What My Mother’s Advice Taught Me About Handling Criticism

My mother had a way of making a complicated emotional problem sound wonderfully simple. When I was upset by someone’s opinion, she would listen, let me have my moment, and then ask whether the criticism was useful, truthful or merely loud. That question became a quiet compass throughout my career in television, writing and public speaking.

I have learned that criticism can arrive wearing many disguises. It may be a thoughtful observation from someone who wants you to succeed, a careless comment from a stranger, a hostile review, or the sharp voice we carry inside ourselves after hearing the same judgement too many times. The source and the intent matter, yet the emotional impact can feel similar.

My mother’s advice did not teach me to become immune to judgement. It taught me to create space between what was said and what I chose to believe. That distinction has helped me navigate live broadcasting, public scrutiny, difficult conversations and the responsibility of speaking openly about women’s health, confidence and personal growth.

The Difference Between Feedback And Noise

The first lesson was to separate information from impact. A comment can hurt without being accurate, and a useful piece of feedback can feel uncomfortable without being unkind. Those two truths can exist together. The fact that my feelings are genuine does not mean every accusation deserves authority over my decisions.

In television, criticism can be immediate and public. A presenter’s clothes, voice, age, opinions and body may all become available for commentary within minutes of appearing on screen. Social media has intensified that experience. A person can spend hours preparing a conversation and then find that the response focuses on one sentence, one expression or an imagined motive.

My mother encouraged me to ask what, precisely, I could learn. If a colleague said I had rushed a segment, I could examine my pacing. If an anonymous account called me a failure, there was no practical instruction in it. That distinction preserved my energy. I could accept a lesson without accepting an insult.

This approach is especially useful in Australia, where people often value directness and may describe blunt feedback as “just being honest”. A straightforward manner can be refreshing, but honesty is not a licence for carelessness. Good feedback identifies a behaviour, explains its effect and leaves room for a person to respond. Personal attacks usually offer none of those things.

Taking Up Space Without Asking Permission

For many women, criticism is connected to visibility. We may be told that we are too loud, too emotional, too ambitious, too old, too young, too polished or not polished enough. The standards keep changing, yet the message remains familiar: make yourself smaller so other people feel more comfortable.

My mother’s advice was never to confuse politeness with disappearance. She wanted me to be considerate, but she did not want me to apologise for having a voice. That principle has shaped the way I approach a stage, a television studio and a difficult conversation. Confidence is not the belief that everybody will approve of you. It is the willingness to participate even when approval is uncertain.

I wrote about that tension in refusing to apologise, because occupying space can be a form of service. A speaker who has prepared carefully, listened deeply and has something valuable to contribute does not need to shrink to prove she is humble. The audience deserves her full attention, not a performance of self-erasure.

That lesson matters in Australian workplaces, from a Sydney boardroom to a community hall in regional Queensland. Women are often expected to demonstrate competence while making that competence appear effortless. If we speak firmly, we can be labelled difficult; if we soften every sentence, our expertise may be overlooked. The answer is not to become harsh. It is to stop treating another person’s discomfort as evidence that we have done something wrong.

Responding Before Reacting

Criticism triggers the body before it engages the mind. The heart speeds up, the stomach tightens and the instinct to defend ourselves arrives quickly. I have learned that my first response is often an attempt to escape discomfort rather than a considered judgement. A pause gives me the chance to choose a better response.

Sometimes that pause lasts only a few breaths. Sometimes it means waiting until the next day before replying to a message. In a live environment, it may involve acknowledging a concern without debating it on the spot: “I hear what you’re saying, and I’ll think about that.” There is strength in declining to conduct an emotional argument while still emotionally activated.

When criticism is public, I try to return to the purpose of the work. A broadcast, keynote or interview is not created to satisfy every individual preference. It has an audience, an intention and a set of responsibilities. My video library reflects many different conversations and settings, yet the consistent aim is to communicate with honesty and usefulness rather than chase universal approval.

This does not mean ignoring mistakes. If I have misspoken, misunderstood an issue or caused avoidable hurt, a clear apology may be appropriate. The important distinction is between apologising for genuine harm and apologising simply because someone dislikes my presence, boundaries or point of view. One repairs trust; the other can train us to abandon ourselves.

Building A Healthier Filter

A reliable filter helps criticism become manageable. I often consider four questions: Is this person close enough to understand the situation? Are they offering a specific observation? Do they want a constructive outcome? Is there a pattern here that I have been avoiding? The answers do not automatically make the criticism right, but they help me assess it with greater fairness.

Trusted feedback can come from surprising places. A friend may notice that I am overcommitting. A producer may point out that I have interrupted too often. A colleague may explain that a phrase landed differently from how I intended. These conversations can be humbling, yet they are also a form of respect. Someone is taking the time to help me become more effective.

Unfiltered opinion, by contrast, often demands immediate attention without accepting any responsibility. This is common online, where a stranger in Perth, Melbourne or Brisbane can make a sweeping judgement based on a short clip or headline. The geographic distance may be small, but the personal distance is enormous. I do not know their context, and they do not know mine.

The Australian media market adds another layer. Television and radio audiences are broad, regional and culturally varied, while digital platforms encourage rapid reactions. A message that feels playful in one setting may sound dismissive in another. Public figures therefore need cultural awareness and accountability, but we also need boundaries. Listening carefully does not require allowing every comment into our private life.

Practices That Make Criticism Easier To Carry

• Wait until the initial emotional surge has settled before replying.
• Ask for a specific example when feedback is vague or sweeping.
• Keep useful observations and discard personal abuse.
• Discuss recurring concerns with someone whose judgement you trust.
• Correct a genuine mistake without turning it into a verdict on your character.
• Limit exposure to accounts, conversations or environments that reward cruelty.
• Record evidence of your capability so one harsh comment cannot erase it.

These practices are especially valuable for people returning to work, changing careers or stepping into leadership. Confidence can be fragile during transition, and criticism may feel like proof that we were foolish to try. It is not proof. It is one response to an act of visibility.

Choosing Which Voices Come With You

My mother’s most enduring lesson was that I did not have to give every voice equal weight. Some people earn influence through love, wisdom and honest care. Others speak loudly because they want control, attention or reassurance that they still matter. Volume is not the same as credibility.

That does not mean surrounding myself only with praise. Constant approval can be as unhelpful as constant attack. I want people around me who can challenge my thinking while respecting my humanity. The best criticism leaves me with a clearer next step. It does not leave me wondering whether I deserve to be in the room.

This principle sits at the heart of This Girl Is On Fire, a platform built around confidence, wellbeing and the possibility of change. Empowerment is not a permanent state of feeling fearless. It is the repeated decision to act with self-respect, especially when old criticism is still echoing in the background.

I also remind myself that criticism is part of being visible, but it is not the measure of a life. A woman can be criticised for speaking and criticised for staying silent. She can be judged for ambition and judged for stepping back. Since there is no version of public life that guarantees universal approval, the wiser aim is integrity.

There will still be days when criticism gets under my skin. I am human, and public work asks for a level of exposure that can be tiring. On those days, I return to my mother’s question: is this useful, truthful or merely loud? It creates a small pocket of freedom between the judgement and my response.

That pocket is where self-respect grows. It allows me to remain open without becoming porous, accountable without becoming ashamed, and confident without becoming closed off. My mother did not promise that people would always understand me. She gave me something more practical: the confidence to decide which voices deserve a place in my life.