No Telling! The Surprising Benefits of Tattling on Yourself and Society
A reader and fellow author lamented, in response to my recent piece, “When Are You Old Enough to Understand Ageism,” that “we just don’t talk about [ageism] enough.” I replied:
So glad you liked the piece, Maria. A mind at a time, we can change the stereotype. We are doing it, among other ways, by “telling” on it!
“Oh I love that, Melinda,” she wrote back, “Telling on it. We called it clyping in Scotland.
A public “thank you,” to Maria Rattray, for letting me know that the idea of “telling” resonated with her.
What’s So Compelling About Telling?
Telling is a tool. It can recharge and redirect you, by bringing to the surface of your consciousness thoughts and feelings you didn’t know you harbored — sometimes, ones you’d rather bury.
Telling can change how people see. While 50 might be 25 in today’s years, in 1984 when Gloria Steinem appeared on the cover of Esquire, next to the words, “This Is What 50 Looks Like,” it struck a blow against ageism and sexism. (Granted, we still have a way to go.)
You don’t have to be an adult (or an old lady, today Gloria is a gorgeous 88!)to tell on a societal ill or rat out injustice. Malala Yousafzai told on the Taliban for enforcing a ban against girls’ education. The #NeverAgain campaign launched by the Parkland high school kids called out the gun culture. Greta Thunberg clyped on all of us for ignoring climate change.
Telling need not be negative to make an impact. Medium writer Rebecca A. Stevens often tells on racism. Her pieces are eye-opening, even-handed, and based on the lived experience of a Black woman. Some, like a recent rant about her white gynecologist, call out a particular person for inexcusable behavior. But she also reveals the traits of her “favorite white allies,” showing us what to do right.
After Telling, No Turning Back
When you tell on yourself (or society), there’s no turning back. That’s why old-timers tell newcomers in Alcoholic Anonymous — where telling is a requirement of recovery — that “AA ruins your drinking.”
In part, it’s because making a “searching and fearless moral inventory” is the equivalent of telling on your self. Once you see what needs to change, you can’t un-see it. You can’t un-know what you’ve learned about yourself.
Just as important, you’ve told your truth to others. Psychologist Roy Baumeister, who literally wrote the book on willpower, cites social support as a key component of resisting temptation in favor of life-enhancing choices.
Peer groups like Religion and AA help to strengthen self-control through continuous monitoring and peer pressure.
The problem is, we humans are hard-wired for instant gratification, Baumeister notes. We have a limited supply of willpower.
Case in point: I’d rather munch popcorn and binge on Netflix than take to my yoga mat. So last October, I told on myself, admitting to anonymous others in print that I never liked to exercise. I had injured my knee and hoped that telling how I’d tried and quit a smorgasbord of exercise regimens would help motive me to try again and try harder this time.
But Is Telling Really a Good Thing? Does it Work?
A few days ago, I shared this theory with my daughter Jen, who somehow seems to have an unlimited supply of willpower and doesn’t need to trick herself into exercising.
She suggested that the idea of telling fits into Prochaska and Di Clemente’s 6-stage cycle of change:
- precontemplation (change isn’t on your radar)
- contemplation (you’re thinking about it but aren’t ready to commit)
- preparation (you plan how to make a change)
- action (you actually do it)
- maintenance (the change becomes routine)
- relapse (a stage I experience often when it comes to exercise)
Change never happens in a straight line. Telling at least gets you past “precontemplation.”
But for some, the phrase telling on doesn’t resonate. “It brings up a negative feeling for me,” says Becky Diamond. In her Psychology Today blog, “Risking It,” Becky calls out today’s impossible and unhealthy parenting standards, and she reports her own tendencies to hover and fret.
I see why “telling” might work, but guess I view it a little differently. I’m on a journey to become my bravest and most authentic self. Part of that journey is to be honest about what I see in our parenting culture that doesn’t help our kids as well as the mistakes I continue to make and have made.
Rather than “telling,” Becky says,
I like the idea of giving myself grace. If I “tell on” myself, that doesn’t feel right — versus saying/observing/accepting while trying to change.
To be sure, telling-on isn’t a panacea or a guarantee. Even when it leads to change, it doesn’t happen quickly or all at once. And sometimes you backslide.
Still, if the isms aren’t brought to our attention, how will we know? If we stay stuck in the “pre-contemplation” stage, how will we grow?
I’m still white-knuckling it on my own when it comes to exercise, waffling in the territory between contemplation and action. I come up with a string of excuses not to attend a Pilates class with my French friend Françoise: it’s too far, takes too much time (as if I punch a clock!), and I dread being sore afterwards. I didn’t even cave when Françoise warned on one of our brisk walks that I could end up in a wheelchair ten years from now!
Well, maybe that make an impact. I unfurled the yoga mat this week, did new exercises with a physical therapist, and even averaged five minutes a day of working out on my own.
Baby steps — but progress nonetheless. I have the charley horse to prove it.
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