When these things used to happen (and they happened fairly often throughout junior high and high school), my mom would take me into the bathroom, make me look at my slobbery, snotty, sobbing self, and repeat after her:
“I am smart. I am kind. I am funny. I am beautiful. And if they can’t see these things, it’s their loss.”
This past week, I really could have used that.
I know people aren’t always going to agree with me, or like what I have to say. I can handle that.
But for two days, it felt like people who didn’t know me at all were holding up a funhouse mirror that distorted everything I was trying to say, warped my intentions, and twisted the image I hold of myself as a person who is out there trying to help others.
When all of this went down, I re-read everything. I questioned my ideas, and my actions. I spent a few days crying. Working through the feelings of being misunderstood and humiliated. Examining the experience to see what I could/should have done differently.
As someone who has had my own feelings hurt, and would never intentionally step on anyone else’s toes, I appreciate having the opportunity to address those situations directly and apologize.
But that requires direct communication, and message boards…are not very forgiving.
That funhouse mirror…made me look like a monster.