Funny Bone or Old Bruise?

Why do some mistakes become hilarious stories while others stay with us for years?

I've accidentally crossed the Canadian border.

Twice.

You would think after accidentally entering another country once, a person might become particularly skilled at recognizing international borders.

Apparently not.

And you know what?

I can laugh about it.

It's ridiculous.

It's exactly the kind of story that gets better with time.

You tell it over drinks.

People laugh.

You laugh.

Someone inevitably asks:

"How do you accidentally cross the Canadian border TWICE?"

Excellent question.

And yet another mistake—one involving a gallon of green paint spilling in the back of a car—didn't become funny quite so easily.

It was paint.

Nobody died.

No international incident occurred.

There was no permanent catastrophe.

Technically, the border story should have been the bigger deal.

But emotionally?

The green paint hit completely differently.

And that got me thinking.

Why?

Why does one mistake hit our funny bone while another lands directly on an old bruise?

The Mistake Isn't Always the Thing That Hurts

We tend to think our emotional reaction is about what just happened.

Sometimes it is.

But sometimes the event itself is only the match.

The fuel was already there.

You spill something.

Forget something.

Say the wrong thing.

Miss an appointment.

Make a bad decision.

Someone gets annoyed with you.

Someone criticizes you.

And suddenly your reaction feels much bigger than the actual situation.

You're not thinking:

Well, that was unfortunate.

You're thinking:

I am such an idiot.

I always screw things up.

Why can't I do anything right?

Everyone must think I'm ridiculous.

Notice what happened?

We went from:

I made a mistake.

to:

There is something wrong with me.

Those are two completely different statements.

And that little jump between them is where things get interesting.

Funny Stories Don't Threaten Who We Think We Are

The Canadian-border situation didn't become evidence about my character.

It became a story.

I didn't walk away thinking:

This proves I'm a terrible human being.

I thought:

Well...that was ridiculous.

That's an enormous difference.

Humor creates distance.

We can stand outside the experience and see the absurdity of it.

We don't feel threatened by it.

It doesn't challenge some deeply held belief about ourselves.

So eventually we laugh.

But then there are the other moments.

The ones that somehow feel personal.

Someone makes a comment and instead of thinking:

They didn't like what I did,

we hear:

They don't like me.

Instead of:

I made a mess,

we hear:

I'm a mess.

Instead of:

I got something wrong,

we hear:

I'm stupid.

That's when an ordinary mistake can suddenly feel enormous.

What Exactly Did That Touch?

I've started thinking of these reactions like bruises.

Imagine you have a bruise on your arm.

Someone lightly bumps into it.

They barely touched you.

But you jump.

Why?

Because they didn't create the pain.

They touched something that already hurt.

Emotional bruises can work the same way.

A comment today can touch something from years ago.

A disagreement can wake up an old fear.

Criticism can connect with something we learned about ourselves when we were young.

A person's tone can suddenly make us feel much smaller than our adult age would suggest.

And sometimes we don't even realize that's what's happening.

We just know:

That really hurt.

That's why one of the most useful questions we can ask isn't:

Why am I being so sensitive?

It's:

Why did that particular thing hit me so hard?

That's curiosity instead of criticism.

And curiosity tends to get us much further.

We Collect Evidence Against Ourselves

Here's something human beings are remarkably good at doing.

We form a belief about ourselves...

and then start collecting evidence to prove it.

Maybe somewhere along the way you started believing:

I'm awkward.

I'm difficult.

I'm not smart enough.

I'm too emotional.

I'm irresponsible.

I'm not attractive.

People leave.

I screw things up.

I'm not good enough.

Then something happens that appears to support the belief.

And your brain goes:

SEE?

Exhibit A.

Green paint.

Case closed.

But what about all the evidence that doesn't support the story?

We don't always collect that with the same enthusiasm.

You can do 100 things well and make one mistake.

Guess which one your brain wants to discuss at 2:17 in the morning?

Exactly.

Childhood Has a Long Memory

A lot of these beliefs begin earlier than we realize.

Children are constantly figuring out who they are based partly on how the world responds to them.

Maybe you were the responsible one.

The sensitive one.

The troublemaker.

The shy one.

The dramatic one.

The smart one.

The messy one.

The peacemaker.

The difficult one.

Even innocent labels can become identities if we hear them often enough.

Then adulthood arrives, but some of those old stories quietly come with us.

