Latest news with #impostorsyndrome
Yahoo
07-07-2025
- Sport
- Yahoo
NBA Veteran Ricky Rubio Admits Facing Suicidal Thoughts And Symptoms Of Imposter Syndrome
NBA Veteran Ricky Rubio Admits Facing Suicidal Thoughts And Symptoms Of Imposter Syndrome originally appeared on Fadeaway World. Ricky Rubio had a long, respectable career in the NBA, where he spent 13 seasons, across 4 teams as a playmaking point guard. He announced his retirement in the middle of the 2023-24 season, a few months after taking a break from the Cavaliers for his mental health and eventually agreeing to a contract buyout. Advertisement Rubio recently appeared in an interview for the Spanish show, Lo de Evolve, where he discussed his mental health during the 2023 World Cup. [Quotes translated to English from Spanish] "Just a very difficult thought, and I don't want to magnify it, but one of the nights I was at the hotel, I said 'I don't want to go on'. Not just with basketball, but with life. I have a family, I have a son, but I felt that way for a second," "There were some moments when everything around me was just creating a burden, when I thought that my life had no sense." In a specific example of such moments, Rubio spoke about the 2019 World Cup as well, where he won the MVP award for Spain. He admitted showing symptoms of impostor syndrome, i.e., the psychological pattern where an individual seems to feel undeserving of their success. Advertisement "When I reflect on my career, I'm never satisfied, because it was never enough. I wasn't ecstatic when I would receive an award, I would say to myself that I'm fake, that I don't deserve this." Selected ahead of the likes of Stephen Curry and DeMar DeRozan, Rubio was pegged to have a long-successful NBA career as he started his professional journey at a young age of 14 in the Spanish League. After being drafted 5th in 2009, he eventually made his NBA debut with the Timberwolves in 2012. Unfortunately, things did not go his way much after his rookie season, where he made the All-Rookie First Team but never saw any individual or team success beyond the first round of the NBA Playoffs. He finished his NBA career averaging 10.8 points, 7.4 assists, and 4.1 rebounds per game. During his NBA career, he once opened up to the media about his troubles sleeping and got some noteworthy advice from a veteran opponent during an NBA game. Advertisement "I remember in my third or fourth year in the NBA that I was having a hard time. I was on a bad streak, and there's a journalist who's interviewing me, and I'm opening up a little bit. I find it hard to sleep, I'm feeling bad... And I'm in a game, in a free throw, and a veteran player from the rival team tells me, 'I'm going to give you advice, don't reveal any weak points of yours to the press because they're going to come after you. We're all sharks here, and when we smell blood, we'll get you." Rubio had a lot of expectations riding on his shoulders early. But, unfortunately, his career was plagued with injuries that never let him maximize his true potential. He tore his left ACL twice, once in 2012 and then in 2021. He suffered multiple ankle and hip issues in his career that eventually forced him to be sidelined a lot. Rubio played more than 70 games in a regular season only four times in his career. Rubio's experience tells us how ruthless life can be even for a top-tier professional athlete despite earning millions. Related: Chris Paul Announces He Will Retire After The 2025-26 NBA Season This story was originally reported by Fadeaway World on Jul 6, 2025, where it first appeared.
