Cringe Attacks Aren't Just Quirky-They're Often A Symptom of Something Deeper

I came across an article about “cringe attacks” in a popular publication recently. At first, I was intrigued—who hasn’t had one of those moments, when you’re folding laundry or trying to fall asleep, and a wave of embarrassment crashes in out of nowhere? But as I kept reading, I felt myself growing frustrated. The piece described these experiences in a lighthearted, almost whimsical way, offering tips to simply shrug them off.

But here’s the thing: people who can easily let things go and be kind to themselves aren’t usually the ones stuck in loops of self-criticism.

For many of us—and certainly many of my clients—these moments aren’t just embarrassing. They’re crippling. They don’t feel like a funny flashback. They feel like a full-body emotional storm. And often, they come with a crushing internal narrative that’s been rehearsed for years.

Cringe attacks aren’t quirky; they’re often a signal of something deeper. Maybe we grew up needing to be perfect to feel safe or lovable. Maybe we internalized harsh expectations that still govern our sense of worth. Maybe we’ve simply never been taught how to relate to ourselves with warmth and understanding.

So, what do we do when that old memory hits like a freight train?

Here are five ways to respond—not to make it go away, but to meet it with more honesty and care:

1. Name what you feel.

Instead of minimizing, dismissing, or trying to push the feeling away, see if you can gently name it. What is the feeling? Use words that land for you. For me, it’s often just embarrassment, or even the simple phrase: “I feel bad.”

That alone can slow the spiral and bring a little steadiness. Naming our experience helps us shift out of self-judgment and into self-connection.

2. See if you can offer the cringe some kindness—gently.

Rather than jumping in to fix or reframe the memory, pause and notice how much it hurts. This isn’t just about an awkward moment—it’s about feeling unworthy, exposed, or fundamentally flawed.

Can you feel some kindness toward the part of you that feels small, hurt, or embarrassed?

If that feels like too much, that’s okay. You might try directing that kindness toward a younger version of yourself—the kid who felt ashamed on the playground, or who didn’t know better and wanted so badly to belong.

And if even that feels out of reach, that’s okay too. Instead, imagine a child you love—your own, a niece or nephew, your friend’s child—someone who has probably felt this same kind of hurt. See if you can feel warmth or tenderness toward them in their moment of embarrassment. That feeling counts. That’s the doorway.

3. Offer a moment of comfort to the cringe.

If it feels okay, place a hand on your heart or another spot that feels tender. Feel the warmth and weight of your own touch. Let yourself be with what’s happening, without rushing to fix it.

You can say a mantra—gently, softly, to yourself, your younger self, or a hurting child you care about:

“Hello you. You are hurting. And it is hard. This is a moment of suffering. But in this moment of suffering, may you be safe, may you find peace, may you find comfort, may you know you will be ok.”

You don’t need to believe every word right away. You’re simply practicing the act of showing up for yourself with tenderness. That act alone can shift something deep inside.

4. Extend the feeling to others.

If it feels right, imagine the millions of other people who have felt something similar—who’ve cringed in the shower, winced in traffic, or stayed up late replaying an old mistake. You’re not alone in this. Not even close.

You can even say the mantra to them, just as you would to someone you care about:

“Hello you. You are hurting. And it is hard. This is a moment of suffering. But in this moment of suffering, may you be safe, may you find peace, may you find comfort, may you know you will be ok.”

Let your heart recognize the shared experience. That connection softens the pain and brings a sense of belonging right when we most need it.

5. Let it be witnessed.

Embarrassment thrives in silence. So try the brave act of sharing it. Tell someone you trust. Choose someone who won’t minimize it, but also won’t let you stay stuck in it.

A friend, a therapist, a partner who can meet your story with warmth and “me too” energy can shift the whole experience. We’re not meant to metabolize this stuff alone.

At the end of the day, cringe attacks connect us to the part of ourselves that longs to be good, worthy, and accepted. That longing is sacred. It deserves tenderness, not ridicule.

Let’s stop treating these moments like punchlines—and start treating them like portals. If this resonates, you’re not alone. This is the kind of work I support clients with every day. If you’d like to learn more about working with me or my team, reach out here.