lenora_rose | On Pride

Thanks to all of you who seem to be giving me assurances I should be proud, in that last post. And I mean that sincerely.

But I didn't post that last to say, "Lookie what I did." I'm glad I did it. And I was extremely grateful on the day and on the spot to get the little validations, especially Colin's. But what made me feel it was important enough to post wasn't personal pride in it. IT was a layered thing; my concern with the frequent "Guilty until proven innocent" attitude I've seen in accusations of sexual misconduct -- and the converse, the blaming of the complainant, in this case, or the victim, in others. (And not just actual sexual abuse. People complaining of sexual harrassment are frequently told they're just too uptight, or can't take a joke.) The frightening similarity between the justified anger of seeing a friend hurt and the viciousness of a mob. And yes, the fact that I would like others to read this and consider their positions and thoughts and assumptions on these things, and their own willingness to speak the next time they disagree. And with the religious values underneath; peace, compassion, forgiveness, favouring healing over punishment.

I wrote it because I had a story to tell I thought was important. The reasons why it was important come from the other side, from whoever reads it. You decide if it mattered, and why it mattered. Once you do that, it ceases to be about me. My choice is made and gone; yours is pending. And that's when it really counts.

Some of the uncertain streak at the end, where I say I'm still expecting something to come up and bite me... I thought, for some reason, that my fear, during and after the moment, was important to convey, so that people get that it wasn't easy. Not to be assured I was right. But for the opposite reason. To show the act itself wasn't driven by pride in myself, but by a need stronger than the fear.

The fear wasn't a bad thing. We all have it, somewhere, some little nagging terror that we're not good enough. If we don't, we're probably not guarding our actions and our lives, second-guessing ourselves. Editing. Trying to throw a better pot. Trying to catch ourselves when we start pointing fingers when there's something more important than who to blame.

I'm wary of being told to be proud of myself. Proud of others, yes, proud of a group effort of which I was a part, yes. But the word pride, applied to the self?

These days, people are likely to be told to be proud of who they are in a hundred ways. Validated and assured they're good. And that's not always bad. We all have a moment we need assurance, or a person we need assurance from. We all have moments when we go looking for those things, if we don't have them - or even if we do. I'd rather have people who are confident than crumpled.

But.

I've met too many people who misuse their pride. They remember a proud moment, and use it to block off any criticism of anything else. Or who trumpet their achievements past their sell-by date. Or who let that proud moment keep them from moving on and looking for other, and better. I really don't want to ever fall into those traps. Or even just the one about being insufferably smug.

Words are one of my gifts. They are a talent I've worked on for some time. Usually, that comes out as written work, and fiction -- though fiction that often features people who are passionate about causes, or faiths, and have to choose to act on them. But sometimes words are needed in other ways. I'm proud to have the talent, but my feeling about the fact that it turned out to be of use here? More like grateful.

I'm too proud. About half of the time. I'm too ready to expect to be smacked down, dismissed or demeaned. About 3/4 of the time. (And yes, I know that doesn't add up. The human brain is designed to accommodate self-contradiction, especially during the huge amounts of time this is happening in the subconscious not the conscious.)

The pride is how I got convinced I could do this writing gig. Or this pottery gig. Or both. It's how I can be comfortable with my sexuality, or my friends, or even just picking up the phone. It also lets me eat too much, and keep on in various ruts I get into. And blinds me to my own Dumb.

The doubt is how, and why, I keep wanting to be better. because I know I'm not good enough. It makes me edit. It's what keeps me trying to take care of my body. It taps me on the shoulder when the Dumb comes out of my mouth. It's also the thing that actually has me ready when I do enter a situation where someone or something turns on me. It's so much easier to block an attack you're expecting.

I'm okay with that. I understand that "not good enough" is not the same thing as "not good at all". I don't want to lose my flinch.

And that's the weirdness of the brain, and the contradiction; a new post about how the last post wasn't all about me; which new post is, in fact, all about me. Meh.