On (Not) Giving #@%!s

I surrendered to my demons. It was fine.

Photo credit: Dmitry Ulitin on Unsplash.

Some time ago, I had to deal with people who didn’t seem to respect me. When I was around them, I was defensive and weird. I’d brag about the publications I’ve written for; I’d worry about what they were saying behind my back. I didn’t like myself when I was around these people, and it took a heavy psychic toll.

I started reading two “don’t give a fuck” books—The Subtle Art of Not Giving a #@%! and The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a F*ck—nodding along the whole time. It’s true! I thought. I should not care what these people think. My friends tell me that. My husband tells me that. Among people who love me there is unanimous agreement that these people do not deserve my fucks. And I agree with them!

And yet, the fucks persisted. They woke me up at 4 a.m. They weighed on me each morning as I started my day, which made me even more agitated. What is wrong with me? Why am I letting these people get to me?

It was particularly annoying because my life was full of the kind of activities that are supposed to help transcend such grievances. I meditated for thirty minutes each morning. I studied Buddhism and frequently attended talks with titles like “Finding peace with impermanence” and “Embodying forgiveness to free the heart.” Nothing was working.

One morning, I woke up feeling particularly awful, chock full o’ fucks.

I logged into my Zoom meditation group, a small online gathering of uncommonly wise and kind people. Although my attendance has been sporadic, this community is always there for me—a grid of about six to twelve familiar faces—eyes closed, breathing deeply, grounding themselves for the day ahead.

I adjusted my legs on the cushion and rang my singing bowl (my laptop on mute). I tried to settle into my breathing. But I couldn’t. My body was humming with agitation.

Finally, I remembered the lesson of meditation: Relax into the fucks. You can’t argue the feelings away. You can’t shame yourself into discarding them. When you do that, you only give them fuel.

So I surrendered. I felt the pain of not being understood, the pain of not being respected, the pain of being in an environment that was wrong for me, the pain of disappointment in myself that I was there in the first place.

When I did this, I realized it was ok—I could handle this very unpleasant feeling. I couldn’t make the fucks go away, by I could learn to live with them when they showed up.

There’s a Buddhist parable about a monk who was peacefully meditating in a cave when a bunch of demons invaded it. He kept yelling at them to leave, but the more he did that, the deeper they dug in. They ate his food and messed with his things and were just loud and annoying. He tried to beat them away with a stick, but they just laughed. Finally, he said, “Well, I guess you’re not going anywhere, so we’ll all have to live together.” That’s when they left—all but one. That last demon refused to budge, so the monk lowered his head and placed it in the demon’s mouth. Finally, that demon left, too.

When the Zoom meditation session was over, a member of the group rang a bell and we had a brief check in. People talked about how the morning’s practice went—if they were distracted or grounded, peaceful or agitated. When it was my turn, I told them about the fucks (but in G-rated language). A couple of people said it was helpful to hear about my experience, and they shared times when they were embarrassed by unkind or hostile feelings.

One man, a person who always struck me as a particularly gentle and grounded soul, surprised me by discussing a time when he got caught up thinking about someone he didn’t like—someone he hadn’t had to actually deal with in years. He got kind of passionate as he talked about this person, and I was surprised by the anger in his voice.

It’s been helpful to work with this—to stop blaming myself for letting certain people or situations get to me, to stop trying to chase my feelings away with brooms and baseball bats. The feelings usually don’t go away completely, but at least they quiet down.

Befriending my demons also helped me see that the people bugging me didn’t necessarily think badly of me; they were dealing with their own stuff.

More important, the demons had wisdom for me. They were telling me what my friends were saying—you need to get away from this situation. So I did.

Sure, there will be more agitation to come. Other people will make me feel bad; other situations will test my confidence. I will, once again, start giving my expletives to people who don’t deserve them, and then I’ll get mad at myself for doing so.

And then I’ll stop. I’ll breathe. I’ll realize that the fucks are here whether I want them or not. They might have something useful to say, or they might not, but the only way to defang them is to simply let them be.

How do you work with your demons? What is your relationship to your fucks?