The Guardian
03-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Maxine Peake: ‘I have a healthy balance of inferiority complex and slightly prickly ego'
Has your northern accent helped or hindered your career? Eluned51They do call a group of actors a 'moan' of actors. We like to have a good moan. When people hear a regional accent, they immediately make assumptions about your class, financial status and education. People generally think if you've got a strong regional accent, you can't do much else. Obviously there are amazing actors like Jodie Comer who smash that to pieces because people don't realise she's from Liverpool. But because I came out the traps with the northern accent it's probably helped. Do you ever suffer from impostor syndrome and think: 'Why are people so fascinated by me?' RealEdPhillipsI don't ever think people are – I think they are generally quite bored by me! Of course I have impostor syndrome. When you don't get a job, you can't help but think: 'Why didn't I get that job? Why don't they think I'm good enough?' So there's a healthy balance of inferiority complex and slightly prickly ego. What are your memories of filming Funny Cow? Michel3AmsterdamWe had such a good time because it was made with a bunch of friends. We managed to twist Paddy Considine's arm to be part of it. We had Stephen Graham, Christine Bottomley, John Bishop. All these amazing people, so it was quite colourful. I have always been fascinated by female comics' journeys through working men's clubs in the 70s, and the sacrifices and compromises they had to make. The material they were using was horrific, really. It was all about: 'How do you get noticed?' The answer was: 'If you can't beat them, join them.' The politics of the 70s seemed to come crashing down as we were filming it, with Brexit. So we wanted to do a bit of an exposé on British politics as well. Which political figure in the Labour party would you most like to play? NorthwichTomI've always wanted to play Ellen Wilkinson, but I'm far too tall because she was a little bullet: smallish stature, but mighty of heart and soul. I went to drama school with Sally Hawkins, and thought she could play her and I could be Nancy Astor, even though I have no interest in her [Conservative] politics. But they were great friends, which I always thought would make a fascinating drama. Did writing about and playing Beryl Burton in the BBC radio drama Beryl: A Love Story on Two Wheels inspire you to get on the saddle? HenleyRegattaI've always used a bike to get around. Once I started writing about Beryl, I joined a club and went on my first 50km ride and nearly died. But then I became addicted, and would go out three times a week and do 70 or 80km. So, yes, I was inspired by Beryl. I love the camaraderie and the freedom. It's like being a kid, getting on your bike with your pals. It's great. Would you like to do more nihilistic action hero stuff, like you did in Black Mirror? ColdCountyHome I remember an email came through saying: 'You've been offered Black Mirror, can you read the script quickly and let us know?' I said: 'I don't need to read it. It's Black Mirror. Count me in.' I loved doing it because it was the first time I had done anything remotely action based. I'd love to do something on horseback. Don't let the accent fool you: I used to ride a lot when I was younger. So I'd love to do a female western. What was your most memorable moment on the rugby field? scarletnoirGetting absolutely thrashed by Keighley ladies amateur rugby league team, and trying to not get too severely injured. Our trainer used to say: 'Women hold grudges.' If you made a high tackle, even accidentally, you knew revenge was coming your way. Could you persuade Craig Cash to reopen the doors of the Grapes for another series of Early Doors? TheSableHoundReturnsI have tried. We have all tried. We had such a great time. We just laughed from the beginning to the end of the day. It didn't feel like work. It really didn't. I shouldn't say this, but as you know, it was set in a pub, so we went out to an actual pub for a few drinks, then came back and filmed it on the set that looked like a pub. We are all still really close. We've had a few meet-ups and have said: 'Come on Craig, please.' We'd love to do it. But who knows? Line dancing with Diane Morgan in Mandy. Did you have prior experience or did you have to learn? mattyjjLuckily they just taught me on the day, so it was a new skill. That's my favourite screen death: being crushed to death by a disco ball. Only Diane Morgan could come up with that. We've been friends since drama school, so when she said: 'Would you come and be in this?' I was like: 'Absolutely. Why have you not asked me before?' What was it like working with Mike Leigh in Peterloo? bumble I wrote to Mike when I was at drama school, where I did my showcase with Sally Hawkins, a two-hander of the April De Angelis play, Playhouse Creatures. I said: 'We should write to Mike Leigh.' She said: 'Are you sure?' I said: 'We'll do a joint letter.' So we wrote to him and we got a call in, and the rest is