Responsibility. For a long time, that was a dirty word to me. It sounded like obligation, duty, bondage. Heavy. To be avoided.
Maybe I overstate my case. For certainly, if I avoided all responsibility, I couldnât have built the things I did, including a lab at a University and then a business that has survived somehow for 16 years.
Yet, when I consider that word, there has always been a part of me that said âNo thanks, thatâs not me.â Or maybe it was just a part of me that internalized the voices of various adults in my life, who said: âbe more responsible! Clean up your room! Do your homework! Stop taking apart radios and playing with your animalsâ. (true fact: for most of my life up until high school, I always had some kind of reptile or fish in an aquarium. Turtles were my favorites.)
That internalized voice made our responsibility to be something that was averse to what I actually wanted. Iâve figured out since then that I love learning, only I never loved the type of learning that came with words like âhomeworkâ – especially when it was someone else telling me to do those things.
Because I wasnât particularly good at listening, always having a bit of a stubborn streak, I got the label of âirresponsible.â
The outside label became an inside label. Given that label, it was hard to feel any kinship to the word âresponsibility.â
Yet the weird thing is, as I approach six decades of life, the word is becoming important to me. It turns out I had some of it all along. But it was a different thing than I learned from adults.
The âresponsibilityâ I learned growing up was basically the idea of satisfying other peopleâs desires, fears, and expectations.
For example, letâs take cleaning up my room. Now, since it was my room, all the way at the end of the house, and nobody came in there except to figure out if it was messy and tell me to clean it up, it seems a bit ridiculous to think that if the mess wasnât bothering me, why did I need to be âresponsibleâ to clean it up? Why was it âirresponsibleâ to not clean it up?
Some adults clearly thought they were âteaching me something.â Yet what they did is messed with my head, like one big psy-op. Because they produced exactly the opposite effect of the one they intended.
Years of self-observation have led me to notice that I like it better when my environment isnât too messy. Yet I wasnât allowed to discover that for myself early on, because I was too beholden to the âadults in the roomâ and what they thought was right, true, and important for me.
This form of responsibility is one that is imposed. So the question Iâve considered is this: is imposed responsibility really responsibility? Or is it something else, a sort of echo of responsibility, like a diminutive form with less power and more heaviness?
If there is this âdiminutive form of responsibilityâ, like the minor chord to a major, then what is the true form of responsibility all about?
The animals I mentioned earlier may have a role in clarifying this.
I was only a so-so caretaker of the turtles, the lizards, and the fish. I loved watching them, I was intrigued by them, and I truly felt care for them. And yet, school, friends, and other demands had me scattered. Sometimes, the poor animals would be neglected, and didnât survive very long. So off I went to get another one.
I have had literal nightmares in my adult years of finding dead animals, and realizing the horror of my neglect. Obviously this thing that I could so easily overlook when I was young had an effect on me – a very long lasting effect. It amplified the sense I had taken on, from those adults, that I was irresponsible.
Perhaps this points at the difference: I have never had a bad dream about an unkempt room. Never one regret. When it got too messy, Iâd clean it up and feel betterâno adult prodding needed. But my absence of care for those animalsâones Iâd taken from the wild, caged, then neglectedâthat is haunting.
It kind of amazes me that the adults in my life let me do that. Despite that they wanted me to âbe more responsibleâ – on this thing that actually mattered, they didnât do much to help me actually be more responsible (by saying a thing like: no, you canât get another turtle if you donât truly take care of this one, aka a turtle moratorium).
Why does my neglect – my irresponsibility – towards the animals seem so different than my so called irresponsibility towards keeping my room clean?
One has love and care for another being involved. The other does not.
The animals illustrate this important nuance far better than a human could. The animals I neglected werenât able to talk back. They couldnât argue. They couldnât divorce me, berate me, or blame me. They would never tell me âyouâre being irresponsible.â
They just were. I either cared for them, or didnât. And the results of that choice carried on with me for years.
It points to a nuance that is very difficult to get as a 3D human, yet it affects us at so many levels. It is that loving responsibility towards others is loving responsibility to the self, along with its inverse: loving responsibility towards self expresses as loving responsibility towards others.
This is a weird nuance in our otherwise polarized world. Weâre used to thinking of âus versus themâ or âthis versus that.â Most things in our world operate that way.
