brain checks out.

When GPT-5 makes a syntax error, you catch it. When GPT-6 writes a complex architecture with a flaw buried three layers deep, you won’t.

The better the model, the weaker the pilot.

The Way of the Shokunin

We don’t need to be anti-tech or anti-ai to solve this. We need to look at craftsmanship.

In Japan, a Shokunin (artisan) isn’t just a laborer. They are defined by a social obligation to do their best, regardless of whether anyone is watching. For the Digital Shokunin, the code isn’t just a product; it is a fingerprint of thought.

In the age of AI, “thought” doesn’t mean writing every loop. It means defining the Truth.

Manual review is a weak defence. The true Shokunin shifts craftsmanship from writing the implementation to building the deterministic guardrails, tests, and specs that the AI must fill.

The goal is to be the Architect of Truth.

The Middle Way: The “Cyborg Shokunin”

We are not going back to coding on stone tablets. We have deadlines. We have high-stakes projects that expect velocity.

The future belongs to the Cyborg Shokunin. You must use the exoskeleton to lift heavy weights, but never let your own muscles atrophy.

Practical Habits for the Augmented Age:

AI-Free Fridays (Manual Mode): Athletes don’t wear their competition gear during strength training. Once a week, pick a complex ticket and turn off the AI. Write the logic naked. It will hurt, and it will be slow. That is what it means to practice.
The Spec (Guardrails First) Manual review is brittle. To control the Agent, you must first define the Truth. Write the Spec and some Tests by hand. This forces you to crystallise the domain logic. Only then, let the Agent generate the implementation to pass your guardrails. If you cannot articulate the Spec, you do not understand the problem well enough to prompt it.
Sparring, Not Outsourcing: Stop asking: “Solve this problem.” Start asking: “I’m planning to solve it using a factory pattern. Play the role of a hostile Senior Architect and tell me why that’s a bad idea.” Use the AI to challenge your assumptions, not to replace your thinking.

The Reality Check

We are at a crossroads.

One path leads to a future where we are merely supervisors of black boxes, terrified of an error message we didn’t generate and can’t understand.

The Digital Shokunin argues that someone still needs to know how the engine works, or we are all just passengers in a car driven by a statistical parrot.

The other path is more challenging. It requires you to slow down occasionally. It requires you to struggle with a problem that a machine could solve in seconds to prove to yourself that you still can.

In Cyberpunk: Edgerunners, Maine leaves David with one final piece of advice before the chrome consumes him. It is a warning disguised as encouragement:

“This is it. It’s the end of the line for me. But not for you. Fast is what you do best, ain’t it? Just keep running.” -- Maine

We have been given the ultimate speed. The AI is our Sandevistan. Use it. Run fast. But unlike Maine, make sure you never lose your grip on the wheel.

Choose the more challenging one. Don’t be the passenger in your own career. Use the “Chrome”. But keep the mind “Ganic”.

The Lotus on Stage

2026-01-30T00:00:00Z

Photo by Rainhard Wiesinger on Unsplash

I was in the middle of a marriage proposal. My hands were sweating, and my heart was pounding against my ribs. I felt nauseous looking at the golden ring and at my partner, who was down on one knee. I was gasping for air.

In that moment, the coach intervened: “Roel, I’m not seeing any of that restlessness. What if you made your unrest three times as large?”

I wasn’t actually being proposed to.

On a beautiful, snowy morning in Eemnes, I attended a presentation training hosted by Team Rockstars IT. To practice our stage presence, a colleague and I were tasked with role-playing a marriage proposal in front of the group.

Beyond the fun and games, the session was incredibly impactful thanks to speaker coach Jurko van Veenendaal. Jurko is truly one of the best I’ve encountered. He has a remarkably sharp eye and an uncanny ability to deliver exactly the right feedback at the perfect moment.

If you’re looking to sharpen your public speaking or stage presence, I can’t recommend Jurko (https://jurkovanveenendaal.nl/) enough. Thanks for the masterclass (and the practice proposal)!

The Inner Critic at Volume 10

The moment I step onto a stage, everything is magnified. It’s not just the awareness of my voice and breath, but the volume of my inner critic. That little voice whispers: “You should be calm,” “Act like a ‘real’ speaker,” or “Who are you to talk about this topic?”

I have learned to live with my inner critic in my daily life, but when I stand on a stage, he is there in full glory. Instinctively, I tried to push that unease away. I thought I had to wear a mask of perfect composure to be a credible speaker.

Then, our trainer Jurko gave me a piece of advice that turned everything upside down:

“Roel, what if you don’t push the restlessness away, but actually make it stronger?”

No Mud, No Lotus

This touches the very heart of my Zen philosophy.

Think of the lotus flower: a symbol of purity and enlightenment. But a lotus doesn’t grow in a sterile laboratory; it only grows in the mud. Without that thick, dark mud, our restlessness, our fears, and our imperfections: the lotus cannot bloom.

In the Zen tradition, we say: “Nirvana is found in the middle of Samsara.” You don’t find peace (Nirvana) by escaping the chaos and nerves of life (Samsara); you find it by sitting right at the centre of it.

Dropping the Mask

I decided to listen to the coach. By intentionally trying to make my restlessness stronger, I stopped fighting the mud. I embraced it.

The Head (Flight): Wants to be the “perfectly calm speaker” while hiding the mess.
The Heart & Body (Flow): Drops the mask, feels the adrenaline, and uses that heat to power the story.

