Why Are We Still Pushing Toxic Positivity in 2022?

BY REBECCA BAYUK

Rebecca Bayuk is an editor, writer and classic movies fan who is partial to poetry, animals, and kitchen discos (she continues to extend an open invitation to her two cats, despite their distinct lack of enthusiasm). She is originally from Brontë country in Yorkshire, England, but now lives with her husband just outside Washington DC. You can find her over at rebeccabayuk.com, or pootling around Instagram: @rebeccabayuk.

A number of years ago, I was on the phone with my sister, who'd recently had some unpleasant news. Unsure of how to help, I found myself trying to reassure her. I can't remember the specifics of what I said, but I recall 'at least’ featured prominently. At least you know, now. At least it isn’t worse. At least you have sources of support. 

My sister fell silent. I thought perhaps we'd been disconnected; I had taken the phone into the garden as we talked. Late afternoon sun glinted off the neglected lawn. I was about to speak again when I heard my sister's voice. It sounded small and flat, like a riverbed stone.

“I know you're trying to help,” she said. “But I really just need to be sad about this for a while.” 

I need to be sad about this for a while.

I knew what my sister meant, and I also knew I was guilty of meeting her distress with generic-sounding soundbites, the true purpose of which was really only to accelerate progress towards a preferred state of affairs: namely, one in which she was fine, and I was fine, and we could talk about what we’d buy our mother for her birthday, instead. She’d needed validation: I’d offered only a swift shutting-down of any real discussion, albeit in a way I’d hoped would be encouraging. She’d wanted an ear; I’d offered a walk it off, sport.

I was immediately dismayed by my response, not least because I’d had my own run-ins with this sort of thing, and remembered the sting of it. Probably you’ve had run-ins, too; you almost certainly have if you’ve struggled with your mental health or experienced a loss, if you’ve grieved or acted out or displayed anything other than a shiny, easy sort of affability at all times; if you’ve failed to find a silver lining or identify with an “attitude of gratitude”; if you’ve dared to say, this is hard, and I won’t pretend it isn’t to make you feel more comfortable. 

 Toxic positivity is a form of gaslighting, in which we dismiss or silence the experiences and emotions of others, often through the deployment of phrases that serve to shut down discussion entirely– ‘just choose happy!’ 

On the surface, toxic positivity can appear benign. Shouldn’t we encourage moving past pain? Toxic positivity, however, is not about healing as much as it is about denial– a refusal to acknowledge experience as it actually is, in favor of a more sanitized, palatable version of reality that doesn't require sustained attention or effort to manage. If you've been on the receiving end of toxic positivity, you've likely felt dismissed, ignored, or ashamed: for all its catchy slogans, toxic positivity is ultimately the smiling, velvet-gloved sibling of “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” individualism– the implication being, of course, that if we just tried harder, we could “choose” to be happier, more productive, easier.

What this fails to take into account is the time involved in healing, and also, the very real obstacles that no amount of positive thinking can remove. There are some situations in life that objectively suck, and to be asked to spin them into gold feels insulting– and impossible. A parent mourning a child does not need to find a silver lining. Someone grappling with depression shouldn’t have to paste on a smile lest they bring the wrong kind of “energy” into a room. Sometimes we just need to be sad, or angry, or numb about things for a while– in order to eventually get better. As Robert Frost said, the best way out is always through.

Why, then, is toxic positivity still a thing in 2022? If we’re really honest, supporting – or even being around– someone who is having a tough time, be that because of poor mental or physical health, bereavement, or loss– can be challenging. It is difficult to see someone suffering; it is hard when we do not know how to help, or when our attempts to help appear to go unrecognized. Emotionally, we may not have much “bandwidth” ourselves. A less generous explanation, but one we need to consider, is that sometimes we simply don’t want to have certain conversations, confront particular topics, or hear specific truths. We want to remain unencumbered from the burden of having to do something, of having to care, of having to change.

What makes toxic positivity particularly dangerous is its creep from interpersonal relationships into wider society. It becomes a default way of relating to others in the world. In recent years, as we've grappled with a global pandemic, increasingly horrifying news cycles, and subsequent calls for social justice, toxic positivity has metastasized. At the softer end, we have those who meet stories of marginalization with vague murmurings of ‘choosing love”; at the sharp end, there's an outright refusal to acknowledge the grief triggered by a million pandemic deaths. In both cases, the message is clear: unless you're bringing the “good vibes,” shut up. Herein lies the crux of the issue: toxic positivity’s refusal to allow for the complex and contradictory reality of human experience and emotion is built upon apathy stemming from absence of empathy. If we cannot acknowledge the experiences of others, we cannot engage in much-needed critical dialogue about the ways in which our society functions– and we certainly can't make it better. If we don't acknowledge pain, we can't heal it.

The good news is that there is good news: we don’t have to relate to each other this way. We can show up differently for our family, friends, and community. There’s no great trick to it: when someone trusts you with their feelings, honor that trust. As they speak, listen. Validate emotions by acknowledging them in all their complexity. Refrain from offering solutions or platitudes. Be honest about your own emotional capacity. Don’t compare. Throw out the phrase “at least.” 

Let’s meet each other where we really are, instead.