Tag Archives: haters

And Then There Were #Haters

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I hope this is my last blog post / comment on the Caitlin (neé Bruce) Jenner situation.

Of course there are haters. We do not live in a utopian world: judgementalism and fear have done an excellent job of setting up a premise and creating a platform from which to spout vitriol and puke deep self-loathing and fears, cloaked in hate.

Think about it this way: if you felt good about yourself, felt secure about your prospects, felt happy or content with your life, and felt as though you’ve done everything you can to create a positive environment for yourself (so, ultimately, you’ve done away with all greed, envy, reactivity and shame; and now, you fart rainbows and butterflies) and others, then why would you hate on anyone who decides to do whatever that person wants to its own body?

You wouldn’t.

You’d say, “not for me, but more power to you.”

Not, “the world is a mess and what has happened to us?”

I’ve got news for you: people have been cross dressing, with intention and fear for their lives, for millennia. Has it ever hurt you, o hater, before? Has the cross dresser or transgender or whomever shown up at your senate confirmation hearing for installation as the most balanced, articulate, and rational hater on Earth and said,

“NO NO NO!!! GOOD SENATORS AND STATESMEN! DO NOT PASS THIS INDIVIDUAL AS NOMINATED! HE HAS FEAR IN HIS HEART AND I AM HERE TO PROVE IT! STRIP HIM OF HIS MANHOOD! SHOW HIM HOW DAAAAAAAAANGEERRRRRRROUS I AM TO HIM…. I WILL THWART HIS EVERY EFFORT TO BUY GASOLINE FOR HIS CAR, OR AMMUNITION FOR HIS GUN, OR MATCHES FOR HIS CIGARETTES, OR BEER FOR HIS MAN ‘FRIDGE … BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I DO… BECAUSE I AM DAAAAAAAAAANGEERRRROUS… boooowhoooohaaaahahaaaahaaaa…”

Get over y’damnselves. Look in the mirror.

I will say it again: I care about the kids in this situation. I care about the kids in all situations where the adults have let fear and apathy and narcissism run themselves freakin’ rampant. Where those adults lose all control of themselves and their grounding. Where the adults lie, and hide, and obfuscate, and deny, and deflect, and project, and displace all their OWN self-shit on to their kids. Where the kids are left holding the bag for the adult who is really, truly, deeply, still a child deep, deep, deep inside. Bruce Jenner hid his truth from his children.

I’m not just talking about the transgender feelings, I’m talking about his PLANS to have surgeries. That tactical and strategic side to all of this. The dude was a freakin’ world-class athlete: he KNOWS all about strategy and execution. It’s like when my dad asks me to find out things for him: he’s an investigative journalist for crying’ out loud…

Bruce never told them. He planned it all along; logistics for this takes months to line up. Months, perhaps years of psychotherapy has to be experienced and assessed before one gets the medical clearance to begin looking into procedures. Bruce hid his truth and only when asked — the kids HAD TO ASK THE RIGHT WORDS IN THE RIGHT WAY — did he pout, look down, and while fiddling with his shirt, say in a very non-sportscaster voice, “mmmm, yeah.”

Much as like how a kid would admit to hitting a baseball into a neighbor’s window.

“But you should’ve seen the hit! It was aMAZing, Mom…”

Bruce has been acting on id impulse for a very long time. See me. Watch me. Listen to me. See me. SEEEEEEEEE MEEEEEEEEE!

Where the adult is acting ONLY ON ID, where the id is in control.

When the id is in control, it’s dessert all the time. Except for you. Just me. That’s my teddy bear. Get your own. Your teddy bear is ugly. I don’t want to watch that show, idiots like that show. I want to watch this. Now. No, now. NOW.

Ids are freakin’ tenacious and selfish motherfuckers. (Sorry.) And ids can rationalize anything. Count on it.

So in my estimation, we have ids running the media and ids hating on others.

The haters have to hate, lest they sit with themselves. It’s all about projection, peeps. They feel so alone.

What gets me the most in this, is the people out there who are FREAKING out and saying that Bruce has become a woman.

No.

I don’t care if Bruce had his genitalia removed, enhanced, fucked with …  there is NOTHING that will turn Caitlin (neé Bruce) into a “woman.”