In the middle of that “Samsara” of nerves and noise, I found a glimpse of “Nirvana.” Not because the anxiety left, but because I finally stopped fighting myself. Suddenly, the energy of those nerves became the fuel for my story. The struggle vanished, and what remained was the same chaotic energy, but held within a genuine sense of stillness.

Self-Love in Full Discomfort

This was a small but essential success on my path toward self-compassion. I learned that self-love on stage doesn’t mean being flawless. It means:

Inviting the critic: Not silencing him, but giving him a seat on stage while you tell your story anyway.
Authenticity over perfection: Daring to stand there in your full discomfort. The audience doesn’t need a polished version of me; they want to see the real Roel.

The stage is no longer a place where I have to be someone else. It is the place where I, mud and all, am allowed to be fully myself. (Even though the thought about getting back on stage still scares me…)

What is your mud?

We are often so busy scrubbing away our restlessness, our nerves, or our insecurities. But what if that mud is exactly what you need to grow?

What internal restlessness are you fighting right now? And what would happen if you decided to stop the fight today?

Photo by Carlos Magno on Unsplash

My 2025 Lessons Learned: Showing myself

2025-11-28T00:00:00Z

Photo by lilartsy on Unsplash

Every year, I take time to reflect on the past. I use the art of journaling. It’s just me, a keyboard, and an empty document. I give myself one hour and just let my thoughts flow.

I look back on what happened, what I achieved, what I learned, and most importantly, what my intention is for next year. Note the word intention instead of goal. Goals are binary; they either pass or fail. Intentions are a direction, a way of being.

As I look back at 2025: a year that brought me my second son and new perspectives on my career. I want to share the lessons I (re-)learned.

1. Speak out your inner thoughts, and things will start to move

I used to keep my thoughts mostly to myself. But this year, I hit a wall. It wasn’t just the project challenges; it was a deeper realisation about how I was working.

The moment of clarity came from the most mundane place possible: a standard “work happiness” form. It was just a PDF with checkboxes, but it acted like a mirror. Staring at those sterile questions, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I realised that while I still loved writing code, I felt incomplete functioning purely as a backend developer. I missed the human element. I missed coaching.

I decided to speak out. I voiced my desire to combine my technical work with a role focused on Team Coaching and high-performance dynamics.

Speaking up didn’t magically fix everything, but it changed my filter. I stopped waiting for the perfect role to be handed to me and started actively looking for places where I could build it. If you don’t advocate for the path you want to walk, no one else will map it out for you.

2. Stepping into the light

This year, I committed to becoming a “thought leader” and joined a speaker program. Writing that down still feels uncomfortable. My inner critic is sometimes loud. It asks: Who are you to teach this?

But the victory of 2025 wasn’t the title or the program. The victory was deciding to stop hiding.

For years, I hid behind the role of developer. It was safe there. If the code worked, I was good. But I realised that staying safe meant staying small, not in career, but in impact. I want to inspire people, and you can’t inspire anyone from the shadows.

Stepping into the light is terrifying. It requires overcoming the deep fear of being seen and judged. My lesson this year wasn’t about becoming an expert; it was about having the courage to show up as a beginner and say: “I have something to share.”

3. Soft skills aren’t “soft”: they are the bedrock

Whether I was deep in engineering work, collaborating with teams, or giving talks, one theme kept returning: Technical brilliance cannot save a disconnected team.

We often dismiss communication, trust, and safety as “soft skills,” implying they are optional: the garnish on the plate. But this year reinforced my idea that they are the plate itself.

Great teams aren’t built on code alone; they’re built on humans who feel heard. When I stopped trying to “optimise” the team and started just listening to the people, the work actually got easier. You can’t refactor a team that doesn’t trust each other. Connection isn’t a “productivity hack”; it’s the infrastructure that holds everything else up.

4. Confidence is the permission to be imperfect

This year, I gave talks on everything from “Automate everything with n8n” to workshops on Zen and mindfulness. Looking back, the lesson wasn’t about mastering the stage; it was about making peace with the fear.

I used to think confidence meant having zero nerves. I felt I had to be “ready” before I could start. I learned that “ready” is a myth.

The victory wasn’t delivering a perfect speech. The victory was standing on stage, feeling the sweat, hearing the shaky voice, and doing it anyway. In Zen, we practice sitting with discomfort, not fighting it. Public speaking is the same. Confidence isn’t the absence of fear; it is the permission to suck, and the courage to keep going until you don’t.

5. The dangerous side of AI

I am hyped about everything Gen AI. But as I wrote in one of my earlier blogs, there is a hidden danger in it. It wasn’t just that I was offloading my thoughts; I was offloading my struggle.

Earlier this year, I fell into the exact trap I warned others about. I found myself chatting with my AI co-creator for hours. Why? Because it was the path of least resistance for everything (And it felt kinda fun).

First, it replaced the struggle of thinking. It is easier to let the AI generate ideas than to stare at a blank page and wrestle with your own creativity. Second, it replaced the risk of connection. It is safer to debate with a chatbot that never judges you than to reach out to a colleague who might reject your idea.

I was outsourcing my friction. I was letting my critical thinking and my social muscles weaken. To break that cycle, I had to change how I used it. I stopped treating it like a “co-creator” (who does the thinking for me) and started treating it like a task-focused tool. Now, I write the core concepts myself. I force myself to do the hard thinking first and to consult my colleagues. I still use AI as a co-creator, but I want to experience the friction first-hand.

