The Unfortunate Realties of Tying Our Self-Worth to What We Create
A few months ago, I was invited to join a Facebook group intended for women, people of color & minorities to share their experiences, writing, thoughts, beliefs, and values with each other; it was a place intended to be one of solidarity and community building. Specifically created for those living in the downtown Seattle area, I was excited to have a network where I could share some of my thoughts with those who literally lived streets away from me.
For several days prior, I had been wrestling and struggling to put my ideas into a cohesive piece of writing that showed the complexity behind who I was as a young, intersectional woman born into two very different cultures and experiences. Half Irish, half Mexican, I had spent many years wrestling with my personal identity. That article, The Bittersweet Truth About Living An Intersectional Life, is published on The Olly Project and you can click here to read it if you’d like.
I tossed and turned, brainstormed, drafted, edited, and edited some more. Finally, I read it through and felt proud of all that I had to say – I had accurately and concisely portrayed who I was and the journey I had gone on to become the person that I am today. Hooray!
I had seen what people were posting to this Facebook page; electric people charged with a burning passion for social justice were quick to share their opinions on articles, books, songs, pop culture, and current events – as they should. I want to live in a world where we stop censoring ourselves and challenge long held beliefs about toxic national attitudes that have held down the oppressed and underrepresented for centuries. I want my family and future children to grow up in a generation where we aren’t afraid to speak up against injustice.
Who doesn’t want that?
However, I also saw a lot of negativity. If you were to go on the page, you’d find a disproportionate amount of negativity and harsh critiques of people who genuinely were trying to live a life of love, leadership, and growth. People who made a mistake (or several) as all humans do, but nonetheless attempted to ask for help from this Facebook community to make amends and adjust their behavior, were torn apart. Floods of comments, ranging from sarcastic to scathing, flooded what I was reading. The well-known, if not cliché, saying that “hurt people hurt people” rang true as I scrolled. I saw a lot of pain and hurt in those moments.
I can understand this mentality. Injustice has run rampant in our country and decades of hurt, trauma, and un-righted wrongs have made their mark on the hearts of those who felt the brunt of that blow. Their hurt and pain is something that will shape their lives forever – and I’m not trying to dilute or lessen that in any way.
However, I saw many opportunities for healing and community building that often turned into put-downs and shaming.
Not always, but enough to make me wary and a little nervous to add my own voice to the mix.
Alright, now you have you a little bit of context of what I was walking into when I decided to share what I had written in The Bittersweet Truth About Living An Intersectional Life on the Facebook page. I had spent so long editing and polishing something so deeply personal that I thought there was no way anyone could tear down or critique what I had to say.
Honestly? I was subconsciously seeking validation from the harshest critics I had ever seen.
If I could manage to write an article that gained a rousing applause from this Facebook group, it would mean I deserved to keep writing – that I was a good, maybe even a great, writer. If you think back a few years and remember the many American Idol hopefuls who faced Simon Cowell in the first few seasons; many of them felt that if they could gain his approval and avoid his snarky, sometimes truthful (but mostly cruel) commentary, it meant they weren’t just good singers anymore – they were great singers. I felt like that.
My writing with friends and family had gotten nothing but positive feedback – it was wonderful, kind, and uplifting. They had already read this article and loved it. The feedback from this new group couldn’t be that much different, right?
I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers, and posted it. I quickly turned my Facebook notifications off and told myself to wait a few hours before checking for new comments or feedback. What would they have to say? Could this be my big break as an actual writer, where I turned a hobby into a genuine lifestyle?
I was so excited.
Later that day, I held my breath and nervously clicked on my new notifications. My breath caught in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Dozens of comments were all over my post, but not the kind that I had wanted - and definitely not the kind that I had expected. Women and men alike were quick to twist what I was trying to express and judge my work. Not only was my credibility as a writer questioned, but also my identity as a person. Here are some of the comments that hit the deepest.
“I didn’t read all of this because the first part comes off as white presenting fragility/centering of yourself without recognizing the privileges that come with passing for white. Yeah it sucks to have your identity invalidated, but you know what sucks more? Actually experiencing racism.”
“Your message is unclear and confusing – writing clearly isn’t for you.”
“You’re half white, you have no place to comment on race when you look like the oppressor.”
“You're white - you don’t belong in this Facebook group.”
“Sad excuse for an article.”
There were several positive comments throughout the rest of the conversation, but somehow those seemed far less significant than the ones that told me that I wasn’t important or of value. I didn't just feel like my writing was bad - I felt like I was bad. When I look back, I know that both what I had to written and myself are of infinite value, but nevertheless, my self-worth took a huge hit that day.
I felt like I was not important.
I felt like I should delete all my articles and never share anything about myself again because clearly, I sucked at it. No one had understood what i was trying to say.
The vulnerability of sharing my work with the world had backfired. I had walked into a charged arena and expected overwhelming, all-encompassing acceptance from my audience - something that was at least unreasonable (if not impossible). In order to hold myself accountable for my feelings and be truthful with you, my overconfidence served as my personal protection. Going in vulnerable, without any "armor", was impossible – so I puffed out my chest and convinced myself that I was untouchable.
When people began to pick apart something so personal to me - my writing and my identity - I felt shame and unworthiness flood my body like a tsunami. I immediately deleted the post as soon as I could and left the Facebook group.
Definitely not one of my proudest moments.
All of the bravery and courage I had mustered up quickly dissipated and I left feeling hurt and unworthy with my tail between my legs.
This painful but essential experience taught me something incredibly important about what happens when we tie our self-worth to people, places, jobs, and the products we create.
If we’re being honest with each other, tying our sense of self-worth to those things is not just scary.
it’s dangerous.
If your sense of worthiness depends on consistently pleasing your family, partner, boss, or children, creating perfect articles, or never making a mistake - constant anxiety and fear will inevitably plague your life. Eventually, you’ll stop taking risks because that could mean failure, which would be absolutely devastating to your self-esteem. Do you see what I mean?
If we rely on praise and recognition to feel good about the work we do, we become disengaged and disconnected. Innovation and creativity lose their importance and we numb out anything that would rock our fragile S.S. Self Esteem boat. When I deleted that article & ran as far away from that Facebook group as I could go, I was relying on praise and recognition to feel good about my writing.
I had to learn how to come out of the other side of this shame story with more courage, compassion, and connection than I had walking into it. I was courageous at first, yes, but it was a superficial courage because I was banking on the fact that every single person would love what I had to say. Now, I’m working on being courageous without “armoring up”. To understand and appreciate that I am worth so much more than the articles I publish or the people who like me (or don’t).
At the root of what I learned is that if I want to convince my audience about what I observe and understand, I first have to live what I’m writing. If I want to convince people about worthiness and self-esteem, I have to help myself feel worthy and secure in my sense of self. So that is what I’m doing.
Everything I had written in that article was true. It was authentic, kind, and genuine.
If you were to ask me if I’m still just as proud of that article as the others I’ve written, I’d respond with an enthusiastic, “Hell yeah!”
Because I am proud of it, just like I’m proud of this article, and the next one, and the ones that will inevitably come after that one. I’m proud of what I work six, seven hours a day to create - the articles, the website, the emails, the management, the brainstorming, the researching, the whole freakin' process. I'm proud of it.
Feeling proud of how hard I work to create something that I love? That contributes to my sense of worthiness. But relying on how well or poorly it's received by the general public does not - or at least I'm trying really hard not to let it.