That Hurts
- 11
- 19
- 09
Last week, I got a manicure. I picked my favorite new color – Chinchilly – a dark taupe/gray that really suits me quite well since I am all about the grays. As if getting a random, just-because midweek manicure weren’t already a bit indulgent, I topped this indulgence off with another indulgence: a back rub. A very efficient same time back rub. Yes, that’s right. While a Manicure Lady was buffing my beleaguered nails, Massage Man manipulated my mangled muscles. I am not telling you this because I have run out of things to say. I am not telling you this to offer a window into a spoiled existence. No. There is a point. One that has nothing to do with self-pampering.
Ready for said point? Sure you are. I don’t know whether I’ve been sleeping in contorted positions or whether it’s the ceaseless lugging of two robust kids, or that vast computer bag, but the massage was painful. It hurt. I know many people are of the school that a massage should hurt because then it means something is being accomplished. But I’m not a student of that school. I look to massage to help me do something I’ve forgotten how to do: relax.
There was nothing remotely relaxing about those burrowing fingers (and fingernails). No. My head was “resting” in the head “rest,” and I was thankful for this because the Massage Man could not see that my eyes were watering. Yes, tears. It hurt that much.
And yet. I said nothing. Nothing.
At some point, I think Massage Man could tell I was uncomfortable because he asked, “Are you okay? Too hard?”
And still. This time I said something. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m fine. That’s fine.”
And so he kept going with the “therapeutic” torture. And when our time was up, I stood up. I forced a decorous smile and said thank you and handed him a tip.
Are you still squinting out there, trying to locate the point? Sorry. Here it is:
Why is it so hard for so many of us to say, “That hurts”?
I am not just talking about finding our voice when in the orbit of an aggressive masseuse. No. I am talking about life. Why is it so hard to speak up, to articulate our emotional pain, to indicate when something or someone hurts us?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that I have been hurling that trite childhood lesson at Toddler a lot these days. “Use your words,” I tell her this when she is frustrated because her sister has taken her toy or chocolate milk or when she is upset about something a bit more complicated. Use your words.
I tell her this and I mean it. Words are powerful things. Here on this blog, I weave words together and this makes me very happy.
Recently, someone really upset me. This person didn’t do anything truly vicious or conspicuously conniving. I don’t think this person intended to make me sad. I’m not even sure this person has any clue that I was (and still am) sad. But things this person did and didn’t do, said and didn’t say, hurt me. And I didn’t say anything. No, I rolled around in my hurt, letting it seep in, and then sulked away.
Now, I am not a super-confrontational person, but I am not a doormat either. More often than not, I say something, something diplomatic when I feel so inclined. Customarily, I do not sweep things under that proverbial carpet. I am not one to let things fester.
But. Here I am. Being a doormat. Sweeping things under that soiled existential carpet. Letting stuff fester. Not using my words. Rather, using my words, different ones, to bemoan the fact that I don’t know how to use my words when they matter most. (Uh oh. I just had the thought that maybe we bloggers are the biggest cowards of all insofar as we type and type and type because we are too scared to actually say these things aloud to people we know and love? I don’t like this thought, so I will ignore it. For now.)
Why is it so hard, so impossible sometimes, to say two simple words That hurts? Maybe because saying these words isn’t so simple at all? Maybe it’s because we think we somehow deserve the pain? Maybe it is because we are afraid of graying blue skies? Maybe because we think there is something instructive in feeling pain, that there is something to be gained? Maybe it’s because we believe, if unconsciously, that fleeting sadness is like temporarily sore back muscles, hard to weather in the moment but a means to something greater and truer and less twisted?
(I told you this wasn’t just a post about nails.)
Why is it so hard (for me, for all of us) to utter those two simple words? And if it isn’t hard for you to say these words, please share your wisdom with the rest of us.
I know why it’s hard for me, because I am always very afraid of hurting someone else’s feelings and I am afraid that, in certain circumstances, saying “that hurts” will force me to acknowledge other feelings and emotions that (i) I am not sure I want to deal with and (ii) I think that other person doesn’t want to deal with. This is why I am very quick to share how I am feeling with total strangers, but very hesitant to share them with people who supposedly care about me.
The existential carpet is soiled? By the Chinchilla? Hey, next time you’ll yell, right?
