Sometimes, when I’m getting enough sleep, eating enough vegetables, feeling safe in my relationships, and listening to a ton of Tara Brach podcasts, I think I have conquered the self-loathing. I think, “How silly I was last week, when I thought I was a fundamentally bad person.” But then something very small will go wrong (I’ll lose my wallet; someone will write a mean review of one of my books; I’ll forget a deadline), and the illusion of my self-evolution will come crashing down. Before I know it, I’m back in my empty bathtub, sobbing into my hands and thinking, “I am incapable of change. I am bad and wrong. I am failing at literally everything a person could be failing at.” (How soon one forgets that one has recently eaten enough vegetables!)
Sometimes I’ll encounter a person who seems to experience life in a polar opposite way. She’ll be scolding a waitress who messed up her order, or arguing with anyone who gently asks her put her dog on a leash. And, sure, this Karen-y behavior is entitled. It’s unacceptable. It lacks compassion and makes the world worse. But whenever I see this kind of person (and it’s not always a white woman; it is more often than not a white man), a small part of me thinks, “It would be nice to think everything is someone else’s fault. It would maybe feel good to have the kind of self-confidence you need to never believe you have to apologize for anything.”