Stacey (er, I mean, “Anymommy”) of Is There Anymommy Out There? is someone I can’t help but read. She’s funny, smart, talented… and she’s not afraid to show us she’s human. What a package! No wonder her ham-eating husband is happy to put down his tools and listen to her vent. Oh, and speaking of… thanks for all the support on my Jury Duty whine-fest. I’m better now.
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Me: I’m closing down my blog. Also, we have to move. Preferably states.
Matt is doing something with tools in the basement. It’s quiet time and the kids are actually quiet, so I have had a solid forty-five minutes to immerse myself in neurosis.
Matt: Was it a felony?
Me: No! Not me. This is not about me. I’m fine. I’m perfect, thank God, otherwise, how could I be so irritated at the rest of the world?
Matt: Are you still stewing about the Board thing?
I stare at him in irritation. Kind of. Maybe. Do you ever have small things happen in your world that really throw you off? Mentally, I mean. They make you question yourself and feel like, perhaps, just maybe, oh the horror, not everyone you encounter likes you? Wince.
The thing is, objectively, I know that. I’m a strong-willed, fairly opinionated woman. I stick my foot in mouth a bit. I sometimes come at things from one perspective and forget to take a wider view. I try, really hard, but I know that discretion and compassion sometimes elude me, let alone perfection.
Every once in a while, though, it smacks me in the face a little and takes the wind out of my life sails. In this one week, a few things rocked my small life boat. Little things. Silly things. Things that I think I handled outwardly, somewhat maturely, but then, sadly, I stomp to Matt with my thumb in my mouth and my scowl on like a five-year-old child with a capsized boat and soggy undies.
Someone complained to the preschool board because I expressed my opinion about my own children’s education. Wah! I’m on the Board! It wasn’t inappropriate.
I happened to hear another opinion about me. Maybe even a valid opinion, but it stung.
Small. Life. Upsetting, nonetheless.
In the basement, Matt is still holding his tools. He hates this kind of conversation. I know he is dying to go back to his project, but I’ve been working up to this vent all week.
Me: No! Maybe. That wasn’t fair. There are valid complaints to make about me, but that wasn’t one of them. It didn’t require tattling to the board.
He shrugs. I consider adding husbandcide and burying evidence in the backyard to my to do list beside moving and quitting blogging.
Matt: I agree. It didn’t. So…
Another shrug. There are some sharp tools in the basement and the man already has eight stitches in his head. He’s pushing it.
Me: I just feel unliked. A blogger called me out anonymously on a blog I really like because I stated my opinion in comments elsewhere.
Matt: Can you call someone out anonymously? Seems oxymoronish.
Me: I don’t know. Yes, you can. I knew it was me. I was nice. I just disagreed! On the actual issue! I didn’t say a single word about the people involved. I like them. I think. As much as you can like people you’ve never met. She called me the one person who ‘actually’ felt the need to say something.
Matt shrugs.
Matt: Were you?
Murderous rage rises in my chest. Okay, maybe.
The deeper problem is that I have never before committed to being me as strongly as I have in the last five years. In my first thirtyish years of life, I moved almost every two years. I bounced around the world and left most places behind before things got particularly difficult. I didn’t serve on boards or state my opinions for lots of people to read or get to know many people well enough to care, particularly, one way or another whether they liked me. Did it matter? I was gone. That freedom is also a curse. I never had to decide if I liked certain parts of me all that much either.
Now here we are. Kids. Boards. Preschools. Blogs. Wonderful friends. Acquaintances who one day could be on boards with me, or teach my children, or be – surprise! – the best dentist in town, or the manager where my kids want to work. Whatever. Hello frightening long term relationships of all kinds. I don’t do this kind of pressure. We clearly need to move before this gets more serious. People are starting to know who I am here.
I also love it. It’s home. I just finished up a major bounce, half way across the world, and I missed my life and my acquaintances and my boards and my lovely, ancient house on its tree-lined boulevard. I love blogging too, connecting and sharing opinions and stretching my views as I awaken to others’ views.
But, couldn’t everyone just always agree with me and never misunderstand me?
Meanwhile, I am still pouting in the basement.
