Go ahead, throw some criticism at me. I’m experienced, I’ve been growing. I can take that shit! Say what you will! Your opinion of me is not my business!
I’m the child of a narcissist. Of course, criticism is difficult for me.
I’m going to digress here, just for a moment, speaking of narcissism…I got a lovely comment from someone who has been reading my narcissist posts. Like me, she has a narcissistic father. In a comment, she told me that she gave her dad one of her kidneys. He left her a message saying that he wished he hadn’t taken her kidney because he just wasn’t as healthy as he’d hoped he would be.
She gave him a fucking kidney. He still complained.
If this doesn’t clarify what you can expect in the way of love and respect from a narcissistic parent, then nothing will.
End of digression.
This post isn’t about narcissistic fathers though. This post is about dealing with my thin skin. I guess my thin skin has a little to do with narcissism and how I was affected by it, but at this point, the origin doesn’t matter. What matters is I need to learn to thicken my skin.
My skin isn’t transparent and in some ways, my skin is thick enough. In some ways, not at all. You know how little kids will throw themselves on the floor in the doctors office and scream in terror at the very mention of a needle? That’s me whenever someone is coming at me with a criticism. Oh, please..no. Don’t. It will hurt so bad.
Although, as with the needle, criticism’s never as bad as you think it’s going to be.
I submitted an article to The Huffington Post and they published it. I was excited. I don’t know how many people read the article, but some did and I know this because they left comments. Most comments were nice.
Some comments were not.
I mean, they weren’t as bad as a lot of comments I’ve read. Not by a damn sight. I read the comments and the following things went through my brain:
But…but..but….them’s are just jokes.
Okay you supercilious twat monster…how can you have an opinion on how many times I’ve been married? You know NOTHING about me.
I didn’t SAY I was an expert.
Okay, of course every situation is different.
Learn how to spell ‘ridiculous’ motherfucker.
I’m vulgar? Fuck you.
I realized two things reading those comments. One, they bothered me a lot more than I anticipated and two, I processed those feelings quickly. So, some people don’t like what I write? I can deal with that. Kind of.
I wonder if the more I write and the more people read what I write, will things like nasty comments affect what I write?
The answer is, mostly I am not.
I won’t allow what other people think of me to dictate what I say. On the other hand, I will try to consider, a bit more, what I write down. Have I thought it through? Is this really how I feel? Or am I just in the throes of anxiety or annoyance?
Oh, and Randy nags me all the time about my lack of editing. Perhaps I should listen, but that’s an entirely different criticism.
I guess my point (If I ever have a point) is that if I’m going to keep writing and if I’m going to stray from the comfort of my own messy little blog then I’m going to have to toughen up my skin.
I know that we all know that we won’t be liked by everyone. I know that we all know that it’s unreasonable to expect to be liked by everyone. Knowing something and feeling something are sometimes not on speaking terms. I might have to find a way to get my ‘knowing’ and my ‘feeling’ to kiss and make up.
Besides, I can always come back here and count on you guys to help me lick my wounds.
Not literally. Keep your tongues to yourselves.