Age and Meanness
I went through a situation about ten days ago that was unpleasant (the details are unnecessary) and I have been trying to put it in its proper perspective so I can close it out in my mind. As Jack at Random Fate observed, human connections are tenuous at best, a thin web that can tear even despite the best efforts at preservation. Whether the departure is from death or a parting of ways because of divergent paths or hard feelings, the loss is still there, and the emptiness left behind is still keenly felt. Harsh words were spoken by both sides-mine probably overly so. I found a post from Kelley at Suburban Blight that explains a lot of how my own thinking about things and people has evolved. If you change the gender references (for example "bitch" to "bastard," this is exactly how I feel:
Age and Meanness
In my younger days, I could have been accurately described as a "people person". You could have called me "eager to please", made me out as one of those people that is destroyed to find that someone - anyone, no matter how totally insignificant to the grand scheme of things - doesn't like her, and honestly pinned me down as something of a doormat. You'd have been right on any of those counts. Now? I don't know if it's the aging process, the requirements of motherhood, or the therapy, but I don't believe you'd find any of the phrases listed above to be all that helpful anymore.
I'm not an angry or vindictive person by any stretch of the imagination, but it seems like the older I get, the less time and patience I have for bullshit. People I have taken crap from for years and years have, in recent months, found themselves without their old trusty spittoon. Folks who were used to taking advantage of my generous and trusting disposition have discovered themselves high and dry, with nowhere to wipe their feet. Additionally, where I used to value relationships solely because of their length - excusing the bad behavior of someone I'd known for fifteen years simply because I'd known them for fifteen years - I now require proof positive that the relationship is worth continuing before falling all over myself to answer that e-mail, or return that telephone call. Is that so wrong? I don't think so. I'm a grown woman, with a lot of responsibilities and only a little spare time. Don't expect me to put up with nonsense in the few minutes of "me" time available to me each day.
I guess you could say that I've fallen into eye-for-an-eye mode. You treat me right, cover my six, our expectations for friendly behavior mesh - I'm the best friend you'll ever find. You trash talk me, take your personal problems out on my hide, start drama with the intention of throwing a monkey-wrench in either my life or my relationships with others, and I'm gone, leaving only the welts of a painful tongue-lashing behind. I used to be afraid to "make a scene". Now, though I don't relish confrontation, I'll not hesitate for a second to stand up for myself, for my family, for my beliefs, or for the duties of conscience that we all, in one way or another, bear.
Looking back, I have to say that I do regret the sheer waste of time, time that I spent trying to please people that had no intention of returning the favor, time that I spent worrying about why so-and-so said such-and-such. I also look back and see places in my past where, if I'd only stood up for myself, or done what I knew to be right for me at the possible expense of someone else's feelings, I'd be in a much better position today.
Does all of the above make me a bitch? Inconsiderate? Unlikely to suffer fools gladly? Maybe. But I can't say as I really care anymore.
During my last visit with my grandfather, just before he died, we talked about the visible shortening of my temper. As little as he saw me, he noted the difference, and I laughed it off, attributing my new-found aptitude for self-defense to my lack of sleep as the mother of a wildcat boy-child who was then still a toddler. Gramps, never one to mince words, looked me right in the eye, smiled, and said, "So how does it feel to finally be an adult?"
Right on, sister!!
Hat tip to Lobowalk.
Age and Meanness
In my younger days, I could have been accurately described as a "people person". You could have called me "eager to please", made me out as one of those people that is destroyed to find that someone - anyone, no matter how totally insignificant to the grand scheme of things - doesn't like her, and honestly pinned me down as something of a doormat. You'd have been right on any of those counts. Now? I don't know if it's the aging process, the requirements of motherhood, or the therapy, but I don't believe you'd find any of the phrases listed above to be all that helpful anymore.
I'm not an angry or vindictive person by any stretch of the imagination, but it seems like the older I get, the less time and patience I have for bullshit. People I have taken crap from for years and years have, in recent months, found themselves without their old trusty spittoon. Folks who were used to taking advantage of my generous and trusting disposition have discovered themselves high and dry, with nowhere to wipe their feet. Additionally, where I used to value relationships solely because of their length - excusing the bad behavior of someone I'd known for fifteen years simply because I'd known them for fifteen years - I now require proof positive that the relationship is worth continuing before falling all over myself to answer that e-mail, or return that telephone call. Is that so wrong? I don't think so. I'm a grown woman, with a lot of responsibilities and only a little spare time. Don't expect me to put up with nonsense in the few minutes of "me" time available to me each day.
I guess you could say that I've fallen into eye-for-an-eye mode. You treat me right, cover my six, our expectations for friendly behavior mesh - I'm the best friend you'll ever find. You trash talk me, take your personal problems out on my hide, start drama with the intention of throwing a monkey-wrench in either my life or my relationships with others, and I'm gone, leaving only the welts of a painful tongue-lashing behind. I used to be afraid to "make a scene". Now, though I don't relish confrontation, I'll not hesitate for a second to stand up for myself, for my family, for my beliefs, or for the duties of conscience that we all, in one way or another, bear.
Looking back, I have to say that I do regret the sheer waste of time, time that I spent trying to please people that had no intention of returning the favor, time that I spent worrying about why so-and-so said such-and-such. I also look back and see places in my past where, if I'd only stood up for myself, or done what I knew to be right for me at the possible expense of someone else's feelings, I'd be in a much better position today.
Does all of the above make me a bitch? Inconsiderate? Unlikely to suffer fools gladly? Maybe. But I can't say as I really care anymore.
During my last visit with my grandfather, just before he died, we talked about the visible shortening of my temper. As little as he saw me, he noted the difference, and I laughed it off, attributing my new-found aptitude for self-defense to my lack of sleep as the mother of a wildcat boy-child who was then still a toddler. Gramps, never one to mince words, looked me right in the eye, smiled, and said, "So how does it feel to finally be an adult?"
Right on, sister!!
Hat tip to Lobowalk.
posted by david at 4/27/2005 03:16:00 PM
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