It is better to be saved by criticism than to be seduced by praise
Until you rise from ego, your birthright to illumination will be captive to darkness. — gcwalker, May 2013
Depending on the who that offers the words of wisdom, our willingness to receive them changes. The line that frames this reflection is one my sister, Gemma, shared while we were driving and talking about people — their quirks, obsessions, and peculiarities:
“It’s better to be saved by criticism than to be seduced by praise.”
A quick Google search mirrored the sentiment:
“The trouble with most of us is that we would rather be ruined by praise than saved by criticisms.” — Norman Vincent Peale
I defer to Gemma’s phrasing for discussion — it’s how it reached me.
Family: The First Mirror
To appreciate the literary inflections here, it helps to know I come from a beautifully varied brood. Elder siblings ranging from their seventies to their sixties; a constellation of nephews, nieces, grands and great-grands — which makes me an honorary great-great-aunt at my youthful, AARP card–carrying age of 57. And yes, I claim my discounts — movies, meals, hotels, travel — with opportune delight.
We Walker siblings forged a deep, loyal bond — distinct personalities, one heartbeat. I love the pearls of wisdom our elders dispense; they are steady food for thought.
SisterFest: Road Notes & Soft Wisdom
On a recent sister weekend at #Wyndham Shawnee Village in Stroudsburg, PA, five East Coast sisters — Vicks, Magz, Gemz, Monics, and me (we missed Val on the West Coast) — picked up our #Travelocity rental, a 2013 full-size #Dodge Durango from #Avis at DCA, and drove north under a sunny sky.
I navigated with my iPhone and a playlist spanning Gospel staples — Yolanda Adams, Vicki Yohe, Bebe & Cece Winans, Marvin Sapp — with a little Whitney Houston, Josh Groban, and Sister Sledge (“We Are Family”) for good measure. (Let’s just say Rihanna, Chris Brown, and Lil Wayne were not invited for the seasoned and distinguished ladies’ ride.)
We paused at Applebee’s in Harrisburg where a mischievous waiter correctly guessed the Gold Margarita for my connoisseur palate — delicious. By day’s end, we tucked into a rustic two-bedroom townhouse with a step-down living room and fireplace glow.
The sisters considered Saturday Mass en route; as head driver with two hours left before check-in, I pleaded for mercy. The elders graciously agreed — and on Sunday, EWTN Mass kept everyone’s spirit anchored before brunch and reminiscing.
“They Laughed a Little Louder…”
At a ten-seater blond oak table, we brewed coffee, grazed leftover spinach dip and chips, and unwrapped turkey and ham sandwiches prepared by Vicks. We churched and fellowshiped right there at the table. Later, Maggie sent a note, and a stanza stayed with me:
Sisters
they laughed a little louder,
they cried a little softer,
they lived a little stronger,
because they stood together.
Andrew & Rose: Our First Teachers
We reminisced about our parents, Andrew and Rose Walker — both deceased, always present. I was nine when Daddy died. Mammy passed December 10, 2001. Much of Daddy’s life was recalled with humor; he served as Chief of Police in Mayaro, Trinidad & Tobago. Maggie spoke of our upbringing — the moral core. She called Mammy’s parenting “helicoptering” — untiring, unshakeable — wings sharp, energy buzzing from dawn until the day’s last quiet.
Why We Are This Close
When Maggie first migrated to the U.S. over 45 years ago, her labor and sacrifice became the bridge for all of us — siblings, our late brothers Michael and Brian, our mother, nephews, nieces, and their families. Through illnesses, losses, separations — without her hospitality there would be no us. We understand deeply that family is not performance. It’s presence.
The Sword and the Salve
In one season of my life — stormy, when I took life for granted and ignored discretion — my elder brother’s counsel became both sword and salvation. Experience teaches that many become so ego-centered that even loving advice is rejected as arrogant criticism. Love has been a bitter pill and the sweetest medicine: forgiveness and gratitude.
With the deaths of Brian (51, in 1998), our mother (2001), and Michael (2003), we have known grief intimately. Perhaps that is why our celebrations are so wholehearted — holidays, birthdays, baptisms, first communions, recitals. Compliments are genuine and unsparing; criticism, when it lands, can sting — and still, it saves.
Derek can be excruciatingly analytical — and always the first to lend expertise. My most relentless critic and master instructor is my son, Daryean. His voice reminds me: truth, spoken with love, is rescue.
Applause or Care?
A sister asked me recently: Is your communication for applause — or from a place of caring and empowerment? I want my words to come from the heart and to give authenticity to the things that matter.
Saved by Criticism
We all enjoy praise; ego laps it up. But love — the kind that builds people and families — thrives in accountability. The counsel that challenges us may sting, but it prevents the quiet ruin that praise can hide. If I am saved by anything, let it be by truth told in love, by family who sees me clearly, by the grace to rise above ego.
By now you can guess: the applause and praise belong to family.
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