If you don't have anything nice to say...

You may not know this about me, but I am--at the core of my being--a bitter, angry clown.

I spend most of my life trying to hide my true feelings from my friends and family, and my real thoughts from the general public. I offer a large, dimpled smile and give kiss-kiss hello (even though I am secretly afraid of what germ's you've got) and hope that you'll never find out the things I think inside this sick, over-sized head of mine. It's really exhausting.

So I am coming clean.

I've fretted for far too long about what you would think if you knew that I secretly judge others based on how they dress. That I see women in bars and determine the merits of their lives based on the denim-wash of their jeans. (Too light=something ain't right.) That I write narratives of strangers' lives in my head, based on what they're drinking, the music they listen to or how they look.

You see, for far too long, I've been afraid that you'll judge me for judging others. And in my mind, I actually believe that's unfair.

On some level, I think that any person in their uncensored form would be mind-blowing. As adults, we try to treat each other with respect and some degree of social grace. But imagine what life would be like if we were as honest as little kids are. Because let me be the one to just say it: those little shits are brutal.

Before I lost weight, I used to be scared of children-- you know, the way elephants are scared of little mice? That was me. Not because of their tiny size, or my fear that I might sit on them-- but because of their honesty.

"You're fat," they'd say sweetly, the same way they might observe "You have long hair," "Your shirt is blue," or "My mommy drinks purple juice and cries." Having recently mastered language and connected it to the things they see, they are enthralled with their newly found ability to observe and report-- and they are unstoppable at it. They're sincere, they're blunt, and they're completely unaware that they've just made me want to cram my fucking brownie down their sweet, smiling little faces.

Ah, honesty--that felt better. See what I mean? What kind of a barbarian talks about choking children with baked goods? And brownies at that! You should know I'd never waste a brownie. Honestly! I wouldn't! But I'd still want to whisper mean things to make little Sally cry when her parent's weren't looking. "Your mommy is going to sell you to the gypsies because you talk to much!" I might whisper. Or perhaps "Is that monster still living under your bed? No matter what you do, don't fall asleep!" See that's a good one because it punishes the parent, who will inevitably have to comfort their screaming offspring as they refuse to go to bed-- which is their payback for raising such a mouthy little punk.

I think we all get that honesty button beaten out of us in adolescence, when we learn rather quickly that when we say honest things to our peers, they say honest things right back-- and it sucks. "Your nose is big," we might casually observe to our Roman-nosed classmate, who in turn responds "You have b.o." Ah, body odor. No other reality check quite like that one-- and so we learn to keep our big yaps shut.

In my adulthood, I have had to learn "restraint of pen and tongue." When you grow up a fat kid with Mr. Magoo glasses, a buster-brown haircut, two older brothers and 29 first-cousins, you learn how to respond verbally and brutally to confrontation. As a born sissy, I might never raise a fist-- but I can cut you down and make you cry with the things I'll say in five seconds flat. It took me 20 years to learn how to master a comeback-- and 10 more to learn to rein it in.

In my professional life (back when I had one), I might have to smile calmly while a coworker attacked me personally or tried to provoke a fight. I've had to walk away from friends and family members in order to avoid saying the unforgivable things that float into my head when we disagree, and I've had to sit across the table from someone after a falling-out as I apologize for the ways I've wronged them and they, in turn, take no responsibility at all for their actions or the hurtful things they've done to me. I have had to resist the urge to set them straight, to make them listen to the way that I see things, to point out what an asshole they've been and yes, draw a diagram or use hand-puppets if necessary.

Instead, I have to find a peaceful place inside that keeps me from all of that and instead allows me to let it unfold, to trust that the Universe will take care of it in time, and that I just have to look after my own shit and keep moving.

In other words, I've learned the humility of the high road. Not for them, but for me. At the end of the day, here's the truth: I don't give a shit what happens to them. Right, wrong, indifferent-- I don't care if they ever grow from the experiences they have, I don't care if a future coworker ever sets them straight, or if they ever figure out the ways they've harmed me and take responsibility or whatever or if they ever grow from it. I don't care about them. I care about me-- about what I get from it, about how I can grow. I can't change them, but I can change me.

Honestly.

Judge me if you like-- chances are, if your jeans are too short or your hair is too high I'm judging you, too--but I'll keep it to myself. Because if you don't have anything nice to say you shouldn't say anything at all-- but you can rest assured you're not alone.




(Yes, this girl is actually judging your outfit.)