Who You Say I Am Doesn’t Matter To Me

I’ve read with interest posts on social media and some blogs where women in general lament the fact that people talk about them or more specifically, call them names. Names that they find offensive or rude.

I’m reminded of one woman who lamented on her blog post that she was not at all happy that people referred to menopause as “the change” or “as life change”. In fact, she was really annoyed by it. But I believe we are the ones who give meaning to words by internalizing them. We decide how those words affect us. It is the meaning we attach to the words that hurt us (paraphrasing Tony Robbins).

To be sure, I’m not belittling people’s feeling. But there comes a time when we have to put on our big girl panties, grow a pair or whatever other metaphor you want to use. It’s time we act like a duck in a rain shower and let it all roll off our backs. Life is too short and too full of really awful problems to waste time on allowing words to hurt our feelings or worse allow us to act in ways beneath us.

There are people of certain races who are annoyed at how they are labeled. And politician stepping on egg shells, try to pacify with the use of hyphened names, to make us feel better about ourselves. Some people are all up in arms about words people use to describe certain ethnicities, places and other things. I even remember being asked what I prefer to be called, Black or African American. My response was embarrassment that that’s even a questions. Because, and I did say this “I really don’t care”. I felt bad for her because I know she felt awkward. But that’s what I mean. One author wanted to know if it’s ok to say a Jamaican is Black or African Jamaican. What? I can’t even go down that rabbit hole.

But I believe that only what I say about me matters. What others call me or address me as doesn’t factor into how I think about myself.

Case in point, I was bullied incessantly as a child. One of the names I was called a lot was fish eyes because my eyes are really big. At least they looked that way when I was a child because I was so skinny. But to me my eyes are beautiful. I heard that a lot as an adult. That’s what I chose to accept as truth. That my eyes are beautiful.

My ex-husband called me a bitch and a whore each time we had an argument — that was his cop out when his argument did not make any sense. He told me I would never amount to anything. Each time he did that I laughed in his face. Because I refused to give his words meaning. I had never cheated on him so really who cared what he thought. I believe people who are mean will say anything to someone else to detract from how small and inadequate they are.

Because who God blesses no one can curse.

People can be mean or just plain ignorant. I’m at peace with that. So the words you call me doesn’t matter to me. Who you say I am doesn’t matter to me or keep me awake at night.

Jesus say I am a chosen generation and a royal priesthood. That I truly believe.