history. He's brilliant. He loves actors. He has such a specific way of rehearsing and character development, but he's so thorough and – I don't know whether he'd like me saying – humble. There are no airs and graces about him. He's so passionate about what he does, and I just love the fact that he loves actors. Happy Birthday! How do you feel at 50? TopTrampWell, on my next birthday in two weeks, I'll be 51. I'm at peace with the fact that I'm middle-aged now. I'm embracing it. Turning 40 was more difficult. Now I think: 'I'm still here', and that can't be looked upon lightly. You narrated the Transmissions: The Definitive Story of Joy Division and New Order podcast. Top three New Order songs? CraigThePaigBizarre Love Triangle. True Faith. Temptation. I still remember getting Substance when I was a teenager at school. That album – even though it was a compilation – changed my life. I had it on double cassette. My mum would say: 'Go and set the table', and I couldn't hear her because I'd have it blasting in my ears on my Walkman. Words of War is on digital platforms
The Guardian
03-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Maxine Peake: ‘I have a healthy balance of inferiority complex and slightly prickly ego'
Has your northern accent helped or hindered your career? Eluned51They do call a group of actors a 'moan' of actors. We like to have a good moan. When people hear a regional accent, they immediately make assumptions about your class, financial status and education. People generally think if you've got a strong regional accent, you can't do much else. Obviously there are amazing actors like Jodie Comer who smash that to pieces because people don't realise she's from Liverpool. But because I came out the traps with the northern accent it's probably helped. Do you ever suffer from impostor syndrome and think: 'Why are people so fascinated by me?' RealEdPhillipsI don't ever think people are – I think they are generally quite bored by me! Of course I have impostor syndrome. When you don't get a job, you can't help but think: 'Why didn't I get that job? Why don't they think I'm good enough?' So there's a healthy balance of inferiority complex and slightly prickly ego. What are your memories of filming Funny Cow? Michel3AmsterdamWe had such a good time because it was made with a bunch of friends. We managed to twist Paddy Considine's arm to be part of it. We had Stephen Graham, Christine Bottomley, John Bishop. All these amazing people, so it was quite colourful. I have always been fascinated by female comics' journeys through working men's clubs in the 70s, and the sacrifices and compromises they had to make. The material they were using was horrific, really. It was all about: 'How do you get noticed?' The answer was: 'If you can't beat them, join them.' The politics of the 70s seemed to come crashing down as we were filming it, with Brexit. So we wanted to do a bit of an exposé on British politics as well. Which political figure in the Labour party would you most like to play? NorthwichTomI've always wanted to play Ellen Wilkinson, but I'm far too tall because she was a little bullet: smallish stature, but mighty of heart and soul. I went to drama school with Sally Hawkins, and thought she could play her and I could be Nancy Astor, even though I have no interest in her [Conservative] politics. But they were great friends, which I always thought would make a fascinating drama. Did writing about and playing Beryl Burton in the BBC radio drama Beryl: A Love Story on Two Wheels inspire you to get on the saddle? HenleyRegattaI've always used a bike to get around. Once I started writing about Beryl, I joined a club and went on my first 50km ride and nearly died. But then I became addicted, and would go out three times a week and do 70 or 80km. So, yes, I was inspired by Beryl. I love the camaraderie and the freedom. It's like being a kid, getting on your bike with your pals. It's great. Would you like to do more nihilistic action hero stuff, like you did in Black Mirror? ColdCountyHome I remember an email came through saying: 'You've been offered Black Mirror, can you read the script quickly and let us know?' I said: 'I don't need to read it. It's Black Mirror. Count me in.' I loved doing it because it was the first time I had done anything remotely action based. I'd love to do something on horseback. Don't let the accent fool you: I used to ride a lot when I was younger. So I'd love to do a female western. What was your most memorable moment on the rugby field? scarletnoirGetting absolutely thrashed by Keighley ladies amateur rugby league team, and trying to not get too severely injured. Our trainer used to say: 'Women hold grudges.' If you made a high tackle, even accidentally, you knew revenge was coming your way. Could you persuade Craig Cash to reopen the doors of the Grapes for another series of Early Doors? TheSableHoundReturnsI have tried. We have all tried. We had such a great time. We just laughed from the beginning to the end of the day. It didn't feel like work. It really didn't. I shouldn't say this, but as you