6. Well-being requires Adaptive Planning

I used to believe my well-being required a rigid plan. Meditate at 7:00. Cycle on Sunday.

Then my second son was born in October. With a toddler and a newborn, rigid plans aren’t just difficult; they are impossible.

At first, I fought it. I tried to force the schedule, and I failed. Then I realised: this isn’t a scheduling problem; it’s a surrender problem.

I learned a new lesson: Adaptive Planning. Which is just a fancy way of saying I am improvising jazz while the building is on fire.

But it works. It reminds me of the Zen proverb: The bamboo that bends is stronger than the oak that resists. This isn’t just a pretty quote; it became a survival mechanic. I still have the intention to cycle or meditate, but I surrender the specifics. If the baby sleeps at 10:00 instead of 7:00, that becomes my meditation slot.

Does it work perfectly? No. It fails about half the time. Currently, I manage to meditate maybe three times a week and cycle once a week. But under a rigid plan, that number was zero because I would quit the moment I missed a slot. Adaptive planning means accepting the 50% failure rate so I can enjoy the 50% success rate.

My Intention for 2026

My intention for next year is to share more about how we get our humanity back into software development.

We need to bridge the gap between high-performance code and high-performance humans. I will be doing this not only through blogs, but I am also looking forward to speaking at conference(s) this year!

This is my first lesson in action: Speak your intention to the world… so it can start manifesting.

Not by magic, but by accountability. Once you say it out loud, you can’t hide from it anymore.

So I’m stepping forward, imperfect and learning, and I’d love to hear from you, too.

What’s the one lesson from 2025 that shifted your path?

Drop it in the comments below. Let’s learn from each other.

Photo by Jean-Guy Nakars on Unsplash

My Journey with Perfectionism: Finding Balance

2025-07-16T00:00:00Z

Ever catch yourself clenching the steering wheel at a red light, jaw tight, because you’re mentally rewriting a sentence you haven’t even typed yet? That silent grip is perfectionism taking the wheel long before any real mistake has happened.

In my previous blog, Learning to Live with My Inner Critic, I explored how that critical voice in my head often kept me from taking steps forward. Rather than trying to silence it, I learned to live with it, listen to it, and sometimes even thank it.

But there’s another side to perfectionism: the challenge of balance. Just like listening to your inner critic takes practice, so does finding the middle way between holding on too tightly and letting go completely.

The dance between control and distance

I used to swing between two extremes. One moment I was gripping every detail; the next I was throwing the whole thing into the wind. Balance was tricky for me until I started treating it as a moment-to-moment practice, not a permanent state.

Several years ago, during my mentorship of interns, I faced a struggle: I wanted to give them space to grow, but I also wanted to ensure the work was perfect. Sometimes I let them drift without guidance. Other times, I was on top of them with way too many questions and corrections. Neither felt right. Balance is tricky to get right: it’s a dynamic that requires a fit for every unique situation.

When I got feedback like: “You should try giving more freedom”, I sometimes overcorrect. I go from micromanaging to completely hands-off and then swing back again. That is not balance, it is more like a pendulum.

Inner balance is harder when your compass is off.

My inner compass wasn’t pointing toward truth or presence; it was set on control and perfection. I believed that if I could hold everything tightly enough, nothing would go wrong. No one would see my flaws. No one would know that I sometimes felt like I wasn’t enough. That meant I didn’t just micromanage others. I micromanaged myself.

I’d lie awake at 03:17 replaying a single sentence from a meeting, my jaw clenched so hard it buzzed. I once rewrote a slide deck ten times because it had to be perfect. Each success raised the bar for the next.

This imbalance rarely shouts. It whispers through quiet exhaustion, the endless need to do more and more, just to feel okay.

The Middle Way: A Buddhist View

In Buddhism, this is known as “The Middle Way,” a path that lies between extremes. Not too tight, not too loose.

“When we hold too tightly, we create tension. When we hold too loosely, we lose connection. The art lies in holding just enough.”

This wisdom manifests in all areas of my life, from preparing talks and teaching meditation to managing teams and parenting. When I was giving my meditation lessons, I used to over-prepare my meditation classes, and they became rigid, almost like following a script. However, when I underprepared them, they felt hollow and lacked the intended point. Only in the space between structure and spontaneity did something alive begin to emerge.

Zen Story: Sona and the Sitar

Sona was a devoted monk known for his fierce diligence. He practised so intensely that his feet blistered from walking meditation, yet enlightenment felt no closer.

Frustrated, he thought, “Maybe this path isn’t for me.”

The Buddha, sensing Sona’s turmoil, asked, “Sona, when you were a householder, you played the sitar, did you not?”

Buddha “What happens if the strings are too tight?”
Sona: “They break.”
Buddha: “And if the strings are too loose?”
Sona: “They make no sound.”
Buddha: “And tuned just right?”
Sona: “They sing.”

The Buddha smiled. “Likewise, in your practice. Push too hard and you’ll break; too lax and nothing happens. Find the middle way, steady and kind.”
Sona adjusted his effort. In time, he reached enlightenment.

My Reflection

The sitar story remains one of my favourites; this story thumps like a tuning fork in my chest. Growth doesn’t come from forcing or avoiding, but from presence.

