I’ve never met a single person who has maturely handled rebuke. Not a single one. Including me.
I don’t blame them. It’s hard to hear the awful truth about yourself.
When we give rebuke, we can expect melt-downs, flip-outs, childish tantrums, tons of backpedaling, and an ugly look into the self-justifying human heart. It’s not pretty. We think we’re okay with saying “I’m wrong” until we really have to say it, without excuses, and then we’re desperately clawing to protect our ego-fortresses because being wrong feels like death.
But we need this. We need to push past the initial hostility of our overreactions. Some of us need to die to this. It is a good death.