Seneca tells a story about a Roman senator named Fidus Cornelius. Over his career he had been accused of all sorts of things, some of them serious enough to damage his reputation, and he kept his composure through every one. Then one day in the Senate, a man named Corbulo called him a "plucked ostrich," and he burst into tears.
I think most of us know some version of that. We can take real criticism on the chin and then lose an afternoon to a throwaway remark about our haircut, or a reply that ends with a period instead of an exclamation point.
The Stoics spent a surprising amount of time on this problem. Not the big disasters, but the small, personal sting of being slighted, mocked or misjudged. They distinguished the first, involuntary sting from the judgments that can turn it into lasting anger (Seneca works through this in On Anger, Book 2). Their advice was to examine those judgments rather than automatically follow them.
Here are eight lessons from them on not taking things personally, with a small way to try each one.
1. Separate what's true from how it was said
In On the Firmness of the Wise Person, Seneca suggests a two-part question to put to any insult: "Do these things befall me deservedly or undeservedly? If deservedly, it is not an insult, but a judicial sentence; if undeservedly, then he who does injustice ought to blush, not I" (ch. 16, Aubrey Stewart's translation).
It's a clever trap, in a good way. If the criticism is fair, there's something to learn, even if the delivery was clumsy. If it isn't fair, the embarrassment belongs to the person who got it wrong. Either way, there's less reason to take it as an attack on who you are.
A criticism can contain something true and still be expressed unfairly. You can acknowledge the useful part while objecting to the way you were treated.
When a comment stings, try sorting it before reacting. Is there anything accurate in it? If so, take that part. If not, you can let it sit with the person who said it.
2. Notice which words get under your skin
The plucked ostrich story comes from the same essay (ch. 17), and Seneca uses it to make a sharp point. The things that wound us most are often not the serious charges but the ones that touch something we're already self-conscious about: our looks, our age, how we talk, what we earn.
He also noticed how much an audience changes things. "We laugh when tête-à-tête at the same thing at which we are indignant when it is said before a crowd," he writes (ch. 16). The same joke from a friend over dinner lands very differently in a meeting.
His remedy is disarmingly simple: "no one is laughed at who begins by laughing at himself" (ch. 17). That isn't about putting yourself down. It's about being at ease with the obvious, so other people have less to work with.
Humor is an option, not an obligation. You don't have to join in a joke that humiliates you.
If a particular kind of comment always gets to you, it's worth asking what it's pressing on. Often the sting tells you more about your own sore spot than about the other person's intentions.
3. People act on their own idea of what's good
Marcus Aurelius gave himself this instruction: "When a man has done thee any wrong, immediately consider with what opinion about good or evil he has done wrong. For when thou hast seen this, thou wilt pity him, and wilt neither wonder nor be angry" (Meditations 7.26, George Long's translation).
Epictetus's teacher, Musonius Rufus, made a similar point, saying that "the majority of wrongs are done to men through ignorance and misunderstanding" (Lecture 10, Cora Lutz's translation).
A colleague who takes credit for your work may be seeking recognition. A relative who criticizes your choices may believe they're protecting you. These are possibilities, not explanations you can know without further evidence.
Next time, try asking yourself: "What might explain this besides a judgment about my worth?" The answer won't excuse anything, but it can take the personal edge off.
4. Let their conduct stay theirs
One of the shortest entries in the Meditations is also one of the most useful: "Does another do me wrong? Let him look to it. He has his own disposition, his own activity" (5.25).
"Let him look to it" is a lovely phrase. It hands the problem back to its owner. Someone else's rudeness, impatience or unkindness is something they will have to live with. You don't need to carry it home for them.
A small way to practice: when you catch yourself replaying what someone did, say it plainly to yourself. That was their choice. My part is what I do next.
5. Consider the source
According to Diogenes Laertius, Socrates was often jostled, mocked and even beaten by people who didn't enjoy his arguments in public. When someone was surprised that he put up with being kicked, Socrates replied: "Suppose an ass had kicked me, would you have had me bring an action against him?" (Lives of Eminent Philosophers 2.21, C. D. Yonge's translation).
