Today I got an email from the husband stating that while he liked my latest blog he wanted to discuss a few parts with me. That sounds a bit ominous, does it not? Hmmm. Given the personal nature of my blog and the fact that I routinely walk the line of disclosing information that not only effects me, but affects others, I do worry. There have been days that I think twice about the things I have written, anxiously waiting for feedback to determine if I have really gone too far, only to have the blog I’m most worried about be accepted by everyone. You never know what is going to set someone else off or for that matter even get their attention.
The details that seem to stick in our heads are distinctive and subjective to each individual. At times I have been positive that I have gone too far. Thinking that I basically had called pregnant women with cleavage sluts, I raced to my computer to delete the offhand remark, only to discover a comment from a friend citing it as very funny. Other times, I’ll say or write something I see as innocent, only to have it trotted out as evidence of my callousness. Well sure, I can be as insensitive as anyone else, but often these slights are not done intentionally. As I frequently tell people, I may be bitchy unintentionally and I’m sorry, but when I mean it, there will be no doubt. The expression of my inner bitch leaves little in the way of ambiguity.
So what do we do when we unintentionally offend someone? Do we even really owe someone an apology if the fault is not that you hurt them, but that their own sensitivity led to the issue in the first place? One of the pitfalls of everyone thinking you’re a bitch is that people forget you have feelings too. No one apologizes to me when I become sensitive, they seem more surprised than sorry. Yes, I talk about intimate things in my life, I am pretty vocal about my feelings, and I usually let you know if I’m pissed off. What I am not great at, is letting people know when I am hurt. Again, this falls in the vulnerability category and I think I’ve pretty well established in past blogs that this is not my strong suit.
All kinds of random things hurt my feelings, from a friend not making time for me in over a week to the husband criticizing my writing. We’re all different; these are dicey waters. Do you recall the updated plotline of the movie, Father of the Bride? In it, the daughter of the character played by Steve Martin calls off her wedding because her fiancé gave her a blender as an engagement present. She saw it a sign of oppression. I viewed it with envy. That was a kick-ass kitchen appliance and if there is one thing I love more than feminism, it is the full range of kitchen gadgetry. Buy me a blender, rasp, pots, knives, juicer, etc. and I will cry at your thoughtfulness. Where other women see the constraints of traditional society impinging on their use of free time, I see a future of top-notch baked goods coming out of my kitchen. To buy me such a thing tells me that you know my heart and are a person who has taken the time to truly get to know me. To other women it might signify you are a misogynist or just lazy. Go figure.
So getting back to the point, here I am, 6500 miles separating me from the husband and I’m waiting around to find out if I’m trouble. There is nothing more unsettling than knowing you’ve screwed up and waiting to take your punishment. As a person who experienced a childhood in which I was always in trouble, this is a very familiar feeling. My parents were not violent people, but I do know I pushed them pretty hard. Imagine a two year-old that you want to punch. Pretty difficult right? I know two can be a challenging age to parents, but they are still pretty cute at that age. Well, I was the toddler that my parents and other adults always seemed to first be shocked by and then with whom they found themselves fighting their most primitive instincts to come to blows. Let’s just say that I know how to push people’s buttons; a skill I have not been shy to take advantage of in years past.
I know I have a big mouth and I’m pretty good at using it to piss people off, but it always hurts and surprises me a bit when I unintentionally offend others. I mean, I actually am a pretty sensitive person. So while you may be upset with me and off nursing your own wounds don’t forget that I may have some of my own. It hurts me when you say or do things that make me feel like I am not important in your life. I’m actually not that bad of a person, I just say what other people think. If you are my friend and there are important things happening in my life and you seem disinterested for three weeks, it’s going to hurt me. If I am trying to be honest and live my life the way that I need to and you want to know why I can’t just be like normal people, it’s going to hurt me. If I’m drunk from three whiskeys and you think I don’t need a fourth, it’s going to hurt me . . . wait, that last one might not be the same type of deal, but whatever. You get the point.
We are all different, and different things are going to set each of us off. Maybe the husband isn’t mad. Maybe he just wants to question my grammar in a section (I usually write these when it’s late, so it’s kind of a craps shoot). Either way, I feel the dread the way I did that time I disobeyed my Mom and walked across two busy roads to Hook’s drug store with my friends then got caught. It is too late to take it back, all I can do is wait for Dad to get home to find out how much trouble I’m in. So husband, whatever I wrote, I didn’t mean. Well, that’s totally not true, but . . . um, I love you and think you’re really swell.
You know what I really love about being me and saying what I think all the time? It’s a bumpy ride, but in the end I’m real, I’ve lived life and I’d rather be alone and know that I didn’t play it safe than live to be 90 and know I shanked it.
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