The friend test

The method this book recommends is contained in its title. When you've got something wrong and the commentary starts, you ask one question. What would I say to a friend who'd done exactly this?

It isn't my invention. The NHS gives the same advice on its page about raising low self-esteem. Be kind to yourself, it says, which means being gentle with yourself at times when you feel like being self-critical, and it suggests thinking what you'd say to a friend in a similar situation.

The test works for a particular reason. It doesn't ask you to learn a new skill. You already know how to respond well to someone's mistake. You did it for Anna without any effort. You were warm, you were honest, you put the thing in proportion, and you turned straight to what could be done. You've had years of practice at this, with friends, colleagues and children. It's a highly developed ability that you happen never to use on yourself, and the friend test asks you to use it there.

It's also a way of separating correction from attack, because a good friend supplies the first and leaves out the second. Think about what you'd say to a friend who'd found a late form in her bag. You wouldn't pretend the form wasn't late. You'd say something like, "Oh, that's annoying. Ring the office, they deal with this all the time. It's one form. You've had a lot on." Then, if she wanted, you might help her think about how to stop it happening again. That response has everything in it that's useful. It acknowledges what happened, keeps it in proportion, gives her a next step, and adds a reminder that she's a normal person having a normal week. It leaves out only the insult.

Here's the test in steps, which you can adapt.

First, notice the remark. This is the hardest part at the beginning, because the commentary is so familiar that you hardly hear it. The tally in chapter 1 is practice for this. You're listening for the tone as much as the words. It sounds contemptuous and exasperated, as if an impatient adult were addressing a child.

Second, name it. Say silently, "That's the commentary." It's a small thing, but it makes a difference. It turns "I'm an idiot" from a fact you're observing into a remark that's been made, and a remark can be questioned.

Third, ask the question. If a friend had done this, what would I say to her? Be specific. Picture a particular friend, in the particular situation, and hear what you'd say. If it helps, imagine what Anna would say to you.

Fourth, say that to yourself. Use those words. It will feel false the first few dozen times, as though you were reading someone else's lines. It's unfamiliar, but it isn't false. The words are the ones you'd use to a friend and mean sincerely.

There's a refinement that has good evidence behind it. Ethan Kross and colleagues at the University of Michigan ran seven studies, with 585 participants in all, on the language people use when they talk to themselves under stress. Some participants were asked to reflect on their feelings in the first person, using "I" and "my". Others were asked to use their own name and "you", as in "Why is Sarah nervous about this? You've done it before." Then they were put through something stressful, such as making a first impression on a stranger or giving a speech with little preparation. Those who'd used their own name performed better according to independent judges, felt less distress, and brooded less about it afterwards. They also saw the coming stress more as a challenge and less as a threat. It worked for socially anxious people as well as for others.

The researchers' explanation is that using your own name creates a little distance. It lets you stand where a friend would stand. For most of us, advising other people is much easier than advising ourselves, because other people's problems come without the panic. Addressing yourself by name borrows that position. So when you run the friend test, try it in the second person and with your own name. If your name were Sarah, it would be "Sarah, it's one form. Ring the office." Oddly enough, the commentary has been using "you" all along, as in "you idiot" and "what's wrong with you". The second person is already in use, and you only need to change what it says.

Here's how it goes with the other two remarks from that Wednesday. In the meeting, the commentary said, "Stupid. They all saw that. They're wondering how you got this job." If a friend told you she'd given one wrong figure in a presentation and a colleague had corrected it, you'd say, "That happens in every presentation anyone's ever given. She corrected it, you said thanks, it took five seconds. If you want, check the slides against the final numbers next time." The correction is in the last sentence, and the rest puts the slip in proportion.

At the mirror, the friend test gives a different kind of answer, because nothing had gone wrong and there's nothing to correct. If a friend said about her own face what you said about yours, you wouldn't offer advice. You'd say, "Don't talk about my friend like that." Some remarks are attack with no correction in them at all, and the only reply they need is that you won't speak to a person that way.

On paper the method is stronger still. If something is really bothering you, write down what happened and then write a few lines to yourself as you'd write to a friend. It's the exercise Leary and Zhang and Chen used in their experiments, and it took their participants only a few minutes.