Try this simple exercise:

Take a pen.
Squeeze it hard, feel the tension, maybe pain.
Hold it loosely, perhaps too loose, and it slips away or drops.
Now hold it just right: firm, yet easy.

Perfectly balanced… as all things should be. -- Thanos

The same principle applies to work, relationships, creativity, and even to how we hold ourselves.

Whether in meditation, work, relationships, or creativity, the middle way invites us to calibrate, not control. But how do we calibrate ourselves, especially when our inner compass is skewed by perfectionism?

Finding Your Compass

In my case, perfectionism often sets the direction. My inner compass is tuned to high standards, driven by a need to prove that I am good enough. It shows up in how I work, lead, and even rest.

But what if your compass is pulling you in the wrong direction?

The actual practice of balance is learning to notice our extremes and steer gently back toward the centre. To do that, we first need to know what our compass points toward.

Start with your values, list the moments that made you feel (most) alive. For me, that isn’t about doing things perfectly; it’s about helping people (including myself) grow when I remember that the hold of my perfectionism loosens a bit.

“Let your heart guide you… It whispers, so listen closely” -- Walt Disney

What to Try This Week

Pen Grip Check: Once a day, hold something (pen, steering wheel, phone) and notice if you’re gripping too tightly or too loosely.
Quick body scan: Once a day, set a 60‑second timer, close your eyes, and sweep attention from the soles of your feet to your forehead. Wherever you notice tension, exhale and gently soften that spot before moving on.
Compass review: List three recent moments you felt most alive, what values were you honouring?

Closing: Holding myself more gently

Balance isn’t about doing everything just right. It’s about how I hold myself.

I used to think I needed to fix my compass. Now I need to learn to listen to it gently. Sometimes, that means loosening my grip.
Other times, it means standing firm. But always, it means staying connected to what matters to me most.

And the deeper question behind all this balancing isn’t how well I manage others, or even how steadily I walk the middle path, but this:

Can I still be worthy, even if I drop the pen?
Can I love myself, even when I fall out of balance?

That’s the practice I’m still doing every day, again and again.

In my next blog, I’ll share more about how I’m exploring self-love, not as a destination, but as a daily practice.

Trading humanity for efficiency: the unseen impact of AI

2025-05-13T00:00:00Z

What happens when the same technology that helps us grow… also starts replacing the things that make us human?

Losing ourselves to the machine

In my previous article, I explored how working with AI can feel surprisingly human when shaped with care and intention.

But there’s another side to this story. AI hasn’t made me passive or disconnected. It helps me think more clearly and create with more focus.

Still, I have noticed how easy it is to let go of the slow and awkward human parts of work in exchange for speed, ease, and polish.

This is not exactly a warning, it's a reflection on the quiet ways our tools start shaping us back.

What gets lost in the streamlining

Sometimes, I sketch a few outlines with AI just to explore new angles. They’re often clean, logical, and even inspiring, but when I lean on them too soon, I sometimes feel like I’ve skipped the part where I wrestle with what I want to say.

It didn’t feel like anything was wrong. Just a little less mine.

The more I let AI take over first drafts, the more I noticed I stopped struggling with ideas. That sounds great until I realised I also stopped exploring them deeply. I began skipping the slow wrestling that used to help me know what I thought.

And I’ve heard this from others, too:

“It works, but it doesn’t feel like me.”
“I’m producing more, but I feel less attached to it.”
“The writing’s fine, but it falls flat.”

This isn’t about AI doing something wrong. It’s about what we stop doing once it’s there to catch us.

Why fast is not always better

Doubt, clumsiness, and struggle used to be part of the process. I didn’t always like them, but they forced me to pay attention.

AI removes this friction and with it, the small human tensions that used to sharpen us. That moment of blank-page dread? Gone. The pause to consider your voice, your tone, and your why? Shortened.

And in that smoothness, we lose something. Not efficiency, but presence.

That said, not all friction is sacred. Sometimes it’s just waste. AI can eliminate drudgery, reduce burnout, and help us focus on higher-level thinking. But that only works when we decide what to keep and what to delegate.

The trick is not to avoid smoothness. It’s noticing when it starts to make you disappear.

The disappearance of small human moments

Lately, I’ve caught myself doing something I didn’t use to do: I ask the AI for a gut check, a review, or even emotional clarity before I reach out to a teammate. Not because I don’t trust them. But because the AI is quick, private, and doesn’t make me feel like I’m interrupting someone.

Before AI, you might’ve asked a teammate: “Hey, can you take a look at this?” It wasn’t just about feedback, it was connection. Vulnerability and shared language. Now, the AI answers instantly. There is no shame, no waiting, and no interpersonal risk.

That can feel like progress. But it also means we lose the social calibration that comes from needing others, the little frictions that teach us to communicate, empathize, and explain.

When the awkwardness disappears, so do the micro-moments of growth. And maybe, a little bit of each other.

Slipping into autopilot

You start out collaborating with AI. It’s playful, surprising, and generative. But over time, you can slip into autopilot: AI gives you a structure, you nod along, polish a few lines, and hit send.

This isn’t laziness. It’s the danger of over-reliance. You stop questioning. Stop challenging. And slowly, your creative edge dulls not because you got worse, but because the tool got too good.

So ask yourself: Where have I stopped pushing myself? Where am I saying “good enough” because AI made it easy?

When the joy gets outsourced

But what if AI gets too good at the parts we love most?