To say “it hurts” puts us in a vulnerable position. And it’s been my experience that most of us — even the most emotionally evolved of us — doesn’t like to be put in a vulnerable position. Yesterday I wrote peripherally about this topic on my blog. A friend and I got in a fight. I was mad at him, but couldn’t bring myself to say “I’m hurt.” Had he not called me to have lunch to talk it over, I’m sad to say I would proceeded to carry the hurt around with me.
aidan- i often find myself with the opposite problem. i say “that hurts” and confront. that’s just what i do, who i am… and with the good comes the bad. it has worked both in my favor and against me. sometimes the blow is softened, and those who know me trust that my intentions are good… but using my words is not something i struggle with. i struggle with needing to shut up sometimes.
As we get older, we learn to say that hurts. It isn’t always easy, but we learn.
We don’t necessarily learn how to say – to ourselves – relax, slow down. Breathe. And for the sake of those we love, and who love us and need us, it’s something we really need to learn.
Oh, I so get this (would it be horrible to say I wish I didn’t). I’ve got a mess of a thumb joint (don’t ask, no one has a clue how I messed it up). In any case luckily I can type without using said thumb. It’s been 3 months in a splint, with no end in sight.
Needless to say I had to go to therapy for my left hand. Paul went with me to be my ears and help communicate with my therapist. Just in case I couldn’t read her lips. Short end of the story is it hurt like the blue blazes. I had tears in my eyes. And I didn’t utter a sound. Paul was watching my expression and finally spoke up himself and asked if I was in pain. Even then I said I was alright. Honestly, I just wanted therapy to work. I’m a writer. I have nightmares of my hand going under the knife for surgery.
I should of spoke up and said something. Pain is pain however you look at it. Same goes for emotional pain. If someone hurts your feelings, you can only hope to have a solid enough friendship you can sit and talk to them about how it made you feel. I would hope most of the friends I have, this is a givend. I know it’s not like this in most cases. If only we can agree to disagree and do it in a way that takes everyone’s feelings into consideration – maybe then there would be a gentler world. (Hugs)Indigo
P.S. The thumb? I’ll find out this coming Monday. I’m seeing a hand specialist.
I don’t have a problem uttering the words when I’m feeling physically pain, but I think I’ve become so conditioned to putting on my game face that I don’t always experience emotional pain in the moment. I fester, I stew, and then only later will I realize that an encounter or an oversight is the source of my discomfort.
And these words: “I just had the thought that maybe we bloggers are the biggest cowards of all insofar as we type and type and type because we are too scared to actually say these things aloud to people we know and love?” I think about this all the time. All the time.
This is a great question (and the second order one you raise re: bloggers makes me wince, suggesting there’s something there … eek) – I do it too. I try to be frank and honest but often I just pretend everything is okay. Scared that if I speak my truth the “friend” won’t love me anymore? Probably. And of course, I realize, intellectually, that’s no kind of friend. Now, all I have to do is find a way for the rational intellect to convince the emotion … that I don’t know how to do!
We should all take a page from Harry’s playbook on this topic.
He expresses himself quite concisely.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM
On a more serious note, I agree with Elizabeth. To say that we’ve been hurt does two challenging things 1) conveys frailty, and 2) elicits a confrontation. For people who’ve been conditioned to be stalwart in today’s big, bad world the former is kryptonite. For people (especially women) who have been trained – either explicitly or implicitly – not to be assertive the latter is similarly taboo.
I’ve long believed that we women sometimes do ourselves a disservice with all our diplomacy and stealthy interpersonal maneuverings. I find my husband’s friendships to be deeper than my own, and I think that’s due in part to the part that he’s never sidestepped the trial by fire that wields something of greater substance.
Wow. This really struck a chord with me. The whole time you were describing your torture I was thinking to myself, tell him he’s massaging to deeply. Tell him it hurts. Then, I thought I’ve received many a massage and there was that one time, someone new, who massaged me so deeply I was sore for days afterwards. It hurt and I never said anything. And then when you got to the part about the person who hurt you (sure hope it wasn’t me!) I thought, and remember that time when C. said those hurtful things and then actually apologized after and you said it was Ok. Fine. What she had said didn’t even bother you. Liar.
What are we teaching our daughters by our behaviour. We tell them, as you pointed out, “use your words” and we’re so reluctant to lead by example.
Great post!
Wow, Aidan! Deep, deep thoughts today. I recently found myself asking myself this same question. Why did I not tell that friend that what was just said, while not meant to hurt, did hurt? In this particular case, I did it for the friend. I can deal with the confrontation. I can deal with laying myself out there and being very vulnerable (or so I think) but I am not sure my friend can take the confrontation or reasonings that would back up my saying “that hurt.” In time, we will visit the hurt as friends but not right now.
