I’ve written before how the way we define the opposite of something defines the thing itself. When we hear that we need to be more accepting of people, or things, there’s a lot that this can mean. If the opposite of acceptance is denial, then accepting something means facing the truth, embracing reality as it actually is. If we define the opposite of acceptance as resistance, then acceptance means something much closer to surrender, or acquiescence. If we define the opposite of acceptance as rejection, then acceptance means something much closer to love.
The range of meanings here creates confusion. There are, of course, things in life that deserve resistance. Injustice, hatred, and bigotry are not to be passively tolerated. But resisting the fact that they exist is different from resisting their impact. Refusing to see the world as it actually is is not nobility—it is self-inflicted suffering. The task is simpler, and harder: to see reality as it is, not as we wish it were, not as it could be, and not as we would prefer it to be.
We suffer tremendously when we cannot accept reality on its own terms. If we cannot face the reality that we will age, our bodies will break, and we will die, we become angry, indignant, and surprised when that happens to us. If we cannot accept both the beauty and the darkness of human nature, we will be repeatedly disappointed and surprised both by the generosity, and by the cruelty, of other people. So, what gets in the way? Why do we not see things as they are?
There is a whole body of research, a manifestation of confirmation bias, showing that our beliefs are stronger than our senses. We will literally not believe our eyes when what we see conflicts with our beliefs. When what we perceive does not match our opinions, we are more likely to distrust reality than our opinions. Our opinions literally filter what we see around us.
If we take seriously the idea that our cognitive bias is to trust our opinions more than we trust what we see, then acceptance is actually about the discipline of clear seeing. It is about forcing ourselves to notice our biases, our opinions, and our beliefs over and over again.
Part of what makes this so difficult is that our beliefs are rarely just ideas. They are extensions of who we think we are. When evidence threatens a belief, it can feel as though it is threatening us. So we protect the belief. We reinterpret what we see. We distrust the source. We preserve coherence rather than accuracy. The mind would often rather remain consistent than be corrected.
If we loosen our attachment—if we stop equating “I was wrong” with “I am diminished”—something opens. We become less invested in defending our prior conclusions and more interested in discovering what is true. Acceptance, in this sense, is humility in action. It is the willingness to let reality revise us. Because this goes against our basic nature, I find it can be helpful to tell myself, “I look forward to updating my beliefs. I want to find places where I’m wrong.” This stance helps correct the default position of needing to be right.
There are other ways of doing this as well. One is to try and truly understand where other people are coming from. How could it be that this person holds this belief? The key is that this must be a genuine question that we actually want to answer– even if that answer is diametrically opposed to our own belief structure. Another strategy for this is meditation. Sitting, noticing what comes up in our mind, labeling our thoughts just as thoughts over and over again helps us realize that what we thought of as highly solid is much less firm than we supposed.
To be radically committed to accepting reality is not calming– at least not initially. It is disorienting. It asks us to loosen our grip on the very structures that make us feel stable—our beliefs, our narratives, our well-worn opinions about how things are and how they should be. We do not simply hold ideas; we live inside them, and they organize the world for us, and tell us who we are. We rely on them for a sense of stability and permanence in the world. When we choose reality over attachment to those ideas, the ground can feel like it is constantly shifting beneath us, like there’s nothing to hold on to. That is the point.
There is a kind of vertigo in admitting, “I may be wrong. I have not real certainty here, only reality.” Or more subtly, “What is here does not match what I expected.” If we are deeply committed to seeing clearly, we must be willing to let cherished interpretations dissolve when they no longer fit the facts. We must allow experience—not preference—to have the final word. That can feel like loss or exposure. Without our familiar explanations, we can feel unmoored.
And yet, when we stop clinging to what we hoped was true and instead meet what is present, we step into a different relationship with the world. We trade the comfort of being right for the steadiness of being real. The more willing we are to release attachment to our ideas, the less threatened we feel when they are challenged. We become less brittle, less defensive, more responsive.
Radical acceptance does not make us passive; it loosens the grip of the self that is constantly bracing against what it does not like. When we stop insisting that reality match our preferences, we stop feeding the tension created by craving and aversion. We see more clearly. We respond more deliberately. The world will still change. People will still surprise us. Our bodies will still age. But when we are no longer clinging to how things should be, we are less pushed and pulled by every shift in circumstance. Acceptance is not resignation. It is participation in life without the constant struggle to rearrange it to suit us.
Love,
Doc
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