The Cost Of Compensation
A gift. An exchange. Something you give because you can’t—at least in that moment—give what you wish you could.
In physical therapy, “compensating” means using the wrong muscles or movement patterns to get through the moment. Your body works around pain, weakness, or injury by recruiting whatever it can. It’s smart… in the short term. But long term, compensation creates dysfunction: overuse, strain, new injuries, patterns you then have to unlearn.
In psychology, we use the same word. To “compensate in your personality” means protecting yourself—often unconsciously—from feelings of inadequacy, insecurity, or not-enoughness. Maybe you overachieve. Maybe you get loud to hide shyness. Maybe you become the funny one because being the “fat, not-cool kid” hurt too much. Compensation can motivate growth, but overcompensation can spiral into stress, perfectionism, and a life lived from fear instead of truth.
In physical therapy, “compensating” means using the wrong muscles or movement patterns to get through the moment. Your body works around pain, weakness, or injury by recruiting whatever it can. It’s smart… in the short term. But long term, compensation creates dysfunction: overuse, strain, new injuries, patterns you then have to unlearn.
In psychology, we use the same word. To “compensate in your personality” means protecting yourself—often unconsciously—from feelings of inadequacy, insecurity, or not-enoughness. Maybe you overachieve. Maybe you get loud to hide shyness. Maybe you become the funny one because being the “fat, not-cool kid” hurt too much. Compensation can motivate growth, but overcompensation can spiral into stress, perfectionism, and a life lived from fear instead of truth.
And then of course, there’s compensation as in payment—value exchanged for value. Neutral. Functional. No emotional charge.
Why the same word for all of this? Why does “compensate” keep following me around lately?
Why the same word for all of this? Why does “compensate” keep following me around lately?
When the Word Started Chasing Me
In my own PT journey, Anastasia says it constantly. Compensate.
“You’re using your hip instead of your core.”
“You’re grabbing with your neck because your back isn’t firing.”
"You’re doing what’s easier, but not what’s right.”
So now I’m unlearning years of physical compensation—and noticing how similar it feels to unlearning emotional ones.
Because I don’t only compensate in my body.
I compensate in my personality, too.
I overextend to feel loved.
I work too hard to feel worthy.
I crack jokes to feel accepted.
And recently, the word has hit me harder than usual.
Growing Up Out of Town
I’m an out-of-towner. Not “Queens is out of town.” Not “Manhattan is basically the wilderness.” No. Actual out of town. Six girls in my class. No cliques, no extras—we had to get along. We didn’t get the luxury of choosing friends. (Is that even a luxury? Shouldn’t everyone be friends anyway? But you get my point.)
So when I moved in-town, making friends felt natural to me… but not to everyone else.
I stepped into these tight, lifelong circles of girls who grew up together—schools, camps, Shabbos meals, family friendships that practically started in the womb—and I couldn’t find the door in.
I felt other.
Invisible.
Left out.
My high school and seminary friends were amazing and warm, but the in-between spaces? Brutal.
I still remember my first day at a new school. Not a single person spoke to me—except Dina, who walked over, smiled, asked my name, and just like that, became my best friend. Everyone else? Silence. I sat among coworkers who chatted, planned outings, and treated me like I didn’t exist. And because I’m highly sensitive, it hit me harder than maybe it would hit someone else. But still—why? What about me was so strange or off that they couldn’t look up and say hello?
And the wild part is: it still happens.
Just recently, I walked up to a building where two groups of women were waiting outside. The door was locked. I asked, “Is it closed?” and they barely glanced up. The familiar sinking hit my chest. These are nice people. Wonderful people. So why, in certain moments, does it feel like kindness disappears?
Could I judge favorably? Sure. If I were in the middle of a great conversation, maybe I’d do the same. Maybe I already have.
Cultural norms are exactly that—cultural. Normal to you. Not normal to me.
A Few Scenarios
Scenario 1:
If I’m standing with two people who don’t know each other, I always introduce them. I’ve been teased for introducing the same people ten times. But I’d choose that over the gut-wrenching feeling of standing silent next to strangers, unsure of names, stuck on the outside of a conversation.
Scenario 2:
If you're from New York and your mother has been best friends with your best friend's mother since the day they both got married—of course you will be surrounded by lifelong friendships. Daycare, camp, school… you’ve been together since birth. It makes sense that talking to the “new girl” doesn’t feel natural. It’s not snobby; it’s practical. You don't need new friends. You have your ten originals.
My mother, funny enough, is from New York too. When she moved to Scranton in her twenties, people she didn’t know would say “Good morning,” and she was almost offended. She had never been exposed to that level of friendliness.
My Conclusion (Which Is Just My Opinion)
If you can’t look up and say hi to a new person, you’re not mean. You’re not snobby. You’re not bad.
You’re simply lacking a basic social skill—one you were probably never taught or modeled—because your world didn’t require it.
And yes, your behavior might hurt someone like me. I might internalize it. My nervous system might light up with old stories. But my logical brain can also say:
This isn’t about me.
This is a gap in your skills, not a flaw in my worth.
Maybe that’s the overlap between all the meanings of “compensation.”
When something is missing—not activated, not strengthened, not developed—we find a way around it.
We use what we know.
We do what feels easiest.
We compensate.
Until we learn something better.
If you can’t look up and say hi to a new person, you’re not mean. You’re not snobby. You’re not bad.
You’re simply lacking a basic social skill—one you were probably never taught or modeled—because your world didn’t require it.
And yes, your behavior might hurt someone like me. I might internalize it. My nervous system might light up with old stories. But my logical brain can also say:
This isn’t about me.
This is a gap in your skills, not a flaw in my worth.
Maybe that’s the overlap between all the meanings of “compensation.”
When something is missing—not activated, not strengthened, not developed—we find a way around it.
We use what we know.
We do what feels easiest.
We compensate.
Until we learn something better.
So now I’m asking you—how do you compensate?
-Gila Glassberg, MS, RDN, CDN, Certified Intuitive Eating Counselor
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