Get out of My House.
You’re brash, you’re common as muck and you dress ten years too young.
This from a guy I have spoken to maybe three times in my life.
He thinks he is being funny, but actually I find his words shocking, incredibly rude and mildly insulting.
In fact no, I don’t believe he thinks he is being funny, I think he knows very well he is pushing the limits of what is acceptable to say, but is choosing to say it regardless, safe in the knowledge that I will take it on the chin and walk away.
Because I am me and he thinks he knows me.
Of course, I don’t say any of this.
And I do walk away and I do take it on the chin, because I am me.
But he does not know me.
I laugh, touch his shoulder, thank him for making such ‘hilarious’ observations on my character and I walk away, with my head held high.
As long as he doesn’t know he has upset me, that is all that matters.
And I know I’m not any of those things anyway right?
I got to thinking about this ‘exchange’ on a two hour drive up to Carlisle this weekend.
I am a strong, loud, extroverted and confident woman with a penchant for wearing Adidas, who would put a stranger before herself if it meant making a difference to their life. I have good bits and bad bits. I can be self-centred, selfish and blunt. I can be kind, generous to a fault, and funny. I can be your best friend and your biggest pain in the arse. I can be intuitive and thick, I make mistakes and I make a difference. I am a mum with a full time job who has to parent like she doesn’t work, and a working mum with a 5 year old son who has to work like she isn’t a parent. I am a friend, a wife and I used to be a sister.
I would never go out of my way to make someone else feel like shit and I cannot understand or begin to empathise with people who do.
Knowing all of this about myself, and having had years of therapy learning about negative people and how to protect myself against them, why on earth am I allowing his inconsequential voice to continuously repeat itself on a never ending loop?
Why did I walk away and laugh, effectively allowing these things to be said?
His throw away insults about who I am as a person barely disguised ‘as a joke,’ and now not only did I allow it to happen, I am giving him head space.
I am now wasting energy, internally arguing with him about why he is wrong.
Which of course (deep down) means I think he is right.
His barbed words are illegal squatters in my house, and they are rearranging my furniture.
I have a lot going on right now.
I have too many lodgers, too many unwelcome guests and too many fair weather visitors as it is.
Intrusive thoughts, grief, mild auditory hallucinations, exhausting depression, a five year old son I do not stop worrying about, a full time job, a highly strung Irish man who gets stressed when he can’t brush his teeth the second he wants to brush his teeth (he told me to shove my eye liner up my arse) because I am just finishing my make-up, anxiety, insomnia and finally self-esteem crushing weight gain.
Everything is happening all at the same time as absolutely nothing is happening.
The noise is stretching its spindly old man fingers in to every shadow of my brain, and for the first time in my life I truly feel as if my brain is not my own, there is no quiet place to hide.
All of my drawers were upturned on the floor anyway, and now here he is, with his throw away comment re-arranging the damn couch.
Am I as common as muck? Am I brash? Do I need to spend less money on Addison and more on my own wardrobe?
And if I am brash and common as muck, am I bothered?
Funny how his ‘joke’ really isn’t funny now I have spent a weekend fighting to remind myself his words do not define me.
James has suggested I try mindfulness to help regain some control, help clear out the clutter.
Supposedly it helps you find calm.
Supposedly it will help me regain my own space.
I am skeptical.
But the couch doesn’t go there and the cushions are scattered like I’ve been burgled.
Do you have someone who rearranges your furniture?
How long are we gonna allow them to do this to us?
I need to get my house in order.
He needs to get out of my damn house.