Electrolicious

I’ve talked about my love of Social Psychology before, right? I’ll spare you the full dissertation, but the basic idea is this: as social creatures, we base many of our behavioral decisions on social cues. If you’re curious, you can read more over here.

Social psychology was a major aha moment for me in college because I realized that people determine how to treat you based in part on social cues you give them. Therefore, if you figure out what the cues are, you can influence how you’re treated.

When I was at the University of Washington, I looked like I was about 14 years old, and I wanted to impress people and be treated with respect, so I started giving people cues that that’s how they should act. It was sort of a “fake it until you make it” practice, where I would act like I was a competent, intelligent, assertive, articulate adult deserving of respect … and surprisingly, people took the cues and started treating me as though I actually was all those things At 20, this was a massive epiphany and akin to a religious experience. (Dorky, but true. Social Psych is more than an academic field — it’s a way of life!)

Ten years later, I’m starting to realize that there are costs to this technique of dealing with the world. In this last month of crisis and freak-out and sadness, it’s become clear that I am so good at acting competent and on top of it and having my shit together that even people who know me have a hard time telling when I’m feeling like shit. Even as I’m saying, “I’ve been a mess,” I’m still giving off all the cues that say “I’m fine. I’ve got my shit together on this one and I’m doing ok.” As always, people hear the words (”sad!”), but respond the cues (”fine!”).

Symptoms of this disconnect include people laughing when I’m telling a sad story because I have a pathetic tendency to make even sad things seem like LIKE SO MUCH FUN! because I’m so good at making everything sound FUN! Even when I tell people that I’m in a bad way, I still hear things like “I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better” by the time we say goodbye.

The moral of the story? I need to get better at having my cues and my reality line up. My fakery is confusing for everyone, especially me.

(All that said, I’m feeling a little better these days. But maybe I’m just lying again.)

I was five and about to miss the school bus. I had a long walk: my parents’ house was half a mile down a gravel road, which I would dutifully walk by myself. I was close to missing the bus though, and as I ran down the last bit of the dirt road, I tripped, fell, and skinned my knee. As I stood up and picked the gravel out of my bloody skin, I felt myself start to cry — but I keenly remember realizing “Well, there’s no one here but me — why bother crying?” I stood up tearless, and ran the rest of the way to catch the bus.

I remain mostly tearless. I’ve become the classic men’s group head-case — keeping a stiff upper lip through most weepy moments. I’ve built my sense of self-worth around being strong, self-reliant, brash, bossy, and capable. There is no room for sniveling. Sure, I’ll get choked up — tears will even leak out of my eyes, but I WILL! NOT! CRY! unless I’m alone and can just deal with myself.

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