Toxic Gratitude
When being helpful is actually harmful
Thinking about the incident ten years later still made me angry. I didn’t talk about it often because I doubted my own feelings and because I didn’t believe I should be angry, but perhaps thankful.
This happened in the middle of the stem cell transplant that I was going through to hopefully halt the damaging effects that multiple sclerosis was wreaking on my body. I was several months into the transplant and had a day where I was feeling really good. I had a lot of energy, was feeling happy in my brand new toque that covered up my bald (from chemo) head, and it was a beautiful and sunny winter day.
This was during a time when my mom was staying with me to help me get to my doctors appointment and support me through the procedure. I wasn’t driving at this point, and she agreed to take me to the cell phone store, to get a new phone. It made her happy to see me well enough to venture out, so I think she’d have taken me almost anywhere I wanted to go.
We both walked into the store, and the sales associate instantly seemed to be on high alert; I could see him taking in my limp and he started rushing to be as accommodating to me as possible—which I suppose I passively registered as kind. He quickly brought out different devices to show me, told me of options that would be most helpful for my cell phone needs and I promptly dismissed his curious reaction to seeing me; I was on a mission to get a new phone, what did I care of how he reacted to me?
He went into the back to get a device that he thought I would be interested in, and my mom turned to me and said “You know what? I don’t need to be here. I’m going to give your dad a call.” She turned and walked out of the store to sit in the car and make her phone call.
I didn’t think twice about this at the time, but when the sales associate came out, the first thing he said is “Where’s your mom?”. I can’t even say I was surprised that he’d asked, it was so innocuous I don’t think it even registered in my mind at the time; I was too busy thinking about new cell phones and plans.
Shortly after, he told me that the phone I’d decided on wasn’t in stock at this store, but that he would order one in for me. I was a little disappointed—I had planned to walk out of the store that day with a new phone—but I thanked him anyway and turned to leave. It startled me when he rushed to the door to hold it open for me. Sometimes I find this slightly annoying because I don’t walk very fast and when someone is holding the door for me I feel rushed to get there quickly since they’re essentially waiting for me. But I’d been taught to see it as a “their heart’s in the right place” scenario, and so I stuffed down my annoyance and picked up the pace of my halting gait.
Any begrudging goodwill I felt towards him instantly evaporated as I stepped out of the building and he pointed and said “Oh is that your mom over there?” and rushed ahead of me to where my mom was sitting in the car. She was a few stalls down from the store and chatting on the phone with my dad—oblivious of the simmering dominance battle that was going on (in my mind) between myself and the cell phone salesman. She rolled down the window as he approached and explained to her what was going on with my cell phone situation. MY cell phone situation.
I was furious. He tried to open the car door for me as I approached, but I told him I was good and slammed the car door behind me after I got in. I felt humiliated, embarrassed, ashamed. I wanted to roll down the car window and scream at him. How dare he? Didn’t he know I was a grown-ass woman who had paid my own bills for years? Worked on an ambulance, was going through chemotherapy? I wanted to yell at him to go to hell, and shriek a lot more colourful expletives but I settled for more quietly raging to my mom about his behaviour.
Thinking about this incident would make my face burn with shame and anger for years. It was always confusing to me because I understood that he was acting from a place of good will and because of that I shouldn’t feel angry, but damn. I was angry.
At almost 40 I can now put a name to this behaviour—“toxic gratitude”. I was supposed to be thankful that he was going out of his way to help me: get me the device I chose, hold the door open for me, inform my “caretaker” what was being done for my cell phone needs, but it only left me with negative feelings towards him and his actions.
It’s hard to think of this man and not harbour feelings of resentment. I hope over the years he’s learned to be helpful without the toxic component; I also hope no one else has experienced that “helpfulness” because at the end of the day, it wasn’t something to feel graciously thankful about, but more a more toxic experience than a tiny Chernobyl with a data plan.
I only learned about '“toxic gratitude” less than two weeks ago when I first read this article and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Kelly Mack explains what Toxic Gratitude is much better than I have. My feelings about it are at war with one another because it’s so ingrained in me to feel thankful and dismiss the negative feelings. Reading her article was like having the clouds part to reveal a truth you’ve always felt but haven’t been able to articulate.
Do you have experiences with toxic gratitude? I’d love to read about situations you’ve found yourself in where you’ve felt this and how you responded to it.
This is beautiful