The Stoics admired Socrates enormously, and Seneca offers a gentler version of the same idea. A doctor, he says, doesn't take to heart "the curses of a fever-stricken" patient (On the Firmness of the Wise Person, ch. 13). The words are aimed at the doctor, but they come from the fever.
Most of us wouldn't compare anyone to a donkey these days. But the question underneath is fair. Is this coming from someone whose judgment I trust? Or from someone who is stressed, unwell, or simply in the habit of being unkind? Feedback deserves weight in proportion to where it comes from.
6. Not every slight needs a ruling
Seneca tells a story about Cato, the Roman statesman he admired above almost anyone. A stranger struck Cato in the public baths without knowing who he was. When the man later came to apologize, Cato simply said, "I do not remember being struck" (On Anger 2.32).
In another telling, Seneca adds that Cato "did not flare up and revenge the outrage, he did not even pardon it, but ignored it" (On the Firmness of the Wise Person, ch. 14). He didn't hold a hearing in his own head about whether the man deserved forgiveness. He declined to treat the insult as a reason for retaliation.
Seneca presents this as an example of composure. It needn't become a rule that physical aggression should be ignored.
So much of taking things personally is the urge to deliver a verdict. Was that a dig? Should I say something? Do I forgive them? Sometimes the most freeing answer is that it doesn't need a ruling at all.
7. A light touch can take the heat out
Two more stories from Seneca's On Anger (3.38). The Stoic philosopher Diogenes of Babylon was lecturing on anger, of all things, when a young man spat in his face. His reply: "I am not angry, but I am not sure that I ought not to be angry."
Diogenes separates how he says he feels from the question of how he ought to respond. One modern lesson is to leave room for reflection before choosing a response.
Seneca thought Cato handled a similar insult even better. Cato was pleading a case when an opponent named Lentulus spat on his forehead. Cato wiped his face and said, "Lentulus, I shall declare to all the world that men are mistaken when they say that you are wanting in cheek." The joke works on two levels. Lentulus clearly had plenty of nerve.
Humor won't suit every situation, and it shouldn't be used to brush off something serious. But for the everyday jab, a calm, slightly amused response often ends it faster than a counterattack.
8. Don't become the thing that bothered you
Marcus put it in one line: "The best way of avenging thyself is not to become like the wrong doer" (6.6).
Musonius went further. To "bite back the biter and to return evil for evil," he said, is how an animal behaves. The better path is "to accept injury not in a spirit of savage resentment and to show ourselves not implacable toward those who wrong us, but rather to be a source of good hope to them" (Lecture 10).
When someone is short with us, the natural response is to be short back. Snide comments invite snide replies. But each time we match someone's worst behavior, we let them set our standard for the day. Holding your own line is a quieter kind of answer, and often the one that lasts.
Not taking it personally isn't the same as letting it slide
It would be easy to read all this as advice to absorb anything. The Stoics didn't mean that. Seneca says the wise person still corrects people who behave badly, "not because he has received an injury, but because they have done one and in order that they may do so no more" (On the Firmness of the Wise Person, ch. 12). Marcus, too, notes that "it is possible for thee to correct by teaching the man who is gone astray" (9.42).
That's the useful distinction. You can address unfair treatment without your sense of self being on the line. A clear boundary can help: "Please don't speak to me like that." You don't have to stop feeling hurt before asking for different treatment. And if mistreatment is repeated or serious, firmer boundaries, outside support or some distance may be the right response.
It's also worth remembering that not taking things personally is something we can practice ourselves. It isn't something to demand of people who have good reason to feel hurt.
One place to start
Pick one lesson for the week. If you tend to stew, try Seneca's question: deserved or undeserved? If you tend to snap back, try Marcus's line and let their conduct stay theirs.
The sting will still come sometimes. The practice is to pause, examine what happened, and choose a response you can stand behind.
If you want to go further, our pieces on Stoic lessons for letting things go and what people who are hard to offend understand about human nature cover some of the related ideas from Epictetus, Seneca and others.
