Thanks, I hate it
How do we honestly share our feelings about the things we don’t like?
Every now and then, in my quest to be an honest human being, I run into these little road bumps. Usually, it’s when things have been going along happily for a while; I’m being honest the vast majority of the time, not withholding too much in terms of how I’m feeling emotionally, and managing to stay aware of my bodily sensations on at least a semi-regular basis. Then — suddenly out of nowhere — there will come a situation where I have to stop and ask myself ‘oh crap, do I really need to be honest about this?’
Usually it’s when I’m faced with the (fairly certain) imagined knowledge that the truth I am about to say is neither kind or polite, and is likely to provoke a negative reaction in the person I’m talking to. A good example of this would be when someone I care about gives me a gift that I really don’t appreciate — a terribly ugly sweater they’ve knitted me for example — and asks me if I like it.
The chances are they might have already guessed from my face that I don’t like it, but are hoping that I will defy their imaginings and say ‘oh hell yes! This is an amazing sweater!’. In that moment, the story that comes into my head is always the same one:
Is it more important that this person keeps on liking me, or that I tell the truth?
Some might argue that the real question I should be asking here is ‘will this hurt the person’s feelings?’ but — after a lifetime of compromising my own happiness to avoid others’ hurt feelings — I actually disagree. I think that by imagining that what I’m about to say has the power to cause real damage, I’m being both patronising and slightly catastrophic in my outlook.
The other thing I might want to consider, is maybe that person’s ‘hurt’ is actually rooted in their own needs and expectations, and actually not a hell of a lot to do with me. They might be particularly sensitive about their knitting due to a remark someone made years ago, or have bad associations with having presents rejected. All that stuff is both possible and (again) entirely nothing to do with me and my feelings about their sweater that I am having in that present moment.
So I look at the person again and then I look at the sweater, and I think…but c’mon do I hate this sweater?
I mean, I might hate its colour and itchy wool, but do I actually appreciate the fact this person made it for me? That they took all that time to make me a gift? And it might be that yeah, I really do, and I can actually say ‘Wow! Thank you so much! I can’t believe you took all that time to make me a gift! I so appreciate that!’ and that will be both true and also mindful of the other person’s feelings.
But then they say ‘But do you really like it though? Do you like the colour?’ and here I am again, faced with the same dilemma. If I lie and say ‘yes I love it, I love the colour’ then another lie will surely follow next time I don’t wear it. Or when the friend knits me matching gloves, or knits my dog or my partner a matching sweater so we can all go out wearing them together, or puts all her money into opening a sweater shop that she then asks me to endorse.
I joke, but I imagine we’ve all experience how ‘white lies’ — untruths told to keep the peace or just to ‘be nice’ — can horribly backfire. Small, pacifying lies often end up having to be threaded to another and then another, until something much more substantial is created.
I see this most often in couple work, when two people are at a point of crisis in their relationship because of what they see as a long history of conflict. A small lie in the early part of a romance, has meant that an unwanted behaviour or habit has been repeated, and — over a period of many years — the ‘of course I don’t mind’ has slowly become ‘for God’s sake, it really should be obvious by now that I hate that!’.
How we’re touched by someone else seems to be a particularly difficult thing to be honest about, maybe because — for most of us — giving and asking for touch is an extremely vulnerable act. ‘Do you really like it?’ becomes a way more loaded question when it’s in regard to how we’re being touched, and our story of how badly we may hurt the other person with a negative reply becomes a far stronger one.
My client Jayda* has been married for 5 years to a man — Tony *— she describes as ‘the sweetest guy alive’. Jayda came from a violent, abusive home where she never felt safe from her drunken father’s rages and physical abuse, and her story that Tony saved her from all that and is her kind, gentle protector is a very powerful one for her.
They have an affectionate relationship, with lots of casual touching and kissing, but sometimes when Tony comes up behind her for a hug when she’s making dinner, she says she just freezes.
“The first time he did it I felt my whole body go rigid. I wanted so badly to lash out and struggle, but I told myself not to be stupid.”
“You had a story you were being stupid?”
“Yes, because I know he wouldn’t hurt me. But it was what my dad used to do. He’d come up behind me and trap my arms to my sides,” she shudders, “But I know how hurt he would be if I told him that.”
“That you remind yourself of your dad when he does that?”
“Yes, he would be so so hurt. To think I would associate him hugging me with my abuse. And besides — in the moment, when he does it — I can’t even speak.”
“So afterwards, when things are calm and relaxed again, can you talk about it then?”
Jayda grimaces,“I don’t know what to say though. Everything I think of sounds bad.”
Our story that we must find the right combination of words and the perfect time in order to avoid hurt feelings is — in my experience — the most common way we have of avoiding difficult, but often necessary, conversations. We diminish our own feelings of unease and unhappiness and defer to the other person’s comfort, rather than run the risk of their hurt and potential rejection or of ‘confrontation’.
Whilst this type of self-sacrifice and stoicism is often held up as a positive trait, its effect on our most important relationships is corrosive. Withholding our feelings about ‘what’s really going on’ creates distance rather than connection, and what’s more, our story that we’re doing this to take care of the other person is even more damaging if we feel they are not reciprocating that same level of care.
When you ask me if you really like that ugly sweater, I can say:
“I love you, and I make myself really nervous that you’ll be hurt when I say it’s not really my style.
I feel so nervous saying this though, because I imagine you’ll think I don’t care about you or your feelings, and I do very much. And I really appreciate you making me something specially with your own time and hands.”
When our partner touches us in a way we don’t like, we can tell them how we’ve stopped ourselves from sharing that discomfort:
“I told myself you’d be hurt, and I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“I told myself it was my problem to deal with, not yours.”
“I imagined you’d think it meant I didn’t love you and trust you, and I love you and trust you.”
Sharing my true feelings, and my fear that the truth will lead to the other’s deep hurt, rejection or anger, often has the opposite effect to the one I imagine.
Instead of distanced or confused by my reactions, the other person feels trusted and cared for, privileged to be allowed access to my inner world. And instead of feeling the need to hide, I can instead experience the transformative and deeply connective feeling of truly being seen.
*All client details have been changed to avoid identification.
………………
Our next Radical Honesty Weekend Workshop is on Dec 2–4, in Bristol UK
Law Turley is a BACP Registered Integrative Therapist and Certified Radical Honesty Trainer living and working in the south west of the UK.
