"Dealing With Conflict"

If someone has a problem with you, it's their problem.

This is a real gem. I love this saying. There is something so profound about it. It's about having boundaries and knowing that it's not all about you. It's about understanding that other people have all kinds of issues going on in their lives, and having compassion for them. And it's about not being so damn sensitive.

Conflict is a part of life. It's a part of Recovery. It's part of dealing with life on life's terms.

Dealing with conflict was not a skill I learned growing up. As a matter of fact, I was taught to avoid conflict at all costs. I learned to run from it. If I couldn't avoid it or weasel out of it, I tried to play peacemaker. Strength and courage were foreign concepts. Growing up, I was never in any fights. I'd been taught to just walk away, or to be passive. But I also wasn't taught to defend myself, either. Or maybe a more accurate way of describing it would be to say that I learned to not defend myself.

It didn't matter if it was a physical fight or a verbal one. Maybe someone was telling lies about me, or accusing me of things I hadn't done. I always avoided whatever it was. Even as an adult, this continued, progressed. Growing up, I had learned that I wasn't worth standing up for, that I wasn't worth defending. Others hadn't stood up for me, and the times I had tried to stand up for myself didn't go well. Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying.

The psychologists refer to this as 'learned helplessness'. Children learn (in a variety of ways) that there isn't any point to standing up for themselves. They learn that there isn't any point in asking for help. At critical times in their development, they don't receive the support they need; they don't receive the help they ask for. So they learn to stop asking. Hopelessness and depression set in. Suicide often follows.

It wasn't until I got into Recovery that I began to think that I might be worth standing up for. Slowly, I began turning that wheel a different direction. I re-learned how to admit to myself when I needed help, and I started to ask for it. I found people who held me up. I found others who cared about me, believed in me, who stood up for me and helped teach me that I am worth standing up for and that it's right and good to stand up for myself. I've met some people, too, who don't feel that way. That's alright. It's egotistical to think everyone will like me, and it's just as egotistical to think everyone hates me or that no one likes me.

Conflict is going to happen. We'll have conflict with our families. There will be conflict with our coworkers. Our lovers. Total strangers. Even in Recovery, there will be conflict. Sometimes, it's an honest disagreement. Sometimes, people will just flat-out not like you. Sometimes you'll come into conflict with someone and they won't even realize it because they're so stuck inside themselves that they can't see anything else.

The program teaches us compassion. We try to remember that everyone has issues, and that even those who are trying to live the spiritual life aren't perfect at it. In my psychology courses, we've talked about self-centeredness and how we human beings have a tendency to think that others are thinking about us far more often than they really are. For those of us with the disease, this obsession is amplified ten-fold.

Most of the time, people aren't thinking of us. The times that someone is deliberately out to hurt us or mess with us, or piss us off, really are far fewer than we would think. It's not always about us. In fact most of the time, it isn't about us at all. And even at the rare times when someone does have a problem with us... it's their problem.

Boundaries, my friends. Boundaries.