Why am I Complaining?

And what happens when I stop?

Traditionally, I complain a lot.

For a very long time, I complained about my job incessantly (I would complain for years, change jobs, and then immediately start complaining about the new one).

I know this was a defining trait because when I got my current job a few years back and people asked me, gingerly, how my work was going, they were very confused when I said “really well!” This tells me that I had developed a firm reputation as an inveterate complainer about work.

It’s not just work, though. I also complain about the weather (it’s way too unbearably cold, until it’s disgustingly, inhumanly hot). I complain about my own failings (I struggle with everything, I’m bad at life). I complain about injustice (evil people are committing terrible acts, the world should be a kinder place).

That list of complaints ranges from idle whining about silly things like the weather to seemingly justifiable moans of pain at the cruelty of the world.

But I’m not here to judge the relative merits of my list of complaint-worthy things.

I’m here to ask, earnestly and honestly: why do I do it?

I realized a few days ago that I don’t really know why. But I suspect I don’t have a clear understanding of why I really complain.

So below, I’ll list some possible explanations for my complaining habit, and we’ll see if we can go a little deeper than the surface.

I complain because I don’t like how things are.

This seems like the most obvious explanations.

“Things are bad. I am complaining to point it out.”

And it is true at some level that I complain when I don’t like things and wish they were otherwise. But that’s not really why.

I complain because I want you to know that I don’t like how things are.

Complaining is a communicative act. When I complain, I’m offering you an opinion. Even when I complain to myself, I’m presenting something to another part of me.

So there’s an aspect of externalizing a feeling I have — sharing it with someone else or at least giving voice to it.

This might do a few things. I wonder which of them is the most central to my complaining habit?

I complain to share my perspective.

Telling you what I don’t like is a way to tell you about what I do like, and value, and therefore who I am.

It’s a very negative way to get that message across. But hey, I’ve got to talk about something, and negative observations are always easy for me to find.

I complain to transfer the bad feelings to someone else.

Maybe this is part of it too: when I talk about how miserable the weather is or how awful things are in the world, you, the listener, are receiving my observations.

In a sense, that means I have less to carry.

Granted, you didn’t ask to be handed a bag of garbage.

Maybe complaining isn’t the best way to make and maintain friendships. Still…

I complain to connect with you.

Talking about the weather is a cliche of failed communication, but it’s a cliche for a reason: it’s almost always a reliable conversation topic, provided the weather is bad.

You can’t mine much chat fodder out of a sunny day with a comfortable temperature.

“It’s nice out today!”

“…yes.”

But if it’s hailing, or the mercury is in the red, or the wind is knocking down trees outside… well, we can certainly bond, in a superficial way, about how unpleasant it is to be a powerless human, trapped in the uncaring world of nature.

I complain to shift blame.

The great thing about complaining is that you can use it to explain away anything you don’t like about yourself and your behaviour.

Not happy at work? It’s probably because the CEO is so ineffectual.

Overtired and out of shape? Well you try having two young kids.

Failing to achieve your potential? The tech companies are out to steal every last drop of our attention.

Are the complaints above true at some level? Perhaps there’s some truth to them, yes. But my intent in complaining isn’t to get at the truth. It’s to pin the blame for things I’m uncomfortable about in myself on others, rather than seeing what I could do to change them.

I complain to try and win your sympathy…

I’m not the first person to observe that the main response to the question “how are you doing?” is no longer “pretty good,” or “fine, and you?”

It’s “I’m sooooo busy.”

The standard response to this one is a semi-empathetic “tell me about! Me too.”

…and I complain to convey my own status and importance.

But the main reason I “complain” about being busy is that it’s a way for me to convey that I am very important and in demand, and that in fact, I am so important and in demand that it has become a serious burden.

That’s the obvious example. But other complaints also function as markers of status, in various ways.

“Isn’t it horrible what’s happening in [region of the world]? Can you believe [corrupt leader] isn’t stopping [corrupt leader] from [atrocity]?”

Fill in the blanks however you like. This may be a valid and meaningful statement, but it’s also a way of communicating that I, person who has filled in said blanks already and chosen to drop these sentences into your ears, is informed and caring and one of the good ones.

I complain to cover up my insecurities.

Another great reason to complain is that it allows me to focus people’s attention on things that are bad which are not, also, me.

I have struggled with low self-esteem for much of my life, and I suspect that focusing on the negative things outside of myself — from the weather to global politics — is an effective defense mechanism to prevent people from focusing on and noticing what I perceive as weaknesses in me.

If I can control the flow of conversation to ensure we’re spending time condemning bad things and people, it means that we are not accidentally coming around to talking about — maybe even complaining about — all the things I’ve done wrong, or haven’t done right.

It’s an incredibly paranoid suggestion. I don’t actually think that people are just waiting for a gap in the conversation to tell me I’m useless. I don’t really believe anyone thinks that about me. But the point of this interrogation is to examine the real reasons I’ve tended to complain so much.

I complain a lot less than I used to.

Part of the impetus for this piece, and the reason I’ve been thinking about the topic, is that I’ve been complaining a lot less lately.

I recently read How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie, a book whose title left me feeling so uncomfortable that I assiduously avoided picking it up for years.

It is fantastic, and I can’t recommend it enough.

One of the tenets in the book is this: “Don't criticise, condemn or complain.”

I felt personally accused reading that section.

I’ve spent so much energy and time criticizing other people (leaders at the places I’ve worked, world leaders, even friends and family at times) for not being the way I think they should be, condemning them because they are responsible for my unhappiness, and complaining about how hard my life is.

As I’ve made a conscious effort not to complain, I’ve noticed something: I was wrong.

My life is not hard. Obviously I am extremely privileged and lucky, which helps, but even putting that aside, the fact I get to live at all, and to know and love other people, and be here in this world, is an immense and constant blessing.

Other people are not responsible for my unhappiness. They are not wrong for not being the way I think they should. I am wrong for thinking they should be anything other than what they are.

Life and connection get a hell of a lot better without complaints.

I wrote about the power of smiling recently. That experiment was also inspired by Carnegie’s book.

What I’m discovering as I consciously reduce my complaining (not to zero, by any means — this is a lifelong habit I’ll never entirely break) and smile more is that happiness is almost always available to me.

That situations in which I might have by default used complaints to put others at their ease or deflect attention from myself are actually opportunities to connect and build something together, even if it’s only a conversation.

Work is better when you don’t complain. Because instead of proffering the impossibility of success as proof that you can’t win, you can work on making something good with good people.

Friendship is better. You can look for something beautiful or funny or profound to talk about. Or you can just enjoy being near another person.

Parenting is certainly better. Instead of focusing on the burdens you bear as a parent, you can see the unbelievable luck you have, to know the most beautiful and important people who have ever walked the earth and to love them.

I know I won’t stop complaining. I’m sure soon enough I’ll be writing an entire post on here that’s nothing but complaints. But I’m going to try not to forget that life is a hell of a lot better when I don’t.