know, it was set in a pub, so we went out to an actual pub for a few drinks, then came back and filmed it on the set that looked like a pub. We are all still really close. We've had a few meet-ups and have said: 'Come on Craig, please.' We'd love to do it. But who knows? Line dancing with Diane Morgan in Mandy. Did you have prior experience or did you have to learn? mattyjjLuckily they just taught me on the day, so it was a new skill. That's my favourite screen death: being crushed to death by a disco ball. Only Diane Morgan could come up with that. We've been friends since drama school, so when she said: 'Would you come and be in this?' I was like: 'Absolutely. Why have you not asked me before?' What was it like working with Mike Leigh in Peterloo? bumble I wrote to Mike when I was at drama school, where I did my showcase with Sally Hawkins, a two-hander of the April De Angelis play, Playhouse Creatures. I said: 'We should write to Mike Leigh.' She said: 'Are you sure?' I said: 'We'll do a joint letter.' So we wrote to him and we got a call in, and the rest is history. He's brilliant. He loves actors. He has such a specific way of rehearsing and character development, but he's so thorough and – I don't know whether he'd like me saying – humble. There are no airs and graces about him. He's so passionate about what he does, and I just love the fact that he loves actors. Happy Birthday! How do you feel at 50? TopTrampWell, on my next birthday in two weeks, I'll be 51. I'm at peace with the fact that I'm middle-aged now. I'm embracing it. Turning 40 was more difficult. Now I think: 'I'm still here', and that can't be looked upon lightly. You narrated the Transmissions: The Definitive Story of Joy Division and New Order podcast. Top three New Order songs? CraigThePaigBizarre Love Triangle. True Faith. Temptation. I still remember getting Substance when I was a teenager at school. That album – even though it was a compilation – changed my life. I had it on double cassette. My mum would say: 'Go and set the table', and I couldn't hear her because I'd have it blasting in my ears on my Walkman. Words of War is on digital platforms
The Guardian
26-06-2025
- General
- The Guardian
I was one of those men who couldn't stop talking. Here's how I learned to shut up and listen
I like to talk as much as the next man – and men like to talk. A now-famous study by the University of California, Santa Barbara, noted that, in a series of recorded public conversations between men and women, 48 interruptions occurred, 46 of which came from men. The 2024 Women in the Workplace survey by McKinsey found that nearly 40% of women experienced being interrupted or spoken over 'more than others' at work, against 20% of men. Men in public spaces, according to research, talk more than women, talk over women, and talk down to women, contributing to the rise of gender neologisms such as manologuing, bropropriating and mansplaining. So, aware that men tend to dominate and disrupt, aware that the world at large feels unbearably loud, aware that I, too, often add to that noise, I decided to learn to keep my mouth shut – starting in the general hellscape of social media. I have often felt compelled, on seeing an idiotic post, to point out its idiocy, as though I alone had noticed it. It's a compulsion encouraged by the reward-based models of social media platforms. Users think of an interesting thought or response (trigger), send a post (behaviour), receive likes and re-posts (reward). Dopamine arrives as part of the feedback loop and we repeat the cycle. The compulsion to post relies on signalling, too – and not just of 'virtue'. Read through your social media timelines and, if you're an overtalker, you'll find insecurities. Mine read like an exposé of impostor syndrome: barely veiled attempts to appear intelligent. I seldom mentioned the football, but try to stop me posting commentary about Hamlet at the Young Vic, as though my followers were desperate for my 'original' takes on Hamlet. I once live-tweeted my experience reading War and Peace just to show that I was the sort of person who read War and Peace. Life events fell victim to the social media lens. I could not simply enjoy Christmas or birthdays: I framed events in odd ways, repurposed them in pursuit of dopamine. 'Books, booze and cherry blossoms,' I once tweeted, after workshopping the image and tagline with my partner on our anniversary. Nothing was sacred, nothing real, everything permitted. I've had social media for nearly two decades, the majority of my life. It seemed obvious that, as I slouched into my mid-30s, I needed a cleanse. I'd already deleted Facebook and Instagram. I kept X but removed all past posts, then only posted links to my writing. Deleting social apps removes any doubt that social media is addictive. I experienced genuine withdrawal symptoms: a touch of irritability here, a hint of anxiety there. Small-scale Fomo washed over me, as though all the cool kids were hanging out on Elon Musk's X. But the withdrawal symptoms soon dissipated and left me in a state of embarrassment – embarrassed