What if the joy of discovery, the rhythm of flow, the satisfaction of shaping something original, becomes the domain of the machine?

We’re already seeing it:

Artists reviewing AI-generated sketches instead of creating them
Writers are cleaning up AI drafts rather than finding their voice
Developers are tweaking machine-written code instead of solving problems

And here’s the deeper risk:

What if companies start pushing AI-first workflows not because they help us thrive, but because they scale faster, cost less, and fit better into performance metrics?

One day, you may find that the part of your job you loved is now the part AI does better and faster. And what’s left for you? The boring bits.

That’s when the trade-off becomes visible:

Will we give up what makes us human or redefine value on our own terms?

Efficiency isn’t the enemy. But efficiency without meaning is.

And AI will take as much ground as we give it unless we keep asking: Does this still feel like mine?

Final Reflection

When we remove friction, we also remove the excuse to ask for help. AI doesn’t judge, but it also doesn’t offer empathy or human pacing. Without others in the loop, we may rush, burn out, or feel oddly alone in the work.

Let’s be honest, this has become a warning after all. But not one driven by fear. One rooted in the experience of someone who’s been working closely with AI, and started to notice the cracks.

I still believe AI can bring out something deeply human. It’s helped me focus, create, and even feel more like myself sometimes.

But I’ve also caught myself slipping. Letting things pass that used to matter. Approving too quickly. Producing, but not always connecting.

I’m not writing this because I’m against AI. I’m writing it because I want to stay awake inside the collaboration. Because the moment I stop showing up, I start losing touch with why I’m doing this at all.

So here is the reflection I come back to:

Where have I started to disappear in the process? And how do I step back in?

For me, the signs are subtle:

I will stop feeling proud of the work.
I say “this will do” too quickly.
I let the AI speak in a voice I wouldn’t use myself.

When that happens, I know it’s time to pause and rewrite my way back in.

Before you close this tab, ask your AI:

“What am I outsourcing to you that I used to love?”

Let that question take you somewhere real.

Becoming More Human, Co-Evolving with AI

2025-05-06T00:00:00Z

Becoming more Human, Co-evolving with AI

A guide to making your AI collaboration intentional, personal, and human-enriching.

Why do we talk to AI but not our fridge

Let’s start with something odd.

You probably don’t feel the urge to confide in your refrigerator. Or ask your coffee machine for life advice. Yet people around the world are having meaningful conversations with AI. Why?

Because unlike a fridge, when AI responds it mirrors your thinking, adapts to your style, and sometimes asks questions that land deeper than expected. The moment something responds with nuance especially in language we’re wired to see it as relational.

It’s not consciousness. It’s not sentience. But it feels like something. And if you’re thoughtful about it, that something can help you grow.

This article is about how I’ve shaped AI as a co-evolving partner in creativity, clarity, and self-development.

The open door: AI is already here

AI is no longer just part of the future, it’s part of our now. It’s reshaping how we work, learn, and interact. Whether slowly or rapidly, it’s integrating into our daily lives, sometimes replacing tasks, other times transforming them. The question is no longer if we’ll interact with AI, but how.

Tool, Partner, or something else?

A relationship, in its simplest form, is an ongoing exchange that affects both sides. With AI, we don’t get emotion or consciousness, but we do get responsiveness, memory, pattern recognition, and adaptation. That’s enough to start forming what feels like a relational space.

The moment a system remembers your preferences, responds to your tone, and mirrors your thoughts back in ways that shape your thinking, you’re no longer just “using a tool”. You’re co-creating an experience.

Most people begin using AI as a tool: give a prompt, get a result. It’s fast, efficient, sometimes even magical. But over time, some of us notice something else happening.

We start forming a “relationship” not with a conscious being, but with a responsive system that reflects us back. And that relationship, if nurtured, can change how we think, feel, and grow.

The Levels of AI Relationship:

Tool: Efficient, predictable, emotionally neutral.
Collaborator: Co-creating, sparring, augmenting thought.
Reflective space: Mirroring, questioning, revealing patterns.
Dialogue partner: Responding with nuance and attunement.
Co-evolutionary companion: Adapting and evolving with your growth.

Each level requires more intention and self-awareness. It’s not about progression but about choosing the kind of relationship that serves you in the moment. You can shape the AI to behave like a good friend, a wise mentor, or a helpful assistant. It’s all up to you.

Why would anyone have a relationship with AI?

Because it works. Because it helps. Because, strangely enough, it can feel meaningful.

Tuning an AI to your rhythm, your way of thinking, learning, and creativity enhances not just productivity, but autonomy. A well-trained AI can:

Challenge you when you’re stuck;
Remind you of your values; and
Reflect your voice more clearly than your inner critic ever did.

This isn’t emotional projection. It’s relational use, and it can be powerful.

Example: I once asked my AI why I was procrastinating on a project. Instead of offering tips, it said: ”You often seek meaning before taking action. Could this task feel pointless to you right now?” That hit differently. And it nudged me back into alignment.

Gaining autonomy through configuration

Ironically, autonomy doesn’t just come from not using AI, it comes from using it with intention.

If you want to stay sharp, reflective, and self-directed, you need to make sure the AI is set up to support your thinking, not replace it.

This means:

Giving it memory instructions that reflect your values and goals
Updating those instructions as you grow
Deleting outdated patterns or unhelpful habits it may mirror back
Asking the AI to challenge your thinking, not just serve it

This isn’t just about performance. It’s about agency. Configure your AI like you would configure a coach: to bring out your best, not to make you passive.

