The Self
“For not all frankness is created equal. "Brutal honesty" is honesty that either aims to hurt someone or doesn't care if it does. ("No one wants to be friends with you," "You smell bad," "You've always been less attractive than your sister," "I never loved you.") While the two words often arrive sutured together, I think it worthwhile to breathe some space between them, so that one might see "brutal honesty" not as a more forceful version of honesty itself, but as one possible use of honesty. One that doesn't necessarily lay truth barer by dint of force, but that actually overlays something on top of it— something that can get in its way. That something is cruelty.” - Like Love, Maggie Nelson
I’m curious if I’m at the lowest emotional valley I’ve ever experienced. The months of this year have been tribulations like no other. Therapy, self-reflection, reading, and new experiences romantically and platonically. I find myself questioning my place within existence writ large. What is the purpose or meaning of being part of a community? Especially when people are inevitably convoluted, messy, and imperfect.
What are my internal reflections? And what are the realities that exist? Insofar as unchangeable and impenetrable realities even can exist. Not something I’m sure I believe, because we are all so capable of constructing our meaning and world to our liking, regardless of the outside. Where does my perception of my value, purpose, and existence fall in between those two worlds? My best guess is that I’m overly critical of myself these days. But not without evidence or merit of my shortcomings. How do I dig myself out of that poor self-perception while acknowledging the hurt that exists because of me and around me?
The quote above is from “Like Love” by Maggie Nelson. I initially read it and felt so seen regarding my own experiences with “brutal honesty”. People can couch a lot of disdain and hurt of their own in the idea that they’re being brutally honest. But I realize I have used it too. I don’t like myself for it. I am struggling to forgive myself more than ever. It’s possible that deep down I don’t believe I’m owed any forgiveness.
I used to believe there were inherent harsh realities of living. I’m not sure that paradigm exists in any form now. If it does, it feels self-imposed and wholly unforgiving of the messiness that humans contain, endure, enact, and internalize. How can I better look people in the eyes and meet them with honest compassion towards commonality? Why do I struggle so much with pure honesty? Do I really believe people are incapable of hearing truths if vocalized compassionately, or am I protecting myself from having to confront myself? Do I even know how to provide pure honesty? I lived a life of protecting myself from immense rage until I was well into my late twenties. From people who were ostensibly my caregivers. I want to deconstruct how that built me into who I am.
I believed there was a time in my life when I spoke honestly. Upon reflection, I think I only spoke honestly for myself without regard for the larger contexts. I spent my childhood hurt and neglected. I don’t think I could entertain that I was a piece of something larger and complicated, rather than being above it or outside of it, without exposing that I was deeply hurt myself. I thought I had control. Today, I am certain I don’t. But in my past, I did not either. My hurt has control of me, and still does. I told myself that being touched did not matter. I told myself that nothing could hurt me because of my experiences growing up. I was a shell. I had built a shield. How can I look inwards and grow if I don’t know how to perceive myself with care and compassion? Neglect was ingrained in my bones. It is normalized and expected.
I have an immense cruelty towards myself that is masqueraded as toughness. I was on tour the first time I heard the lyrics “Everyone says to me, Missy, you’re so strong. Well, what if I don’t want to be?” and I held back tears. I no longer believe that shield I built was invisible. I would guess it’s clear from the outside looking in that I’m a mess.