01/28/2026
💫 You’re Not the Only One
Why self-compassion starts with being ordinary
Bad faith, exceptionalism, and the specialness trap
If you’ve been with me for a while, you know how often I return to Kristin Neff’s idea of common humanity, the reminder that our struggles aren’t personal failings but part of the shared experience of being human.
As Neff likes to point out, it’s statistically impossible for us all to be above average… yet somehow nearly everyone believes they’re either uniquely superior or uniquely deficient.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how deeply this runs, not just psychologically but culturally.
In the U.S., we swim in the mythology of exceptionalism, the belief that we, unlike everyone else, are a singular marvel. You can see it everywhere:
A Silicon Valley founder insisting he needs exactly four hours of sleep because his “brain is optimized for efficiency,” while the rest of us mere mortals apparently require REM cycles.
The influencer on TikTok who claims she “transcended hunger” through sheer mindset.
The wellness guru who insists you can heal everything with a celery juice ritual “if you’re high-vibe enough.”
But exceptionalism has a shadow twin, what I think of as negative exceptionalism. It shows up when someone believes:
Everyone else can eat normally; my body is the one that doesn’t work.
I make mistakes that are so embarrassing, so shameful, so “me,” that I deserve harsher judgment than anyone else.
Other people’s needs matter; mine are… optional.
In this version, we’re not too special, we’re specially broken.
And this, too, pulls us out of common humanity.
If you read the recent piece I sent out on Sartre and bad faith, you may remember that when we try to escape our actual, ordinary humanness, we lose the capacity to act freely and, by extension, compassionately.
Sartre thought we often hide behind identities, i.e., “the superior one” or “the hopeless case,” so we don’t have to face the vulnerable truth of being human beings who make choices under real conditions.
Neff’s work echoes this: the more we cling to being exceptional (good or bad), the harder it is to treat ourselves with kindness.
What I’m exploring lately is how these two forms of exceptionalism, either grandiose or shame-based, are actually two sides of the same cultural coin.
Both pull us away from shared humanity. Both make self-compassion harder.
And both are reinforced by a culture that loves the idea of “special” but isn’t always comfortable with “human.”
Some reflection questions for all of us:
What if you didn’t need to be exceptional today?
What if being human was enough?