Cut In Front Of Me, I Don't Care
On Learning To Be Seen
I’m letting more things roll off my back these days. Not caring as much about the guy who cuts me off in traffic or the lady who steps in front of me in line.
In my 20s, I let people step all over me all the time. I wouldn’t dare speak up, as doing so would be rude. I aspired to be a Saint, and turning the other cheek was the “Christian” thing to do. So, I did. I turned and turned and turned. I was getting slapped over and over again, day after day. But also feeling pretty mighty of me for doing so. “I offer this up to Jesus!” and “Jesus, bless that person” became my prayers. Without knowing it, pride and a small mixture of tender love were at the forefront of my saintly actions.
Then my 30s hit, and I had had enough. I felt invisible. “Is it because I’m a woman?” I pondered when men would be waited on before me. “Not pretty enough?” when another woman would be asked if she needed something at the store before me.
I recall a time when I was standing in front of the deli counter, waiting patiently for my turn to ask about the smoked mesquite turkey when a woman came up and stood directly to my left. She’s two inches taller, wearing more makeup, and has a hurry-it-up attitude. The deli counter person calls out, “Next”. Little Miss Hoity-Toity promptly starts her demands. “Quarter pound of ham,” she says, pointing. “No, not that one, that one!” I stand there. Frustrated. Angry. Defeated. “Do you not SEE me?” I scream in my head. “I am standing right here!” Glaring at her, I vow that the next time this happens to me, I’m going to speak up. I would no longer be invisible. I had a fire inside my belly, and it burned brightly. I was hot, and I said, “No more”.
No more to letting the guy in traffic cut in front of me without blasting my horn at him.
No more to letting the person step in front of me in line without saying, “Excuse me, but I was here first.”
No more to not speaking my mind when the opportunity presented itself.
I stopped letting others rudely walk on me*, take my spot, or not listen to what I had to say.
At the beginning of this transformation, I had to build up courage. I had to learn to speak up for myself. Defend myself. Be confrontational. As I went on, with more practice, it became easier and easier, probably to the point where others started to see me as rude. I probably was. At that point, I didn’t care; I was frustrated with the world saying to me, “I go before you.” So, no more. I felt somewhat empowered. And proud of myself for speaking up. For taking control. For being seen.
After years of living this way, it became natural for me to speak my mind. But at some point, in my mid to late 30s, I had another shift. I started asking myself, “Why do I care?” Why do I care if the woman steps in front of me? Why do I care if the man cuts in front of me in traffic? Why do I care if that person is helped before me?
Something had changed. I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care anymore because I realized that I was seen-by those who mattered to me. By my husband, Andy. By Kate, Shawn, Jocie, Carrie, and so many other friends. More importantly, I was seen by my self. Through counseling and healthy relationships, I had matured. And I now recognized the little girl inside, the one who so desperately wanted to be seen, a now-grown woman. I was seen. I was seeing my self.
And then the magic started. I started to see others.The lady who stepped in front of me in line. The man who cut me off in traffic. I wondered what their childhoods were like and what issues they carried with them. Overbearing mothers. Abusive fathers. Absent parents. I wondered about their lives and what burdens they had. Cancer. Unhappy marriages. Financial woes. I realized that something was driving their behaviors, and I no longer felt the need to fix it, to put them in their place. My pendulum swung in the other direction. I returned to putting others before me. Not because it’s the “Christian” thing to do. Not because I can’t hold my own. Not because I don’t think it’s unjust. But because I’ve finally got to a place where I can see others.
I just had to first see myself.
*Letting myself be rudely walked on or letting others rudely walk on me*? Language is interesting, isn’t it? Letting myself be rudely walked on. This line indicates I am in possession or control of the situation. Letting others rudely walk on me. This line indicates giving others possession or control of the situation.
IN THE LAST TWO WEEKS 📆
Something I Read: The Book of Delights by Ross Gay. I really enjoyed these little essays which brought you through a winding path sort of like the path on the Candyland board game, sometimes encountering colorful creatures, yummy treats or other times setbacks. Maybe I am thinking of Chutes and Ladders. Perhaps a game that is not made yet, Candyland and Chutes and Ladders have a baby and that is the game I am thinking of. Regardless, these essays were, do I dare say, delightful.
Something I Heard: Halftime show with Kendrick Lamar. Although I am not a fan of rap and the only word I understood was tiramisu (which then prompted me to get up and find my own dessert), I enjoyed the show. His talent as a rapper is evident. I loved how the dancers were dressed in red, white and blue, thus giving us the illusion of the American flag. This is what football is for me, bringing Americans together. (I’m sure the halftime show included a lot of references, shoutouts, etc. that this small town Midwestern middle-aged woman didn’t get. But this is what I took from it.) Overall rating: 9.3
Something I Saw: This picturesque sunrise over Lake Superior one frigid morning.
