Are you friends with feedback, asked the Blogchatter community last week. I thought about it. Let the thought go, and then thought some more. I think this does demonstrate to you that I have a slightly complicated relationship with feedback. Why? Because feedback didn’t exist in our formative years. “Feedback” was the term nerdy kids like me knew to call the annoying tone that erupted out of speakers in Ganpati Pandals.
When we were little, there was praise, and there was criticism. We were told that praise was the one we had to be wary of. Parents in our generation firmly believed that praise went to a child’s head. So praise had to be doled out in little doses, only when strictly necessary. And then too, followed by criticism. You’ve probably seen the Asian Parents schooling standard memes on the internet. Well, our generation has lived them. For something as inconsequential as a painting, we would get mistakes pointed out, lest we let it go to our head that we are a great artist. We know where the parents came from. They needed to keep the children grounded, and they wanted the children to improve. But that understanding doesn’t help our relationship with feedback. Which, if you remember, didn’t really exist. What existed was criticism, and praise.
Praise had to be earned. Really earned. That too from outsiders, because parents’ praise came from bias. So of course, it didn’t count. Praise from outsiders was rare. You didn’t strap your painting to your chest at all day, right? So outsiders would know of your painting skill if you won a competition. Praise came with achievement, beating competition, glory. And then when I grew up a little more, came another element tied to praise. Suspicion! Why was that person praising me? Flattering me? Surely, they have an ulterior motive. I don’t even know when the seeds of these thoughts were planted in me. But they took root. Praise was hard-earned, and even then laced with doubts about intention.
Criticism meanwhile, was as free flowing as Lassi during Langar. It came from people who cared, looked closely and wanted us to improve. So, it obviously came from a place of love and concern. I grew up believing that. Now, to quote Julia Roberts, “Big mistake. Big. Huge!”. By the time I learnt that criticism is a weapon in the hands of your adversaries to destroy you, a tool in the hands of kingmakers to influence you, I could not undo my actions. But that, is a rant for another day. Today, we are talking about praise, err… criticism, err… feedback!
Now, do you understand why I said that my relationship is complicated? Even today, I struggle accepting feedback as just feedback. I question the motives, and sometimes, I question the feedback itself. Hubris has crept in. Where I feel I know better, I will listen to the feedback, but defend myself in my own head. The people pleaser in me lets the other person think they’ve helped, while debating if I will ever go back to this person for feedback. I go out of my way to avoid confrontation, so I probably won’t. Unless the person is family – parents, husband, siblings, children. In which case I will go back, and repeat the circus in my head. The few times the feedback actually gets to me, I’ll remember it and try to work on it. I’ve had to work on me a lot, to take feedback as feedback, and alter my behaviour accordingly. It has not been an easy ride.
And then there is writing. The whole point about writing is for someone to read it. And when someone reads it, they form an opinion. And when they care enough about their opinion, or have too much time on their hands, or are genuinely invested in your writing, the opinion translates to feedback. My writing has been called dry before. Not my humour, mind you, which I recently learnt was of the dry variety. Or was it the wry variety? Never mind, the writing was called dry. I took this to heart, and for years tried to inject humour into the writing. After all, I am a funny person in real life. Truly, I am. Ask my kids. I keep them in splits at the dining table. And then quaking in fear as the alter-ego of strict mom appears. My parenting self has two clear avatars – the stooge and the witch. My writing, too, has them both.
Now here’s the thing about having a stooge and a witch running the show. Feedback for the stooge is different from feedback for the witch. Tell the stooge her writing was funny, she’ll take you out for chai. Tell the witch the same thing, she’ll narrow her eyes and ask what you actually meant by that. I contain both. Depending on the day, and whether my daughter was able to finish her glass of milk before school, either one shows up to read your comment.
So no, I don’t know if I’m friends with feedback. Friends don’t make you audit their intentions before you’re allowed to enjoy what they said. But we’ve reached some sort of understanding, feedback and I. The kind you reach with a relative you see once a year. Nobody’s expecting the relationship to become something else.
My kids still think I’m hilarious. My writing still gets called dry sometimes. Some Tuesdays, I let both be true and leave it there.
Read next
If Are You Friends With Feedback? made you think about the voices we carry into adulthood, these pieces continue the conversation.
Perfection Is the Problem: On the impossible standards we inherit, internalise, and then use against ourselves.
Kidding, Just Kidding: The Stories We Tell Sideways: On words disguised as humour, and what they reveal when we look a little closer.
Mothers, Mistakes, and the Myth of Perfection: A reflection on criticism, expectation, and the pressure to get motherhood right.
This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop
