I feel like I do, more often than I care to admit. Let's discuss.
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This post might be more accurately subtitled, a follow up to Words of Appreciation, because it has very much everything to do with Words. As I mentioned there, words are extremely important to me. I prefer to communicate by written word, because it allows me time to select the best possible words to use for a given situation; and it also allows me time to determine context and meaning of other peoples' words with less of a hurry than feels necessary out loud.
Sometimes (perhaps even oftentimes) when interpreting other peoples' words, though, I automatically assume the most negative possible interpretation -- especially if the words might have something to do with me, or what I have done (or not done) or said (or not said) myself. Even though there is a much more likely, benign explanation, I get stuck on a possible nefarious or passive-aggressive meaning until I have evidence to the contrary. And my feelings are hurt. Is that the intention of the other person? Most likely no. It is I, who have hurt my own feelings with my negative assumptions.
For example: a person asks me to repeat information about something that is important to me? My first reaction is to feel as though it must not be sufficiently important to that person, to remember the thing that is important to me. And the flip side - forget to inform me of something? I must just not be important enough to tell.
See? Resoundingly negative assumptions, when in all likelihood in both scenarios, the person probably forgot because their own important things are occupying their mental space, not because they don't care about me. It's not always about me. In fact, it's rarely about me. I would do well to remember that.
Need a few more examples? Ask me, why did you do [something] like that? I assume the question is implying a built-in answer of because it is stupid and only an idiot would do it like that, even though it is far more likely that the person is trying to learn if there were special reasons to be aware of. Chuckle when there is tension during a discussion? I assume the person is laughing at me, rather than because they are uncomfortable and expressing their discomfort through laughter.
Need a few more examples? Ask me, why did you do [something] like that? I assume the question is implying a built-in answer of because it is stupid and only an idiot would do it like that, even though it is far more likely that the person is trying to learn if there were special reasons to be aware of. Chuckle when there is tension during a discussion? I assume the person is laughing at me, rather than because they are uncomfortable and expressing their discomfort through laughter.
Hardest of all are silences. It has taken me years and years to try to embrace the idea that just because someone doesn't respond when I text, email, or say something out loud to them, the silence doesn't mean that they don't care, or that I am annoying or a burden.
I'm not always successful at convincing myself that I am OK in the face of silence. I still worry.
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A million years ago when I was in grade school, I was playing alongside some other students at recess on the upper playground, which was surrounded by a chain link fence except for one small space that served as a passageway between the playground and the neighborhood street just beyond. A playground ball bounced through the passageway, and I pursued it. It bounced into the street, and just as I got to the sidewalk I remembered the admonition that had been drilled into our heads: don't run into the street to chase a ball. I pulled up short on the sidewalk, stopping abruptly. I didn't go into the street, but it had been a close call inside my head.
Later that afternoon, the teacher was speaking to our class, and commented that she liked what I had done at recess. She asked the class what I had done, and then paused to look at me. My brain raced. Was she about to chastise me for only stopping at the last second before in the street? Berate me for my stupidity, my failure to remember sooner? I waited, afraid to answer. She looked at me and said, you didn't go in the street. She was genuine. I had done something right. It wasn't a sarcastic question -- it was actually praise. I was confused and bewildered, having expected a mean comment, or sarcasm, or worse.
When I recall this incident, I wonder why I had expected worse, why kind words seemed surprising. Perhaps my grade school teachers were oftentimes backhandedly critical, or skimpy with praise, or bitter. I don't think so, but then again, don't remember enough of those years to figure out why. All I know is, this recollection demonstrates my default assumption of bad has been in existence for over forty years.
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A million years ago when I was in grade school, I was playing alongside some other students at recess on the upper playground, which was surrounded by a chain link fence except for one small space that served as a passageway between the playground and the neighborhood street just beyond. A playground ball bounced through the passageway, and I pursued it. It bounced into the street, and just as I got to the sidewalk I remembered the admonition that had been drilled into our heads: don't run into the street to chase a ball. I pulled up short on the sidewalk, stopping abruptly. I didn't go into the street, but it had been a close call inside my head.
Later that afternoon, the teacher was speaking to our class, and commented that she liked what I had done at recess. She asked the class what I had done, and then paused to look at me. My brain raced. Was she about to chastise me for only stopping at the last second before in the street? Berate me for my stupidity, my failure to remember sooner? I waited, afraid to answer. She looked at me and said, you didn't go in the street. She was genuine. I had done something right. It wasn't a sarcastic question -- it was actually praise. I was confused and bewildered, having expected a mean comment, or sarcasm, or worse.
When I recall this incident, I wonder why I had expected worse, why kind words seemed surprising. Perhaps my grade school teachers were oftentimes backhandedly critical, or skimpy with praise, or bitter. I don't think so, but then again, don't remember enough of those years to figure out why. All I know is, this recollection demonstrates my default assumption of bad has been in existence for over forty years.
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Sometimes I think: perhaps assumption of the worst is a safety mechanism -- after all, it is safer to hurt your own feelings by assuming the worst, than to be caught off guard and hurt by someone else. Honestly, though: it's no way to live. Perhaps a better way to move forward will be to try to assume a benign intent, until proven otherwise.
Sometimes I think: perhaps assumption of the worst is a safety mechanism -- after all, it is safer to hurt your own feelings by assuming the worst, than to be caught off guard and hurt by someone else. Honestly, though: it's no way to live. Perhaps a better way to move forward will be to try to assume a benign intent, until proven otherwise.
Yet that seems unduly dangerous.
Another idea: perhaps I can categorize people, and base assumptions accordingly. My Important People have generally proven trustworthy over time -- so I shall assume good intent behind their words. Strangers -- well, I'll just have to listen carefully and try to remain neutral, while also not being afraid to assume malignant intent if it appears there is an issue.
One person at a time, I can learn the meanings behind Words.
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