Self-flagellation, The Morning After, and Retrospective Cringing
I’ve never been a particularly social person. And I’ve never had much interest in the pursuit of social power
Courtesy commons.wikimedia.org
Argh, I must have looked like a fool last night.
I shouldn’t have said that. What was I thinking!?
If you’re like me, you tend to spend a lot of time thinking about a recent conversation or hypothetical situations whenever you’re anxious, trying to sleep, or trying to sort through something.
When I return from social gatherings, and as it so often happens, my brain goes into complete overdrive. I fret over what I didn’t say, should have said, shouldn’t have said — rate how well or poorly I was doing and reprimand myself over things that most likely went unnoticed by others. Still, these memories stay alive in my head, tormenting me.
And the fact that I don’t like chit-chat or chatter, small talk has the same troubling effect on me. It pushes me to the edges of a room. Distaste for small talk might cause some people to think I’m socially inept or snobby. They imagine me turning my nose up at something that goes to the core of our culture. And those who assume that I don’t like chit-chat because I don’t like people are erroneous. In reality, the opposite is true.
In truth, I cling to the hope that my path will collide with someone who is unapologetically authentic. I’m ever in search of people who crave depth over breadth. Small talk flees from depth and meaning. And any emotion besides happy or neutral is discouraged. Consequently, authenticity dies on the vine.
That is where my mind goes. That has always been my battlefield — balancing the need to be with others and the need to be alone. And when I notice the moments when I feel myself growing resentful, I try not to assign value to that. Just take note.
It’s as if time continues but is forever divided: There would be before and after a certain moment. With each passing second, the discomfort of the present robs the past of its luster. The tautness in my chest is my imposter syndrome. The intermittent inability to catch my breath is in a state of a perfectionist tendency.
I’ve never been a particularly social person. And I’ve never had much interest in the pursuit of social power.
On the contrary, I view it with disdain. I prefer quiet nights at home reading a book, writing, or watching a movie to attending social events.
Loud voices make me cringe, a visceral reaction to sounds that scrape at me like an eagle’s talons, that blurring of edges, the slight disassociation of self from everyone else in the room.
Even before an event, my mind runs a pre-mortem overanalyzing with a few tense unknowns: How will the conversations flow? Will I have something interesting to talk about? Will I say something awkward? All to be unpacked after the fact — mainly if things didn’t quite go as smoothly as I’d hoped.
Most likely, this self-evaluation is distorted — only in my head because no one has ever commented negatively about my conversations. I know that friends like and respect me and consider me a friend.
If I look hard enough, I can always find something to feel bad about. It’s as if I need to find something to hook to, even though my rational mind knows the anxiety or embarrassment,
Let’s be honest for a minute. Could you survive if you made a mistake? Would the world end if you said something dumb? It might hurt. It might feel uncomfortable. But you can handle having feelings. You can get good at feeling emotions.
So, with the thought, “What if I messed up?” Well, maybe I did. Perhaps I did say something stupid or hurtful. Did the world end?
These distortions, especially self-judgment, are all attempts to protect oneself and avoid feeling vulnerable. I contemplate and obsess in a vain attempt to control what I can’t control: other people’s opinions.
Besides, would you rather have a sterile relationship where you only always show your good side, keep everyone happy, and everything is perfect? You never truly feel accepted because you know the other person doesn’t know all sides of you, or would you rather have a genuine relationship based on real humans who mess up?
There is no perfect social interaction. Choose to be willing to feel. Be willing to be imperfect, honest, and vulnerable, to show up and say, “I will be social anyway. I’ll mess up, and that’s fine because it’s worth it to me to connect with people.”
Existing in a genuine state is better than putting on a perfect show. And when you do mess up, you can make repairs because that’s how sincere relationships work.
Even if your biggest worries became real — you did something dumb or someone else was judgemental — it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Right?
So, from the bottom of my heart, accept me for who I am. Forgive my shortcomings as I will yours.