It’s too late for that. There is and never was a uterus. There are no ovaries. There are no eggs. There were no periods. There were no breast sprouts. There was no breast growth (and that pain! OY!). The hips didn’t widen and curve. There were no stretch marks. There were no girls at school who were shitty to him and slut-shaming and date-rape. There was no ambivalence about growing INTO a woman, no flood of questions about “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME????” There were no pregnancy scares or losses. The hormones were never there natively. It’s simply not possible. And Caitlin’s body is 65 years old. So… menopause!! Bruce missed all the windows.

Maybe it’s semantics.

“Female…”? Same point as two paragraphs above.

But… guess what?

None of this matters! How much of what you do is because you are male or female? Really? In the entire existence of your day, do you drink your coffee in a manly way? What about when you scratch your butt or go for your car keys, do you feel especially gender-identified?

Hmmm, Chet. That wasn’t quite manly enough just now, when you pressed the key fob to unlock your Lincoln. It didn’t feel right to our focus group. Let’s try that again. From the doorway, as you step out into the sunlight. Think, ‘How would John Wayne do this?’

But, y’know keep that façade, that shit up, because, really, that’s what matters. It matters HOW you order your grande Americano.

Sally… ? It is Sally, right? Hon, we need to do this again. You didn’t flush the toilet femininely enough. It’s causing all sorts of confusion for us. We need you to go back in, pee, and when you flush, think, ‘How would Joan of Mad Men, not Arc, do this?’

It matters HOW you sit at the steering wheel or periscope because that defines your sexuality. It does. And people are watching. They are. Just now. Yup.

Female. Male. Woman. Man. Metrosexual. Lumber-sexual. Foxy. Hawt.

Gah. These are all “words” and “brands” and “identifiers” we all have created as a construct in order to assign place, and rank, and meaning to our lives. I happen to dig them. I am a word person. But I don’t use them as weapons.

That’s easy for you to say, Molly. Your kids are ____ and ____ and you’re all set.

Well, no. It’s not like that. And you can bet your ass that if one of them came home and said to me, “Mom, I want to be a woman…” I’d likely flip out. The fact is, though, that I would say to him what I said above: no ovaries, no female. It’s not happening, authentically, for you. You can play dress-up and do the façade thing all you want, but biologically and energetically, well, it’s going to be very challenging. Hell, I don’t know what being a woman is. This shit just happens. I don’t know if I’m “doing” it right.

I maintain my position in the first post I wrote about this: Caitlin is Caitlin. And what the hell does it change in your personal life? Nothing. Unless you’re Caitlin, or Caitlin’s (neé Bruce) children. And even to them, it’s their own versions of affect.

Thank God, we are all different versions of each other. I can’t experience what you’re experiencing and you can’t have mine — even if we experience the same thing at the same time, we PROCESS it differently. We might have the same shoe size, but the shoes will fit us differently. And no shoe is the same. I don’t care what you say: they’re not. There is a bubble in the sole of one whereas there is none in the other. A fiber on one is not the same on the other.

THAT’S HOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE.

Take comfort in that. (Sorry, China.)

When this story broke, and I saw all the comments flying around, especially the flip and glib ones, I said to my oldest son, “Don’t look now, America, but you’re about to go existential on yourselves… Welcome to the rabbit hole, strap in…”

Haters ‘gonna hate. Let ’em. They need to be seen too. They feel left out. Just don’t give a toot.

Take a deep breath, and sigh it out.

rest.

Take another one, deeper this time… sigh it out.

rest.

And repeat a third time…. BIG SIGH.

Let that crap go. It’s not yours. None of this has anything to do with you.

The world is not ending over this. Maybe it’s just starting! Ha! Ever thought of that? There are so many other situations which desperately need our enthusiasm and energy: cancer, racism, terrorism, world hunger, bad haircuts….

You still have to pay your taxes and make dinner and do the dishes… life goes on. With or with out you, life goes on.

Yup. That’s all I’m going to say about that. 

Thank you.

30 Days of Brené Brown — Day 3: #jackass #perfectionism #haters #trolls

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Welcome to Day 3 of “30 Days of Brené Brown” wherein I will take the top 30 quotes as determined by Goodreads. Who is Brené Brown you ask? She is a research professor at the University of Houston, author of several books on emotional health and authenticity and all-around boss when it comes to shame and vulnerability research. But more importantly, she is my “if you could have dinner / evening out with anyone you don’t know who would it be…” -person. Go here to learn more about her. In each post I will try to limit myself to 1,200 words.

