Aw shame!

I can vividly recall the day I learned how to be laughed at. I must have been about 14, and I was totally in awe of my brother's friends, a bunch of people from our church who were a few years older than me, and in my eyes were pretty much the standard for what was cool. A few of them were at our house one afternoon, and I, being the tagger-on I was, was sitting in the dining room, as though accidentally, making a friendship bracelet as an excuse to be in the room and hanging out with them. They were so funny. I loved just listening to them talk.

"What's that you're making?" Beth asked.

"It's just a friendship bracelet," I said, reddening at the attention, and showing it to them with shy pride. The girls admired it. Nathan murmered something and there was a smattering of wicked laughter.

"What?" I asked, not liking to be left out. I was a huge fan of Nathan's jokes.

"Oh, no, definitely not telling," said Beth.

"Just took that one a step too far," said Nathan, both embarassed and amused at himself.

"What did he say?" I persisted.

"He said 'Don't you have to have some friends first?'" That was his girlfriend. He told her off and hid his face. "Ha, true," I said, feeling my stomach turn over. There was much apologising and nervous laughter and "I didn't mean it"s. I smiled weakly and bent my face towards what I was doing, and they carried on, exchanging the odd sheepish glance at one another and giggling.

A while later I quietly left the room, and sat on the couch in the lounge, where I could still hear them but didn't have to feel them looking at me. I was clearly making them feel awkward. Eventually Dad came and found me there, and saw that I was upset. I immediately burst into tears, and it was a while before I could manage to splutter out what was the matter, and how it had just hit a little too close to home (I being a rather socially awkward young lass at the time, and just different to everyone around church - and anywhere else for that matter). Dad and I talked it over, and I guess, knowing him, we probably managed to bring it round to a good place. I think Nathan apologised again before he left. Don't know if they could hear me crying from the next room.

Well anyhow, I was determined never to feel like that again. I was going to have to toughen up, if I was going to be accepted by these people, and be allowed to hang around with them. From then on, I positively welcomed Nathan's teasing, and eventually learned to give as good as I got. It was fun. I discovered I had the ability to sometimes make people laugh, and learned to truly not care if it was at my expense, because Nathan really was so damn funny, and it was nice to be a source of amusement for everyone. I did even get into their little circle along the way, a couple of years down the track. Or close enough.

This little lesson has stood me in good stead for other groups of friends in which I've found myself since. It's hard to offend me, and I'll forgive anything, and I do quite like being teased. Makes me relatively low-maintenance company I guess, which suits me fine.

Recently, though, I've been becoming aware that it doesn't have to be this way - that not all groups of friends have to have this dynamic, and that there can be a really dark side to those that do. My lesson at 14 was a lesson in being a Kiwi - have a thick skin, don't take yourself too seriously, and if you can't handle the prevalent shame-based sense of humour, well, you can expect to be laughed at for not knowing how to take a joke. You just have to learn to take it, or you'll be ridiculed more, and at a more fundamental level: instead of just "haha here's something you suck at" you'll get "haha, lame, you have issues and feelings and crap".

And then there's compliments. It's expected that if you get compliments, you won't take them on board. You must find some way to brush them off, so as not to appear too keen on yourself. "Aw, nah, well I was just lucky I guess." "Well it didn't turn out as good as I planned it..." or, if you're absolutely at a loss, just a shy "Aw whatever."

Revelation: not every culture is like this.

And, you know, it's one thing to be able to handle all the criticism when you're actually present, and suspend your self-respect in social situations; it's another to live in fear that you're being ridiculed behind your back. It's pretty easy to tell when this is happening. If you laugh at someone in front of me when they're not around, but are friendly to them when they are around, I can't really trust your friendliness towards me either, and just have to accept the possibility that you might secretly find me ridiculous in some way.

This happened with my brother the other day. We met for coffee, and everything or everyone that I mentioned, he'd pick holes in, distance himself from, and explain why they were so annoying/frustrating/pathetic/one of those people. I found myself just completely cut off at the knees, afraid to say anything. He never directly attacked me as ridiculous, but with every attack he made, I was wondering if he was secretly applying it to me as well ("I get so sick of how mum and dad only ever talk about church and their disillusionment with it these days" >> note to self: guess that's a subtle hint that you won't be interested in my views on this - better not let on that it's a subject that's quite important to me. "My bloody flatmate - she's always trying to have these deep and meaningful talks, it get so exhausting trying to fob her off all the time" >> ok is that how I should interpret the fact that you haven't sought out my company or been interested in my life for months/years? Must try not to appear too needy.) Hm, this might appear quite a paranoid reaction but, well, most of you don't know my brother.

I left the cafe feeling pretty bummed, with an overwhelming sense that who I am is an embarassment to my brother, and that he thinks I ought to be embarassed too. It's just such hard work, around him, to believe that I don't suck horribly - even though I think he actually does approve of me in a lot of ways. Took me the rest of the day, and a cuddle from Ray, to remind me that I didn't have to take all of that on board.

I guess there are good things about a shame-based culture. I'm glad I've had to learn not to take myself too seriously (I would be quite an intolerable and overly intense person otherwise). I'm glad that I'm kept constantly on the alert about ways in which I could improve myself. There is a sharpening quality about shame - it is highly motivating. People like my brother have intimidated me into refining my artistic tastes and getting informed about things. But perhaps it's no wonder that I've also learned to keep my mouth shut a lot, and to hold all my opinions tentatively (apart from the philosophical reasons for doing so), and to try to see all angles on things long before I put my name to anything.

And I mean obviously it's dumb to just indiscriminately approve of everyone, too, like in a really insincere way. But, you know, a little kindness, a little self-restraint in some cases, no matter how funny it might be...

The sense of shame - the imposed sense of being fundamentally wrong in oneself - is frequently the root of mental illness, anger problems, and a great deal of unhappiness and brokenness. This can result from a major formative event, or from a constant stream of being criticised and down-trodden.

So now I shall post this, and hope that you don't all accuse me of being emo. Or think I'm fishing for approval (I'm not - I'm fine with me), or closed to criticism or other opinions (I'm not - please go ahead). Though, um, if you do feel inclined to label me anything in response to this, I won't care, coz I can take it. And stuff.