Showing posts with label woundedness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label woundedness. Show all posts

Criticism

8 comments

Monday, 11 May 2009

I am, it has to be said, not particularly good at receiving criticism without my echidna spikes flaring up. I just did it before, on an online forum, where I wrote something about women in Christian circles and was responded to by a man who seemed to misunderstand where I was coming from - if indeed he was responding to me at all. Perhaps he was just using my post as a a launching off of his own thoughts, I don't know. I am so touchy in this area that I do not trust at all my ways of seeing. But I could feel the resentment and anger flaring in my body, and the hurt spot in my heart. And I thought, when it comes to this area of my life, it is like experiencing everything through haze, through unreality. It is uncomfortable in the extreme.

I did resist responding to him out of anger. I guess that's something.

It has always been a bit of an issue of mine, this defensiveness, especially with men. It is the result of living with a terribly critical father who, I am sure, on at least a handful of occasions must have given me some words of encouragement in my childhood but I remember none of them.

How does one begin to overcome this sort of thing? Well, I have begun, obviously. Very much so. My spikes used to be much worse than they are now. I began observing this propensity to defensiveness when I was about 18 years old. I have a vague memory of talking to Andrea about it at some point and she said that yes, I was defensive, that there were times when she was aware of me overreacting to things. Friends who will be honest with you are like gold in a global financial crisis.

It was a badly constructed fortress, like all self-made fortresses are. They have many holes for dismantlement in them. It's just looking at them that is the painful part :)

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Ad break: I just looked at the clock and it is 11 past 11. End of ad break.

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Despite the partial demolishing of this fortress, it feels these days like it has returned somewhat. I suppose this marriage breakup has demolished my confidence. In my twenties was the height of my confidence. Not only did I demolish the fortress down to a manageable level, but I learnt by first-hand experience how differently people respond to you when you are open as compared to when you are in self-protective spiky mode. Openness is my actual personality state. Self-protection is a double glazed prison.

All this to say, I am contemplating the idea that part of the fear that makes up my writing block is related to this area. That I resist finishing writing a piece so I don't have to have it published and have anybody criticise it. This makes sense, I suppose.

This fear of criticism is a hindrance and the sooner this is worked out of me the better.