Today’s quote is just … well, here:

“Don’t try to win over the haters; you are not a jackass whisperer.”
― Brené BrownDaring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead

Isn’t that great?! I love it.

As a writer with a blog I will admit that I have yet (today might be the day!) to deal with trolls or haters on the internet. In life, I have had to deal with them and the bottom line, as it takes me back to a wonderful book by Don Miguel Ruiz, The Four Agreements, is that it’s nothing personal. But that’s the part that stings too.

The thing is: when you put yourself out there, you’re going to attract attention. Some of it will be good, some of it will be bad attention. My father has said, “when they get mad, then you know you’ve gotten to them.” I used to think that was a good thing, y’know, getting to them. I’m not so sure anymore. It’s not that I don’t want to be an effective person, but I don’t want to get to anyone.

Years ago when I was on a committee to get some pedestrian and safety improvements made around my neighborhood, there was a guy who disagreed. He worked for the school system. We had the state and county transportation, the county police and fire and the local government people all on the same side: they all agreed with us that the changes would help. The changes weren’t expensive, they were smart and they were long overdue. This guy? Not so much. He dug his heels in so deep that members on the committee were conVINCed he was taking all this personally. That it was him we were against. After a while, uh… yeah, I was against him. But in the beginning, I understood we all had our jobs to do.

We won, he lost.

The point of all this is that he was going to be That Guy. There was no jackass whispering to be done as Brené suggests, there was only the reality: that he was the Grand Opposer.

this is fantastic. you must admit.

this is fantastic. you must admit.

It has also occurred to me that if you bother whispering to a jackass, you will get kicked.

I’ve been on other boards. Same thing. There’s always one. When I was on PTA, we had a treasurer who was SO angry about how things went down during an experience on a federal election day (but didn’t tell anyone on the board about it) that she brought another mom with her to the Very Next PTA Meeting as ammo (this mom wasn’t even a school mom, but she was Shocked and Dismayed by our treasurer’s version of the story) to openly censure the board and then ambush us with a public resignation. Classy. This is ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, people. She was very uppity and super angry but NOT JUDGEMENTAL, Nooooo, never those guys!

Irony alert: it has been my experience that those with The Most Open Minds are often the ones who are the first to get pissed off if you don’t agree with them. It’s like that “no one can kick my brother but me” syndrome.

Anyway…

Another board I was on: same thing. I’m a big collaborator, consensus-builder; I believe in democracy, majority rules, that kind of stuff. Some people say they are but really aren’t. I have decided that I don’t have time for the people whose opinions of themselves in their own lives are so minuscule (but really not) that they are so determined to make other peoples’ lives hell. Hmm, this reminds me a little about yesterday’s post regarding the borderline personality disorder discussion.

People will always have an issue with whatever you do. Count on it. Even if they say it’s all OK and they’re really OK with it, I guarantee if given their druthers, they would change just something if they had to do it themselves. I know this enough about myself.

I delegate and give people work and by and large I’m good with it. But, if I could do it myself, I’d do something just the slightest bit different. I’d maybe pick a different font, or a smaller heel, or a different song, or a bigger ribbon…

And that’s OK! We are supposed to be different! The bottom line though is that we don’t take this stuff personally and so seriously. It also means that you keep trying, you keep going with your bad self: keep telling people how you feel, keep taking those emotional risks by sharing yourself.

I wish my mom were savvy to this quote. I think she spent a great part of her inner life fearing the jackasses while on the outside pretending to not be bothered by them. She had guts though, she took risks. I can learn from her as I always have though and that’s to make sure that the internal message aligns with the external behavior. That’s where she got messed up. That’s where a lot of us do. We can get tripped up and fall down and not know where to start again. It doesn’t matter where we start again, just THAT we start again.

Perfection is a myth. No one can agree on it. Ain’t that great?! Your idea of a fantastic Monet is not the same as mine. We might both love Andrew Wyeth but you might like another painting of his more than I do.

Does that make you an idiot? Yes.

HA! No. (I just did that to make sure you were still with me.) And I’m pretty sure no one is going to run out and ask me to make a painting of that jackass.

No. It makes you you.

And that, my friend is enough.

Thank you.