Recently someone I apparently used to know wrote about me (real me, not blog me) pretty harshly on her blog. In essence, she said I was a racist Mean Girl, and she hoped I hadn't grown up to be a Queen Bee Mom (implying, of course, that I probably had). I have no idea who this person is. A few candidates have been identified and exonerated, to my great relief, so I'm guessing it's someone I didn't really know. And given the circumstances and the company I kept back then, I can totally imagine why she would have thought I was a racist Mean Girl.
Of course, I prefer not to think of myself as a racist Mean Girl, but I am strangely undisturbed by her post. OK, honesty: I'm disturbed enough that I've got my friends trying to figure out who she is, and I'm writing this blog post, but I am not the devastated weeping wreck I might have been, say, 15 years ago when this person seems to have known me. I have no urge to call her out and tell her that I Am Not Mean, and Some Of My Best Friends Are Black, and if she'd seen me at the meeting I went to this morning, she would know that I'm the Good Kind of White Liberal.
I think I've come to accept, really just in the last few years, that I am who I am. Most people who meet me think I'm funny, smart, energetic, effective, occasionally moody, and perhaps a bit too outspoken. A few people who meet me think I'm an arrogant bitch. And, you know what? Those are basically two sides of the same coin: me, depending on your perspective. You know what else? Most of the people who don't like me? I don't like them either. In fact, I can't think of anyone I really like who dislikes me--now that might still leave me a devastated weeping wreck--which suggests that I am fully capable of being nice.
As for the racist thing? I try, I try my best. I get it a lot, and sometimes I don't get it, and I'm willing to be called out, but the fact is, if you're a liberal white woman trying to do some good, you're going to get called racist, sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for bad.
I always try to be the best version of myself, I don't always succeed, and that's all I can do.
4 comments:
Plus there was the whole SNAPS fiasco. I think that marked you for life. (BTW, Madison was wearing E's blue raincoat today and she was having a fit about not having an umbrella and being stuck with a stupid coat until I told her: 1) the coat once belonged to E; and 2) that it was called a "slicker.")
As far as I am concerned, anyone who does not like you is either stupid or very confused or just plain bad.
I have to agree with grammy. Sure, I only met you that once. Fine. I'm a First Impressionist.
I wouldn't worry too much about what someone says about you on your blog. My ex writes some pretty nasty things on hers, but my friends know that they are nonsense, so not much else really matters. I'm sure that your friends know who you really are, not who someone from your deep past claims that you are.
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