All the Small Things – Is It Me?

I will always remember the first time. It was pretty intense. No, not that first time. The first time I got slapped clean in the face with an U.I.T.M.A.M. Yes, an Underhanded Insult to Me About Me. In THE face. The nerve, right? Insults themselves can be a lot to take, but a sneaky sneak dis dead to the face… powerful! You have to be a Bad Mama Jama to slight someone to their face and pass it off as easy conversation. Either that or a hurt, scarred individual attempting to pass off the damage. Actually, the latter is most fitting. I just decided. It’s like they say. Hurt people, hurt people. Or at least they try to anyway. But this hurt doesn’t always come as the result of having had someone drag them through the mud or jilt them at the alter. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve been physically or mentally abused by a loved one either. But more so, hurt by life and their place in it. Or, as I would eventually find out, your place in it.

 There is nothing more annoying than someone making snide comments about you while pretending they are talking about someone else. Their indirectness is very direct. One of my most memorable slaps came when I was asked why people who couldn’t afford to pay their light bill stood in line to buy expensive gym shoes. As I sat there puzzled, because surely this wasn’t my reality, she went on to ask, “Why do people with no money buy things they can’t afford?” This is what I was asked as we sat in my shiny, brand new, expensive vehicle. The conversation continued with insult after insult about what she obviously believed to be my situation. Every conversation was about people who just so happened to do and wear the exact same things as me. Everything I did was talked about in a makeshift conversation about someone else. I frequently had things thrown in my face wrapped in “other people.” Other people who were clearly me. 

 I went through years of this type of ill treatment. I spent hours upon hours trying to figure out what I had done wrong. What had I said? Had I spoken too loudly? Was it in my tone or the words I had chosen? Were they just too annoying? Or was it in my walk? I wasn’t picture perfect, but I wasn’t a terrible person either. I was just baffled. Why was I always being so terribly insulted? Further, why did she think it was okay to throw insults about me to me? Well, because that’s what mean girls do. She was a Mean Girl who was inflicting her callous ways on me every chance she got. 

 As time went on, I started to realize that after the insults came the questions. Questions about how I had obtained something or what it was like to experience a certain thing. How was I able to do this or that? Then I started to get it. I was not supposed to be there. The fact that I was there was a problem. Who was I to be privy to my life with everything and everyone in it? The roadmap to greatness had not been delivered to my doorstep, so why should I have “stuff”, experiences, love? I surely wasn’t worthy, especially since, in her mind, I wasn’t her “equal.” I was less than; therefore, she needed to remind me of who I was and where my place was. Her way of doing that was by trying to make me feel small.

 Pause. Check yourself, girl! You are not responsible for how people feel about themselves. You are not responsible for this Mean Girl Syndrome. People’s actions have nothing to do with you and everything to do with their own insecurities. Jealousy and envy are not only about things or statuses either. When people treat you a certain way with no valid reason, take note that there is obviously something about you that makes them uncomfortable with who THEY are. Not your problem. And since you’ve done nothing wrong, you should not beat yourself up over it. When these people have anything less than the carefully designed roadmap drawn out for them, they gather up all of that hurt and attempt to dump it elsewhere. That other place ends up being in the faces and laps of other people. 

 Thinking back, there were so many things I could have said to her. There were so many hurtful things. But why when this person was obviously already suffering. Knowing this should make our encounters easier to deal with. Some days I can laugh to myself. Other days I get uber annoyed. Then there are those days when I just feel sorry for her. Her hurt is probably ten times greater than the pain she tries to inflict upon me. Plus, if I know who she is and I still get bothered, that is my own fault. Still, I will never fully be able to just ignore it when people intentionally try to hurt me, no matter what the reason. I will, though, be able to take solace in knowing that I apparently have some admirable qualities and should keep up the good work. So should you.