Self-Pity gets a bad rap, doesn’t it? We are discouraged and shamed for participating in it. We are made to feel guilty, self-indulgent, selfish, and wrong if we feel sorry for ourselves. This culture, in particular, emphasizes independence, grit, and pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. If we don’t…or can’t, we are often viewed as weak and the embodiment of personal failure.

Pretty bleak, huh?

Cue D.H. Lawrence for still further feel-good edification…

“I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.”

Great, now we’re talking about death as the alternative to self-pity. Sounds like a winning approach.

I love D.H. Lawrence’s poem, “Self-Pity.” Like any good Type A, perfectionist people pleaser, I wanted to improve. I wanted to do better in life. And part of that plan involved attempting to adapt this poem to my life. Struggles, and I had a lot of them, could, somehow, be overcome if only I could subdue all expression of self-pity.

Sounds really doable, doesn’t it?

Yeah.

So, I tried to master the poem in this vehicle called my life. I wanted mastery. I wanted to be bulletproof. I wanted to be immune to hurt.

Also doable…and so realistic.

Terminal Uniqueness (I am the Only One Suffering):

“I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself…”

It’s only happening to me. No one else.

I saw that in the abuse I survived. I saw that in my eating disorder behaviors. I saw that as I went through my breast cancer paces. I am alone.

Only, as I silently said those words to myself, I didn’t fully realize, at the time, what I really meant was, “I am ashamed.” The shame of going through whatever I was going though hijacked the “aloneness” of my situation.

Where did the shame come from? Well, childhood conditioning played a significant role. But I became my own jailer from there.

I was ashamed, and perhaps, too myopic in it to see that that there have been countless others, throughout history, who have have similar experiences to mine. I was not the only one. And that triggered a special shame of “how dare I be miserable and feel sorry for myself” with that fact in place? It was kind of the equivalent of “Clear your plate. There are people in Africa starving.”

And the shame equivalent feels like it smacks that of “You should not be okay with yourself unless and until everyone else is okay and has all of their needs met FIRST!”

Big, big sigh exhaled here. Around and around I went.

And I wanted to be the poem’s “wild thing.” I wanted to be the strong creature, valiantly enduring even with a hurricane’s wind whipping in my face.

Doesn’t it sound romantic? Brave? Inspiring?

I could just muster up feeling like it was “windy” instead.

An “And” World:

Terminal uniqueness. Shame. Shame about the shame.

Come on. You’ve been there with that in your life. We are not immune from suffering these slings and arrows. And there’s the key word in that Shakespearean phrase, a little, itty-bitty word, in fact: “and.”

“And” covers any struggle or pain; “and” covers feeling sorry for ourselves.

You and I are unique human beings AND the life experiences we deal with and suffer through are not solely, entirely unique to us. Someone else, right now, is going, or has gone through what we are experiencing.

“I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.”

Ecclesiastes 9:11

Just because we have shared like human experiences does not disqualify our inherent preciousness and our ability to be strong or courageous. It is not a case of one or the other. It’s both. At the same time.

“And.”

So, go ahead, Wild Thing. Grant yourself permission to feel sorry for yourself in whatever challenging life circumstance you are facing. And, while you’re doing so, please remember you are strong; you are brave. This is tough stuff, whatever it is for you.

You are too valuable of a creature; honor that, even with the painful struggle. You are worth it.

Unhealthy Instead of Pity:

“…A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough…”
Ah, yes. It’s inevitable in this classic poem. We introduce the concept of death. And it only took the second line of the poem to get there. Fun.

Years ago, when I first encountered “Self-Pity” by D. H. Lawrence, I was struck by the stoicism of our little feathered friend. I romanticized it and I idealized it. I was also no stranger to “near death” as well. Everything from almost dying as an infant, to suicidal thoughts, to emaciation from anorexia. And this was WAAAAY before my breast cancer diagnosis.

And I had been repeatedly told- shamed– that what I was going through “wasn’t that bad.” Yeah, sure, I almost lost my life a few times, but, hey, it could have been so much worse. I made a mountain out of my circumstances when I should have taken a cue from “small bird” here to, instead, drop dead, frozen from my bow, and make that sucker a mole hill already!

What WAS my problem, anyway?

I had a severe case of turning to the unhealthy instead of the sorrowful pity of my reality. I chose to berate myself instead of love myself. I made the death of a frozen bird my answer to my pain and my life.

