Someone gave me cruel and heartless feedback on a project I had submitted for critique. Perhaps this person thought she was just honest. Or maybe funny in a caustic way, but I felt pierced through the heart as if with an arrow. Immediately I felt angry, resentful, ashamed, hurt. I wanted to strike out and say, “How dare you? What is wrong with you? Don’t you see the cruelty in your words?” I considered calling her to tell her how her words affected me, to keep my reaction in “I” statements, not “you” statements. “I felt hurt by this statement,” etc.
I prayed about it and realized I didn’t need to take any action at that moment. I asked God, “Why did you bring this person into my life? What lesson do you want me to learn?” And then I bowed to God and to this person, this teacher, who may not realize she is my teacher, but is, and I said, “Thank you for showing me the cruelty and impulsivity I embody.”
For isn’t it often the case that the people who bother us the most, who get under our skin and irritate us, are the ones who reflect the very same traits in ourselves?
I learned many attitudes as a child that I now consider hurtful, negative attributes that I don’t like in myself, and yet in some ways enjoy indulging in. Sometimes I enjoy being mean and spiteful. And then God ushers someone into my life with those same characteristics, and, voila, I am attuned to them in myself and see how hurtful they can be. And so I bow and say thank you, and I never hope again to engage in such behaviors if I can help it.
So instead of calling this woman and saying your words hurt me, I apologized for my behaviors when giving feedback that may have caused pain and discouraged someone rather than encouraged them.
I am aware of my part and how I will conduct myself in the future. I don’t need to make a decision right now whether I will respond to this person one-on-one. Being aware of the dynamics and having made my amends for my behavior is all I need at the moment.
An excerpt from the poem “Checkmate” by Rumi
“…A certain preacher always prays long and with enthusiasm
for thieves and muggers that attack people
on the street. “Let your mercy, O Lord,
cover their insolence.”
He doesn’t pray for the good,
But only for the blatantly cruel.
Why is this? his congregation asks.
“Because they have done me such generous favors.
Every time I turn back towards the things they want.
I run into them, they beat me, and leave me nearly dead
in the road, and I understand, again, that what they want
is not what I want. They keep me on the spiritual path.
That’s why I honor them and pray for them.”
Those that make you return, for whatever reason,
to God’s solitude, be grateful to them….”
From “The Essential Rumi” translated by Coleman Barks