The Art of Deflection

We’re slippery little customers, aren’t we? Our Teflon exterior was one of our first inventions and it doesn’t show much sign of flaking off. Shaggy wrote a song about it nearly a quarter of a century ago that still gets airtime today and the media is full of stories of famous, and not so famous, celebrities with sloping shoulders.

Our inherent slipperiness was highlighted to me today at breakfast: apparently, it was my fault that my daughter had to eat soggy cereal. It’s a minor accusation in the big scheme of things, and one that I can take on the chin, but the fact that my daughter felt the need to pin the blame on me for her own woes did make me think. I do it too, of course. Even when I’m not blaming people or things or circumstances out loud, I often catch pesky, weaselly thoughts pointing their accusing fingers, often accompanied by those wretched feelings inside that cheerlead my desperate attempts to avoid shamefulness at all costs.

I guess none of it’s really a surprise; after all it started right at the beginning of our story. Adam and Eve blundered by doing the one thing God told them not to do and, when faced with the reality of their error, well, Adam pointed at Eve and Eve pointed at the serpent and this overall strategy of finger pointing has continued in a similar fashion throughout human history. And, let’s face it, it can be really quite destructive.

‘But he made me do it!’ is a common retort in playgrounds across the globe and, if we’re honest, in offices, courtrooms, homes and houses of parliament too; normally in a more subtle and nuanced fashion but with similar sentiment all the same.

The very act of not allowing ourselves to accept the things we do wrong and to, instead, accuse others for our difficulties can feel like a relief in the moment but what does it do in the long term? Division? Judgement? Misunderstanding? Separation? Animosity? Hatred? Violence? Pain? Strife? War? The list could go on and on if we let it. There’s a lesson in there somewhere; one I need to learn and live by.

To be honest, when my daughter accused me of making her cereal soggy my instant reaction was to turn on the forcefield and bounce the accusation right back at her. It wasn’t my fault, I told myself and the world: she was the one who poured on her own milk; she was the one who took so long to eat it that it dissolved into mush. Whose fault? Not mine!

But there must be a better way.

When I next feel the need to activate my Teflon force field, I instead need to take a step back and see what’s actually happening. What’s true here? Is one of my shame buttons being pressed? Instead of deflecting, denying and blaming can I accept the situation for what it is? Can I allow myself to be vulnerable? And if I do, what’s the worst that could happen…