That’s a dangerous thing to do to any of us who are more on the results/achievement-oriented side of things. It’s dangerous because it removes all grace, all humanity, all wiggle room to make mistakes. Hell, in my case, I didn’t even want to be me? I wanted to be a bird, a frozen dead bird?

Something’s screwy with that notion.

Stay Thawed Out:

As much as it pained me to realize, going through all of my “near-death” situations, I was more valuable dead than alive. I give you an excerpt from Neil Gaiman’s “The Graveyard Book:”

“…‘They are for the most part, done with the world. You are not. You are alive… that means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you can change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you’re dead, it’s gone. Over. you’ve made what you’ve made, dreamed what you’ve dreamed, written your name. you may be buried here, you may even walk. But the potential is finished.’”

Go ahead, Wild Thing, keep your blood flowing, your heart beating. It is not time for you to go yet. Even if it feels like it is.

Part of us staying thawed out is being messy, upset, unkempt,but, nonetheless, we are still tweeting on a branch somewhere. Even if it’s a pathetic, near silent tweet, we have a voice and we have a life and, as long as we keep living, we have the opportunity to use it.

Use it, Wild Thing! Don’t die frozen.

Only Perfect is Acceptable:

“…without ever having felt sorry for itself.”

Line three: perfectionistic expectation.

You can imagine how little old me ran amuck with this concept.

It’s an impossible standard to set, uphold, and accept.

“Suck it up.”

“No pain, no gain.”

“Pain is temporary. Pride is forever.”

“Go hard or go home.”

Ever encounter these phrases? They can often be found in high school locker rooms. I have seen my fair share of banners made by the Varsity cheerleaders.

Well, of course, I added Lawrence’s poem to that collection. But I did more that that. I convinced myself of the lie that EVERYONE ELSE was completely, thoroughly, and perfectly executing it, while advancing to such extraordinary results in their own lives. Success! EVERYONE ELSE was achieving it, repeatedly, daily, with the best attitude, and a pleasing smile on their faces. I was the only loser who was failing constantly, because I wasn’t tough, strong, cheerful, or disciplined enough to achieve those exact same results.

(Oh, and by the way, “those exact same results” were always an ever-moving target. And here was an extra fun fact: I was the major person doing most of that moving!)

Everyone’s Flailing and NONE of It is Perfect OR Pretty:

So, go ahead, Wild Thing. Flap those wingers and flail spectacularly!

Once again, there seems to be this unrealistic expectation and pressure placed upon us to not only do incredible feats perfectly, but also do them with the most wonderful smiling attititude that ever existed on Planet Earth.

Be that perfect little birdy.

I couldn’t do that. I could do ugly, embarrassing, ridiculous, pathetic, messy, undignified, and sorrowful, but I couldn’t swing perfect little birdy.

Perhaps, a good illustration of that reality was when I was violently bulimic, dumpster diving just outside of my college apartment. I was not stoic as I dumpster dove; I was desperate. I was in despair. I choked back tears as I rummaged for half-eaten pizza crusts.

“…without ever having felt sorry for itself.”

Nope. I was despairing the entire time. I felt I was only a weak failure.

Years have gone by since that time. And I now see that I needed to be in that dark place and, yes, feel sorry for myself. It’s probably not a popular thing to say, but, had it not been for that big time “bottom” experience, there would be no book I wrote about it later on. There would be none of the life I experience now. It’s cliché, but life is often that. The lesson comes, many times, after you and I have disgraced ourselves, after we have been disgusting and filthy.

Perhaps there can be no true cleanup if you and I were never dirty in the first place.

We need to remember not to buy the lie that stoicism is constantly, perfectly achieved by the entire humanity, that it is the only way toward success, answers, happiness, love, and life’s meaning. It is not.

Sometimes, we find the answers, the help, the heart’s desires as we are the exact antithesis to “Self-Pity.” Fraility, vulnerability, and humility serve us much more than the hardened stiff upper lip. Don’t equate stoic with strong. Strength shows up looking like its exact opposite, more often than not.

You are already the Wild Thing. You have nothing to prove.

You are strongly weathering your life right now, feelings aside. We need only look to the pandemic to see how we all are enduring some harrowing events and issues. You and I are doing so, right now, while also, yes, often feeling sorry for ourselves. Don’t underestimate its power. We are, via the vehicle of this misery moving closer to who we are meant to be, and to the lives we are meant to live.

Wild Thing, be assured, that is a wild and incredible thing!

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse