Someone I had been close to for about fifteen years developed a habit of mocking my opinions on virtually everything we chatted about. Even when they directly asked to hear my thoughts, whatever I had to say would be immediately followed by an uninterruptible stream of condescension. My list of topics to avoid when around this person grew longer, until it reached the point I felt there was no topic I could safely engage with beyond polite small talk. They went on to bluntly criticize me for not being a deep enough conversationalist. We now rarely talk.
I try to be conscientious to not lambast the activities, hobbies, or passions of others, nor to ridicule them for having those interests. This is especially the case for people who are important to me. I may have my dissenting opinions on those topics, but I might share it only if the other person is someone I trust will not be offended by our mere disagreement. Otherwise, they’re not hurting anyone. It might not be for me, but I want them to feel fulfilled in what they do.
Far too often, I feel like this sentiment is not reciprocated. When someone just mercilessly tears down something I enjoy, or belittles me for having that enjoyment in the first place, or even gatekeeps my interests—films, art, gadgets, writing, mythology, philosophy, games, books, it happens with everything—just unloading on why my interest is terrible or I’m terrible for having that interest, it is genuinely difficult for me to avoid becoming overwhelmed by feelings of worthlessness for days or even weeks. The relentless thought that I can’t even be, without doing that wrong.