Me: Don’t you ever get your feeling hurt? Don’t you ever feel like you just don’t want to…be out there any more?
Matt: Not really.
Me: (Fuming black smoke.)
Matt: You have such good friends. Here. Saipan. D.C. All over.
Me: I know.
Matt: People who really love you, so much so that they don’t hurt your feelings, even when they disagree with you, or when you discuss tough things, because you just know they love you. Right? They know where you are coming from. They know the whole you. You aren’t going to rub them the wrong way because they always understand the whole story about you. They are never looking at you from one specific angle.
Me: (grudging affirmative grunt)
Matt: It’s not possible for everyone to see you that way. You wouldn’t let them all in, even if you could. You’re pretty closed. It’s too much, anyway, there’s only so many close friends people can have.
Me: Right.
Matt: So, these other people don’t know you. They are judging one small piece, one aspect. Whatever. They aren’t judging you. So….
Matt shrugs.
Me: Soooo?
Matt: Who cares? (Huge shrug.)
Me: I get what you’re saying with the shrug thing – but I swear on my life, if you shrug again, I am going to make like a praying mantis and bite off your head and leave your bleeding, twitching carcass on the floor. And, I will not call 911. We already used our quota this year. I care, a little. It still hurts my feelings. It leaves me feeling adrift, somehow. Vulnerable. I feel vulnerable. But, I have to let it go, I get it.
Matt: You don’t have to let it go. You can vent. Just remember, it’s got nothing to do with who you are. It doesn’t have to shake you to the core.
I ponder a moment. Sometimes, it does. Sometimes, it has something to do with who I want to be. Not always.
Me: We may not have to move. I might be able to tough it out.
Matt: Great. Jobs are tight.
Me: Thanks. For listening.
Matt: Anything for you, my perfect darling. Want to make like a rabbit and thank me properly?
Me: Not a chance, Confucius.
I start back up the stairs. Matt calls after my retreating back.
Matt: You could thank me by really shutting down the blog!
Me: I wasn’t ever really considering it.
Matt: How about giving up twitter!?
Me: I’m feeling much better. I’m good actually. Thanks.
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18 replies on “Sweating the Small Stuff”
When your boat capsizes and your pants get soggy the only acceptable thing to do is stick your thumb in your mouth.
Oh, do I know how you feel. Today’s post on my blog touches on that quite a bit never mind I got my first very very nasty comment calling me a shit fuck of a mother. I erased it but even though it came from an asshole, it still bothered me a little bit.
Ah yes, there are a lot of judgmental people out there. As my mother always said… don’t let the turkeys get you down. 🙂
I get this, and definitely understand how you feel. Not sure what I’ll do when we find THE house where we want to live for a long time. In a neighborhood. Where other people have also settled down.
I wish someone had told me what I am about to tell you. I wish I had possessed the ability to actually listen. I did not, then, so it wouldn’t have mattered.
After I entered cyberspace, I got my feelings hugely hurt by habitual cranks, malcontents. I did not observe the cardinal rule: consider the source.
I also learned something significant from watching my son play a game online. It was a silly animated game involving shooting of arrows and running around launching surprise attacks, both on friends and strange characters. They told each other off, said not so nice things. They got booted from the site, got each other in trouble. They got mad, said unkind things. And in five seconds time, everybody was over it and they started up the game again.
Well, blow me over Mable and hand me a cigar.
That’s what guys do. They carry on and they get over it and they carry on. I was raised hanging out with the guys (big brother worshipper), then went into a male-dominated business and only when I became a mother and sought the company of other women in an expansive way did I run into a buzz saw of sorts. It doesn’t have to be this way. And it starts at home, with each of us, deciding not to be so sensitive. And I pledge to start with me. To take the hit full on, acknowledge it, that the person has a right to her opinion and then to carry on as though that thought was not expressed out loud, even rudely.
And then I will resume the game. With the joy I carry and deserve, what I was born to.
I love that you wrote about this. I had a very similar conversation with my husband last week.
Oh, and I think Ceci hit the nail on the head there – the male environment tends to be different and they don’t take things so personally (although some men *are* sensitive – when I worked in an all-male office we would disagree loudly with each other on everything and it didn’t mean anything. Until one day I made the new guy cry. Gulp.)