by my past actions, as if I could not recognise the man I was back then, all those hours ago. The compulsion to opine on any given topic at any given time, that most universal form of entitlement, suddenly seemed a bit silly, a feeling captured by ex-overtalker Dan Lyons in his book STFU: The Power of Keeping Your Mouth Shut in a World That Won't Stop Talking: 'The world was not sitting with bated breath, waiting to hear what I would say.' Talking less in real life proved a tougher ordeal. My family are rough around the edges, my friends are on the wrong side of unruly: the people I love seldom get to finish sentences. I have often felt that my overtalking relied on the desire to be heard, a Darwinian survival of the loudest. But communication coach Weirong Li told me that the compulsion to talk often stems from the desire to escape silence. 'Most people speak to avoid discomfort – not because they have something essential to say.' That rang true: the urge to avoid awkward silences has always felt urgent. Allow me to trigger your anxiety: you're in a lift and a co-worker you sort of know enters, or you're at a bus stop and a distant family friend appears. I'd take the stairs. I'd walk. If I found no escape, I'd do the sensible thing: talk as quickly as possible about anything and everything until the saga mercifully ends. Last year, I saw an old mate from school walking towards me on a London street, so I dived into Sam's Chicken. I'm a vegetarian. I stole a glance as the bloke walked past: not my mate, not even close. I bought chips and left. People who can tolerate uncomfortable silences are typically better listeners. Studies show that embracing awkward silences improves emotional self-regulation, fosters empathy and builds trust between conversational partners. I asked a friend, Makomborero Kasipo, a writer and registrar in psychiatry, to characterise my overtalking. 'You talk to fill silence,' she said. 'You express yourself, which is good, but then feel the need to defend what you have just expressed, then defend that against an imagined response, then apologise for talking too much, then apologise for apologising.' Mako offered advice: learn to feel comfortable in silence. 'Develop the skill to let silence breathe.' That meant practice, embracing real-world silence despite every fibre of my British being pushing me to discuss the weather. I noticed two responses to my newfound silence: most people ranted – bless them – or I faced unimaginable awkwardness. I stood by a bus stop with my mum's friend and lasted roughly 20 seconds until I finally broke: 'Weather's weird, isn't it?' I said. I'm still practising. Suffering awkward silences has been an odd learning curve: horrific at first, only slightly less horrific later on, still horrific now but perhaps not as horrific. Talking less is not just about limiting the compulsion to talk. It's also about changing the ways in which we converse. One of my main problems, according to my partner and any logical observer, was conversational narcissism: the art of bringing every discussion back to me. I'm very good at it. Most of us are. Sociologist Charles Derber recorded more than 100 dinner conversations and found two types of reaction: the support and the shift response. The support response is the lovely one, the bread and butter of therapists, the one that builds on the initial talker's points and draws further discussion. A New Yorker cartoon depicts the bad response, the more common response, the shift response, as a man in a blazer at a dinner party says, 'Behold, as I guide our conversation to my narrow area of expertise.' Biology justifies the popularity of the shift response. Dopamine floods our brains when we talk about ourselves. Our bodies reward our narcissism. But listeners often face an altogether different physiological reaction: the production of cortisol, the fight-or-flight hormone, causes discomfort and even resentment. I started to notice my interruptions, the creative ways I managed to bring the conversation back to my favourite topic: me. I noticed how, in lieu of listening, my mind would embark on wild and weird adventures, fighting against the odds to relate everything back to my experience. My partner recalled the time that I said, to my embarrassment: 'That reminds me of me.' Matt Cahill, a psychotherapist, told me that shift responses can prove profoundly damaging to vulnerable talkers. 