Don’t let the bastards grind you down.
One of my favorite phrases and something I appear to grapple with most; especially of late. I can’t seem to rid myself of this weakness; surrendering to other people’s delusions and perceptions. Worst still, bequeathing them the ultimate power to affect and mould me so.
And all in the hope of keeping peace.
When I discovered spirituality and set out on my journey, I improved myself for the better but now I wonder if in consciously deciding to become more humane, I lost my actual voice. In living by the mantra of treating others how I wished to be treated I let things slide. I thought I was doing right in not retaliating; by remaining silent and not nourishing their egos and beliefs. But all that has materialised in this humble action has seen me become the butt of all jokes.
An insignificant pushover.
I feel so childlike at times when those bastards vent their frustrations and shower anger upon me. All I can do is remove myself to a dark corner were I cower and whimper away. I’ve become a victim, constantly anxious because I don’t quite know how to defend myself anymore. How to use words in proper context without sounding like an irrational bitch. Apprehensive. And I don’t really understand how I become so timid, how choosing to be nice could become so lost in translation?
I wish it were easy to overcome. To halt these unwanted duels with petty individuals who thrive on drama and misery.
I guess nice guys do finish last.
Remember that guy who collided with my fathers vehicle? The one in which I happened to be driving? How I mentioned what a good guy he was? I was wrong, so terribly wrong. And I suppose I should have heeded those warnings my intuition was quietly raising. He’d been dodging my fathers calls over the weekend, so I sent him a message the following morning; wanting to touch base. He responded with nasty and viscous words, like a rabid animal, unhappy over my fathers “harassment” and threatenings legal nonsense.
I’ll never forget the feelings that stirred within as I read and re-read those words. I was appalled how this had somehow escalated so unnecessarily. Most of all I was furious that he would stoop so low. I’d given him the benefit of all doubt, been patient and reasonable, refraining from contacting the insurance company, allowing him options in how he’d like to proceed. I didn’t have to but I did, because that’s what nice guys do.
I felt the pull to plant myself in the kiddie corner but the need for vindication was far greater. I could not allow him to mutter such harmful things, to intimidate with his poor use of “big” words and filing lawsuits. I saw marvellous words forming polite retorts in my mind and I hastily composed a response. One that matched the obnoxious 3000 character’s that I was bombarded with. I set out to defend my father while also asserting my rightful authoritative. It was truly beautifully composed. Articulate. Full of “big” words that disintegrated his claim to power. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so proud of anything I’d written before in my life.
Let me rephrase that. I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of myself.
I felt so satisfied after sending that message, relieved that I took action and stood up for what was right. I was concerned that I may have been too harsh. That maybe the Universe would punish me for being so rude. But I was reminded that what I’d done was honest. That I had refrained from being crass or belittling. That I had done something pivotal. I defended my father and my good self without being cruel. I was matter of fact and didn’t use derogatory terms or juvenile name calling in a feeble attempt to coerce. Unlike he had.
So maybe there is hope for me yet. I just need to remind myself that it’s ok to protect oneself. To disallow others permission to trample as they please and not tolerate pettiness. I can rebut as I please, just don’t be intentionally hateful, no matter how viscous the offending party may be because two wrongs do not make a right.
Or something along those lines.