Matt was right when he said they are only judging one small piece, one aspect. Your character is what’s most important. People only see (and judge) what you show, which more than likely isn’t all there is to you.
If you ever want a friend who’ll like you no matter how much we disagree, count on me. Sometimes the blogosphere feels like a tea party, where everyone is trying so hard to be nice they forget to be honest. I always feel like the most respect someone can pay me is to be truthful with me.
I’m probably the worst person to comment on this situation – but I don’t care what anyone thinks about me. And they all know it. Not that it matters anymore since I’ve worked from home since 2003 and no-one actually “knows” me anymore. And now that I’m unemployed, I have to re-employ my powers of pleasing, which suck to say the least. Say what you think, do what you think is right. Be true to yourself. Everything else will fall in line, and if it or he or she doesn’t, it can’t be important.
I can’t believe you considered for a second shutting down your blog. What kind of a person does that?!
You all are great. Thank you. Seriously, I feel understood and I’m giggling. Normally, I do try to stand strong as who I am, but every once in a while…blech!
Also, my new favorite expression is “blow me over Mable and hand me a cigar.” Awesome.
Oh, girlfriend wait until you’ve lived 40-plus-ish years. You’ll still give a damn but it will only be a whimper of a damn. I’m reading Christiane Northrup’s “The Wisdom of Menopause” in preparation for the coming hard easy times, and feeling a LOT better about everything.
Judging, criticizing other people . . . is all about their insecurity. That’s it. No magic. Now, if I could just remember that when it happens to me.
Tried to do a strike-out . . . am I savvy enough to pull it off in a comment?
Oops — struck out on the striking-out attempt. Was hoping to strike out “hard.”
I understand where you’re coming from. I have a compulsive need to have everyone like me. But they just don’t. And I don’t appear to be able to get past it. Rejection tends to get the best of me, and then I question everyone’s intentions. It’s most unpleasant. I am apparently a very insecure person, I’m learning. You expressed the sentiment better than I ever could. Thanks for that. Glad you’re feeling all better now!
There are all kinds of ways to disagree with people. As a people pleaser, I tend to wrap disagreements in fluff so I can protect feelings. But I find that I’m having to get tougher in handling how others disagree with me. As much as I don’t like it, people disagree with me every day. Would it kill them to just be nice?
Your husband sounds hilarious. You guys are good for each other.
“Did it matter? I was gone. That freedom is also a curse. I never had to decide if I liked certain parts of me all that much either.”…I read your posts and just can’t get over how much we think alike. You know I am moving every two years, now to different countries, and I feel the same way. I know I’m leaving…so does it matter? I was thinking of writing a similar post, about constantly moving, and having this longing for needing one place, where people really do know me..it’s a great feeing, to be involved in your community – I had that for a brief period…but there’s also something liberating about being slightly anonymous, in a new place….but maybe this makes me not explore myself enough, like you said…but at the same time, it magnifies who I am or who I want to present myself as being, because each time, I have to make new friends and am now put into the role “diplomat’s wife” -that’s a hard one to wrap my mind around..I resist, and am also quite sensitive to times when I find out someone doesn’t like a part of me, however small…and my husband doesn’t get it…anyways, I am truly rambling and you always write it so eloquently. Can I just copy that part of your post and put it on my blog? of course not, but how is it that you are able to put my thoughts down on paper?? Oops, I mean blog? -Diana
Give up Twitter? Is he completely nuts? I’m assuming this was after the head injury; that can be the only explanation.
I can completely understand your being affected by someone calling you out in that way, even if you are the only one who knows it. And I think it’s awesome that Matt listens and lets you vent, because it’s what most of us women need. But he’ll never “get it” when you have issues like that. They just don’t.
That’s what we’re for! 🙂
I think Matt is right (don’t you hate that!) that they are judging a piece of you or even just how you expressed an opinion. I think also that writing a blog or commenting on blogs exposes you in ways that kind of make you vulnerable. It is also easier to call someone out in a disagreeable way because it seems so anonymous. You end up reacting to ideas, not a feeling, breathing person–where we are usually much more forgiving.
And from where I stand, girl, it looks like you are more than liked, you are LOVED!