Someone says something nice to you and your first instinct is to immediately dismantle it. “Oh this old thing.” “I actually messed up the whole second half.” “You’re being too kind.” You take the compliment, hold it for about half a second, and then hand it back slightly damaged. The person who said it now has to reassure you that they meant it, which puts them in a strange position because they already told you and that should have been enough and here we both are.
The thing is, deflecting a compliment feels like humility but it’s actually a little rude if you think about it too hard. The person looked at something you did or made or wore and formed a genuine opinion and decided to tell you about it. That takes a small amount of courage — saying something kind out loud always does. And your response is to tell them they’re wrong. You’re not being modest. You’re correcting them.
The correct response is “thank you” and then nothing. Just that. Two syllables, full stop, let it land. But almost nobody can do it. There’s a silence after “thank you” that feels like it needs to be filled, like you owe something else, like simply accepting the good thing being handed to you is too easy or too arrogant or too much like believing you deserved it. So you add the thing that undercuts it. You add it every time.
Children are better at this. Tell a kid you like their drawing and they will look you dead in the eye and say “I know” or “thank you” and go back to the drawing. They haven’t learned yet that receiving something well is somehow suspect. That gets trained out slowly, by culture or modesty or the fear of seeming like you think too highly of yourself, until you end up as an adult who can’t take a compliment without apologizing for it.
I’ve been practicing just saying thank you and stopping. It feels uncomfortably bold every single time, like I’m getting away with something. I’m not getting away with anything. Someone said something nice. I said thank you. That’s the whole transaction. I’m still not used to it.