'People try to open up about their problems and find themselves interrupted with, 'Oh wow, that happened to me once!' followed by a tangential story, diverting from the initial intent, which was to find understanding.' Shift responses limit our capacity to listen and can harm the talker. So I aimed to alter my interactions. I leaned heavily on one of the many mantras I found in STFU: 'When possible, say nothing.' My partner seemed surprised over long dinners, as I spurned the urge to interrupt, asked (hopefully) meaningful questions, and abruptly concluded self-absorbed rants, rejecting the promise of dopamine. She seemed a little unnerved, at least at first, and asked whether I was OK, whether something bad had happened. I was just listening, I said. Practise listening and you'll stop talking. Active listening has become a buzzword, abused by droves of middle managers, corporate gurus and lifestyle coaches. Listening, to them, depends on the right sort of nod, mirrored questions and choreographed body language, always in pursuit of a goal: to make a sale, gain a promotion, secure a date, and so on. It is listening as performance. Emphasis remains on the outcome, not the process. But active listening, in its initial form, focuses on the talker. It is a skill that demands full attention, use of all the senses, the removal of obstacles to comprehension, and excavating meaning below intent. In You're Not Listening, Kate Murphy writes: 'The ability to listen carefully, like the ability to read carefully, degrades if you don't do it often enough.' You can get better or worse at listening. You can excel or fail. And active listening proves exhausting for the out-of-practice listener, something I sought to rectify through practice, through conscious effort during every conversation. Not talking at work proved easier. I'm a writer and editor, and a fan of Cal Newport, author of Deep Work and A World Without Email - which means I have an aversion to modern ways of working. I can't stand rambling emails and absurd operational tautologies, meetings to discuss meetings, committees to assemble committees. I spend most of my time at work actually working, so I feel confused by companies with managers managing no one, managers who manage other managers, consultants who help the managing managers manage. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, serving time in a prison camp, said the worst form of torture was forcing people to endlessly perform a pointless task. Hyperbole, perhaps, but that's the modern workplace, left unchecked. I'm an expert at getting out of meetings – less than a fifth of meetings are productive, after all, according to a generous survey by the Harvard Business Review – but, owing to my meeting reluctance, I tend to overcompensate in the meetings I do attend. I conducted a test: I analysed meeting transcripts to uncover how often I spoke, the duration of speech, the number of interruptions and the relevancy of my replies. The results showed that, despite asking for input, I spoke too often, interrupted on occasion, and commanded more than my share of conversation. So I'm taking action in meetings. Cahill advocates the Wait methodology, which requires posing a question to yourself before speaking: 'Why am I talking?' You can talk if the answer to Wait is convincing. (The answer is seldom convincing.) 'Wait isn't about not talking,' Cahill says, 'but being present enough to question whether you're actually contributing to the moment or instinctively filling in the space.' I combined Wait with a tactic that I found in STFU, 'Pass the ball quickly', which reminds the overtalker to acknowledge the previous speaker, remain concise in response, and give someone else the proverbial ball. Perhaps the greatest tactic requires only a pen and paper. In his book Atomic Habits, James Clear suggests creating barriers to break our bad habits. Remove the TV from the bedroom, or store chocolate in a cupboard far, far away. Note-taking creates a barrier for the compulsive talker. Jot down everything you want to say during a meeting, no matter how big or small, then wait for your turn to speak, like a patient child. Before talking, review your notes to identify the points that deliver value. I assure you that few will. We are far less interesting than we assume. Note-taking provides visual evidence of overtalking, showing you all the things that you would have said, left to your own devices. I found at work, using the above tactics, along with active listening, that I minimised my contributions, but those contributions felt more valuable. And, in time, the need to talk seemed less intrusive, the urge to fill silence less urgent. Self-improvement relies on awareness of the problem and a will to counter the problem. In the case of talking less, as with most valuable pursuits, practice remains the only route to success. I have a habit of falling into old habits, but even in the short term I noticed progress. Moving away from platforms that incentivise noise and extremity, and disincentivise nuance, seems obviously beneficial. You will never regret not posting. My contributions at work have become more impactful and my appetite for collaboration has increased. My partner and I, after an initial unnerving period, in which she found my quiet vaguely haunting, now seem to communicate in more fruitful ways, largely based on my conscious use of support rather than shift responses. 'I appreciate you asking more questions,' she said, to which I responded: 'Do you?' I have found, in general, with friends and family and strangers, that the compulsion to talk has reduced, the itch to interrupt has lessened, the capacity to listen has grown. And the rest, as Hamlet said, and as I once tweeted, is silence.
