It’s been said by many others in all kinds of ways, and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that it’s true: Our thoughts determine everything about our lives.
Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life. - Proverbs 4:23
The absolutely homicidal thought that somehow made it into my mind before I’d even left the crib was, “I can’t.” I wasn’t aware of it - how could I be? I only know about it because my mom told me long after I’d become an adult. She remembered thinking it was weird that I wouldn’t even try to climb out of my crib. When she asked why I never tried, apparently I told her in a sad little voice, “I can’t.”
And then I repeated that to myself thousands and thousands more times, until the words de-cohered from an idea into a state. I tried to live a life in that necrotic state of mind. It didn’t work out so well.
When your starting point, your fundamental understanding of yourself, bears no hope of success, you let opportunities slip by. You don’t take chances. You don’t join groups. You don’t try hard in school. You don’t have a vision.
It goes farther than simply not putting yourself out there. If you “can’t,” then you can never believe people can love you. You can’t form bonds with others, even those who are actually the closest with you. This is true even in ideal familial or romantic relationships, but when those relationships are toxic, when other people’s crap lands on you, it reinforces every horrible thing you’ve ever said to yourself.
You’ll even push people away who tell you that you can. At some point you’re so invested in the sick vision of yourself that actual positivity hurts. It hurts because you want so desperately for the good things to be true, and you’re tempted to really try to be the good guy people say you can be, but eventually you do nothing because:
“I can’t.”
People might even think you’re lazy because you never “try.” Especially people who don’t know you. Or they’ll think any number of things based on whatever facade you’ve created to hide what you think is utter worthlessness. If you’re happy-go-lucky past a certain age, people will think you’re a fool. If you’re a workaholic, people will think you’re driven. (Yes, that’s positive, but it’s still based on a lie). If you’re a workaholic and unsuccessful, people might think you’re pathetic.
Men will do just about anything to hide this deep shame. And have no doubt - it feels like shame. Like an unforgivable flaw, or a sin you’re guilty of even when you’ve done nothing like committing it. For a shocking number of men, the facade becomes too much to bear.
Many of the funniest, or most (apparently) put-together men I’ve known were just corpses on the inside. One day couple of years ago a friend of mine who I thought was perfectly normal decided to get his affairs in order and then he drove into the woods and killed himself.
I had a cousin who had our family’s male “gene,” I suppose you might call it. It’s a sort of wry and often hilarious way of looking at the world. Sort of an “Aww, shucks” response to the challenges of life. One night after an apparently good date with his wife, he sat in the car and told her he’d “be in in a minute.” But when she was in the house, he pulled out his 9mm, put it in his mouth, and left his wife and daughter behind.
That’s an all-too-common end-point for men who believe they “can’t.” Hell, long before I was a man, around the age of 12 or so, I reached that point. I still remember, with exquisite clarity, the first time I ever articulated the thought - and then said out loud - that I wanted to kill myself. I was already done with life, overburdened with stress and worry and loneliness, and I was just freaking done.
And I came from a background others would have killed for. Not rich, but not in want or need of anything. I had two parents at home, and while their relationship was almost always toxic, at least I had the advantage of a two-parent household.
There’s another common response to the “I can’t” attitude: You might overreact in the opposite direction - you start telling yourself that you’re AWESOME. But you can’t fool yourself - ask any recovering egomaniac. You know the big talk is a lie. And so you hide yourself even deeper inside. You’ll destroy anyone who challenges you or comes close to ripping away the persona. When it comes crashing down, it seems like the only options you have left are the bottle or the gun.
So what’s the solution? Positive affirmations? Prayer? Meditation?
Well, yes and no. I’m still working on rewiring my brain. I thank God (literally, I think) for giving me at least a smidge of grit and principle. When I became responsible for a wife and then children, all the challenges of life amped up past 11 to something like 38, but I took my duties seriously, even when they were just grudging obligations. I don’t count this as a virtue (although maybe I should). It was more like stubborn, block-headed fortitude. I’m sure pride was in there somewhere. Or maybe it was even the real me, long-since left for dead. Emaciated from lack of good spiritual nutrition. Atrophied from lack of exercise.
