If I Were You...
Can we really imagine what it’s like to be someone else?
By Anni Ponder
“We must learn to regard people less in the light of what they do or omit to do, and more in the light of what they suffer.”
Have you ever told someone a thing about yourself, maybe something you were struggling with or suffering from, only to have them say right back to you, “Well, if I were you, I’d...” and then give you their advice?
That has started to bother me lately.
Not that I don’t want to hear wisdom from the folks who sit around my campfire. To the contrary, I love hearing what my dear ones see in my blind spots. It’s important.
It’s not even folks offering advice—if I have asked for it—that unnerves me. Some of the best decisions I’ve made have been after seeking council from others.
What really irks me is the phrase itself: If I were you, I’d…
Let’s stop right there. Let’s look at that with a high-powered microscope for a minute.
Do we really mean what we’re saying when we momentarily, hypothetically, step into another’s shoes? Do we sincerely suppose that we know what we would do, given ALL parts of the other? I mean, we’re talking genetics, personal and ancestral history, biology, preferences, ALL of what makes up a human.
Is there even a way to wrap our mind around the complexity and nuance of who any other person is, and then to say we know what we would do in their situation? To me, that seems like hubris. How could one person possibly presume to know what it’s like to be anyone else?
Here’s a phrase I like a whole lot better:
If I were you, I’d be you.
What do I mean by that?
A whole lot. I mean, if I had the personal history that you do—if I had experienced all the things in your life that have brought you up to this present moment—and if I were built of all the same genes and hormones and cells that you are—if I carried the ancestral memory that you do in your bones, in your blood, in your heart and your subconscious—if I had your specific set of affinities and dislikes and preferences—if I had learned all the same things that life has directly and also inadvertently taught you—if I lived in your skin and experienced all the physical and emotional and spiritual realities that make you, you—if all of that were true of me, then I would be...wait for it…YOU.
It’s that simple. I would be you.
I would not be me making decisions as you, I would be exactly you.
Why does this matter?
Let me tell you a story.
My first teaching job, fresh out of college, was in a juvenile detention center. I was under a brilliant educator the kids all called Mrs. C., and what I learned from watching her work with those students was far more valuable and relevant than anything I picked up in my teacher training.
One day, Mrs. C. was having a conversation with her class about love and relationships, when a kid raised her hand and asked, “Mrs. C., how often does your husband beat you?”
Mrs. C. was, understandably, taken aback. “Beat me? Never. Not once. If he did, he would no longer be my husband. Why? Why do you ask?”
The classmates exchanged worried glances. Another kid spoke up, quite concerned. “Mrs. C., that’s so sad. If he doesn’t beat you, it means, well, it means . . . he doesn’t love you.” Her voice was soft, like she was delivering unexpected and devastating news.
Mrs. C. squinted and took in a deep breath. “Wait. What do you mean?”
Another student clarified: “Well, if your husband or boyfriend truly loves you, they sometimes have to punish you. To keep you in line. To teach you a lesson. To keep you safe from the world. So they beat you if you do something wrong or dangerous so that you will learn not to. It’s how they show love.”
Mrs. C. looked stunned. She was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she spoke.
“So, in your understanding, they beat you because they love you?”
The students looked relieved. “Yes,” said one. “Because they love you.”
I don’t remember how Mrs. C. responded or what happened next. All I know is a lightbulb clicked on for me in that moment as I realized that although these kids were living in the same town I was, in the same geographical reality, their emotional, social, physical, mental, sexual, and spiritual experiences were so very different from mine that they held core beliefs in direct contradiction to my own. And then, like a sunrise on fast-forward, I saw it: if I had been raised in the same circumstances, if I had seen and heard and felt the things they had . . . I would believe the same things they did. Given the abuse, neglect, poverty, addictions, and trauma that marked their lives, I would have come to the same conclusion about love and abuse. I would think beatings = love.
No wonder they’ve ended up here in juvie.
Now, I know what some might say about this: I’m leaving out the part about personal agency. What about our right to choose our beliefs and make better decisions and overcome adversity?
Right. That’s also true. We can absolutely rise above victim-thinking and choose more loving thoughts and actions.
But I think what those kids taught me is at least equally true, if not more. We are all products of our genetics and history, and although we have the power to change our thoughts, we are who we are because of our stories. Because of the stories of those who came before us and influenced us by their genes and thoughts and fears and actions. Their legacy is still shaping us.
I’m not trying to make excuses for crime or addiction or any sort of anti-social behavior. I do believe we have the power—and the responsibility—to grow and improve.
The truth I’m highlighting is that I really can’t say what I would do if I were someone else, because I don’t know all of what it means to be who they are. I don’t understand how it feels to hold their core beliefs. I can’t begin to imagine how they feel, what they fear, all the things they hope for.
And so, I’ve started sprinkling this phrase into conversations. If I were you, I’d be you. It is helping me have compassion for the people around me. It is making it harder for me to render judgment on others. It reminds me that others are balancing and struggling with so many things I can’t see on the surface. It allows me to stop blaming others and realize they’re probably doing the best they can.
And, bonus—this phrase is giving me permission to feel all my own feelings and have compassion for myself as well. Because after all, if I were me, well…you know the rest.
