Everyone—Yes, Everyone—Is Insecure
About a year ago, my therapist gave me an assignment: ask one person to do a social thing with me one-on-one. This has always been hard for me. Somehow I’ve come to worry that an invitation from me might be an imposition, even though I never feel that way about invitations that I receive. Although I don’t have low self-esteem, and I know that I’m pretty good company, I tend to believe that people already initiate all of the contact they want with me, so asking for more would be presumptuous.
Needless to say—although, honestly, I needed someone to say it to me years ago—that’s bullshit. Issuing an invitation is not an imposition, but it is hard because it means risking a “no.” Often, two people who want to spend time together are each just waiting for the other to speak up. Avoiding the risk feels safer. No one has to be vulnerable. No deep breaths required.
But it’s amazing what happens when we decide to take emotional risks. Last summer, a junior associate decided to leave my law firm. She was well-loved, and those of us who were close to her threw her a sendoff lunch. After we’d all eaten, someone suggested that we go around the table and say what each of us would miss most about her. People were a bit shy at first, but what emerged over the course of the next 15 or 20 minutes was a lot of straight talk about what we appreciated about her, and eventually about what we appreciated about each other. Several people suggested that we make this sort of “affirmation lunch” a regular thing. It was like we’d all suddenly realized that it was possible to voice the positive things we think about each other all the time, without minimizing them, apologizing for them, or making self-deprecating jokes. I left that lunch flying high. It felt so good to share those thoughts and to see how much they meant.
It’s astonishing how many friends I’ve made in the past year, since I instituted my radical policy of telling people that I like them. Sometimes I happen to be watching their faces as I say those words; often, I see a flash of amazement followed by a rush of relief. Then the delight settles in. You’d think people wouldn’t need to be told, but boy, do they. Sometimes I even tell them the specific things that I like about them, which opens up some really interesting conversations. Sometimes they even tell me things that they like about me! I store those up so I can remind myself of them when I’m feeling particularly shitty about myself, like when I accidentally hurt someone’s feelings or when I screw something up at work. (I may have violated a social norm I didn’t know about, but at least Katie thinks I’m compassionate and thoughtful!) Given how bad most of us are at treating ourselves with kindness, it’s awfully helpful to have mental recordings of other people’s kindness toward us for those moments when we need a boost.
The other thing that seems to have radically altered my social interactions is that I’ve completely given up on trying to play it cool. I acknowledge up front that I tend to be more forward than most people, and that I’m scrupulously forthcoming, and so sometimes people are surprised by the things I say. But by signaling to people that I’m going to be very honest with them even when that’s awkward—even when we both know it’s awkward—I also signal to them that they can trust me and, possibly even more importantly, that they can take risks with me as well.
The idea that we have to banish insecurity to be functioning social beings is incredibly damaging. It’s like saying we need to lose weight so we can start exercising. I think, instead, what we need is the willingness to be vulnerable. Let’s acknowledge that we aren’t perfect, but that we are pretty good. And let’s help each other recognize that pretty-goodness in ourselves, too.
