Being Real

Sometimes, when a loved one is upset or angry with me, I miss the underlying message. On the surface, there’s always a practical issue that seems to be the cause, but there’s usually a deeper question as well.

“Do you care about me?”

“Do you accept and love me as I am?”

“Can I trust you?”

Usually, I know enough not to lash out in response, which would only answer all of those questions in the negative. But what I’m worse at is giving voice to my realtime human emotions. 

That hurt. 

That makes me sad. 

That scares me.

Instead, I lean on my family’s go-to response to strong emotions: stoicism. For me, it’s a particular style of Chinese stoicism. Keep control. Don’t lose your cool. Pull back inside of your shell. Sometimes, westerners have described it as “inscrutable.” As much as I hate that stereotype, there’s a bit of truth in it. 

The problem with this kind of stoicism, at least for me, is that it leads the people I love to answer their questions in ways I didn’t intend. 

“Do you care about me?” Not enough, apparently, to feel something.

“Do you accept and love me as I am?” It’s hard to tell when all I see is your emotional blankness.

“Can I trust you?” Not if I don’t really know you, or you think you’re superior to me.

There’s a reason Korean shop owners and their African American customers descended into bitter conflict during the Rodney King riots in LA. There was a fundamental misunderstanding about emotional expression, or the lack of it, and what it meant.

I’m trying to teach myself a new approach. In the face of strong emotions from the people I love, I’m trying to be more real. More present. More “scrutable” (if that’s even a word).

It’s not easy, but it feels like a growing edge.