I so identify with this and I think that Niki and Lindsey hit it right on the head for me. I don’t want to hurt the other person’s feelings. I don’t want to be confrontational. I don’t want to lose a friend. I don’t want to be a complainer. So I suck it up; tell myself I’m overreacting and it’s not so bad; remind myself to turn the other check. None of this is good for me, is it?
I hate confrontation and very rarely will tell someone when I hurt. Except Tim. Because he knows immediately that something is wrong and I can’t go to sleep feeling hurt. Ok, that being said, from a very young age I was dubbed as “too sensitive”. My family told me I cried too much, got hurt too easily, took everything personally. So now today, when I’m not so sensitive or meek, I’m afraid that if I show or say, “i’m hurt” I will once again be looked upon as too weak to handle something that any other person could handle. I’m afraid the person will be disappointed in me for being hurt. I also don’t like making people feel uncomfortable by telling them they’ve hurt me. I’d rather just sit on it and hope it goes away. Sometimes it does and I can move on…I don’t hold grudges. But other times, it can make me sick. I get angry… it sits with me. It’s not healthy.
Once again, great post! Even if it had been about a painful massage… I still would have been right there with you!
Is this a grand irony? To tell someone you are hurting risks inflicting hurt on that someone? As for the blogger question, I like to think that we have found the community and the format that makes us braver. And the braver I get here, the braver I am getting out in the “real” world.
Also, I’m really bad at saying “that hurts.”
I think that everything that needs to be said has pretty much been said already. Nevertheless, that blogger question really hit me. I am a coward. Yes, I will not say when I am hurt. I will ignore pains and justify other’s actions out loud while I secretly harbor resentments. Your words have sparked a desire in me to be braver.
Just found you today! EEEEK, what you said about bloggers being cowards smacked me right between the eyes!
…raising my hand…I’m a coward, too.
What a relatable theme – we ALL do this, in particular at any kind of beauty/pampering appointment. I think a major part of it, for women, is not wanting to hurt the professional’s feelings. Even though we’re paying good money to be pampered, we waver between thinking it’s supposed to feel this way, not wanting to make the person think we’re ungrateful or “high maintenance”, and not wanting to hurt feelings.
I am the same way, as much as I confront problems head on, I find it so uncomfortable to speak up in those situations. I’m getting better though. I try to think of all the people who this person sees in a day, and by saying a simple “Um, that’s a little too much pressure, if you don’t mind,” you could possibly improve their technique and pave the way for all their other clients to have an experience where they don’t have the pressure of having to speak up!
As for standing up to my friends, I’ve never had a problem telling people that they made me mad. But I still hate confrontation and always deal with things through email! My excuse is that I’m a better writer than conversationalist, and I want to be able to get all my points out and edit before I say things I can’t take back. All that’s true, but I also feel so uncomfortable confronting problems face to face!
I’ve always considered myself a strong person. I was my mother’s strong middle-child during her divorce. I am my schizo-husband’s tether to reality. I’m the dependable one who can be called on for anything in my church congregation. Admitting that someone has hurt me is showing weakness and creating a crack in my armor. If that armor cracks the whole thing comes crashing down…besides, I can take it, right? No use being honest with myself and hurting the masseuse’s feelings, right? Maybe this is something I need to work on. Thanks for the thought-provoking post!
I am not afraid to tell people what I think, but I pick and choose my battles. Sometimes it is not worth mentioning because it creates a ripple effect that I don’t want to deal with.
I love this.
I know that personally, I was always told that I was too emotional. Then I married someone who hid all of his emotions.
I am now in a relationship with someone who immediately tells his feelings and its quite refreshing… but at the same time something that takes getting used to. He is encouraging me to speak up when something hurts but I’m afraid of making him feel bad. What I’m learning, thanks to his love and patience, is that if I tell him immediately, he may feel bad or even get defensive, but then we’re both over it much quicker.
I may have to blog this. Such a great topic. Thanks Aidan.
This post comes at a time when I am finally finding a voice. I very rarely told anyone how I was feeling. I was raised not to share emotion, sorta robotic really. And very sad. So when I tell my kids to “use your voice” I have to practice what I preach and use my own.
Aidan, you really ought to get some comment reply function over here because I just want to say to Kitch: “You? Coward? You totally fooled me, now tell me all your dirty secrets.”
Love that girl.
I’m braver today than I have ever been. Especially when I block out the bad defensive bullshit from people. I think my husband is a little put off by it all. I have a tendency to surprise him even MORE with the things that I say these days. Wowsers.
Again. Delirious. Don’t mind me. But I’m here. Always.
Smile.