On Being Liked

I recently learned that someone hates me. I mean, this person told me, in no uncertain terms, to go to hell because they hate me.

I’m fairly sure this isn’t the first person who’s ever hated me, but it’s the first time I know it without doubt.

My initial reaction upon receiving this information was to think, “Uh-oh, I’ve got to fix this!” I thought I needed to disabuse this person of their erroneous opinion of me, outline to them my upright and admirable characteristics, set the record straight, as it were.

Then a little voice reminded me of a quote from author and psychotherapist Judy Ford: “Your opinion of me is none of my business.”

The message of hate played on a loop in my head for a day or two, interrupted now and then by Ford’s quote. I really had to chew on the two of them together for the idea to sink in and take hold.

I’ve never been a firm believer in intention. I always prize action over intention because having a thought doesn’t necessarily do anything, but taking action inevitably causes some equal and opposite reactions.

Experiencing someone’s bald hate has changed that stance a bit.

In this digital age when the click of a mouse sets off a firestorm of online reactions that can spill over into action in the real world, being liked is highly valued. At least, the superficial “like” of Facebook and Instagram reactions, which aren’t really the same thing as enjoying a person’s physical company or even laughing at someone’s jokes on the phone.

Whenever I post something on Facebook, I wait breathlessly for those likes to pile up, check to see which of my friends have reacted, and find myself feeling a bit diminished if no one does. It’s ridiculous.

Why am I so concerned whether near strangers like or don’t like some silly meme or photo or quote I’ve posted to the ether? How does their minimal attention affect my self-worth?

The past three years have been really tough for me largely because I’ve been stuck on the idea that my value comes from other people and their attitudes toward me. This wasn’t a conscious thing — I told everyone who would listen, myself included, that I was on a mission to “find myself,” that I was forging ahead on my own singular path toward my truest, best self.

Well, that was all a bunch of horse shit.

That is to say. I was not entirely genuine with myself about what I was doing or how I was doing it. I thought I was being honest and doing all those soul-searching things, but I was not. I was flailing in self-doubt and trying to find some kind of outside approbation that would trigger my inner acceptance.

And it took someone telling me to my face that they hate me to snap me out of it.

I have digested this person’s hatred and decided I like it. No, I need it. I need to know that someone patently disapproves of me, my actions, my attitude so that I can decide whether I approve of myself, my actions, my attitude.

I needed to feel that hatred and realize that it actually has nothing to do with me. Those feelings emanate from that person’s lived experience, so they’re perfectly valid — for that person. But they do not cancel, counter or even temper any of my own feelings that stem from my own lived experience.

That’s the beautiful part about this: I have finally realized that my feelings are entirely my own; no one else can feel them, change them or negate them. And the reciprocal is true also: I cannot feel, change or negate anyone else’s feelings.

I know that sounds super simple, but it is a revelation for me. No matter how that person feels about me, I can continue to feel love and affection for them, to cherish memories of them, to care what happens to them. Likewise, I can continue to feel love and affection for myself, even in the face of someone’s hatred.

And besides, most of the really awesome people throughout history who have made an impact have been hated by someone. Jesus Christ had a whole army of haters. The women who marched for suffrage were hated by multitudes. Martin Luther King Jr, Gloria Steinem, Pete Buttigieg, Melissa McCarthy, Amy Schumer, Roman Polanski, my cousin Janet — pretty much all the people I’ve ever admired were vehemently disliked by somebody.

This puts me in some stellar company.

So I am grateful that this person shared their strong negative feelings about me directly with me. Knowing how they feel has helped me let go of some guilt that lingered from our parting. And their feelings say more about who they are than who I am.

As Mary Oliver says, the only life I can save is my own.