I watched the new Caroline Flack documentary recently, and ironically, as I write this blog, it is also World Kindness Day. One of the messages she left behind , one that continues to echo for many people, is the reminder: “In a world where you can be anything… be kind.”

As a human being and a person-centred counsellor, kindness and empathy are central to the way I try to move through the world. I offer these values to others, and  myself too. Yet we live in a world where kindness isn’t always freely given, whether in person or online. We rarely know what is happening for someone else. On the surface they may beam with a beautiful smile, yet beneath it something entirely different may be unfolding.

Some of us now live our lives through the lens of a camera, especially when our work depends on visibility. That visibility brings connection, creativity, and opportunity, but also vulnerability. It leaves people open to judgement, assumptions, and sometimes even threats. It can feel claustrophobic. And as easy as it is to be pulled into sharing an opinion, it’s equally easy to slip into doom scrolling, absorbing what people appear to think about “you.” But are they seeing you at all? Or just a single, curated sliver?

This is the opposite of what happens in the counselling room. There, you are welcomed exactly as you are. No judgement. No expectations. No conditions. Within the person-centred approach, unconditional positive regard, empathy, and congruence shape the relationship. For an hour, clients can be themselves: honest, vulnerable, free from the pressure to perform. They are met with understanding, not assumptions.

As opinions travel faster than compassion, days like World Kindness Day ask us to pause and truly see another person.

Behind the Screen

We’ve all scrolled through social media and thought:
“They look so happy… I wish my life was like that,” or
“Their job must be amazing; everything seems so easy.”

I’ve had those thoughts too.

But I often wonder what life feels like once the camera is off. What remains when the door closes, the makeup is removed, and the smiling public persona fades? Because mental health exists there too,behind the filters, behind the edited clips, behind the headlines.

Public figures carry the weight of being watched and commented on by strangers. The pressure to perform or appear “OK” must be exhausting. Scrutiny from trolls, fans, and media stories built from fragments creates a world where privacy can feel shaky, and safety uncertain. A curated smile doesn’t protect against loneliness, anxiety, or vulnerability. Those parts rarely make it into the final cut.

Fragmented Stories: What We Don’t See

Social media gives us connection, but it also gives people permission to judge quickly and loudly. Recently, I’ve noticed how easily we slip into becoming online detectives or critics, even when we know almost nothing about the person behind the post.

I often use the analogy that our story is like a jigsaw puzzle: it takes many pieces to show the full picture. And when pieces are missing, the image can’t be fully understood.

Online, we see only the pieces people choose to show often not the most important ones. The media may see only 10 pieces of a 100-piece puzzle, yet from those few fragments, entire narratives are created. The gaps get filled with assumptions or speculation, sometimes even fiction. This creates conflict, misunderstanding, and unnecessary hurt.

And I often wonder whether the people crafting these narratives truly pause to consider their human impact.

Parallels with the Counselling Room

Here, the contrast to counselling becomes even clearer. In therapy, instead of judging based on fragments, we explore the full picture gently, at the client’s pace.

Person-centred counselling offers:

• Unconditional Positive Regard: acceptance without performance

• Empathy: entering someone’s inner world without presumption

• Congruence: a genuine, honest presence

Clients don’t have to curate a version of themselves that makes sense to others. They can show the hidden pieces of their puzzle, even the ones they’ve avoided. The messy pieces. The painful ones. The uncertain ones.

In a world that judges instantly, the counselling room becomes a rare space where someone is truly seen.

What Does Kindness Mean to You?

I often return to this question: What does kindness mean to you?

To me, kindness is not a hashtag or a performance. It isn’t dependent on whether someone “deserves” it. It’s a way of living  a practice.

Kindness means offering gentleness even when it isn’t returned. It means remembering that I have no idea what someone else is carrying beneath the surface. And if I can offer compassion, I hope it might make even a small difference to their day.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve realised kindness looks like:

• thinking before I speak

• listening without judgement

• understanding that we are all different

• accepting that I will not always get it right

But I try — and I try unconditionally.

A Final Reflection

Writing this has been harder than I expected. There is much more I could say, but I want to speak with care, knowing this topic touches real lives and real pain.

We cannot know every story behind every smile, post, or headline.

But we can choose how we meet those stories, with empathy, patience, and kindness.

And perhaps this is where the counselling room serves as a guide. The way we hold space for clients, gently, without assumptions, without needing the full picture before we offer acceptance, is something we can carry into the world around us.

In a world where you can be anything, let us be kind 
to ourselves, and to others, especially when we cannot see their whole story.

Take care, Nicole