Ugliness brings lessons with it, and by looking my monsters straight in the eye, I hope to gain deeper insight. Why do they come? What do they want to teach me? And what do they need in order to be lulled back to sleep?
This week: Hubris
I deny your existence, yet you are written all over my face. In unguarded moments, others catch your reflection in me. How often have I heard that I come across as distant and arrogant, entangled with you? The criticism of others fed my fear of growth, and I developed a constant cheerfulness meant to protect me from their disapproval. And yet you keep coming back.
Our encounters are intense and fleeting. Afterwards, I feel a little dirty and ashamed. Good people don’t let themselves be seduced by you, but oh, how tempting it is to lose myself in your arms and listen breathlessly to your flattering words! If I’m going to be called out for your presence anyway, I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. You drag me up into a tall tower, where I look down on the world. I feel untouchable and revel in the victory. With my head held high, I can’t see past the end of my nose. Stumbling over my own judgments, I fall flat on my face. You’re nowhere to be found. Loyal, you have never been. I promise myself I’ll slam the door next time, scold you sternly, tell you I’m too grown-up for your games. But when you show up again, I give in to your sweet promises and let myself be swept away… for a moment.
For a long time, I tried to break free from you. Now I realize it wasn’t you I feared—it was the critical gaze of others.
More than anything, I didn’t want to believe I thought too highly of myself.
So I made myself small, hiding behind (false) modesty. My vision blurred, and I began to confuse hubris with confidence.
Lately, I’ve been trying to bring things into sharper focus.
You’re teaching me that not every opinion deserves equal weight. That my face is a perfect canvas for projection, and that someone else’s insecurity can stay right where it belongs.
By embracing you, I acknowledge that I deserve to take up space. That I have a right to be here.
When I write openly, honestly, and vulnerably, nothing can touch me.
Then “hubris” falls away from “courage” and I become exactly who I want to be.
Aca
Monstrous monday: Hubris