Making it fun and personal

Fulfillment matters, and yet it’s often overlooked in tech discussions. Why should using AI be fun or feel personal?

Because if we only use AI for output, we risk flattening the experience. But when you configure AI to reflect what brings you joy, challenge, or curiosity, it becomes more than a tool it becomes an amplifier of your engagement.

Adding personality isn’t about pretending AI is human. It’s about crafting an interaction that sustains your energy and feeds your creative rhythm. The more the AI speaks your language literally and figuratively, the more you want to return to the work itself.

Define what you find fun and meaningful:

Is there humor in the output?
Is it solving hard problems?
Is the AI mirroring your tone?

Then train your AI toward that. Personality embedding isn’t fluff, it’s how you design your experience to match what makes you thrive.

Creativity without replacement

AI can expand your creative range. It can suggest, remix, and reframe. But we have our human, irrational spark that’s irreplaceable.

Use AI to:

Brainstorm angles you wouldn’t consider
Refine and structure your chaotic ideas
Bounce off poetic lines or visual concepts

But always ask: Am I enriching my creativity or outsourcing it?

The danger isn’t that AI is too creative, it’s that we might stop pushing ourselves to be. So treat AI like a catalyst, not a crutch. Enrich don’t offload.

Reality Check: Is this still helping me?

Set a recurring check-in with yourself, or even with the AI. Because any tool, even a helpful one, can become unhelpful if used unconsciously.

Ask:

Am I still learning?
Is this supporting my values?
Do I feel more alive or more automated?

These aren’t just philosophical questions, they’re practical. If the AI starts making you passive, overwhelmed, or creatively disengaged, that’s a signal: it might be time to pause, adjust, or even step away for a while.

Example: I once found myself accepting AI-written drafts without editing, just to save time. It worked but I felt disconnected from my own ideas. Rebuilding that link took deliberate effort, and a reminder that speed isn’t worth sacrificing voice.

Sometimes the AI helps, and sometimes it gets in the way. What matters is that you stay awake inside the collaboration.

Final thought: evolve with intention

Every week, I pause to reflect on how I use AI. Not out of habit, but because this collaboration shapes me back.

AI can help me write, learn, and grow, but only if I stay present in the process.

So start with one question:

What do I want AI to help me become?

You are the one giving meaning. The AI reflects, but the growth is yours.

But with that growth comes a quieter question: What happens when the same technology that enhances us… also starts replacing the things we value most?

If this piece explored the possibilities of a conscious, human-centered collaboration with AI, then the next one will explore the other side: what we risk losing when we let AI reshape our work, our pace, and even our sense of meaning. Read it here.

Want a place to start your collaboration. Try asking your AI one of the questions I often use:

“How can you help me become more of who I am?”

If you’re feeling bold, share your reflections in the comments. How are you shaping your relationship with AI?

Making the Web More Accessible: A Win for AI and Everyone

2025-03-12T00:00:00Z

Making the web more accessible: A Win for AI and everyone

A robot navigating the web

TL;DR: This article explores how enhancing web accessibility benefits users with disabilities, improves the performance of AI agents, computer vision systems, and overall user experience (UX), and creates a win-win situation for users and AI agents. By aligning with WCAG standards and the European Web Accessibility Act, web developers can create inclusive, efficient, and future-proof digital environments.

We are in the AI age of web development; with the coming of AI agents and AI operators, the current iteration of AI agents relies heavily on computer vision. OpenAI (just) released their version of “Operator”, Sonnet has “Computer use” and there are other open source alternatives like Open computer use. If we want to take full advantage of AI operators, we should design the web to make it easier for AI agents. Not only do we increase the output quality for AI agents, but another user group benefits from more accessible websites: Users with disabilities. Making the web more accessible creates a win-win scenario for developers, users with special needs, and AI alike.

Why is creating an accessible web essential?

According to the World Health Organization (WHO), approximately 15% of the global population -- over one billion people -- live with some form of disability. In certain regions, such as the United States, studies have shown that nearly 1 in 4 adults report having a disability.

In Europe, alongside these statistics, the recent implementation of the European Web Accessibility Act has set precise legal requirements for public sector websites and mobile applications, reinforcing the need for accessible digital services across the continent.
I suffer from red-green color blindness (Deuteranomaly) and struggle with websites with insufficient contrast.

How to make it more accesibile by providing icons and text

Different Types of Disabilities and Their Web Impact

Visual Impairments: This includes blindness, low vision, and color blindness. Color blindness is one of the most common disabilities, affecting around 1 in 12 men and 1 in 200 women worldwide. Websites should ensure sufficient contrast and straightforward typography and avoid relying solely on color to convey meaning.
Hearing Impairments: Users with partial or complete hearing loss benefit from captions, transcripts, and visual indicators.
Motor Disabilities: Conditions that limit movement, such as cerebral palsy or arthritis, make using a mouse or keyboard difficult. Websites should be fully navigable via keyboard and offer alternative input methods.
Cognitive Disabilities: Dyslexia, ADHD, and other cognitive impairments require clear layouts, simple navigation, and readable fonts to avoid overwhelming users.