Yahoo
23-06-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Avoid These 'Harmless' Comments—They've Very Triggering To Insecure People
In our world of hyper-awareness and curated perfection, even the most innocuous comment can hit like a precision-guided missile, exposing raw nerves you'd never guess existed. You might think you're making small talk, but for someone grappling with insecurity, your words can unintentionally slip under their skin and fuel that inner storm. The truth is, no one is immune to self-doubt, and certain remarks can trigger a cascade of introspection and anxiety. Here's a look at some seemingly benign comments that can resonate more deeply than intended, each a reminder of the silent battles many are fighting. This question can be a subtle undermining of competence, questioning someone's abilities or decision-making skills. It can trigger a defensive reaction, forcing one to prove their worth or capabilities. For those struggling with impostor syndrome, it's a stark reminder of every self-doubt they've harbored. It feeds the fear that they're not enough, despite evidence to the contrary. On a broader scale, this comment reflects societal doubts about individual capacity, often rooted in stereotypes or biases. It can cause someone to internalize perceived limitations, impacting confidence and ambition. Challenging this mindset involves affirming abilities and offering support rather than skepticism. Encouragement and trust can go a long way in dismantling these damaging narratives. This comment is often meant with sympathy or even a touch of camaraderie, as if to say we're all in this together. But to someone already wrestling with their self-image, it can feel like a spotlight on every line, every shadow under their eyes. According to a study published in the Journal of Psychological Science, comments about physical appearance can exacerbate existing insecurities, creating a cycle of self-consciousness. In an age where beauty is filtered and flawless on social media, anything that suggests imperfection can hit hard. Beyond the surface, "You look tired" can imply a failure to keep up with life's demands, another source of anxiety for many. It can make someone question how they're perceived at work or in social circles, worrying that they appear less competent or engaged. In the relentless hustle culture, tiredness becomes a sort of taboo, a sign that you're not hustling hard enough. The unintended sting here reminds us that appearance and perception are often tightly intertwined, whether we like it or not. It's the classic question that turns casual gatherings into minefields for singles who are already feeling left behind. The assumption that marriage is a given milestone can weigh heavily on those who haven't yet—or have chosen not to—tie the knot. For someone navigating the dating world or contentedly single, this question can stir up feelings of inadequacy or societal pressure to conform. It inadvertently shines a light on deeply personal choices, inviting unsolicited judgment or advice. Moreover, this question can bring underlying insecurities about relationships bubbling to the surface. It forces a comparison to peers who may appear to have checked off that life goal with ease. Relationship status, like so many aspects of life, isn't a one-size-fits-all situation. Acknowledging this can help foster a more understanding and less intrusive social atmosphere. While this comment can be interpreted as a conversation starter, it often carries a hint of judgment wrapped in politeness. For those who struggle with self-expression through fashion, it can feel like an indirect critique, making them second-guess their choices. Fashion psychologist Dawnn Karen explains that clothes serve as an extension of self, making any comment about them feel deeply personal. This seemingly simple statement can transform into a critique of one's identity and creativity. For those battling with body image or personal style anxieties, the word "interesting" becomes a code word for "odd" or "out of place." It can serve as an unexpected invitation to self-scrutiny, unraveling hours of effort put into crafting an appearance that fits their self-image. In a world where individuality is celebrated yet continually scrutinized, this kind of remark can be a sharp reminder of the tightrope we walk between fitting in and standing out. On the surface, this may seem like a compliment, but it carries a complex web of connotations. For some, it can imply that their previous body was less acceptable, a harsh echo of society's often unforgiving beauty standards. This comment can feed into unhealthy relationships with food and body image, where validation is tied to a number on a scale. It's a reminder of how quickly well-meaning words can become fuel for already existing insecurities. Discussing weight, even with the best intentions, can bring into focus personal struggles that aren't always visible to the outside world. It can force someone into a mental tally of every meal, every workout, every moment of self-doubt. Compliments about weight can be more about the person giving them than the one receiving them, reinforcing narrow perceptions of beauty. In navigating such conversations, it's essential to remember the unseen battles many face regarding their bodies. This comment places the burden of emotional labor squarely on the shoulders of the person it's directed at, often without considering the context. It assumes a level of access to someone's emotional state, implying cheerfulness as a societal obligation. Psychologist Dr. Amy Cuddy has highlighted how societal expectations around emotional expression can exacerbate feelings of inadequacy, especially for women. A directive to smile can feel like a demand to ignore or invalidate genuine emotions for the comfort of others. For those dealing with anxiety or depression, such a comment can be particularly triggering, suggesting their struggle should be masked. It can make them feel as though their authentic self isn't enough, pushing them to perform happiness rather than seek it. The comment can also remind them of past criticisms, reinforcing a narrative that their worth is somehow linked to their exterior demeanor. In a world that increasingly values authenticity, pressuring someone