Whatever the case, by grace or grit, I kept on because I knew, on some deep level, that my life was no longer my own. I belonged to other people. They needed me. And so I had to persist.
I’m not a big fan of affirmations. In my experience, positively affirming yourself is a great way to wind up in a deep, dark hole. What I was really doing in that brief time of “practicing affirmations” was naming all the things I wasn’t, and never COULD be, because, “I can’t.”
I could tell myself I was “strong,” or that I was “smart,” or that I was “funny,” “handsome,” whatever. But I never believed a word of it. It was like stabbing myself in the chest over and over.
I’ve always been religious (do NOT go on about the difference between “religion” and “Christianity.” This is a trendy Protestant hack to avoid difficult arguments.) It’s in my DNA. My adoptive grandfather, a former priest who had chosen to leave the priesthood to marry, would take me to Mass on weekday mornings. I’d play around the altar or, if I remember correctly, just wander around the near deserted church. That alone set the hook.
But my spiritual formation was weak compared to what came later. Suffice it to say that I looked for God to tell me I was a good son for a long time, and the response was pretty much silence.
(That might sound bitter. It’s not. My relationship with God is a work in progress, and I’m just now getting over myself enough to hear the faint echo of His voice out across a wide chasm. Check out Dr. Peter Kreeft’s lecture on C.S. Lewis’ “Till We Have Faces.” It changed my life.)
How about quiet walks in the woods? Highly recommended as well.
So, what’s the secret to, you know, believing you can and, by extension, not blowing your head off?
Shut. Up.
Seriously. If you’d hit someone for telling you - to your face - what you tell yourself a hundred thousand times per day, stop saying those things.
First, of course, you have to realize that you’re doing it. I think a lot of men check out before they even realize what they’re doing to themselves. But once you realize it, you have to stop. As cold as possible.
It’s not going to be easy, because more than likely, by the time you realize you’re basically abusing yourself and you’re strong enough to fight back, you’ve already established a life-long habit. The lie - and that’s what it is - that you “can’t” is a parasitic entity that might actually be more than 50 percent of “you.”
When I finally realized it was a lie - at least hoped that there was a possibility it was a lie - I saw the lie as a massive cliff face. Kind of like the Cliffs of Insanity in “The Princess Bride.” It was massive. Insurmountable.
So, the first step for me was to simply acknowledge that this was a big-ass obstacle. I didn’t start affirming myself. “You’re a great climber! You got this, dude!” I knew that was BS from the get-go. No, I just identified the issues.
It went something like this: “Okay, deep breath. This is a mother of a problem. I see it. I recognize it. That’s step one.” And then I would essentially walk away from it.
I did that for every problem or depression “trigger.” I acknowledged it. I stopped telling myself I couldn’t. And then I started asking myself why I thought I couldn’t. And then, cautiously, I began proposing things to myself like I was talking to someone else. Maybe it was a little schizophrenic, but I started having these little dialogues with myself:
“You know, other people have done X. What’s preventing you from doing it?”
”Well, I don’t know what to do.”
“Here’s a thought: why don’t you figure out what you don’t know, and then see if you can know it.
And little by little, I was able to define the problem, put it in perspective, and then do something about it(them). I realized that I could.
I. Freaking. Could.
I couldn’t do anything, of course. I’m not a polymath or something. I’m a pretty average guy in most ways. But, I realized that more was possible, and the horizon got a little closer.
It takes practice. It doesn’t happen overnight. Dispel such expectations right now. Yes, everything feels so desperately urgent, but trust me on this: if you’re breathing, you have time. Just stop it with the negative self-talk.
I’m sorry if this comes off as sort of a rambling stream-of-consciousness. I’m surprised I wrote as much as I did. Evidently I had some things on my mind. Ideally I’l edit for length and clarity, but I know me. ;-) Plus, I have some other things to say.
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