I think many of us have these fears -- that others are hostile to or indifferent to us and our suffering. And sometimes people are -- it's easy to whistle past someone's suffering, or confession of some innermost secret, not out of cruelty or even lack of caring, but because it is hard to feel what another person feels, and hard to tell what really goes on inside. One time in my undergrad, I was hanging out with three of my friends, and it was getting very late. One of them confessed to binge eating and identified this as her primary eating disorder, though it seemed likely that her real issue was anorexia, compounded by periods of "binging" (very possibly, eating normally). It was clear this meant a lot to her to be able to share this. And after about a discussion between some of us, one of the people present just said that he was going to bed and left. I don't think he was trying to be insensitive, but I think he'd reached the limit of what he could do that night, was really tired, and perhaps overwhelmed; but it seemed like he was missing how hard it was for the friend to admit to the problem at all, and the shame she seemed to feel about it. And I know that some people, *myself included*, have had "crises," perhaps manufactured crises even, in order to try to grab some contact and attention, but which in retrospect seemed silly and pointless, and perhaps even with some meanness mixed in. What's difficult is that the pain from people reacting to what seems to be important about oneself does not go away easily, even if we know intellectually that it (probably) was not intended, and maybe doesn't mean that much.
I think that part of the key is that love or connecting to others isn't really about internal worth, or that maybe factors in but shouldn't be the whole of it. Willow spends her whole life (up until she goes dark) trying to improve herself until she is worthy of love, but it will never heal the central hole inside -- because human weakness will always intrude. Spells will always go wrong due to incompetence. Masks of perfect composure will slip and angry words will come out. Selfishness will sneak into good intentions; brilliant plans will go awry. And each failure is then a proof of fundamental worthlessness -- this selfishness means that I am evil, this botching means I am stupid, this social faux pas mean I am forever doomed. It never ends. Whereas actually being able to love oneself, to see flaws in oneself honestly but without then seeing oneself as worthless, can lead to healing. What's interesting is that I think Willow only is just barely starting this at the end of the series -- to some degree, I think she really *believes* that Xander really loves her, no matter what she does, and then that the gang love her when they see her for who she is. But it's not quite the same as loving herself, though it's a step in the right direction -- being loved for all of her. I think that partly, it takes a leap of faith to believe that oneself is lovable -- or rather, worthy of love. Ideally, one should be able to love oneself even without anyone else...but it's easier, somehow, knowing it's possible to connect to others. But in any case it takes a kind of faith to believe that there is something "good enough" about the way one is. Part of the reason it's a leap of faith is, well, what if your "true self" really is evil, or too weak, to "deserve" to continue? What then? What if the love that people have for you is misplaced? Faith is hard for me to come by. When things are going well, socially, it's easy to more or less take group acceptance as confirmation of inner worth and then to move on, but without that social support we are hard-wired for, it's...difficult. For Willow, knowing that she has these feelings bottled up -- this anger -- it feels sometimes like that's all there is to her. I can relate, too -- I actually remember there was a long period, in adolescence, where I started to believe I was actually a sociopath, because I didn't seem to have the right emotional responses to things. Actually I think I was just hyper-aware of what expectations there were, and sometimes was around people who got very emotionally upset about some things that didn't affect me the same way.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2016-02-12 03:15 am (UTC)I think many of us have these fears -- that others are hostile to or indifferent to us and our suffering. And sometimes people are -- it's easy to whistle past someone's suffering, or confession of some innermost secret, not out of cruelty or even lack of caring, but because it is hard to feel what another person feels, and hard to tell what really goes on inside. One time in my undergrad, I was hanging out with three of my friends, and it was getting very late. One of them confessed to binge eating and identified this as her primary eating disorder, though it seemed likely that her real issue was anorexia, compounded by periods of "binging" (very possibly, eating normally). It was clear this meant a lot to her to be able to share this. And after about a discussion between some of us, one of the people present just said that he was going to bed and left. I don't think he was trying to be insensitive, but I think he'd reached the limit of what he could do that night, was really tired, and perhaps overwhelmed; but it seemed like he was missing how hard it was for the friend to admit to the problem at all, and the shame she seemed to feel about it. And I know that some people, *myself included*, have had "crises," perhaps manufactured crises even, in order to try to grab some contact and attention, but which in retrospect seemed silly and pointless, and perhaps even with some meanness mixed in. What's difficult is that the pain from people reacting to what seems to be important about oneself does not go away easily, even if we know intellectually that it (probably) was not intended, and maybe doesn't mean that much.
I think that part of the key is that love or connecting to others isn't really about internal worth, or that maybe factors in but shouldn't be the whole of it. Willow spends her whole life (up until she goes dark) trying to improve herself until she is worthy of love, but it will never heal the central hole inside -- because human weakness will always intrude. Spells will always go wrong due to incompetence. Masks of perfect composure will slip and angry words will come out. Selfishness will sneak into good intentions; brilliant plans will go awry. And each failure is then a proof of fundamental worthlessness -- this selfishness means that I am evil, this botching means I am stupid, this social faux pas mean I am forever doomed. It never ends. Whereas actually being able to love oneself, to see flaws in oneself honestly but without then seeing oneself as worthless, can lead to healing. What's interesting is that I think Willow only is just barely starting this at the end of the series -- to some degree, I think she really *believes* that Xander really loves her, no matter what she does, and then that the gang love her when they see her for who she is. But it's not quite the same as loving herself, though it's a step in the right direction -- being loved for all of her. I think that partly, it takes a leap of faith to believe that oneself is lovable -- or rather, worthy of love. Ideally, one should be able to love oneself even without anyone else...but it's easier, somehow, knowing it's possible to connect to others. But in any case it takes a kind of faith to believe that there is something "good enough" about the way one is. Part of the reason it's a leap of faith is, well, what if your "true self" really is evil, or too weak, to "deserve" to continue? What then? What if the love that people have for you is misplaced? Faith is hard for me to come by. When things are going well, socially, it's easy to more or less take group acceptance as confirmation of inner worth and then to move on, but without that social support we are hard-wired for, it's...difficult. For Willow, knowing that she has these feelings bottled up -- this anger -- it feels sometimes like that's all there is to her. I can relate, too -- I actually remember there was a long period, in adolescence, where I started to believe I was actually a sociopath, because I didn't seem to have the right emotional responses to things. Actually I think I was just hyper-aware of what expectations there were, and sometimes was around people who got very emotionally upset about some things that didn't affect me the same way.
Hopefully this made sense.