to smile undermines the complexity of human emotion. Being labeled as sensitive can feel like a flaw in a world that often values stoicism and strength. This comment can suggest an inability to handle life's challenges, making those who hear it question their emotional resilience. It can imply that their feelings are overreactions, dismissing the validity of their experiences and emotions. For someone grappling with self-esteem issues, being called sensitive can be an invitation to internalize criticism and question their emotional responses. Sensitivity is often misunderstood as weakness, but it's also a form of empathy and understanding. This comment can make people feel ashamed of their emotional depth, encouraging them to hide their true feelings in fear of judgment. It can push them to bottle up emotions rather than embracing and expressing them healthily. Acknowledging sensitivity as a strength can help shift the narrative and create a more supportive environment. This question cuts to the core of societal norms surrounding age and behavior, challenging personal freedom and self-expression. Dr. Becca Levy from Yale University highlights in her research on ageism that such comments can perpetuate stereotypes and limit individual potential. To someone already battling age-related insecurities, this remark can feel like a door slamming shut on opportunities or experiences. It suggests a predefined set of expectations for how one should act, based solely on the number of candles on their last birthday cake. Age should be a number, not a barrier, but this comment implies otherwise, creating doubt where there might have been none. It can make someone feel as though their passions and choices are invalid or inappropriate, leading them to question their self-worth. In a culture that often fetishizes youth, any deviation from the norm can become a point of internal conflict. By challenging these age-related stereotypes, we can foster a more inclusive environment that celebrates individuality. This casual observation can feel like a jab at one's career trajectory or life choices, casting doubt on stability and ambition. It may imply a lack of progress or the inability to move on, even when the current situation is a chosen path. For someone already questioning their career choices or life direction, it can amplify feelings of being stuck or left behind. The underlying assumption is that success is linear, and staying put equates to failure. Additionally, this comment can awaken fears about stagnation and missed opportunities. It's a reminder of societal pressures to constantly advance, often ignoring the value of consistency and contentment. Not everyone's journey is a race to the top; for some, fulfillment lies in the journey itself. By recognizing this, we can shift the narrative from one of inadequacy to one of acceptance and appreciation. This comment might seem flattering, but it can unintentionally diminish the recipient's struggles and efforts. It suggests that their accomplishments or circumstances are due to luck rather than hard work or perseverance. The implication is that everything has been handed to them, erasing the complexities behind their success. For someone facing their own battles, it can feel like an erasure of their experiences and resilience. Luck is rarely the full picture, and this comment can oversimplify the nuanced reality of life's ups and downs. It can make someone feel misunderstood and alone in their challenges, as if their struggles are invalid. Everyone's journey is a tapestry of effort, opportunity, and hardship. Recognizing this complexity can help foster a more empathetic understanding of each other's lives. This phrase might come across as supportive, but it can inadvertently highlight differences, making someone feel like an outlier. It can imply that what they do is extraordinary, not because of the action itself but because of who they are. For someone striving to feel normal or accepted, it can be a reminder of perceived limitations or societal expectations. The underlying message is that their actions are unexpected, which can intensify feelings of isolation or inadequacy. Bravery, in this context, becomes a double-edged sword, drawing attention to personal circumstances rather than achievements. It can make someone question why their actions are seen as courageous rather than ordinary. It places emphasis on overcoming obstacles instead of celebrating the achievement itself. Reframing our language to focus on the accomplishment rather than the perceived struggle can help shift the narrative towards inclusivity. This statement, often meant to express admiration, can make someone feel like what they're doing is unfathomable or extreme. It can create distance, as if their actions are unrelatable or outside the norm. For those already feeling different or misunderstood, it can become a barrier to connection and understanding. It turns personal achievements into curiosities, distancing rather than bringing people together. Phrases like this can make someone question their choices, adding a layer of uncertainty to their actions. It can underscore feelings of isolation or uniqueness in a way that isn't necessarily positive. Admiration can be expressed without creating separation; focusing on shared values or goals can bridge this gap. By finding common ground, we can foster a more supportive and inclusive environment. This seemingly innocent comparison can feel like a loss of individual identity, reducing someone to a reflection of another. It can bring up complicated family dynamics, stirring emotions tied to familial expectations or past conflicts. For someone striving to carve out their own path, it can feel like a dismissal of their unique qualities and efforts. The implication is that they're following a predetermined path rather than creating their own journey. Family comparisons can be heavy with unspoken expectations and pressure, overshadowing personal achievements. They can serve as a reminder of unfulfilled goals or perceived failures, igniting self-doubt and anxiety. Recognizing and celebrating individuality rather than drawing parallels can help nurture personal growth and confidence. Everyone deserves to be seen for who they are, not just as a reflection of those around them.