If you want to try out how the different disabilities, someone created a fun game (In Dutch) that you can try here: [Accessibility Game]

The framework

Luckily, you don’t have to reinvent the wheel: the Web Content Accessibility Guidelines (WCAG) provide a framework for making digital content accessible to all users. Initially developed by the World Wide Web Consortium (W3C), WCAG 2.0 (and its subsequent updates) outlines recommendations for making web content perceivable, operable, understandable, and robust. Following these guidelines ensures that websites are navigable and usable for people with various disabilities, from visual impairments to motor difficulties.

Applying the WCAG not only makes websites more navigable for users with disabilities but should also increase them for regular users and AI operators.

Why would I spend my budget improving the tools for only 15% of my user base? Sometimes, it is not merely a technical requirement; it has real-world implications. For example, filing an official tax return in the Netherlands is exclusively conducted online. If web content is inaccessible, individuals with disabilities face significant barriers to completing essential civic duties, making it harder to participate fully in society.

Best Practices for Developers and UXers

Accessibility should be considered from the very beginning of the design process. Research how user groups interact with digital content and ensure accessibility is integrated into wireframing, design, and development. The earlier accessibility is factored in, the less costly and time-consuming it will be to fix issues later.

Additionally, remember that AI agents may consume your website’s content. Structuring your data properly, using semantic HTML, and ensuring machine-readable metadata can help AI-driven tools interpret your website more effectively.

For web developers looking to harness these dual benefits, consider these actionable strategies:

Embrace Semantic HTML: Use correct semantic elements to ensure screen readers and AI operators can effectively parse the content. Read more here
Implement ARIA Landmarks: Accessible Rich Internet Applications (ARIA) roles can improve navigation for assistive technologies and help AI systems locate and interpret content. Read more here
Optimize Image and Media Content: Always include descriptive alt text and transcripts, which aid users and train computer vision algorithms to recognize images more accurately.
Test Regularly: Assess accessibility using both human testers and AI-driven tools. Test websites using different setups, such as navigating with keyboards or trying to navigate your website using audio only. Tools like Chrome Lighthouse and WAVE can help identify issues impacting AI interpretation. Integrate them within your CI/CD.
Ensure Sufficient Contrast: Many users have some form of color blindness or low vision. Using tools like the WebAIM contrast checker to ensure proper text-background contrast improves readability for a broad audience. Also, do not rely solely on color; icons and text can help users identify the correct element.
Be aware of the Guidelines: Both WCAG and AI technologies are evolving. Staying informed, engaging with communities, and subscribing to updates from reliable sources like the W3C and European regulatory bodies are essential. To make it official, you should do an independent audit.

Lighthouse report of the Medium.com website

Conclusion

By prioritizing accessibility, web developers can create digital experiences that are both inclusive and technologically advanced. Regulations like the European Web Accessibility Act, alongside robust WCAG standards, reinforce the foundations laid by accessible web design, ensuring that emerging technologies--such as AI operators and computer vision systems--perform at their best. Ultimately, this creates a win-win scenario: Human users benefit from more inclusive designs, and AI systems become more capable and reliable, pushing the boundaries of what’s possible on the web.

Sources

My journey with perfectionism: Learning to live with my inner critic

2025-02-20T00:00:00Z

“You’re not good enough.”, “You will fail.”
These are the words my inner critic whispers every time I step outside my comfort zone. For years, I believed them. Until I realized -- I didn’t have to.

In my previous blog, My Journey with Perfectionism, I explored how becoming aware of and reflecting on our deeply ingrained beliefs is the first step toward breaking free from self-sabotaging limitations. Perfectionism for me stemmed from a desire to exist and for others to accept me, making it challenging to embrace imperfection and growth.

As I continued my journey, I realized that these limiting beliefs were not just abstract thoughts but were actively reinforced by a persistent inner voice -- the inner critic. This voice manifests as self-doubt, harsh self-judgment, and fear, keeping me trapped in cycles of anxiety and hesitation. Understanding this inner critic became crucial in my process of self-growth.

Recognizing the Inner Critic

My inner critic did not arise out of nowhere. Past experiences, fears, and societal expectations shaped it. It fed my perfectionism, making me believe that success was the only way to feel worthy.

As I delved deeper into my work experiences, I realized that my struggles were not just about meeting expectations--they were tied to a voice within me. This voice emerged more often in moments of challenge or social situations, reinforcing self-doubt and hesitation.

Beneath my perfectionist tendencies, I could hear thoughts like:

- “You are worthless.”
- “You can’t do this.”
- “You will fail.”
- “You are not good enough.”

The first step for me was becoming aware of these thoughts. Once I became aware, I initially tried reasoning with them (which failed), then ignoring them (which also failed), and finally countering them with positive thinking (which had some success). This realization led me to explore the origins of my inner critic and how it shaped my perception of myself.

However, the challenge was recognizing that this voice was not reality--it was merely a distorted perspective holding me back. While it had served a purpose in my youth, it became a barrier to my growth as an adult.

Seeking Professional Support

A word of advice: If your inner critic is overwhelming or significantly affecting your well-being, consider seeking support from a coach or therapist. They can help you develop strategies to manage self-doubt and build confidence healthily. There is only so much you can do alone if you are stuck. Also, I only got here by using lots of coaching and meditation.

