Building Connections and The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known — An Essay
If you have read my poetry or talked to me about anything besides the weather, you could probably guess that one of my favorite things to overthink is my relationships with people. Of course, not every single person I ever had the opportunity to speak to, because that has the power to drive me off the edge of sanity, but the people I love and the ones I feel particularly comfortable around.
Through doing that, it quickly became apparent to me that, while I didn't have a hard time making friends in general, I always found it significantly harder to maintain and nourish long-lasting, meaningful friendships and relationships. That struggle is, largely or in part, caused by the mortifying ordeal of being known. Yes, the infamous tumblr meme.
If you don't know what 'the mortifying ordeal of being known' is, you might be confused at this moment. So, let me give you a quick summary of the deal. In 2013, author Tim Kreider published an essay for the New York Times that included the sentence: 'If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.'
Kreider’s argument, in essence, is that in order for us to forge deep connections with other people, it is important, if not crucial, to accept the inevitable baring of the self and its flaws that comes along with building such relationships. He emphasizes that everyone needs to be loved in spite of their insecurities, their fears, and their flaws.
It is a comforting thought that someone out there will be willing to love you despite everything you deem yourself unworthy of love for. But for anyone you care about to start accepting your flaws, you must first let them get to know you deeply enough to see them.
Two years ago, I moved to a new place and was suddenly surrounded by a completely new environment and completely new people. Having had the same friends since before I could remember, it seemed scary and distressing to try and form new friendships with people. Now, I’m not talking about the easy, we-like-the-same-music kind of friendships. As a moderately social person, I never had problems with these. But what I had problems with were the real friendships where I didn’t feel stupid talking about myself or the things that mattered deeply to me.
Sometime a year after moving, I met a group of people with whom I shared a lot of common interests and goals. Kind, driven, passionate, and welcoming, they were the kinds of people I felt drawn to and wanted to be friends with. So, I did. It was easy at first. But after getting to know them better and enjoying their company for a few weeks, maybe months, I was struck with a great realization: I knew them well, but they didn't know that much about me. I had, unconsciously, denied them the right to truly know me.
This realization was partially a result of their continued interest in learning about me. Whether constantly asking how I was doing and telling me to answer truthfully or directly talking about how they liked listening to my thoughts, I was moved by how much they seemed to like me. However, that also contributed to my conundrum. If people liked me enough while not knowing much about me beyond the necessary, then what if they get to know me further and realize I wasn’t exactly as cool or smart or interesting as they thought? Why would I tell anyone about my fears or personal thoughts? What benefit would I get out of such undressing of the soul? The answer, I learned, is real connection and love.
The truth is, almost all of our flaws are ordinary. The people you love probably have the same insecurities about themselves as you do. The people you look up to probably made the same mistakes you did or are doing. We tend to believe that we are unique in our suffering or flaws more than anything else. But if you look closely, you’ll realize that these might be the only defining struggles we collectively share as people.
It becomes irrational, then, to think you need to hide the messy and flawed parts of yourself from the people who love you for fear they wouldn't love you anymore. That, instead, in order to find the people who will truly care about you for who you are, you have to first let them see who you are, faulty parts and all. In other words, you have to face the mortifying ordeal of being known, just like Kreider believed.
For me, stumbling upon this realization helped me open up to those around me. While I know not everyone you open up to will be blindly accepting, it is beyond worth it to take the risk. Because for every person who will find your secret interests weird, there will be many people who share those interests or find them endearing. For every person who will shame you for your mistakes, there will be so many more people who will try to help you through them without judgements.
I want you to think of your favorite person or your best friend, do they have flaws you know of? What makes you love them despite these flaws? Why wouldn't someone do the same for you?
Personally, the process of letting myself be known has mostly been gratifying, and knowing I am loved in spite of many things made me much more confident in my relationships with the people I care about.
So while it can be terrifying, I suggest you try to submit to being known. Trust me, so many people will find you worth knowing.
