How to (not) be the problem.

(It's a lie: You need to be the problem.)

If you’re anything like me, I bet you were taught not to be the problem.

Do not raise a stink, do not question the teacher, follow the rules, and play nice with the other kids on the playground.

And if you are also like me, you had a stinker inside you, the part of you that wanted to carouse and gallivant, stomp in the puddles, the part that might push kids out of the way in the recess line.

Also, you had the 'wanna be good and get it right' part.

You likely still have both of these parts.

We saw the kids who gave up on being the good ones and embraced being "the problem."

Their mentality was, “If I can't find acceptance for my goodness, I'll find it for my badness.”

Not at a conscious level, of course.

Which were you?

Did you get labeled a good kid or a bad kid at school? In your family?

Did you embrace your troublemaker?

Several months ago, I was in an online poetry workshop where we were to give feedback to each other.

At the end of the first week, the teacher posted: A couple of students had contacted her, complaining about the tenor of the feedback they had received.

She said our feedback was too harsh, too exterminating, too stomping out the light for the tender.

Give feedback, but NOT LIKE THAT.

She clarified that the workshop was a supportive space, not a critique space.

(Honestly, I struggle to understand the nuance between critique given to enrich someone's work and supportive feedback. They seem the same to me. While often we examine the difference between intention and impact, the intention here actually matters: I truly want your work to be the best it can be.)

Her statement was given broadly, without naming names.

But because when I'd written my feedback, I'd questioned myself if I was being "supportive" enough or offering too much critique to someone I didn't know, so it was immediately clear she was talking about me.

Fuck.

I had stepped on someone's toes inadvertently.

I was "the problem."

To be complete in reporting the various parts who showed up, it's fair to say there was a part of me who wanted to be good and say, 'Hey, I think I misunderstood, so sorry, got it now.'

But because I had been told by the teacher I was the problem, I chose to become defensive.

It has been a minute (many) since a teacher had to talk to me about my behavior in class.

There were some defensive justifications I had:

• I'm in a novel year-long intensive, and there, we are encouraged to give honest and helpful feedback.

• We've been especially told to let our critique partners know where their work confuses us.

• The honesty feels helpful and supportive. If you like my work, you want it to be better, not make me feel better about it. I need to hear the truth.

So what did I do, troublemaker that I am?

I wrote an angry poem I didn't post to the poetry class (because adult!)

(And because only part of me is an adult, and the other part is a retributive child, I posted the poem on Facebook and described the situation.)

(Painting myself in the best possible light, of course.)

(Some part of me wants to post the poem here to get some witness to how the pen is mightier than the sword, and I'm GOOD at that, but I will restrain myself.)

(Also, yay parentheses! Maybe I should write a "How to use Parantheses" essay next.)

A lot of intelligent people responded to my FB post.

But my favorite words came from my friend Allison.

She said,

"Being a NOT conflict-avoidant person I would ask the teacher if what they said was because of me. If they say no then keep giving honest constructive feedback. If the teacher says it was because of me then I would ask why did they give us conflicting instructions and which guidance is the real one to follow."

Well, obviously, we first need to talk about her phrase, "NOT conflict-avoidant person."

Mic drop, right?

As someone who grew up in the Midwest and now lives in the South, I’m like, “Can you be a non-conflict avoidant in this world??”

I mean, clearly there are non-conflict avoidant people and nations, because of so much conflict, fighting, and war.

However, I don't get the sense that what Allison means is that she goes looking for trouble, not from these words or from how I know her.

She is not aggressive or a troublemaker for no good reason.

The subtext I read into her comment is that she leans in when conflict naturally happens (like it always does.)

She doesn't go out of her way to avoid challenging situations.

All of this may sound strange, especially if you know I've long taught skills for better conflict, and I genuinely believe that conflict can be generative.

Learning that I consider myself conflict-avoidant might be surprising if you know me personally. (Or not, depending how well you know me and the number of fights we have not had.)

But a part of me fears the intensity and longs for ease and smooth seas.

That part will go a long way to avoid confronting and telling the hard truth before leaning in.

I'm curious where you are on the spectrum of conflict-not-avoiding and conflict-avoiding?

When Allison wrote that, I felt a piece click into place internally.

Hmm.

What if I wasn't conflict-avoidant and just asked my teacher?

---

(Oh yeah, there’s another part wanting to be known. This class was an online class, we never met on zoom, all via text, and I would likely never interact with these people IRL. That part was curious about just letting myself continue to be an asshole.

• What if I kept giving feedback precisely as it felt right to me without considering the impact?

• What if I trusted my integrity and trusted others to be adults who could tell me to STFU, delete my comments, or not even read them?

• What if I didn't tiptoe around people's triggers but trusted my impulses and intuition?

Funny that that's my definition of 'asshole.'

As I read, it sounds straightforward and boundaried, with a distinction between caretaking (yuck, ptouey, spit it out) and caring (yum.)

---

But back to not being conflict-avoidant.

Following Allison's advice, I wrote to my teacher.

And because I know you love to be a little voyeuristic, and because I did a GOOD JOB not sharing my snarky response poem above, I will now reprint my message to my teacher in full.

"I saw your message about feedback. I'm curious: was my feedback problematic? If so, I'd like to know. Thanks! I'm happy to give only encouraging feedback since that's the ask.

Also, I wanted to let you know my needs as a student in this class. I need clear, actionable feedback in my process as a poet. Encouragement feels good, but it doesn't help me progress in my craft. Can you please help me get this need met?"

Well, that's clear.

It only took 45 or so minutes to scribble out that little gem. Revisions, revisions, revisions.

But I felt proud of this message. Did my finger hover above the send button a second too long, fearful?

I don't think I need to be that transparent with you. A queer needs some secrets.

Her response arrived within the hour.

"Vin, no one has mentioned your name in particular."

Fuck.

---

Well, the math of the time suck goes like this:

1 min to read my teacher’s comment

+

Less than 1 second to decide I'm the problem
+

15 minutes to fume angrily, getting more defensive

+

5 mins to scrawl the snarky poem

+

5 mins to write the FB post

+

8 hour to sleep on it without posting the poem to my class

+

15 mins to read the responses to the FB post

+

45 minutes to craft a two-paragraph email to my teacher

+

The entire rest of my life to:

• be relieved I wasn't the problem

• seek therapy for why I assumed I was the problem

• regret not being the problem

---

Look, folks, I have a written commitment to myself not to retaliate and not start trouble but to stay with it until clarity arrives and speak the truth.

My self-trust is precious to me.

I've been making deposits into that bank account. I don't want to do anything to lose it.

To trust someone, I need to know how they will likely act under duress.

Will they get aggressive?

Act out?

Retaliate?

Will they communicate, even if poorly, their experience?

Will they try to get me to take responsibility for their trigger? Their feelings?

My adult-ass endeavor is to be the person who can handle feedback, lean into conflict, stay connected with myself even when triggered, and care for our relationship even when I'm angry.

Self-trust is a big deal.

Being able to go to bed without pressing send is essential.

Noting my own defensivenss and cultivating a part that can be both compassionate towards it, and gentle it away from toxic action matters.

We all feel those things, want to retaliate, have those aggressive thoughts.

At least part of us does.

And the only place we truly have agency is in what we do or do not.

You might be 'the problem.'

If so, no worries.

Turn inwards to what you need as such.

You might have never been the problem.

And if so, no worries.

As the 'problem,' turn inwards to see how you can share more of who you are, things someone else might label "problematic."

Isn’t the goal always freedom?