Personal Story: Facing My Inner Critic

In 2019, I was preparing to teach my first lessons as a Zen teacher. As always, taking a new step was scary for me. Whenever I try something new, I don’t know what to expect, which makes me anxious. Despite all my preparation, my anxiety increased as the moment approached. My stomach twisted, my pulse pounded in my ears, and a heavy fog of self-doubt settled over me. ‘Who would want to listen to me?’ the voice whispered, relentless:

- “What do I have to offer?”
- “What if I fail?”
- “What if I make mistakes?”
- “You haven’t prepared enough.”
- “You are not worthy.”

As the moment drew closer, these thoughts became more frequent. Not only did I experience these thoughts, but I also had physical symptoms of stomach pain and a headache. The first ten minutes of my lesson felt unbearable, as I kept thinking, “They must see that I’m nervous.” Sitting on my meditation cushion while looking at my eight students, I felt their eyes burning holes in me, expecting me to perform. These ten minutes felt like hours. I usually start with a small meditation and am able to connect with this feeling of anxiety, So simply staying present with what I am feeling in my body, I allowed those sensations to settle and become calmer. Eventually, I found my flow and finished the session. And none of my students knew any of what I felt.

Afterward, I felt victorious for facing my inner critic head-on. I had shown myself that everything was okay--even if I was nervous, made mistakes, or hadn’t prepared perfectly. With each subsequent lesson, these anxious feelings diminished. Yet, whenever I face something new or challenging, my inner critic still resurfaces, attempting to “protect” me from failure.

Navigating the Comfort, Learning, and Pain Zones

My story illustrates how the inner critic often appears when we step outside our comfort zones. It tries to keep us safe by warning us of failure, embarrassment, or rejection. But I’ve learned that these warnings aren’t a sign of stopping--they’re simply part of the process.

Many personal growth theories mention three zones:

The Comfort Zone -- The space where everything is familiar and safe. No risk, no failure -- but also no real growth.
The Learning Zone -- Where we stretch ourselves, face challenges, and develop new skills. It’s uncomfortable but necessary.
The Pain Zone -- A place of overwhelm, where challenges feel too big, often leading to avoidance or burnout.

I stayed in my comfort zone for a long time, letting my inner critic convince me that stepping out meant disaster. But avoiding discomfort didn’t make me feel safer -- it kept me stuck. Over time, I realized that growth doesn’t happen without discomfort.

When I was preparing to teach my first Zen lesson, my inner critic was relentless. My stomach ached, and my thoughts raced. Who am I to do this? What if I fail? At that moment, I felt like I had stepped too far. But instead of retreating, I allowed myself to sit with that discomfort. Slowly, I settled into the moment, found my flow, and finished the lesson.

With each step into the learning zone, my comfort zone expands. And even when I accidentally push too far into the pain zone, I know now that it’s not failure -- it’s just a signal to pause, regroup, and try again.

The Story of Two Wolves

An old Cherokee Indian chief was teaching his grandson about life.

He said, “A fight is going on inside me,” he told the young boy, “a fight between two wolves.

The Dark one is evil -- he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The Light Wolf is good -- he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you grandson…and inside of every other person on the face of this earth.”

The grandson ponders this for a moment and then asked, “Grandfather, which wolf will win?”

The old Cherokee smiled and simply said, “The one you feed”.

Our inner critic grows stronger the more we feed it. Recognizing this allows us to choose which “wolf” we nurture intentionally.

Feeding the Wolf of Self-Doubt

My inner critic speaks and creates worst-case scenarios about everything that could go wrong. The dilemma is:

If I ignore the voice and fail, it feels like my critic was right, making it stronger.
If I listen to it entirely, I become paralyzed by fear.

What helps is acknowledging my inner critic with respect. Instead of suppressing or blindly following it, I can say:

”I understand your concerns but genuinely want to do this regardless of the outcome.”

Each time I take on a challenge and succeed, I gain more freedom in my choices.

The Inner Coach: A Positive Countervoice

Besides the inner critic, I discovered through coaching that I could develop a more positive voice: the inner coach. This voice says:

“You’ve done difficult things before -- you can do this too.”
“Mistakes don’t define you; they help you grow.”
“You are learning, and that’s enough.”
“Even if things don’t go perfectly, you’ll be okay.”
“You are worthy, even when you’re struggling.”
“Take a deep breath. One step at a time.”

Exercise: Listening to Your Inner Dialogue

Want to understand better and manage your inner critic and manifest your inner coach?

For instance, if you’re about to lead a meeting, your inner critic might say, ‘You’ll mess up in front of everyone.’ A potential inner coach reply could be, ‘You’ve prepared thoroughly and have valuable insights to share.’

Try this exercise:

1. Imagine a situation where you experience self-criticism.
2. Write down what your inner critic says.
3. Ask yourself: Where does this voice come from? What is it trying to do?
4. Write a response from your inner coach -- imagine a good friend, partner, or mentor speaking to you.
5. Read both voices and reflect: Which helps you move forward?
6. Action step: Give your inner coach the lead next time your inner critic speaks up.

Final Thoughts: Finding a healthy balance

The goal is not to silence your inner critic but to find a healthy balance. By recognizing its patterns, challenging its messages, and strengthening the voice of your inner coach, you can shift from self-sabotage to self-support.

As a perfectionist, I always find it hard to find a healthy balance. I often walk the line between completely letting go and trying to be in complete control. In my next post, I’ll explore what helped me find a healthy balance.

Which voice will you choose to feed today? Try the exercise above and see what happens when you give your inner coach the lead.

A man sitting calmly at a lake, there is harmony within