In the Netherlands, there often seems to be a moral imperative to be ‘well’. We constantly evaluate each other’s actions as either ‘good’ or ‘bad’ and use these judgments as a vague metric for determining whether someone belongs in the group.
Her? Oh, she goes out to bars a lot; that’s not good for her health. Him? He goes to the gym every day; that’s so good for him. In other words, he’s like us, and she is not. What’s strange is that I catch myself doing the same thing. If I had to choose between those two characters, I’m probably the one at the bar, not the gym. And yet, here I am, quietly excluding her while letting him in, all the while hoping no one notices that I probably don’t belong either.
This kind of social organising goes on and on, ensuring everyone knows who is ‘well’ and who isn’t. And, honestly, I get it. Firstly, other countries aren’t so different; almost all groups throughout history have developed a moral framework which is then used to organise the innies and the outies. Secondly, the Netherlands has a population of 18 million crammed into a small country. For comparison, Ireland is 69% larger in size yet has only 5.2 million people. With this many people in this small a space, you inevitably need to create some sort of homogeneous normal; there’s quite literally not enough space for moral variations in how the group operates.
Then, of course, you might ask: what’s so wrong with wanting people to be healthy and well, and to like themselves? If we’re going to impose a moral imperative, surely that’s one of the better ones. I can’t argue with that. But even the pursuit of wellness can be as demanding as any other kind of religious dogma. Take the idea of self-love: the notion that we should look after and love ourselves unconditionally. We’re told to eat balanced diets, exercise regularly and treat ourselves with the kindness and compassion we supposedly deserve as the ‘precious children’ we are deep down inside.
But here’s the thing: we’re not children. And if Freud and Lacan are right in suggesting that we are, to some extent, strangers to ourselves – that parts of us will always remain as foreign as other people – then how can we expect to love ourselves perfectly? Think about it: is there any adult in your life whom you love irrevocably and always treat perfectly? I’ve been in a relationship for over a decade, and I love my partner more than anyone. But if I’d say, ‘I always treat him as the beautiful child he is; I am never angry or mean, and I just love him so much,’ you’d probably raise an eyebrow. Beyond the creepiness of it, it sounds like I infantilise him, I don’t really respect him and – most notable of all, alarm bells would ring at the extent to which I am clearly ignoring something in my relationship with him.
The same holds true for our relationship with ourselves. There are parts of us we can’t stand. Traits and behaviours we wish we didn’t have. Moments when we act recklessly, selfishly or shockingly. But what’s the point of trying to radically reshape our minds and behaviours in pursuit of an unattainable ideal of what a person should be for others?
There is an argument to be made for ‘if we all did whatever we wanted, hell would break lose’. But would it? What then is the fantasy there about how violent and aggressive we’d all be if we incorporated an inability to be inherently good into our identity? If we took responsibility for that and reckoned with it, would we descend into chaos? Or maybe more specifically, into more chaos then we are currently headed towards?
In my eyes, this morally driven social system creates a narrative whereby in the pursuit of some fantasy of perfection – and all the acceptance we believe we’ll finally find with it, we grow so far from ourselves. Much like that strange relationship with my partner, we’d live in a haze of ideals that does little more than force do normaal to function as a noose around our necks. How does anything follow that except alienation, anxiety and a kind of ‘finally-cracking’ aggression?
So here’s my two cents: there’s value in being maddeningly unwell sometimes. You can even be really mean about or toyourself occasionally. But just like with other people, don’t let it get cruel or violent. If it does, then seek out some help, as soon as possible. But, instead of loving ourselves, maybe it’s worthwhile to try bearing – or even just living with – ourselves. So, the next time you feel compelled to let another person know that going to the gym is really good for them, maybe consider the ideals you are speaking from, and how those ideals are operating in and for your relationship with your own flawed and shaky self.
Written by Molly Fitz