The Reflex to Deflect

But I’ve been noticing something. We talk a lot about being kind…but we don’t always know how to receive kindness.

Why is it so hard to just accept a compliment?

If someone says something kind to me, my first instinct is usually to joke, or deflect— “Oh, I’m not always that nice.”

When someone offers to help, I often respond automatically with, “No, I’m fine.”

And I’ve been wondering… why?

Is it because I don’t want to put someone out? Because it feels like I’m taking something? Or maybe because accepting it feels like I now have to live up to it— as if a simple compliment becomes something I have to maintain.

There’s something in us that resists letting kindness land.

Why It Feels Uncomfortable

I think part of it is very human. We don’t want to be a burden. We’ve learned not to take up too much space. Kindness can feel like a spotlight, and that can feel vulnerable.

And sometimes, we’re not sure we believe it. So instead of receiving it, we soften it, redirect it, or brush it aside. Not because we don’t appreciate it—but because we don’t quite know what to do with it.

There’s something else too—not just in how we receive kindness…but in how we hold it back.

There’s a part of us that’s always aware of the room. A quiet checking:

Am I too much? Will this make things awkward?

Sometimes it’s not just that we notice other people’s discomfort, we feel it. So we adjust. We soften what we were about to say. We hold back the compliment. We tone down the enthusiasm.

Not because the kindness isn’t there…but because we’re trying to keep things balanced. And I think a lot of us learned that early. To be agreeable. Not too much. Not too emotional, too excited, too noticeable.

So even when nothing is wrong, there’s a quiet voice that says, “dial it back.”

What if kindness isn’t something we need to measure so carefully, in how we receive it… or how we offer it?

When I think about the times I’ve appreciated something about someone—their presence, their effort, something small they did, those are the things I actually want to say out loud.

Not perfectly. Not in a way that puts anyone on the spot. Just simply:

“I see that.”

“I appreciate you.”

More often than not, people aren’t uncomfortable with kindness. They’re just not used to letting it land, like me.

Interrupting the Flow

But here’s what I’ve started to realize. When we deflect kindness, we don’t just protect ourselves…we gently interrupt it. Not in a harsh way. Just enough that it doesn’t fully land. Because most of the time, people don’t offer kindness out of obligation. They offer it because they want to.

It’s an expression. A natural extension of who they are in that moment. Maybe even…their resting place.

Letting It Move

I’m picturing kindness more like a current. Something that flows.

Someone offers it…

I receive it…

and at some point, it continues on.

Not necessarily back to them. Just outward. And maybe receiving it is part of that movement. Maybe saying “thank you”—and letting that be enough—is how we keep it moving.

A Place to Return To

I’ve also been thinking about what I want my resting place to be. And I keep coming back to kindness. Not perfectly. Not all the time. But as a place I return to.

When I notice myself deflecting—maybe I pause and just say, “thank you.”

When someone offers help—maybe I don’t rush to say no.

Not because I have to accept everything, but because I can trust that the offer was real.

Coming Back

I know I won’t always respond from kindness. I’ll still feel frustration, impatience, all of it. But maybe that’s not the point.

Maybe the point is simply this:

to notice when I’ve moved away…and gently come back.