Warning: adult language
Story time! I love to go out and dine. I love restaurants, bars, pubs, cafes. I just love the experience of going out and trying yummy food with good company. However, I have trouble digesting meat. So, I don’t order it.
Soooo…when I go out with people, the conversation tends to go like this:
Dining companion: “Hey, want to try some of my chicken/pork/beef/fish/whale bullocks?
Me: “nah, I don’t eat meat.”
Dining companion: “Whyyyyy? Meat so good? You die with no proteins! Tofu causes the brain cancer and boob-sadness.”
Me: “Well…goes into long drawn out explanation about my personal health issues and history, while feeling nervous and awkward and picked apart.”
Dining companion: *giving judgemental side-eye*
Now, I tell this story, that’s repeated countless times, because I’ve been taking account of a few things lately. Mostly, I’ve been taken account of how others in my life treat me, but more importantly, I’ve been considering how I allow others to treat me, or talk to me, or talk around me.
I’ve been noticing that quite often I’m left finding myself feeling compelled to justify myself, or give an explanation from everything from my food preferences, my educational choices, my career choices, to the house I chose to buy and the books I prefer to read.
I sense judgemental eyes, and I instantly yield, withdraw. I come up with a justification, an excuse for my preferences…sometimes even minimizing my own preferences, or making fun of myself to detract from others judging stares.
I’m writing this to say I’m done. I’m tired. And, frankly, I like my life. I really like my choices. I’m comfy with what I have. I don’t require you to be.
No one is EVER entitled to your story.
No one is EVER entitled to an explanation.
Why did I buy a smaller house than you? I could explain how I’m frugal/ care about financial stability and functionality, inadvertently making you feel judged for buying a house you can barely afford. But, fuck that!
Why did you buy such a small, unimpressive house? Because I wanted it!
Why do you drive a hybrid and not a truck with a lift like me? Because I liked it!
Do you really think you should wear that kind of dress/heels/shorts? 100% go fuck yourself!
Why don’t you eat meat? I don’t like meat! Veggies make me happy, I’m not asking you to kale-out with me, so fuck off and enjoy your rotting sentient-being flesh. (I seriously just came here to have a good time…)
End. Of. Story.
No one deserves any further explanation. I don’t owe an account of my life to anyone. No one owes an account to me. And, frankly, I think my willingness to give an account to others only generates an energy where people feel like they are allowed to cross boundaries, even welcomed. Well, they aren’t. You aren’t.
Also, I fear that giving off that energy only attracts abusive personalities–people who seek out people they can sit in judgement of to boost their own fragile egos. I don’t need those people in my life, so why manufacturer the energy that attracts them?
Nah! I’m not playing anymore. Keep walking.
The truth is, you could pick apart anyone’s life, preferences, and beings if you really wanted to. (Why do you want to? Who are you? Who hurt you?!) No one is immune. So, why do I give people an allowance to do so? Why don’t I ever turn it back on them, and judge them to their face, demand an explanation for their subpar preferences? Because no one’s preferences are subpar to me. No human is subpar. I wouldn’t dare grill someone, like some gum-shoe detective trying to pin-down a perp, about their shoes, or their love of cake, or their favorite movies. So, one needs to ask why I allow people to continue on when they refuse me the same courtesy I afford them intuitively
Why did I chose this? Choose that? Like this? Like that?
Cuz I dun did, Bishhhh! Fight me!