Uncomfortable Honesty

My daughter just taught me a lesson about strength of character and bravery. In an age when much social interaction, particularly between teens, takes place via the back and forth of disembodied texting or by writing on somebody’s “wall”, she chose to apologize to someone she had hurt face-to-face. That she had not intended to be hurtful was strictly beside the point, at least to her increasingly uncomfortable conscience.

She had gotten caught up in the kind of third party nonsense that feels reassuringly old school to me. Some things in adolescence, it seems, never change. And getting friends to act as intermediaries appears to be one of them. Unwittingly, my daughter found herself at the center of one of the many minor romantic misadventures playing out in the hallways of her high school last Spring.

After repeatedly assuring friends, and friends of friends, that she did not “like” like a certain boy, and bearing the brunt of teasing that ensued simply because her name was being bandied about, she finally became emphatic. I Do Not Like Him. At All. And in doing so both hurt and embarrassed a really nice guy. Whom she did like, just not “that way”. In attempting to deflect some very unwanted and increasingly awkward attention, she had lashed out at someone whose only crime was thinking she was special.

A vague feeling of discomfort regarding the whole awkward scene ensued for her and simmered somewhere beneath the surface, occasionally percolating into her consciousness. Which made her feel uncomfortable and caused her to act a little snarly around the house. This was not a big deal, but it festered. And the rest of us suffered from an irritability she could not even put her finger on.

I recently suggested that she just try talking to the poor guy to clear up any misunderstanding. Well that sounded like a terrible idea to her. Was I crazy? How totally awkward! Plus, it was ancient history, except that it still bugged her. The subject was dropped.

But about a week later she came home fairly skipping and grinning ear to ear. “I did it.” She beamed. “I saw him and I told him that I got really flustered and did not mean to hurt his feelings.” “What did he say?” I asked. “Nothing really.” she replied cheerfully as she headed upstairs.

It was then that I knew she had discovered a great truth. When we make amends, when we seek to make something right with someone, we certainly do so hoping that it will make a difference to the person with whom we seek reconciliation. But the person with whom we really seek reconciliation is often ourselves. I am grateful that my daughter was keyed in enough to her feelings and to the feelings of someone other than herself to realize that she had behaved in a way that proved hurtful. And I am grateful that the still, small voice inside of her found this unsettling. But mostly I am grateful that she was willing to do something uncomfortable to rectify it. No texting. No intermediaries. No awkward avoidance. Eye contact was involved. And an apology. And just like that, a burden was lifted.

Sounds simple, but I would do well to take the advice I so wisely gave my daughter. I often shrink from initiating or participating in uncomfortable conversations that really should be held. I’m too busy. It’s too awkward. I don’t know how to say it. Yet, until I make my peace, or say my piece, or am open enough to truly listen, there is little chance I will know the peace that I crave. It is so low tech, but it works like a charm. Even, and especially, in a high tech world.