The art of painful self-reflection

John Steinbeck once said “I suppose our capacity for self-delusion is boundless.” I have to partially and respectfully disagree. I am absolutely certain of it.

I have had cause, for much of my life, to think of myself quite capable of mining and accepting the psychological insights necessary to be a decent and kind human being. To be a loving father, a steadfast and faithful husband, a brave and raw songwriter. I earned a Master’s Degree in Mental Health Counseling, I have written and produced music for over 10 years. I had a wife (albeit a second one) and two wonderful children.

And yet my life was unexamined. The truth (that I was unwilling to see) was my marriage was in shambles, my psychological health was dangerously poor, and emotionally I was a runaway train heading for a terrific collision. That collision came in the summer of 2017, when my life and marriage fell to pieces right in front of me. What I had to come to terms with, for the first time in my life, is that I was an active participant in it’s destruction.

Over the next several months I wrestled with my own internal demons. I felt angry and guilty and ashamed and wronged. I wanted relief, but from the outside. I knew something was broken, but in the fog of my own addictions and abuses I was certain I had no role in breaking it. Surely this was not my fault! Even in my own sickness, I had the wherewithal to begin going to therapy. I, albeit begrudgingly, began reading books on infidelity, anger, forgiveness, addictions, meditation, and emotional abusiveness.

As I fought with myself, went through months of rage and sadness and depression, slowly a seed began to form within me. It was small, but it was alive, and the seed was one of honest self-reflection. It was one that asked me to sit in my pain, to allow ghosts to be risen, to look within myself and seek truth instead of relief. I began to meditate on the pain and to feel the actual weight of my actions. I started to understand that if I wanted wholeness and connection with others, I was going to have to traverse the pain instead of running from it. I began to understand that so much of the torment in my life was of my own choosing. I had hurt people. I am capable of causing great pain to others, and I had. There was no rejoicing in those times. And yet, they were the beginning of healing.

It is precisely through that same door of self-reflection that one experiences the truth of their own capacity for wickedness that one can also begin to see the hope for their redemption. Decades of bad choices are not undone by one right one, but that is how it must begin.

As an artist I believe the one sole responsibility I have (besides casual attire), is uncensored honesty. Being willing to say what must be said, even in a world that might be hostile and unwilling to receive it. To use myself and my own life as grist for the mill of reflective living. For most of my life I never looked, truly looked at myself through a clear lens. But my growth as an artist, moreover as a human, is utterly dependent on constantly wiping that lens clear so that I can see what I need to see, no matter how ugly or repugnant it is.

My capacity for wrongdoing, for causing hurt to others, remains unchanged, as I believe it does in everyone. But today I am committed to understanding myself and my motivations. I am committed to not hurting others and, when I do, to seeking forgiveness and restitution. I am committed to forever mining the recesses of my past experiences, joys, mistakes, disappointments; and allowing their reality to permeate my understanding of who I am. There are moments and days I will probably be a massive asshole and days I will be gentle and warm.

What are we if not forever changing and complex!? The world of self-delusion can be a wonderful place, and reality is often brutal and unforgiving. But the fruit of self-understanding is one of true connection with other people and the only path to loving ourselves and others fully.