Most of us, I suspect, give way to the occasional “Why me?” When the car dies on the way to an important interview or that much-anticipated beach getaway is plagued by rain, illness, and mosquitoes, we may briefly feel sorry for ourselves, but that’s a mood that, like the cloud that produced it, passes.
From the interview, however, it’s clear that Mr. Fry is addressing those who every day put on the shabby clothing of self-pity, who blame their flaws and misfortunes on their race or sex, their parents, a spouse, an employer, or anyone and anything other than themselves.
While in college, I knew a student, age 23, who ascribed everything wrong in his life—his failure to learn to drive, his coming late to a degree in theater, his drinking—to his father. Several of his friends bought into his story, often referring to him as “Poor Larry” and listening to his tales of woe with great sympathy. I couldn’t go along with them. Maybe I was too merciless and harsh, but I looked at “Poor Larry” and saw a man with talent and brains who preferred to sit in his apartment feeling sorry for himself instead of busting heads with the world.
Self-pity is poison. It’s demeaning and destructive. It kills dreams, drives away friends, and warps the sense of reality. It’s a defect unworthy of an adult. If you’re pointing a finger at others when things go belly up, if you’re playing the victim card to win approval or deflect responsibility, your friends and family probably have two words for you: Stop It.
For one thing, real victims exist: school kids murdered by a madman; a woman raped at knifepoint; men, women, and children killed by genocidal maniacs; the 30-year-old fighting cancer; a man booted from a job through no fault of his own. These people deserve our compassion. The weepers and wailers always lamenting their lot in life—“What did I do to deserve this?”—demean those who have suffered brutal tragedies.
Those who habitually claim victimhood also run the risk of narcissism. Their self-pity breeds false self-esteem. They’re center stage in a drama in which they are surrounded by enemies and adversity, and they reject the antidote to this toxic poison, which is self-responsibility.
Finally, those indulging in self-pity to gain attention or to excuse failure should ask themselves: Do I really want to be a victim? Do I want the pity of others? We welcome understanding and sympathy when trouble comes our way, but why on earth would we want others to pity us?
The formula for avoiding victimhood syndrome is really quite simple. Look for strength within yourself. Assume responsibility when you make mistakes. Blame others when they’ve earned it, but look first at your own faults.
When you take charge of your life, you’ll be happier, and so will those around you.