Now you're a fully grown adult with responsibilities, experiences, accomplishments and wisdom...

and one person's disapproving facial expression can somehow make you feel twelve.

It's fascinating.

Annoying.

But fascinating.

Not Every Feeling Is About the Present

This doesn't mean every emotional reaction is secretly about childhood.

Sometimes someone says something hurtful and it hurts because it was hurtful.

Sometimes you're angry because something genuinely deserves anger.

Sometimes somebody behaves badly.

Understanding ourselves doesn't mean explaining away everything other people do.

But when our reaction feels much bigger than the moment, it can be worth asking:

Is there something else here?

What did this remind me of?

What am I afraid this means?

What story did I immediately tell myself?

That last question is a big one.

Because the facts and the story aren't always the same.

Fact:

I spilled paint.

Story:

I ruin everything.

Fact:

Someone didn't agree with me.

Story:

Nobody respects me.

Fact:

I wasn't invited.

Story:

Nobody wants me around.

Fact:

I made a mistake.

Story:

I'm a failure.

Our stories can hurt much more than the event itself.

Curiosity Changes the Conversation

This is where I think we can be kinder to ourselves without pretending everything is wonderful.

Instead of immediately saying:

God, Amber, what is wrong with you?

Try:

Huh. Why did that bother me so much?

That's a completely different conversation.

One attacks.

The other investigates.

And maybe the answer is:

Because I felt embarrassed.

Because I thought they were disappointed in me.

Because I hate feeling incompetent.

Because it reminded me of something.

Because I felt rejected.

Because I was already exhausted and this was simply the final straw.

Or maybe:

I don't know yet.

That's allowed too.

You don't have to conduct a psychological investigation every time you knock over a coffee.

Sometimes you just knocked over a coffee.

Clean it up.

Carry on.

That's actually part of the lesson.

Maybe It Was Just Paint

I love this idea because I think we give some of our mistakes entirely too much power.

Not everything needs to become a character reference.

You forgot something.

Okay.

You made the wrong choice.

Okay.

You said something awkward.

Welcome to humanity.

You embarrassed yourself.

You'll survive.

You spilled the damn paint.

Clean up what you can.

Learn what you need to learn.

Apologize if an apology is necessary.

Then ask yourself whether this moment deserves permanent residency in your identity.

Because sometimes...

it was just paint.

And sometimes you accidentally cross an international border twice and get a fantastic story out of it.

What Would You Tell Someone You Love?

Here's a test I use sometimes.

Imagine someone you love made exactly the same mistake.

What would you say to them?

Would you tell them:

You're such an idiot. You ruin everything. You should still be embarrassed about this fifteen years from now.

Probably not.

You'd likely say:

"It was an accident."

"Everybody screws up."

"You're okay."

"Next time you'll know."

Or possibly:

"I'm sorry, but this is hilarious."

We tend to give other people context.

We give ourselves verdicts.

Maybe we could start offering ourselves some of the same perspective.

The Stay Sexy Standard

The Stay Sexy Standard isn't about pretending difficult things don't affect us.

It's about remaining curious enough to understand ourselves.

Growing without constantly putting ourselves on trial.

Laughing when something deserves laughter.

Learning when something deserves learning.

Healing what actually needs healing.

And letting ordinary human mistakes remain ordinary human mistakes.

You are going to screw things up.

I am going to screw things up.

We're going to say the wrong thing.

Forget something.

Spill things.

Take wrong turns.

Make questionable decisions.

Possibly enter Canada unexpectedly.

That's life.

The goal isn't becoming so perfectly healed, organized, confident and emotionally evolved that nothing ever bothers you again.

The goal is recognizing when something hurts and becoming curious about why.

Funny Bone or Old Bruise?

So the next time something small hits surprisingly hard, don't immediately judge yourself for your reaction.

Ask:

Did this hit my funny bone...or an old bruise?

If it's a funny bone?

Laugh.

You've just acquired another story.

If it's an old bruise?

Maybe give it some attention.

Ask what it touched.

Ask what story came up.

Ask whether that story is actually true anymore.

And if you discover you've been carrying around an old belief that says every mistake proves something terrible about you...

maybe it's time to stop using your mistakes as evidence.

You are allowed to be imperfect without turning imperfection into an identity.

You are allowed to screw up without becoming a screw-up.

And sometimes the thing you've been replaying for years doesn't need another analysis.

Maybe...

it was just paint.