Self-deprecation is a dick move

Dave and I were sitting in the back room of Ada’s Technical Books, enjoying our first date.

It wasn’t a romantic date — Dave is gay, and I’m bi — but there had been sparks when we first met at our neighborhood Antifa gym. You know how that is, sometimes? You meet someone, and there’s just that zing. That compelling thread of kindred spirit, complimented soul, some sort of work you need to do together.

We sat at the big heavy wooden table, surrounded by Ada’s bookshelves full of knowledge about coding for Java and cryptography and astronomy. We took sips of our respective teas and dove right in.

“Tell me about the spiritual classes you’ve been doing at Bastyr,” I said, probing him on the program I’d heard him talking about at the gym.

“It’s shamanic work with a wonderful woman named Char Sundust,” Dave said. “It’s been profound for me… there’s so much wisdom to integrate!”

“Can you share one little bon mot?” I asked.

“OTTO NATTO,” Dave said. “It stands for Open To The Outcome, Not Attached To The Outcome.”

“Oh shit,” I said. “Like how you can be hopeful and excited about something happening, but also stay relaxed with the reality that it might not happen? And trusting that either way, it’s part of the universal unfolding?”

“Exactly,” Dave said. “OTTO NATTO.”

“Damn,” I said, and then rolled my eyes at myself. “I am the absolute fucking WORST at that. I like to make a goal, set my sights on it, and then pin all my hopes and dreams on achieving this one stupid thing I decided would be best for me!”

I laughed bitterly at myself.

“I get totally obsessed with whatever craptastic goal I’ve arbitrarily set, and then I obsessively pursue it, ignoring my body and my health completely, and blowing right through any other warning signs that like, oh, this might not be as awesome as you think. Then when I reach the goal, it’s not even fucking worth it! Because I’m an idiot who doesn’t even know what’s best for me — my goals are usually so misguided because I’m such a garbage human at making choices.”

“Wow,” Dave said, reaching out a hand and putting it on my arm. “Can you try saying that again — but this time, do it without being so shitty towards my new friend Ariel?”

I swallowed and blinked back tears. Why did I suddenly feel so panicked?

I took a breath and tried again.

“Staying unattached to an outcome is really challenging for me?” I asked, unsure of how this whole “being kind to one’s self” thing was supposed to go.

“Historically, I’ve been very goal-oriented, and I’m learning to recognize that sometimes my goals aren’t in my best interests?”

Dave smiled at me, encouragingly.

“And sometimes I dismiss myself in dogged pursuit of my goals?”

“That’s better,” Dave said. “I like my new friend Ariel. It hurts me to hear you talk about her with such cruelty.”

Wow, I thought. This was a great first date.

Self-deprecation is a familiar tool for many of us. Some of us use it as a defense mechanism: “Here, I’ll insult myself before you get a chance to — it’s safer that way.” Some of us use it as a way to relate to others, almost a way of saying, “Do you hate yourself as much as I hate myself? Haha, I know, right?!”

And some of us use it as a misguided way to signal humility or self-awareness.

Dismantled so hard that I passed out

A couple of months after my platonic date with Dave, I had a Skype session with my mentor, Jett. I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, laptop resting on the blue wool blanket, my wall of books behind me, reassuring me of my intelligence.

My conversations with Jett are a unique kind of masochism. Like me, she’s an Enneagram 3w4 (aka the hardest working special snowflakes), which means she knows all my ego’s favorite games and tricks because she shares them.

Our hour-long sessions are always agonizing in the best ways.

“Can you recommend any books for me to read this month?” I asked Jett.

“No,” Jett said. “I see how you want to read to understand and comprehend and control. I think your edge right now is sitting with the unknowable. Watch your dreams for symbols, and then don’t try to understand them. Just sit with them in humility and openness.”

“Ug,” I said.

“Ariel, not everything can be understood with your mind,” she said.

“UG!” I said again, louder, cringing on my blanket.

“I know you love having flashes of insight, that you then turn around and package and present to people, trying to prove your worth and feel valuable.”

“UG!!” I shouted. It’s uncomfortable being so laid bare, having someone see all your machinations.

“Instead of reading, I’d suggest you spend more time humbly sitting with not-knowing. Your learning edge is in the humility of the unknowable.”

“But I try really hard to be humble,” I said, pushing back with all my ego’s might. (Lookit me! I TRY REALLY HARD! I work so hard at being humble! Where is my humbleness trophy for all of this efforting!?)

“I mean, I’m super self-deprecating!” I argued.

“Aha,” Jett replied. “But self-deprecation is still arrogance. Self-deprecation still establishes you as an authority who knows — it’s just that now you’re an authority on your incompetence.”

“Holy fuck,” I said, deflating.

“Self-deprecation is about you and how smart you are — it just shifts the focus on the negative. It’s still the same egoic fixation about how you’re the most, the best, the center.”

I gulped and listened.

“Self-deprecation still tells other people, ‘I know more than you about how awful I am.’ You’re asserting that other people’s knowledge is less than yours; that even in your ‘less than,’ you own the story.”

Oof.

Our time was up, and I thanked Jett, closed my laptop, and exhaled.

My ego was so dismantled and disoriented that I laid back on the bed and immediately passed out.

Self-deprecation is a dick move

We might think that when we make jokes at our own expense, we’re being funny and humble.

We might think that when we blow off compliments, deflecting them with a wave of a hand and a roll of our eyes, we’re practicing modesty.

But what if actually, we’re just being a different kind of arrogant?

Self-deprecation isn’t gentle, open, humility — it’s aggressive topping. It’s demanding authority: No, you just don’t understand — I actually suck. Here, let me mansplain it to you.

Self-deprecation is arrogance in a different flavor; an ego game flipped on itself that still fortifies your power, your primacy, your knowing-ness.

Basically, self-deprecation is a dick move.

I’m sick of being a dick to myself, but why is it so hard to just be vulnerable in the not knowing?

It feels terrifying and undefended. When Dave asked me to speak about myself more compassionately, I almost started crying! It felt too soft, too weak, too kind. WTF?

What if I just… don’t know? Why does it feel somehow like an admission of defeat to say that? Why would I rather be sure I’m awful than softly allow for the fact that I don’t know.

…I don’t know.

I DON’T KNOW!

MY QUESTIONS FOR YOU

• How do you use self-deprecation? In what contexts does it come up most often?
• How do you react to compliments?
• Would you ever talk about a loved one in the ways that you speak to yourself?