Confronting Nonconfrontation

On why I actually find it hard to stick up for myself even though that's, like, "my thing".

In recent years, I’ve had to face one of my most shameful flaws: I fear confrontation. This realization was honestly shocking to me because, prior to this, I genuinely thought of myself as somewhat feisty. I mean, if you’re someone who regularly says exactly what’s on your mind, or publicly expresses feelings in any vulnerable, or potentially controversial way, you kind of have to be fearless, right? 

How do I write countless essays about being a proud fat slut if I know a bunch of assholes are going to tell me to lose weight and shut up? How do I scream into microphones time and again, all my frustrations about men, without fearing backlash? For many years, I thought my disregard for the anger of internet trolls, and all the other judgmental ghouls out there was a clear sign that I had chutzpah. I believed because I was capable of texting a lover who'd scorned me that I was angry with him meant I was the opposite of a doormat. I believed this all while not noticing the way I avoided confrontation in other areas of my life. Particularly, in my friendships and in work environments. Only in talking about it in therapy -- in explaining daily life occurrences and frustrations to him -- did I eventually realize I’m often the complete opposite of a give-no-fucks type of bitch in these situations. I saw how conflict is actually something I kept trying to avoid in various interpersonal relationships.

My initial reaction to this unfortunate a-ha moment was to go down one of my classic anxiety spirals, full of dread and self-loathing. My specialties. I guess I’m just a fucking phony then. A total coward. I replayed messages I’ve received of people admiring my bravery and hated myself for being a fucking fraud. Brave? For years I let my editors do whatever they wanted to my articles, completely hacking my words to pieces, before finally mustering up even a fraction of courage to ask them not to do that. I mean, sure, the clear power imbalance wasn’t helping (especially for a company famous for taking advantage of eager freelance writers), but still...if what I think I am is a woman who speaks her mind, why would that matter? Often, my closest friends would do or say something I didn’t agree with or felt hurt by, and I would shut my mouth and pretend to let it blow over. I could never let them know how I truly felt. I preferred to bottle up my frustrations for the sake of keeping the peace. And despite all of this fearful behavior, the next day I’d be writing an article about how much I hate the culture of casual sex manipulating women into “chill” behavior or speaking freely about confronting men who’ve ghosted me to get a clear explanation out of them. How can I be such a contradiction? How can I be so fearless in saying what’s on my mind in my writing, or in performance, yet so afraid to live that way?

I know I’m not the only person like this. Many people I interact with are exactly the same way -- much of it thanks to the false sense of bravado being online brings.  Would the nameless, faceless trolls, offended by tweets, have this same sort of douchey confidence IRL? Probably not. Even outside of trolling, when we're posting who we are online, we are posting a curated version of the "self" we want people to see. The online version of me is pretty exclusively a give-no-fucks, loud fat bitch. The real me isn't always so plucky and unwavering. In real life, I doubt myself constantly. I've overthought myself into anxiety attacks that had me texting people at 3 AM, apologizing for something I said three years prior. Real-life me has apologized frequently for sticking up for myself, fearing imagined repercussions. I have a brain that excels at imagining all the ways things can go wrong versus how they can go right. Fun stuff!

I think what I needed to learn in early adulthood was that a difference of opinion doesn't always cause a volcanic eruption. Even the slightest disagreement felt like it could lead to the demise of the relationship, and I feared ultimately being friendless and without work because I managed to make everyone in my life hate me. I suppose I felt this way because that’s what I saw constantly in my own life, growing up. And if therapy has taught me anything, it’s that everything wrong with you now stems from how you were raised by two people in their mid-20s who didn’t really know what the fuck they were doing.

It may be very typical childhood trauma, but yes, my parents fought a lot. Their fighting was vitriolic. The tone in which they yelled at never came close to feeling like there might be even an ounce of love for one another deep down somewhere. They doled out extreme emotional abuse to each other on a daily basis. The insults and threats were truly endless. At that time I was an only child, and though I knew they loved me, their passion for screaming at each other (over what I think was mostly money problems), superseded the need to provide me the guidance I needed to feel like I was being properly parented. There wasn’t physical neglect, but there was emotional neglect. Perhaps this neglect is what made me afraid of confrontation later in life. According to the rules of my childhood, you lose people to anger, which can come at any moment over any little thing.

Here’s what I’ve come to learn now. I was never actually a fraud. I really was, and still am, confident and outspoken. In certain circumstances, I was indeed unwavering. The parts of me I’ve shown online are still me, only incomplete. They highlighted those brave parts of me while masking the parts of me filled with uncertainty and fear. In fact, I believe what I, and many others, reveal online is more aspirational than an accurate reflection, whether we like to acknowledge this or not. There’s something good about showing the public a brave face though. If you do it right, you can actually become the person you say you are. I’d like to think that’s what I’m doing now. 

What it took was mustering up the courage to do it just once. For me, it was in an email. The details aren’t important, but I basically had to break ties with someone I found increasingly difficult to work productively with. After over a year of trying to make our dynamic work, I had to face the fact that we simply did not have the same sensibilities or vision for this particular project. I knew deep down that this was the right thing to do, but I also knew it would make them extremely angry with me. I had to quell the onslaught of negative thoughts over how they might react upon receiving this news. In all honesty, I wasn’t successfully able to do that, but I went ahead and sent the email anyway. Lo and behold, I was right. They were upset and wanted nothing to do with me after that. And yet, I was still okay. In fact, I was still somehow relieved.

When I saw that my world didn’t come crumbling down from the tension from this, I was able to do it more and more. I find it easier now to say things like, “Look, I’m hurt that you behaved this way” or “I don’t like that this happened” or just simply, “I don’t agree”. Avoidance was never a real solution and I know that having experienced the actual, real solutions by speaking up. What I finally started asking myself was this: do I want people to like me if it means I don’t like myself? Do I care what others think more than what I think? The less I let others sway me, the less I fear being disliked and, from there, the greater my ability to be my most authentic self. This version of me is the person I need to be liked, and it doesn’t have to be for everyone. 

In a shocking twist, I've come to develop a fondness for arguing. I mean, I’m a Jew. It’s in our DNA. That’s why I’ve always been so good at it with my mother, but now I am able to branch out and take it on with others (if need be). I’ve doubly come to find that a mature argument can create a deeper level of understanding, and even intimacy. Arguments can be loving and playful. They can be funny and senseless. But of course, they can also be purely confrontational. They can still be tense and uncomfortable. However, over the past three or so years, I’ve learned that handling this kind of unpleasant argument is far less anxiety-inducing the more I’ve grown to feel secure in myself and my beliefs. 

It’s not easy to be a disagreeable person, but the more we rely on mass approval in order to feel good about ourselves, the more we neglect our mental well-being. While my anxiety is still very present in many facets of my life, I can proudly say it has lessened when it comes to this. Is the more vulnerable, more self-aware version of fat slut Alison as “cool” to portray? No, probably not. At least not until everyone else gets on board too. So, with that in mind, join me and we can all be honest, confident sluts together. Okay, the “slut” part is optional, I guess. I do recommend it, though.