Projection

There is a popular and fairly tame psychological phenomenon I have become intimately acquainted with in the last few days. Many have different names for it, ways of describing it, or remedies. Authors and thinkers have all take it in stride and the notion has filtered down into informal word bombs of avoidance when used peer on peer. Projection.

The real meaning on the concept has become somewhat lost as it has been bandied about, most recognized in its more infamous use between two arguing parties as someone tries to gain the upper hand by using a logical term in an illogical situation, “Oh, you’re just projecting!” The perfection of this usage can only truly be appreciated when it followed with “I know you are but what am I?!”
When all is said and done though, the tool of understanding projection has come in fairly handy in the last few days for me. That is when I am honest enough to admit it.

I was listening to a sermon by one of my favorite speakers regarding the Sermon on the Mount. The sermon centered on the beatitude of peacemakers. He made a point of calling out what seemed to be a large discrepancy, at least to me, in certain concepts of Jesus’ teachings. In one breath He calls everyone to peacemaking, and in the next He’s using the hubris of hating father and mother and swords dividing family and speaking of persecution. It begs for more exegesis, which I got.

The speaker was talking about coming to peace within your own life, your own story, your own experience; sounds cliché, until you start putting the ideas into practice. He started with a very simple statement, whatever you have a hardest time with in others, is most likely what you struggle with internally. Learning to come to grips with those things is not as easy as we would like to believe. It’s Paul’s lament in different terms: I do what I don’t want to do and don’t do what I do want to do. Two different laws battling it out within each of us. Swords, fighting, internal discord, external insecurity… it all seems to be flowing together and finally, something makes sense in the madness.

This, of course, is all in hindsight, or maybe it’s foresight before I knew it. Huh. Either way, the concept buried itself in my head and has been making its way back to the surface, slowly, albeit, painfully. All of the sudden, my actions, attitudes, feelings, thoughts have become magnified in gargantuan proportions. I find myself struggling to do what is right, only to literally spew something different into the atmosphere. As though the internal dialogue stops short just before my tongue. Damn it. The frustration of wanting so badly to be the person I see outlined in my head and then repeating the same patterns over and over again is an exercise in testing the veracity of the resurrection. Seriously? I need some help here.

Lately though, it seems to be over the top. Worse in so many ways. I can’t tell if it is just because I a finally noticing, or because the wounds have been uncovered now and I am actually overacting. It’s so hard to tell when everyone around you is already riddled with their own sense of deep defensiveness. It’s the blind leading the blind over a cliff, on purpose.

I digress, or divert, whichever you prefer. What is truly driving me? What beliefs, what thoughts, what rules, regulations and patterns? Are they internal messages, external, or just social imperatives? On a more specific level, why do I feel so responsible for the wellbeing of certain people surrounding me, but then swing to wanting to watch their demise so quickly? And who’s pulling the strings?

I have two nephews. I love them dearly. Sometimes I look at them and I think, “I could be happy not having children, just knowing I get to pass on to them whatever I have to give.” I love spending time with them and my heart literally breaks when they are hurting. I want them to have everything I didn’t, so I do everything I can to give them what I wish I’d had.

But that’s the saintly side of me. That’s the side we want everyone to see. There is a darker side and just as powerful (or maybe more). They were born when I was young, and subsequently, my world changed. I had always fought for my place in my family. I was always the baby and no matter what, at least I was the youngest and cutest.

Then, at thirteen, on the cusp of anger and resentment born of learning to walk on your own, my two sweet nephews stumbled onto the picture… and out I went. The little space I carved out for myself was lost, and so was I. My jealousy grew as it typically would. I assumed caretaker role, and spent a good chunk of nights waking up with them when my sister decided to wear earplugs so she could get some sleep.
Flash forward 14 years later. I’m haunted by feeling 13 years old, watching myself act like a spoiled brat, yet finally having the brain development to be able to actually see when I’m acting like a brat. Damn. Stuck between a hard spot and a rock. I am the walking conundrum of love and resentment and it sucks ass.

What does any of this have to do with projection? The only reason I actually saw any of this was because I started to see in myself the very things I say I hate the most; criticism of them, judgmental attitudes, ideas of superiority and defensiveness in gigantic arrays of spectacular narcissism. It was one instance where there was a discrepancy between my thoughts and my feelings. My past dictating my present and drawing a very large question mark over my future. I was becoming the system that had eaten me alive.

My heart broke as I realized I was projecting on everyone else the very internal dialogue, unrest and discord that was going on within me. The harsh, ugly things I had to say to others, the venom that flowed forth so easily, the pain I could easily cause and lash out with, it was all a reflection of what I is happening under my surface.

It wasn’t just the bad things either. I project pain onto people that isn’t there. Feelings of unworthiness, shame or rejection. I see shadows in people’s eyes that are only mirrors of my own, and I rush to bandage wounds that aren’t there. Ultimately, I’m trying to rescue myself, and ironically, it’s only making it worse.

These are the moments when hope gets tired. I look back at hurdles I’ve crossed, lessons I’ve learned, things I’ve done, and I realize, the road is so long and I’m scared to walk it. I’m frightened of what I will do, say, or be next, that is really just a poor reflection of who I am, and it will only makes things worse again. I’m scared of what rock will get turned over, what ugly thing will pop to the surface, what terrible criticism I will have for myself later. This is when I am most desperate for a practical salvation. This is when I need the Gospel the most. I know I am poor in spirit, with nothing of value to offer, I am no peacemaker, and I have spoken raca so many times. I wonder if there is any grace left for me, any shred of joy to find and I am bedraggled, exhausted, frustrated, guilty, ashamed, and wearing burdens far to heavy for my shoulders to carry.

And even more ironically, I’m almost grateful. There is just the tiniest sliver of release as I stop fighting and running from these truths and sit down on the path and say a gentle “Fuck it.” This is me. I’m all sorts of messed up, insecure, insane, unworthy, shameful, ugly and exhausted. My powerlessness overwhelms me and finally wrestles what little control I thought away and I’m sort of glad to see it go. But I’m also glad I put up the fight, because I’m tired of holding it all together. I’d rather someone else be responsible for a while. I’m not God, but I hate that sometimes, I think I am and right now, it feels good to know I’m the least of these.

Someday things will get better. I’ll learn how to forgive myself, to stop criticizing and maybe, stop criticizing others. I’ll stop judging myself and get off the roller-coaster and hopefully, stop judging others. I’ll let every last bit go, and find the peace of His life take over more and more, a little at a time. For now, I’m going to go home, put on some TV, condition my hair and work out, knowing how juvenile, self-absorbed and silly it is. I’ll ignore calls from my family in hopes of finding some peace, I’ll put guilt on the shelf for a moment and indulge in a cookie, pack my suitcase and head off to a weekend of sightseeing and champagne in Seattle.

And then, before I go to bed, I’ll download another set of sermons from my favorite speaker and hold my breath as I listen to the most beautiful words I have ever heard, the red letters of peace, and I’ll pray they become more true than a wounded past. And for now, that will be enough.