But love, as the ultimate energy of creation, does not behave by the same rules. It does not separate subject from object. Its only polarity is that itâs either present or itâs not as present. (Is it ever truly absent? Thatâs worth another contemplation)
So, in my lack of responsibility and love for the animals I held, there was also a lack of responsibility and love for myself. I was experiencing less flow of love because I wasnât doing it for the animals, and I wasnât doing it for myself, which meant I couldnât do it for the animals. If that sounds circular, it is. Love for self is love for others. Love for others is love for self. They arenât separate streams. Theyâre the same whole.
Now I feel like I just opened a honey jar next to an ant nest. So letâs focus it back into the subject at hand: responsibility. It would seem that maybe responsibility and love are connected.
More specifically, it appears that the fullest form of responsibility is an expression of love, for both self and others. It is a responsibility to see âIâ and âthemâ in the highest regard, in the purest light, and to act upon that as needed physically.
This has startling implications. For it says that if what weâre doing is not from self-love, it isnât really other-love, either.
Can that be true? Or have I just painted myself into a corner of words?
One thing I have clearly observed: if someone doesnât have much self-love, they are far more likely to neglect those they might care for. I.e. the absent parent, or alcoholic parent/workaholic parent: those patterns of behavior, at the deepest level, stem from a lack of deeper self-love, expressed as the lack of self-care. That lack of self-care, which is a core responsibility of any human on the planet, then overflows into the lack of other care.
Maybe we are onto something then, and perhaps that something can illuminate this issue of responsibility, in its more diminutive form versus its fuller form.
It seems that we can divide those forms along the lay lines of love.
Diminutive responsibility is a thing we feel we must do for othersâto avoid their disappointment, or to generate approval, to be seen as responsible, to be liked. In other words, this form of responsibility is performative. Itâs a transaction. We perform the behavior to manage someone elseâs emotional response, not because it flows from self-love.
It is putting on a show so we donât get punished (the stick) and/or we get a reward (the carrot), but not inherently as an expression of self love (which is also other-love).
Then the fuller, richer form of responsibility is that which is done not performatively, but starts with care and love for the self, expressed as responsibility to the self: to take care of our needs for rest, for time, for space, taking care of our bodies, our focus, our centeredness. When we do these kinds of responsibilities, the love in that, because itâs not performatively, flows over to others we care about. We become a positive force because we are embodying love, starting with ourselves.
(Authorâs note: Some people hear âself-loveâ and think narcissism. Thatâs an inversion. A narcissist lacks self-love, so they perform to extract validation from othersâa desperate attempt to fill the void. True self-love doesnât demand external approval. It flows. A truly self-loving person cannot be a narcissist. Love transcends ego.)
So this kind of responsibility is the much more difficult one to embody in todayâs world. Iâve asked myself many times why this is so difficult.
The short answer: this true and full responsibilityâthe embodiment of self-love flowing into other-loveâis what our whole system of operation is designed to separate us from.
We are trained to perform for others, not self love.
We are taught to outsource our self care, to the âprofessionalsâ who know whatâs best
We think of responsibility in terms like I did when I was younger, that being âirresponsibleâ is letting down someone else who doesnât like what weâre doing, rather than being responsible to our own selves and our inner well-being first and foremost.
Most of all, most of us are trained with a deep sense of guilt and even shame if we stray from the path of being performatively responsible.
Those guilts and shames stick in our system, controlling many of us from birth to death, programming us to do the things that others want us to do in the name of so-called âresponsibility.â
If my parents had taught me to tune into my own feelings about those poor caged animals I collected, to understand what this was doing to my sense of self love and self worth in neglecting them, I would have advanced much more quickly in my true responsibility than I did with being berated about a messy room.
But, after almost six decades of life, Iâm finally getting it. By sharing this with you, I hope it will help you on a journey to getting it much sooner than I did.
Whatâs your experience of responsibility toward yourselfâthose expressions of self-love? Can you take a vacation just because you need it, without guilt or shame, even if others might judge you? Or do you feel that familiar pangâthe one that says youâre being selfish, irresponsible, letting someone down?
If you feel it, youâre not alone. And youâre not broken. Youâre just operating inside an architecture that conditioned you to perform responsibility instead of embody it.





