Complimentary Demons

I mentioned in Superfluous Things that I don't handle compliments well. I never have. When I was just a wee lad, I was the Shy One. I was the one burying his face in the hem of Mom's dress or hiding behind Dad's leg while adults would try to coax me out (unsuccessfully... unless they had candy). I'd have grown out of that except I had an older brother and an older sister. They would reinforce my shyness and insecurity by telling me that the adults were lying about what a cute and adorable kid I was.

They weren't, of course. Lying, that is. I was cute, I was adorable. Doesn't matter. The Two were very good at cultivating my natural insecurity and growing it into quite the monster neurosis. It was likely just the normal teasing of siblings and I was just predisposed to turning it into some analyst's income production device. That is, if I could afford an analyst. Which I can't because I was never allowed to succeed because of the insecurity created in me as a child by The Two.

It has hampered me throughout my life. In sometimes odd ways, it has interfered with relationships. I was stunned, for instance, when a girl I knew told me I was conceited. Not just conceited but "sooo conceited". I was stunned because this awkward, scrawny, bug-eyed, no talent loser with bad hair who couldn't dance had nothing whatsoever to be conceited about.

Yup, the teen years were not kind to me. Imagine if I had been plagued with acne. I would not have survived. I guarantee it. That was my only good fortune, I had good skin.

It, that nose wart called insecurity, followed me out of my teens and into adulthood. Praise was always suspect. My siblings had seen to that. Anytime I got a little praise, one (or both) would explain how the giver was "just trying to be kind" or "was up to something." They reinforced this by doing it themselves on a regular basis. Any kindness towards me was merely a prelude to a prank which would leave me embarrassed and feeling stupid while they laughed in glee.

So, naturally, any compliments I received later in life would trigger that emotion and make me suspicious of the motivation behind it. A pretty girl batting her eyes at me in high school? Just wanted a sucker to give her a ride home from school. Praise at inspection in the Navy? Likely to precede a restriction of liberty at best. A good evaluation at work? A prelude to my being assigned an undesirable project no one else wanted.

I have since learned that there is something called self-fulfilling prophecy. That is, we seek the outcome we expect and only recognize that outcome as valid. It is always justified by the facts in retrospect. Any other, more favorable, outcome is dismissed as an anomaly. This also explains my first marriage and its (inevitable) outcome.

I am older now, and (I hope) wiser. But any compliment still stirs up that dread, the old demons flutter about my brain, and I tremble like that little boy hiding behind my mother's skirt.

And now you know why I have issues with compliments.