What is humiliation? According to my dictionary, it’s a loss of pride, dignity; to feel inferior, or helpless; to experience a deep wound to the psyche.
Every man, over the course of his life, will suffer AT LEAST seven humiliations. Most are small, and we can shrug them off, but there will be 2 terrible, permanently scarring humiliations; 2 that, well, are just kicks in the crotch.
Some men, after biting the bitter fruit of humiliation, get depressed, or rage, or forgive, or turn to evil, or retaliate.
Most men opt for a more expedient, and time-honored way to deal with humiliation–they try to forget it as soon as it happens. They put it in a mental strongbox and lock the strongbox in a vault in their heads. In short, they never think nor speak of it again. This is especially effective if no one, especially the man’s friends, witnessed it.
If there were witnesses you play dumb, or laugh it off. Here’s a couple of my own:
- I got caught stealing when I was fourteen. Standing next to my mom in court was agony.
- I was a Catholic altar server. I was chosen to serve at a triple funeral. Three people from the same family–mom, and two brothers–had been in their car by a train. Three caskets were lined up, one behind the other, in the center aisle. When the time came during the mass, I was supposed to stand behind the last casket with a ceremonial candle. Then the priest, accompanied by another server, would make his way around the caskets and sprinkle them with Holy Water. I was tense. The church was packed, and you could hear a pin drop as the priest sprinkled the first casket, then the second, then approached the casket where I stood. He solemnly passed me, but the server who was behind him looked at me and mouthed something–I don’t remember what he said, probably fuck you or some other stupid thing, and for some inexplicable reason I burst out laughing. And I couldn’t stop. I howled and started to cry and still I couldn’t stop myself! The congregation, the devastated family, their relatives and friends, and hundreds of parishioners who were there to support them, glared at me and hissed with utter fury, but still I couldn’t stop. Then the priest looked at me as if to say, “you sad child”, and I stopped laughing. But the damage was done, and for years after people would see me in church and shake their heads with disgust…
You’re going to re-enact, by yourself,†the most humiliating moment of your life. First, pick one. Second, if you can go to the exact spot it happened, great, if not, pick a place like it, or if even that is impossible or just too painful, wait ’til you’re alone at your home.